The Rāmāyana, Volume 3. Yuddhakāndam — Inside the Classic
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of foes, mighty-armed Rāma, agitated by anxiety, was then plunged in thought.
¹ Having seen Sitā—which was all that he had been commissioned to do by Sugriva, Hanumān has destroyed Rākshasas and burnt Lankā; and this he did of himself like a good servant.—T.
² i.e. _performing the entrusted work.—T._
³ _By the Rākskasas.—T._
⁴ The commentator explains this obscure passage after his own orthodox fashion. The gist is this. Delight is the essence of the Deity, and all His incarnations body forth this. Embrace is typical of this emotion.—T.
Then the graceful Sugriva spake words capable of soothing sorrow, unto Daçaratha’s son, Rāma, who was wrought up with grief,—"Why, O hero, dost thou grieve, like one that is base? Let not this be so. Chase away thy grief, even as an ingrate resigneth amity. Nor, O Rāghava, when the whereabouts of Sitā hath been discovered, and when too the abode itself of the foe hath been known, do I perceive the reason of thy sorrow. Thou, O Rāghava, art intelligent, conversant with learning, wise, and judicious. Do thou cast away this sorry way of thinking, even as a self-controlled (ascetic) casteth away any course of thought interfering with the attainment of his purpose. Crossing over the ocean swarming with gigantic alligators, we shall enter Lankā and slay thy enemy. Of a person that is dispirited and poor in pluck and that hath his soul overwhelmed with grief, every interest droopeth, and he cometh by misfortunes (one after another). All these heroes, these leaders of monkey-hordes, who are ardent for thy welfare, are competent to enter into fire itself. From their cheerful attitude I know this, and firm is my faith. It behoveth thee so to arrange things that, slaying the foe, Rāvana of impious acts, we may bring hither Sitā by our own prowess. Do thou, O Rāghava, so order matters that a bridge may be constructed (over the main), and that we may behold the palace of the Rākshasa monarch. We having seen the city of Lankā, established on the summit of Trikuta, do thou for certain conclude Rāvana as slain in battle immediately after (we see her). Without throwing a bridge over the ocean—the dread abode of Varuna—even the Asuras and celestials with Indra (at their head) are unequal to subduing Lankā. When the bridge over the ocean hath been constructed up to near Lankā, and when my forces have crossed (over the sea), consider victory as secured. As these monkeys are heroic in fight, and able to wear forms at will, O king, do not let thy intellect get stupified and thus mar all interests. In this world, sorrow berefts people of their prowess. Do thou do even what should be done by a man—summon thy manliness; for what an actor doeth promptly, conduceth to his success. At this time, O eminently wise one, do thou realise goodness through thy energy.⁵ Of heroic, high-souled, men like thyself, on their sustaining an entire or a partial loss, grief undoeth every interest. Therefore, the foremost of intelligent persons, and conversant with every lore, thou shouldst along with councilors like me, strive to beat thy foe. Find I none in the three worlds, O Rāghava, who can stay in fight before thee equipped with thy bow. Thy business entrusted to these monkeys shall not (anyway) suffer. And soon, crossing over the boundless main, thou shalt behold Sitā. Therefore, O king, renounce thy sorrow, and call up wrath. Those Kshatriyas that conceive no anger in respect of their enemies, have their activity annulled; and all fear furious persons. Drawing nigh unto us, do thou, gifted with acute intelligence, cast about for crossing over the dreadful deep—lord of streams—along with us. On these forces getting beyond the ocean, do thou take it for certain that we have won; and when my whole host hath reached the further shore, do thou indubitably conclude that we have obtained victory. These monkeys, heroic and capable of assuming in fight forms at will, shall slaughter those foes by showering rocks and trees. If I see any means of crossing the ocean, Varuna’s abode, I shall, O destroyer of foes, deem him as slain in battle. And what is the use of dilating? Every way thou shalt prove victorious. And I see omens, and my mind is filled with delight".
⁵ _i.e._ as I understand this rather obscure passage, _prove thou good through thy vigor—secure victory to the cause of goodness through thy might._—T
Hearing Sugriva’s speech, reasonable and fraught with high sense, Kākutstha accorded his assent to it and spoke unto Hanumān, saying,—"By asceticism, or constructing a a bridge, or drying up the ocean,—competent every way am I for crossing over this ocean. Of impracticable places, tell me how many there are in (Lankā), which are incapable of being come at. O monkey, as thou hast seen personally, I wish to get acquainted with all this. And thou hast at thy leisure duly noticed in Lankā the number of the army, the inaccessibility (or otherwise) of the gates, the defence of Lankā, and the dwellings of the Rākshasas. Do thou faithfully relate this unto me, for thou art observant". Hearing Rāma’s speech, Hanumān, offspring of the Wind-god, foremost of those conversant with speech, again spake unto Rāma,—"Hearken! I will describe unto thee by what method is the city of Lankā guarded and protected by the Rākshasas, how loyal the Rākshasas are, the surpassing prosperity of Lankā, the dreadfulness of the deep, the divisions of the forces, and the number of the elephants, horses, cars, etc". Having said this, that best of monkeys, knowing the nature of things, went on,—"Lankā, filled with mad elephants, ever rejoiceth. She is great, thronging with cars and inhabited by Rākshasas. Her doors are firmly established and furnished with massy bolts. And she hath four wide and giant gates. (At those gates) are powerful and large arms, stones, and engines, whereby a hostile host approaching, is opposed. At the entrances are arrayed and set in order by bands of heroic Rākshasas, hundreds of dreadful sharp iron _sataghnis_.⁶ She hath a mighty impassable golden wall, having its side emblazoned in the centre with costly stones, coral, lapises and pearls. Round about is a moat, exceedingly dreadful, with cool water, eminently grand, fathomless, containing ferocious aquatic animals, and inhabited by fishes. At the gates are four broad bridges, furnished with machines and many rows of grand structures. On the approach of hostile forces, their attack is repulsed by these machines, and they are thrown into the ditch. One among these bridges is immovable, strong and fast established; adorned with golden pillars and daises. O Rāma, albeit Rāvana hungereth for fight, yet is he calm; and he is vigilant and ever engaged in superintending his army. And dreadful and resembling a celestial citadel, Lankā cannot be ascended by means of any support. She hath fortresses composed of streams, those of hills, and artificial ones of four kinds. And, O Rāghava, she is situated on the other shore of the ocean having its limit far away. And way there is none even for barks,—and all sides are destitute of division. And that citadel is built on the mountain’s brow; and, resembling the metropolis of the immortals, the exceedingly invincible Lankā is filled with horses and elephants. And a moat and _sataghnis_ and various engines adorn the city of Lankā, belonging to the wicked Rāvana. And an _ayuta_ of Rākshasas, dart-handed, hard to subdue,—and all fighting at the front with their swords—protect the Eastern gate. And a _niyuta_ of Rākshasas with a fourfold force, and with the flower of the soldiery—protect the Southern gate. And a _prayuta_ of Rākshasas, bearing swords and shields, and skilled in all arms, protect the Western gate. And an _arvuda_ of Rakhas protect the Northern gate. And car-warriors and horsemen—persons honored and sprung from noble lines—by hundreds and thousands,—and irrepressible goblins and _kotis_ of Rākshasas, protect the garrison. I have broken down the bridges and filled up the entrenchment. I have burnt the city of Lankā and laid the wall low. Let us by any way whatever cross over Varuna’s abode. Do thou take it for certain that the city of Lankā is subdued by the monkeys. What is the use of thy reckoning the rest? Angada, Dwivida, Mainda, Jāmbavān, Panasa, Nala, and the general, Nila, bounding and reaching Rāvana’s abode, and riving the same consisting of woods and hills, moat and gateway, walls and dwellings, shall, O Rāghava, bring (hither) Sitā. If this be so,⁷ do thou order the entire body of the army to be brought; and do thou set out at the proper hour".
⁶ A kind of fire-arms, or ancient Hindu rocket; or a stone set round with sharp iron spikes.—According to Rāmānuya, a sort of mace about two yards in length, with spikes.—T.
The Yuddhakāndam, the war book of Valmiki's Rāmāyana, opens with Rāma's delight at Hanumān's report and quickly submerges the reader in a sustained, grinding battle between the monkey army and the Rākshasas. Manmatha Nath Dutt's 1893 prose translation renders the conflict in long, paratactic sentences that pile detail upon detail—rocks, darts, severed trees, and leonine roars. The structure is not a single linear clash but a series of surges: the text moves from general slaughter to focused duels, then back to a panoramic view of the field. This note traces three patterns in the excerpted sections: the repetitive imagery of broken weapons and gore, the oscillation between mass and individual combat, and the role of the narrator's gaze as it shifts from the ground to the heavens.
Repetition and Accumulation in Battle Description
The excerpted battle passages rely on a deliberate accumulation of nearly identical phrases. Warriors are “pierced,” “slew,” “felled,” and “crushed” with rocks, crags, darts, and clubs. The earth is “covered with crags and swords,” “drenched in gore,” and “blocked up with scattered mountain-like” bodies. This repetition does not merely describe violence; it creates a rhythmic, almost ritualistic catalog of destruction. The translator preserves the Sanskrit epic's tendency to list weapons and actions in parallel clauses: “the monkeys crushed Yatudhānas with rocks” and “the Rākshasas pierced the foremost of monkeys with sharpened and keen darts.” The effect is a sense of endless, grinding combat where no single blow stands out—only the relentless accumulation of broken things.
Shifting Scales: From Mass Chaos to Single Combat
The narrative moves between wide shots of the entire battlefield and close-ups of individual heroes. After describing the general melee—monkeys and Rākshasas “emitting leonine roars” and slaughtering each other with dead bodies—the text zooms in on Narāntaka, a Rākshasa hero who “entered into that fierce army of monkeys, like a fish diving into the deep.” He single-handedly pierces seven hundred monkeys with a bearded dart. This shift in scale is abrupt: the reader is pulled from a chaotic mass to a focused, almost cinematic tracking of one warrior's path. The field becomes “miry with flesh and blood,” and Narāntaka consumes the monkey army “like fire burning a forest.” The juxtaposition of panoramic and intimate violence is a structural hallmark of the Yuddhakāndam.
The Narrator's Elevated Perspective
Throughout the battle, the narrator periodically adopts a vantage point above the fray. The Maharshis and deities “sent up shouts” when the monkeys are exhilarated and the Rākshasas brought down. Vidyādharas and Maharshis observe Narāntaka “ranging the monkey-ranks.” These brief ascents to a divine viewpoint remind the reader that the war is not merely a terrestrial struggle but one witnessed by celestial beings. The narrator also notes the condition of the ground—the earth becomes “impassable” with debris and corpses—as if surveying the field from a height. This vertical movement, from the blood-soaked plain to the heavens, structures the reader's experience: we are never allowed to forget that the battle unfolds under a cosmic gaze.
Recurring Images of Broken Weapons and Bodies
Certain images recur with notable frequency: broken crags, severed trees, and bodies used as weapons. Monkeys “smote Rākshasas with (the dead bodies of) Rākshasas,” and Rākshasas hurl rocks and crags. The text emphasizes that weapons are not only tools but also the detritus of combat—the field is “scattered with crags baffled and severed trees.” Even the living become indistinguishable from the dead: “the earth was covered with crags and swords … and was drenched in gore.” This imagery of fragmentation and recycling of matter underscores the war's consuming nature. Nothing remains intact; everything is broken, repurposed, or soaked in blood. The translator's prose, with its repetitive syntax, mirrors this relentless disintegration.
Readers approaching this volume should attend to how the battle scenes are paced. The Yuddhakāndam does not rush to a climax; it dwells in the thick of combat, using repetition to evoke exhaustion and scale. The shifts between mass chaos and individual exploits, and the occasional glimpse of divine spectators, provide structural relief. Dutt's translation, with its nineteenth-century prose style, preserves the epic's formal patterning. A useful approach is to read several sections consecutively, noting how the same images recur and how the narrator's focus moves across the field.
The battle’s relentless blood and the snap of broken weapons stayed with me long after I closed the Yuddhakāndam, leaving a restlessness that felt oddly familiar. That evening, I found myself thinking of a different kind of storytelling, fierce and gentle at once. It reminded me, quietly, of Australian Legendary Tales: folk-lore of the Noongahburrahs as told to the Piccaninnies — Background and Themes, where the earth itself holds old struggles in a softer, more patient voice.
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