The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

Hanuman's Fiery Dip (the Recipe)

Indrajit could not help but feel a sense of pride rushing up his spine as he walked, rather, more of a trot, in Hanuman's mind, into the Throne Room of Ravan. Nobody would know that it had taken all of his astras, and finally, a Bramhastra, to capture a mere monkey, or that, for even a tiny second, Indrajit had felt a bit-helpless-and that he believed that perhaps Hanuman could even finish off the entire army.

But now was not the time for that. Now was the time for him to celebrate, because he had done exactly what his father asked him to do, and exactly what the others couldn't and exactly what he felt that he needed to accomplish for his vengeance-captured the monkey. Meghnath took in a deep breath of victory. Victory smelled, to him, like the only thing he knew victory in-war. Blood-of his enemies he hoped. Dust-kicked up by their elephants, stomping on fallen enemies' heads. And the perfume-flowery and delicate-of Sulochana, his wife, the woman he would come home to after every single win.

But Sulochana wasn't here. It was his father only, grinning down at him from his high post. And Indrajit grinned back-his smile, he had gotten from his father-malicious, victorious, arrogant and cunning. But after the little smiling session was over, he dragged the monkey in front of him, his eyes blazing with barely concealed fury-for the enemy was defeated, sure, but the reason that they were the enemy in the first place remained, as it always did.

Another thing Indrajit and Ravan shared in common was that they didn't come to appreciate or respect their enemies. They admired and worshipped the art of killing, the art of winning, the art of the war, but they did not, either of them, pay a wit's end to the skill of the enemy. No matter how divine, no matter how strong or powerful, no matter how great and how much effort it took to vanquish them, in their minds, a victory was a victory, and thus, the enemy was inferior. A mistake of course, for Hanuman was definitely not inferior.

Hanuman was busying himself looking around the palace, his eyes widened with surprise. He wasn't excited, awed, or completely dumbstruck by what he saw-just partially disgusted and slightly wistful, for this was what Prabhu Shri Ram would have if he were not exiled. But GOD! There was so much gold! Too much gold, in fact, but Ravan's signature words were-and he often quoted-"there's never too much gold, (insert name Here). Just too much money to spend."
But everything was gold! The ceilings were gold! The floors were gold. The doors were gold. The thrones were gold. The walls were gold. Heck, Hanuman was pretty sure that the only things in this palace that were not gold-with the exception of the chamber pots of course-were the people themselves! But who was he to know? Perhaps they were a new type of gold-a walking and talking type-and were painted over with colors. Perhaps even the people here were gold. Well that was good. It was much easier to kill gold than people.

"Thank you, Meghnath. Sit down on your throne and watch as I teach this good-for-nothing vanar a little lesson, would you?" Indrajit did as his father asked. "YOU!" thundered Ravan, pointing a steady finger towards Hanuman, his bushy mustache curving up with his lips as he stared at the monkey with disgust. "You mere monkey dare to invoke my-the mighty Ravan of Lanka's-wrath?!" Hanuman tilted his head amusedly for a second.

"It's a bit wrong to presume, isn't it? Calling yourself the mighty Ravan of Lanka? Perhaps you should wait for other people to call you so." Hanuman shifted around in his standing position as the entire court began to thump their spears as if in a trance. What kind of a cult was this? "Besides, what kind of civilized rakshasas are you? For being so mighty, you don't even offer a messenger a seat?!"
Ravan sat back, his eyes widening in aghast and anger for a second before returning to their frowning state as he stood up, the vein in his neck pulsing like a great, big, purple snake, his fists clenched so tightly that a single drop of blood trailed out and splattered on the floor with a "splat!" and his muscles were tightened so terribly that Hanuman thought he could see every fibre of the tissue in his arms. But still, he did not cower.