The golden cages of Lanka’s pleasure halls swayed in the evening breeze, their bars thick with the musk of crushed flowers and desperation. The demon women peered through the latticework, their eyes glinting like knives in the lamplight. "Not this one," they murmured as Sita passed, her bare feet leaving faint imprints in the dust. "See how she sleeps? Like a child. Like a fool."
But the Ashoka grove was no kinder. Here, the trees bore thorns instead of fruit, and the rakshasis circled like jackals, their laughter sharp enough to draw blood. "How long will you cling to virtue?" they sneered. "Your Rama has forgotten you."
Sita said nothing. She sat as still as a carved idol, her silence a fortress no taunt could breach.
Ravana’s Threats, A Wife’s Defiance
Ravana came at dusk, his shadow stretching long across the grove. Ten heads tilted in mock sympathy, twenty eyes gleaming with hunger. "Gold or gallows—choose your fate," he rumbled, his voice thick with honeyed venom. "Bow, and I will drape you in jewels. Refuse, and the vultures will feast."
Sita did not look up. When she spoke, her words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a coming storm. "My lord will incinerate your lying tongue and rotting halls. Leave now, lest Rama’s arrow finds your throat before its time."
The demon king’s laughter shook the leaves from the trees. But when he turned to go, his golden bracelets trembled—ever so slightly—against his wrists.
The Ring, The Fire, The Architect’s Hand
Hanuman came like a shadow given form. He knelt before her, pressing Rama’s ring into her palm—the metal still warm from his grip. "He waits," the monkey whispered. "He grieves. And he will come."
Sita’s fingers closed around the jewel, her first tear striking the gold like a benediction.
Then—chaos.
Hanuman’s tail, dipped in oil and set ablaze, became a whip of divine fury. He leapt from roof to roof, the fire trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. Lanka’s towers, built by demons and arrogance, caught like tinder. The city burned, not with the rage of an invader, but with the precision of an architect dismantling his creation.
And as the sun rose over the smoldering ruins, a single figure stood untouched amid the flames—
Sita, her face lit by the glow of a husband’s promise.
Dasharatha lost his composure on hearing Vishvamitra's words and cried, "O great sage! My lotus-eyed Rama isn't even 16 years of age." The king volunteered to accompany the sage instead, along with his army. He implored the great sage to tell him about the Rakshasas, their strength and their protector.
Vishvamitra told Dasharatha about Ravana, the powerful lord of the Rakshasas, and how he had urged Maricha and Subahu to obstruct the sages and their sacrifices.
The king, overwhelmed by grief for his son's life, begged the sage to reconsider. "The enemies you describe are fierce and skilled, and Rama is a child," he said. Maricha and Subahu were impossible to defeat, he said. Even he, as the king of Ayodhya with the might of his army, would only be able to battle one demon at a time. "I cannot give Rama to you," he said.
Vishvamitra looked at the king who had, but a short while ago, pledged to give him whatever he had wanted. Anger laced his words as the sage reminded the king that he came from the exalted Ikshvaku lineage.
"You are like the god of dharma yourself. If you break your pledge, you will destroy the fruits of all the sacrifices that were performed in the past. So, do not resort to adharma," he thundered.
So intense was Vishvamitra's rage that the earth shook and the gods trembled. Sage Vasishtha quickly intervened and convinced Dasharatha that Vishvamitra was an ideal guardian and would protect Rama. The king finally acceded to the sages' wishes.
The brothers set forth
As Rama and Lakshmana left Ayodhya, flowers rained down from heaven. They walked half a yojana (about 6.5 km or 4 miles), until they reached the southern banks of the River Sarayu.
Vishvamitra asked them to touch water from the river and receive the divine powers, Bala and Atibala. With this, he said, Rama would not face hunger or thirst and would have incomparable strength.
The next morning, they walked to the confluence of the rivers Ganga and Sarayu, where they came upon Anga. home to a group of fierce sages who were disciples of Shiva, the god of Destruction. The princes and Vishvamitra decided they would spend the night here.
Pleased with the news Hanuman brought him, Rama embraced the Vanara, and the vast and powerful Vanara army marched to the ocean shore. Yet, the young, exiled prince of Ayodhya could not help but grieve for his beloved.
Rama spoke to Hanuman with great affection, "I cannot imagine anyone doing what you have done, except perhaps for Garuda, the king of birds. Who else could have entered that invincible city and returned alive and successful? Yet, I worry. How could we possibly go to where Sita is? How will this army cross the immense ocean?"
Keeping hope
Sugriva replied, "Mighty Rama, abandon this sorrow, for which I see no cause. You have strength, perseverance.
UNCHARTED WATERS
The painstaking search for Sita led the Vanaras to the southern ocean. Now, all that stood between Rama's army and Lanka was the vast and turbulent ocean a firm knowledge of the scriptures, and are endowed with intellect. I am certain that we shall cross the ocean. These warriors are full of enthusiasm to do your bidding and act for your sake. Your might will bring down the enemy and you will return to Ayodhya with Sita. "With allies like me, you will be victorious. Who among the beings in the three worlds could possibly stand before you when your bow is raised in battle? You will soon see Sita. Abandon sorrow and arouse your righteous anger. Your victory is certain!"
A decisive plan
Sugriva's words comforted Rama, and he turned to Hanuman and said, "We are capable of crossing this vast ocean either by drying its waters or building a bridge. Tell me, how is Ravana's fortress protected?" The Vanara described Lanka's prosperity and fortifications, and said, "It is a fearsome fortress, difficult to vanquish, even for the gods. It is on the far end of the ocean, but you cannot navigate the waters near Lanka. It's on top of a mighty mountain. Large battalions guard the four gates, and there are millions of them in the centre. However, I broke the bridges, filled the moat, burnt the city, and destroyed the gates."
They did not need the entire army, Hanuman told Rama, as Angada, the crown prince, the Vanaras Dvivida, Mainda, and Nila, and Jambavan, the king of bears, were more than enough.
The instructions
Rama replied, "Lanka will be destroyed, Hanuman." He turned to Sugriva and spoke. "This is the right time to march to Lanka. The astronomical configurations are favorable for victory, and the sun is in the optimal position.
Tomorrow, it will shift.
Auspicious omens are appearing, and I know that I shall kill Ravana and be reunited with Sita."
Rama then turned to the army and gave instructions. He said, "Nila, go to the head of the army and lead it through a route that has plenty to eat. Gaja, Gavaya, and Gavaksha, go to the front, and I will be in the middle, riding on Hanuman, with Lakshmana on Angada."
- The conflict was rooted in the long-standing territorial dispute over
Kashmir, which has been a flashpoint between India and Pakistan since their
independence in 1947.
- In early 1999, Pakistani soldiers and militants infiltrated into the
Indian side of the LoC, occupying strategic high-altitude positions in the
Kargil region. Pakistan initially denied involvement, claiming the infiltrators
were Kashmiri militants, but evidence later revealed the participation of
Pakistani troops.
Key Events:
- The Indian Army discovered the infiltration in May 1999 and launched
**Operation Vijay** to evict the intruders.
- The war was fought in harsh, high-altitude terrain, making it one of
the most challenging military campaigns in modern history.
- India mobilized significant military resources, including air power
(**Operation Safed Sagar**), to dislodge the Pakistani forces.
- Intense fighting occurred in key locations such as Tololing, Tiger
Hill, and Point 4875 (later renamed **Gun Hill** in honor of Captain Vikram
Batra, a war hero).
International Involvement:
- The international community, including the United States, pressured
Pakistan to withdraw its forces, as the conflict raised fears of a potential
nuclear escalation between the two nations.
- Pakistan eventually withdrew its troops under international pressure,
and India regained control of the occupied positions by late July 1999.
Aftermath:
- The war resulted in significant casualties on both sides, with India
officially reporting around 500 soldiers killed and Pakistan's casualties
estimated to be higher.
- The conflict further strained India-Pakistan relations and highlighted
the risks of nuclear confrontation in South Asia.
- In India, the Kargil War is remembered as a symbol of national pride,
with the bravery of soldiers celebrated annually on **Kargil Vijay Diwas**
(July 26).
The Kargil War remains a significant event in the history of
India-Pakistan relations, underscoring the ongoing tensions over Kashmir and
the fragility of peace in the region.
"Kargil: A Symphony of
Sacrifice"
Kargil, O Kargil, your name echoes far,
A sentinel of mountains, where the brave are.
On ridges high, where the cold winds scream,
Heroes stood firm, defending a dream.
With hunger-gnawing, and frostbitten hands,
They climbed the cliffs and crossed treacherous
lands.
Grenades strapped tightly, they faced the fight,
For Mother India, they embraced the night.
Snow-covered peaks, where the eagles soar,
Witnessed the valour, the thunderous roar.
Through ravines deep, and slopes so steep,
They crawled, they fought, their promise to keep.
They threw away meals, to carry more fire,
Ammunition and courage were their only desire.
Enemy bunkers, built in stealth and deceit,
Were blown to dust, their plans faced defeat.
The tricolour rose, through smoke and pain,
On Tiger Hills, it waved again.
A lesson taught, in blood and pride,
To those who betrayed and chose to divide.
O Kargil, your name, etched in sacred stone,
A hallowed ground, where martyrs are known.
Pilgrims will come, with incense and tears,
To honour the fallen, through countless years.
Their war cry still echoes, in valleys and skies,
A nation’s gratitude, that never dies.
Through biting cold, and the enemy’s snare,
They proved their love, beyond compare.
O Kargil, you kindled a spirit anew,
A flame of patriotism, bold and true.
In every heart, your story is told,
Of courage unyielding, and spirits bold.
Be wary, O foe, for India has risen,
No more shall we fall to treachery’s prison.
The torch of vigilance, we now hold high,
Under the tricolour, we’ll never die.
To the martyrs of Kargil, we bow our heads,
Your sacrifice lives, though you’ve left your beds.
In deserts, plains, or mountains severe,
Your legacy whispers, “We stand firm here.”
Hats off to the brave, the heart-winners true,
You made the nation proud, in all that you do.
Through history’s pages, your names will gleam,
Forever alive, in our hearts and our dream.
Tribute to Leadership
In year 1999, when shadows loomed near,
A leader arose, with a vision clear.
Atal Bihari, with wisdom and might,
Guided the nation through the darkest night.
Operation Vijay, under his steady hand,
Reclaimed the heights, and freed the land.
A nuclear power, he made us stand tall,
A statesman revered, and beloved by all.
His words were a balm, his resolve like
steel,
In peace and in war, he served with zeal.
Through Kargil’s triumph, his legacy grew,
A beacon of hope, for the red, white, and blue.
Kargil,
O Kargil, your name we revere,
A symbol of courage, both far and near.
Your story reminds us, through darkness and strife,
The cost of freedom, the sanctity of life.
Narada,
the celestial sage born from Brahma’s mind, is a devoted messenger of Vishnu,
renowned for his wisdom and wandering nature. He plays a pivotal role in sacred
texts, guiding Vyasa to compose the Puranas and inspiring Valmiki with the tale
of Rama.
When
Valmiki seeks an ideal man, Narada describes Rama: virtuous, mighty, and
radiant as the gods. Later, while meditating by the Tamasa River, Valmiki
witnesses a hunter kill a mating curlew.
A
curlew is a medium-sized or large shorebird and having a bill that is decurved,
or sickle-shaped, curving downward at the tip. Curlews are marked, gray or
brown birds with long necks and long legs.
The
birds devoted themselves to each other, they seemed unaware to the sage. As
they made love, they were so engrossed in each other that they did not notice
the Nishada (hunter) nearby.
As
the great sage looked at the birds, the Nishada struck the male with an arrow.
It fell to the ground, trembling and soaked in its blood. Seeing her dying
mate, the female cried out in pathetic tones. Valmiki saw the struggling bird.
desperate for life and heard the cries of separation of the female.
Shocked
at this cruel interruption of love.
Valmiki,
overwhelmed with grief, reacted with deep compassion and pain.
He
spoke: The first shloka
maa
nishaada pratishtha
tvam/
agamah shashvatech samah//
yat-kraunca-mithunad-ekam/avadhih
kama-mohitam //
("O
Nishada! This couple of curlews was in the throes of passion and you killed one
of them. Therefore, you will possess ill repute for an eternal number of
years.")
Astonished
that he had spoken these words aloud, Valmiki wondered, "What are these
words that I have uttered while overcome with sorrow?"
Grief,
in verse-
Overcome
by grief, Valmiki suddenly utters a rhythmic curse—the first shloka—birthing
Sanskrit poetry. This moment transforms sorrow into art, marking the dawn of
epic storytelling.
When Hanuman crossed the ocean and reached Lanka, some versions of the Ramayana tell of his encounter with the city’s guardian deity. After defeating her, she revealed an ancient prophecy—Brahma had foretold that a vanara would conquer her, signaling doom for the rakshasas. In Krittibas Ojha’s Bengali retelling, the guardian is Chamunda, who had been waiting for Hanuman, as Shiva had told her she could only return home once she met him.
Hanuman, undeterred by his journey, shrank to a tiny form to avoid detection. Lanka’s splendor awed him—golden ramparts, towering palaces, and fierce rakshasa guards. Vishvakarma, the divine architect, had built this fortress, and Hanuman wondered: Even if Rama arrives, how will he breach these walls? But his mission was clear—find Sita.
A City of Illusions
Under the cover of night, Hanuman slipped into Ravana’s palace, where a thousand queens lay in deep slumber. None bore the grief of captivity—none could be Sita. He saw Ravana himself, resplendent on a crystal throne, and Mandodari, his queen, but Sita was nowhere. A flicker of doubt arose: Had Ravana killed her? Had she perished in despair?
For a moment, guilt gnawed at him—Is it wrong to gaze upon these women?—but he reassured himself: My mind is pure; my duty is just. Yet, the fear remained—what if Sita was already lost? The consequences of failure loomed: Rama’s heartbreak, the fall of the Ikshvakus, the ruin of the vanaras. I cannot return empty-handed, he resolved. I will search until I find her—or perish trying.
Divine Guidance
As despair threatened to overtake him, Hanuman entered the Ashoka grove, praying to the gods for success. In Valmiki’s version, he merely glimpsed Vibhishana’s palace, but Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas adds a deeper layer—Hanuman noticed signs of Rama’s worship outside Vibhishana’s home. When Vibhishana awoke, murmuring Rama’s name, Hanuman approached. The righteous rakshasa reassured him, guiding him to Sita’s hidden prison.
This moment—where faith meets fate—shows Hanuman’s perseverance and the unseen hand of divine will. His journey through Lanka was not just a search but a test of devotion, wisdom, and unyielding resolve.
The earth split like an overripe fruit, revealing a cavern where time itself seemed to petrify. From the darkness, a voice rose—weathered but regal, the sound of stone remembering it was once flesh. "I waited, Hanuman, for you." The statue’s eyes, long sealed by a curse, crumbled to dust as he approached. "Break these chains," she whispered, "and let the light return." His fingers found the cracks in ancient enchantment, and with a roar, the prison shattered. Sunlight, absent for centuries, flooded the underworld.
Sampathi's Wings, A Brother’s Redemption
The vulture king’s wings were ruins—charred relics of a brother’s failed defiance. But at the name Jatayu, something stirred in the hollow bones. "You knew him?" Hanuman asked, and the crippled creature shuddered. Then, like dawn breaking over a battlefield, understanding came. "Rama!" Sampathi bellowed, and with that cry, the desiccated feathers caught fire—not with flame, but with golden radiance. Muscle and sinew reknit as the sun’s blessing surged through him. Where a broken thing had crouched, now stood a king of the skies once more.
Hanuman’s Leap, A Curse Recalled
The ocean roared its challenge, waves gnashing like teeth. "You once could touch the moon’s high crest," Jambavan murmured, the memory sparking in Hanuman’s blood. The forgotten power awoke—not as a flood, but as a tide returning. One step forward, and the mountain became a pebble beneath him. One breath, and the wind itself held still in expectation. Then—release.
Lanka’s towers, arrogant in their distance, suddenly trembled. Something brighter than their stolen gold was coming. The sea would not be crossed.
