Chapter 8
Rama'sCoronation The Limits of Restoration

This book has described two primary means by which the puppeteers recontextualize Kampan's Ramayana. While chapters 4 and 5 emphasized the narrative alterations that occur within the drama-house, chapters 6 and 7 argued that the oral commentary and conversations place performance even more firmly in the hands of the puppeteers. Such a separation of narrative content from performative technique is artificial, of course, and this final chapter brings them together in a discussion of the voices that challenge the bhakti text. These countervailing voices are particularly audible in the concluding episodes of the epic, and especially in the very last scene, Rama's coronation (pattabisekam ), where they test the limits of that restoration. With that scene, the puppet play, Kampan's poem, and this book conclude.

The translation below covers the final two nights of performance—Ravana's death and Rama's return to Ayodhya. I recorded them at Palappuram, a major site of the puppet tradition nearly twenty miles west of Palghat and a few miles north of the Bharatapuzha River. Palappuram is a prosperous town, boasting a private college and a complex of three Bhagavati temples, which sponsor an elaborate annual festival (puram ), complete with papier-mache horses in mock combat and a series of special events (Kathakali, modern drama, classical music) that rival the famous festival at Trichur, not far away. In a society that ranks festivals by the number of elephants, Palappuram need not be ashamed of its twenty-four pachyderms hired for the occasion. Mixing the sprawling chaos of an American county fair with the fervor of a

Hindu religious pageant, the Bhagavati festival attracts sprawling crowds who mill around the temple grounds and frequent the temporary stalls to purchase food, beverages, puja accessories, cassette tapes of "bhakti pop," and, what is truly indispensable, firecrackers. The Pa-lappuram temple complex hosting this festival is the hub of a network of smaller temples located in surrounding villages that help underwrite seventeen nights of shadow puppetry—a measure of local wealth and the prestige of the tradition here. Even more impressive were the twelve puppeteers (three or four are the norm) who filled the spacious, two-storied drama-house on the opening night in 1989. Nevertheless, and as I had learned to expect, near midnight, when the performance formally began, the crowds evaporated and these puppeteers sang to themselves. During the two performances translated here, which presented the colossal events of Ravana's death and Rama's coronation, the nights were so still that I could hear the wooden wheels of bullock carts creaking on the asphalt road behind the drama-house.

The puppeteers of Palappuram are Tamil-speaking Mutaliyars who have practiced the art of shadow puppetry since they migrated from Tamil Nadu three or four hundred years ago.^[1] Today they live in a cluster of streets set back from the busy state highway that roars straight through Palappuram. Leaving that main road and turning into their neighborhood, one enters a tiny Tamil enclave. The visual effect is immediate———the Mariyamman temple at the near end of the street and the Ganesa temple at the far end rise up in sculpted stone towers (rather than slope down with the wooden roofs of Kerala temples). Walking down this narrow street, one also hears a curious slapping sound, for inside the houses men sit at their pit looms, pulling the wooden shuttle back and forth—the same men who sit on a wooden bench and chant the Rama story in the drama-house. Every year at festival time these Tamil families pool their money and construct a large papier-mache horse to compete with those constructed by other settlements and villages in the mock battles at the Bhagavati temple in Palappuram; they do not, however, hold puppet plays in their own temples.^[2] This small cluster of Tamil families surrounded by Malayalis replicates the position of the puppet play in the Bhagavati festival.

Presiding over this little kingdom of puppeteers and weavers is An-namalai Pulavar, a wispy, frail man in his late sixties. He is president of the local weavers' cooperative society, he owns some land, he leads the performances inside the drama-house, and his ancestral house dominates the main street in the Tamil quarter. Climbing a few steps out of

the hot street, one enters a front room where guests are received and business transacted, and it is there I sit in a battered metal folding chair whenever I come to interview the grand old man. Hospitality is never lacking—good coffee, ripe bananas and homemade sweets were plen-tiful-but talking with Annamalai Pulavar does not fill many pages in my notebook. Although courteous, he seems to take little pleasure in talking about the puppet play. People he does discuss, especially his rival puppeteers, who "knew next to nothing," and the German researcher who came ten years ago and bought two manuscripts "for five hundred rupees;" he raises his hand high and spreads his fingers wide to make sure I count them. Attempting to deflect the conversation away from this tiresome issue, I ask questions about last night's performance, why Vibhisana said such and such to Rama, but he quickly loses interest and glances out the window, preoccupied. In the drama-house, however, his enthusiasm is unbounded, as evidenced by the eighty-minute commentary he delivered at the outset of the translation that follows. Sitting ramrod straight on the wooden bench, the gold settings of his stud earrings gleaming in the lamp light, he fixes a determined stare on everyone and commands high standards from his associates. He is physically enfeebled now and appears to wander at times, but his absorption in the epic characters has never filled to produce a convincing performance.

The translation follows directly on the previous translation and covers the final two nights of performance. We pick up the action at the end of the "Song of the Drama-House" (after the Brahmin puppets have thanked the sponsors) when Indra (Annamalai Pulavar) explains his good fortune at Indrajit's death.

Rama's Coronation

[Brahmin puppets ] "Indrajit is dead and when Ravana hears this news, he certainly will not sit idly in his palace."

"Certainly not. Moved by grief for his last surviving son, he will rise to fight Rama."

"And then we can watch the great battle between Rama and Ravana, but exactly how it will end we can't say."

"True. We know what to expect in general, but not the details."

"So let's wait here and watch what happens on the battlefield."

[The Brahmin puppets leave, and gods appear overhead. As they watch Angada carry Indrajit's head in procession to Rama, Indra begins to sing :]

Like the blemish on the moon in the night sky,
My humiliation, I feared, would never fade away;
But this brave bowman has erased it forever,
Now no obstacle, no travail, mars my good fortune!^[3]

"Do you realize what has just happened?"

"Tell us, Indra Maharaja."

"This long struggle between Rama and Ravana is now ending. In-drajit was Ravana's life [uyir ], and once the life is gone the body will not live long. Ravana may have conquered the Three Worlds, but no one was a greater warrior than Indrajit. Twice he knocked Laksmana unconscious; twice Rama lost heart, cursed dharma, and almost killed himself. Only an eagle and then a monkey saved them from final defeat, and from death. Armed with Siva mantras and maya , Indrajit was invincible except against a person who had fasted in the forest for fourteen years. Remember, too, that this demon once defeated and imprisoned me, earning the name Conqueror of Indra. Ever since that day I have lived in unending fear, but now Laksmana's arrow has removed its source.^[4]

"To understand how much I feared Indrajit, think of the moon, for it, too, is a raja, a monarch of the night. Even the splendor of the full moon, however, is diminished by scars on its surface, and Indra-jit's curse on my life seemed as indelible as those black marks."

"How did the moon get its marks, Indra?"

"It's a long story, more than one story in fact, but you should know them for they take us back to the original form of Siva, the Pure Light, without physical shape or quality, the light of lights that illumines all the worlds."

"All the worlds?"

"There's a piramanam for that: 'The primordial man has ninety-six million locks of hair.^[5] Each lock holds one thousand million worlds; within each world is a set of Siva, Visnu, Brahma, sages, and Brahmins.' This explains how the original Siva stretches through space: his head is the heavens; his feet the netherworlds; his eight limbs the

eight directions; his two eyes the sun and the moon. And his moon eye was without blemish. It preceded even the gods."

"How is that?"

"One story is that the moon was born from the eye of a sage named Atri. It happened this way. Another sage, Narada, wished to humble the three goddesses Sarasvati, Laksmi and Parvati, who thought no woman was more beautiful than they. Narada had peanuts made from the purest gold, put them in a pot, and went to Sarasvati. Bowing with respect, he said: 'I'm hungry. Can you fry these golden peanuts so that I can eat?' But she replied, 'I'm not able to accomplish that task. Ask Laksmi in Vaikunta.'

"In the end, none of the goddesses—not Sarasvati, not Laksmi, not even Parvati in Kailasa———could cook the golden peanuts. So Narada took the pot of peanuts in search for someone to feed him, and eventually he came to Atri's hermitage. The sage was lost in meditation, but his wife, Anasuya, greeted Narada; and when he asked her to feed him by frying the peanuts, she said, 'I will, by the powers of my chastity.' Taking the pot in her hand, she meditated for a few minutes and then served ordinary, hot peanuts. Rather than eat them, however, Narada ran to the goddesses and showed them what Anasuya had done. Immediately they went to their husbands, Brahma, Visnu, and Siva, touched their feet in deference, and made a request: 'Please go to earth and test the chastity of Atri's wife, Anasuya. She appears to be chaste, but who knows?'

"At first the goddesses' husbands refused: 'No thanks. She's powerful and might trick us. Besides, everyone knows she's pure. No need to test her.' Their wives persisted, and eventually the gods agreed. Disguised as wandering holy men, they marched up to Anasuya, but she knew who they were and spoke innocently:

"'Welcome, sages. What do you require?'

"'Feed us, please. But you must do so without clothes.'

"'Bathe first, and I will feed you.'

"When the gods left to bathe, Anasuya thought, 'If I am to serve them without any clothes, let them return as newborn babies.' And so Siva, Visnu, and Brahma were transformed into little babies whom Anasuya held in her lap and fed soft rice. Later she placed each baby in a cradle and sang them to sleep. When Narada reported this to the three goddesses, they went quickly to Anasuya, who received

them graciously: 'To what do I owe the honor of your visit?' Sarasvati spoke first, 'You have turned our husbands into babies; please return them to us.'

"'They are here,' said sweet-natured Anasuya, 'in these cradles. Please find your husband and take him.' Sarasvati stepped up and looked into each cradle again and again but she could not identify her husband Brahma, for the babies had identical faces, like the six faces of Murukan when he was born. Then Laksmi and Parvati tried to find their husbands, but they, too, were frustrated. Finally, the three goddesses begged Anasuya to restore their husbands to their real forms; Anasuya agreed and the three gods appeared as one! At that moment, her husband, Atri, arrived, saw what had happened, and spoke to the goddesses: 'Are you ignorant of the fact, of the reality, that your husbands, Brahma, Visnu, and Siva, are one?' The goddesses lowered their heads in shame, and the three gods, through Anasuya's powers, separated out from their united form and rejoined their wives individually.

"She bade them farewell for it was twilight, but as the humiliated goddesses walked back to their heavenly homes, they cursed her: 'If she is so pure, let her lose her husband and suffer as a widow when the sun rises.' Narada told Anasuya of the curse, and she began to worship Surya, the Sun God: 'Do not rise again. Do not rise or my husband will die and I will suffer as a widow.' On the next morning, the sun did not rise and the earth remained dark endlessly, day after day, until the gods shouted in anger, 'That woman has plunged the world into total darkness.' They marched to the earth where they begged Atri to forgive their wives' pettiness and restore light to the world. Listening intently, Atri spoke: 'Let the sun and moon be born from my eyes.'

"That's one story, but the moon has other origins, as this piramanam explains: 'From Atri's eyes; from Visnu's navel; from Svaha's stomach; from the Milk Ocean; from Brahma's creation.' The worlds are created and destroyed, created and destroyed, in endless cycles. Some myths say Siva creates the worlds, some say Visnu, some Brahma, and some claim that the sages create the worlds. Once when Visnu was creating the worlds, the moon is said to have sprung from his navel; he was beautiful like Kama and women followed him with their eyes. Even Svaha, wife of Agni, the Fire God, fell in love with the moon and made love with him. Afraid that her husband

would get angry, she swallowed her lover to protect him, and later he was born from her stomach.

"Yet another story describes how the moon was born with a halo of stars from the Milk Ocean and placed in Siva's matted locks. Still another explains how Brahma created the moon. You see, gods, the stories are legion, but the point is that the moon was without blemish from the very beginning."

"But what about the 'mark,' the dark spot on the moon? How did it get there?"

"That's another story. Using the serpent Vasuki as a rope, Mt. Meru as the stick, and the moon to fasten it, the gods and demons churned the Milk Ocean. When the poison flew up, the demons dropped the snake's head, the gods dropped its tail, and they all fled. Mr. Meru would have crashed down if Visnu had not taken his tortoise-avatar and balanced the mountain on his back. Well, in the chaos, Vasuki spat out hot poison, which splattered both Visnu and the moon, and from that day Visnu's body has been dark-colored and the moon has been stained. A different story goes back to the moon's birth from Svaha, wife of Agni. They say that when the moon emerged from Svaha's stomach, Agni was so angry that he fried the moon's body like a pappadam , creating the bubbles that we see as spots.^[6]

"But the best story is about Daksa and his twenty-seven daughters.^[7] One day the handsome moon came and married them all so that he was surrounded by stars. Back in his palace, however, the moon gave attention to only one of his wives, and the other twenty-six were never called to his bed. When these daughters complained to their father, Daksa summoned the moon: 'You have failed to treat your wives equally and therefore I curse you to lose your light and become a mere shadow.' Gradually, the moon began to lose power and pass through its phases until last phase began and it was about to lose all its light. Desperate, the moon finally found the sage Agastya, who advised him to eat rabbit meat in order to regain his strength. Afraid that he might not find the meat when he wanted it, the moon grabbed several rabbits and held them close to his chest, and they are the dark spots we see on the pale moon today.

"Still another story takes us back to Kiskindha, when Rama shot his arrow straight through the seven sal trees to convince Sugriva that he

was a worthy ally in the fight against Vali. Looking at the seven trees, Rama said to Laksmana: 'Are these trees or mountains? They stretch so far into the skies that I wonder if their branches have scraped against the surface of the moon and created its dark spots.' All these stories, you must understand, prove that the moon was originally without defect and that later it was scarred."

"But, Indra, there are spots on the moon, so how can it be perfect?"

"The Bhagavata Purana says, 'Comparable to the highest reality, the moon is without blemish; its dark spot is the earth's shadow.' You see, the primordial reality has no qualities. Whether it manifests as brahman , as eternal light, as Siva, or anything else, it remains flawless. Just as any blemish we may see is a reflection of us, the earth casts its shadow on the moon: in reality, neither is intrinsically defiled. This is the truth, the absolute truth! And this is the point: I, too, was plagued by an illusory scar, by fear of Indrajit, until this moment when Laksmana cut off his head. His beheading, you are to understand, fulfills the pledge Visnu made long ago to the Earth Goddess to destroy the demons: Visnu was born as Rama, his conch as Bharata, his discus as Satrughna, and Adisesa as Laksmana, who has now destroyed Indrajit. Having lost his 'life,' his son Indrajit, Ravana is certain to die and then we can enjoy the fruits of piety, meditation, and sacrifices again. Let us shower Rama with flowers and shout his victory cry when the final battle with Ravana begins."^[8] "Yes, look below. There's a procession of monkeys led by Angada, who carries Indrajit's head to Rama."

[Rama speaks to Laksmana :]

"Welcome my mother, my brother, my life,
Come savior, come guardian of Dasaratha-Rama,
Come my precious brother, who killed the terror
While I lay in an ocean of misery.

"Laksmana! Once again you have saved me from my own doubts and fears. I placed those arrows in your hands and sent you to fight Indrajit, but—"

"I have killed him, as you commanded."

"No, Laksmana, not you alone."

"Not me? Then who?"

"Laksmana, no one can match you as a warrior, but without Hanuman neither of us would now be alive. As I lay unconscious on your body, his strength propelled him millions of miles to bring back the San-jeevi herb to revive us all. Remember also Garuda, who defeated In-drajit when he ripped apart the snake-weapon with his beak and talons, and remember Vibhisana, who defeated Indrajit by teaching you how to counter iris maya . And the gods, above all else remember the gods, who defeated Indrajit, because everything we do is their act. Still, among men, you alone were able to face and kill Indrajit in battle. I only praise the others so that they do not feel slighted and accuse me of favoring you. Now return the arrows to me."

[Ravana, who has not yet heard the news of lndrajit's death, summons his messengers :]^[9]

"What has happened to my son in his battle with Laksmana? Run quickly to the battlefield and report to me."

[One messenger ] "Sangadi, what did the raja say?"

[Sangadi ] "What? You were in front and still didn't listen?"

"I thought you were listening, so I kept quiet."

"Hmmm . . . how do we carry out instructions when we don't know what they are? Better go back and ask."

"He'll be furious."

"We'll tell a little white lie and find out what we need to know."

[They return to the palace, where Ravana receives them expectantly :]

"You're quick. What's the news?"

"News? The prices in the market are soaring."

"Not that news, you fools! My son went to war—"

"Listen. We had an accident."

"What's that?"

"You summoned us and spoke some words to us, right? Well, that fool Sangadi took all the words and tied them up in a bundle. We came to a field and had to jump across an irrigation channel. Sangadi jumped—"

"He's a good jumper."

"Yes, but when he jumped all the words fell out of his bundle and into the water."

"Did you find the words?"

"We tried to. We drank the water but only got sick!"

"Don't lie to me; this is a lot of bull."

"No, really, we wouldn't make fun of you, Ravana. We just lost your words."

"All right. I'll teach you how to remember my words. Repeat exactly what I say."

"We're ready."

"Go quickly to the battlefield . . ."

"Go quickly to the battlefield . . ."

". . . and find out whether Laksmana or Indrajit has won the battle."

". . . and find out whether Laksmana or Indrajit has won the battle."

"Get going!"

"Get going!"

"Hey, don't talk to me that way."

"Hey, don't talk to me that way."

"Take this, you fool."

"Take this, you fool."

"Enough, Sangadi. Let's go."

"We just took a beating . . . because we did what Ravana told us to do."

"But we forgot his words the first time. Anyway, we better go to the battlefield and report back quickly."

[Reaching the battlefield, they survey the corpses .]^[10]

"Here's the battlefield. Look, there's Indrajit's indestructible chariot and bow."

"Who's that, lying down over there?"

"Does it look like Indrajit?"

"Can't see."

"Does he have a pottu on his forehead?"^[11]

"I'll go have a look. Oh, god, he doesn't even have a head!"

"Check his right hand; he wore a jeweled ring."

"Can't see. Too bloody. Oh, it is Indrajit!"

"It is? That's terrible . . . for Ravana I mean. He's lost all his brothers, and now all his sons."

"We must somehow tell him of this loss and show proper grief when we do it."

"Why? What's the loss of Indrajit to us?"

"I agree, but if we don't want Ravana's fury unleashed on us, we'd best pretend."

"Right. It's monsoon time again, and I guess we can put some chilies in our eyes to make us cry."

"We'll manage somehow."

[They sing a mock dirge, a parody of what Ravana will later sing :]

"Oh, Indrajit, our nation's son, you've gone forever!
Sangadi, Sangadi.
Oh, Indrajit, our local boy, we've lost you forever,
Sangadi, Sangadi."

"Why are you calling 'Sangadi' and putting me into a funeral song?"

"Nothing special. When someone dies, everyone gathers and sings whatever comes into their heads. It's the same the whole world over. That's all."

[When they reach the palace, Ravana speaks :]

"What's all this crying about? I sent you to find out about my son, and you come back singing a funeral song."

"Sangadi's only son died just three days after receiving his college degree."

"Too bad, but it will pass. But what about my son?"

"Your son?"

"Yes! He went to war!"

"Oh, that. It's like this—"

"You mean he defeated his enemies, right?"

"No. It's just that—"

"What? He went to heaven?"

"Maharaja, Ravana, listen: your son has been killed by Laksmana." "No! Not him, too! [Ravavna moves toward Indrajit's body and cries out .] This cannot be! Not long ago you seized Indra's throne as if it were a mere plaything, and fragrant garlands wreathed your body that now lies beheaded, to be eaten by vultures and dogs. Simply because I loved that woman Sita, today I must perform for you the funeral rites that one day you should have performed for me.

"When you were a baby, I watched you grow stronger day by day, like the waxing moon. Every day I prayed hard that I would see you defeat the gods, but now I see only your headless body. We all must die some day, I know, but must it be this horrible? I remember, too, the games we played when you were a baby, and I still hear the jingle of silver bells on your tiny feet. One day you caught two lion cubs and tumbled with them in the grass while I watched and laughed. At night I used to hold you on my lap and feed you soft rice until the moon rose; I pointed to it and sang, 'Come down, little moon, come down and play with my little boy.' And you, when you saw that rabbit in the moon, you jumped up and down, trying to catch it! But, oh, my son, what pleasures can now be mine?"

[After prayers to Siva, Ravana and his Tiff bathe Indrajit's body and prepare it for cremation. Then Ravana shouts :]

"I can't stand it anymore! I've lost my brothers and my sons, and it's she, it's Sita, who's to blame. With one swing of this sword I'll cut her in two! [He rushes toward the Ashoka grove and meets Mahodara, his Prime Minister .] Out of my way, step aside."

"What is your destination, Ravana?"

"Out of my way!"

"I am your Prime Minister and deserve to know your plans, sir."

"I'm going to the Ashoka grove."

"Going to talk with Sita?"

"Not exactly."

"Then?"

"Did you know that Indrajit is dead?"

"No."

"Well, you know it now. All my brothers and sons are dead, and Rama's wife has caused it all. She deserves to die. Out of my way!"

"Ravana, you are respected as a great raja and a brave warrior. Why bring disgrace upon yourself by killing an innocent woman?"

"Disgrace?"

"If you take up your sword in anger and kill a woman known for her purity, everyone will mock you. Siva, Visnu, and Brahma, from whom you descend, will clap their hands and laugh: 'That Ravana is truly great! He kills innocent women!'"

"You are right . . . you are right. It would be wrong."

"Besides you have another duty."

"To go to battle."

"Yes, against Rama, not Sita. Think: If you kill Sita and then defeat Rama—and in this second battle you will be victorious—when you return to the throne, your love for her will torment you."

"Hmmm."

"You. will live with her memory, but she won't be there. Without brothers, without sons, and without Sita, suicide might be your only course. Therefore, first go to war against Rama."

"What you say is correct, but there's a problem."

"What?"

"You, me, Maliyavan, and the messengers are the only ones left. Everyone else has died in battle."

[ Mahodara reminds Ravana that a ferocious horde of demons, once attached to Kumbhakarna, live in the netherworld. They are summoned and advance to Lanka, creating a huge dust storm that blackens the sky. Having reached the palace, they address Ravana :]^[12]

"Brother of Surpanakha, Kumbhakarna, and Vibhisana, master of the Sama Veda, shaker of Mr. Kailasa, Conqueror of the Cosmic Elephants, Dasagriva, we bow our humble heads at your lotus feet. Why have you called us here?"

"I've called you to help me accomplish a task. Two princes of the solar dynasty, Rama and Laksmana, and Rama's wife, Sita, built a hut in the forest at Pancavati. When my sister, Surpanakha, passed the spot and saw Sita's beauty, she attempted to bring her to Lanka as my wife, but Rama's brother Laksmana cut off her nose and breasts. When, in blood and tears, she told me this story, I resolved to avenge her humiliation. And so, with Marica's help, I went myself to Pancavati and brought Sita back to Lanka."

[Vanni, leader of the new armies ] "And you've invited us here for your marriage to Sita?"

"No . . . we're not . . . married yet. I mean, certain circumstances have arisen . . ."

"Circumstances?"

"The trouble began when Hanuman, son of the Wind God, entered Lanka and found Sita. He left, but not before he killed my son Aksakumaran and thousands of demons and set fire to the city. Then Rama and his monkey armies set siege to the city, and the battles began. I lost the first battle and, then, one by one, I lost my brother Kumbhakarna and my sons Atikayan and Indrajit—all killed in battle. That is why I have called you: to face my enemies in battle tomorrow."

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean 'all'?"

"We thought you had summoned us to lift up the earth, or to pulverize the Seven Mountains, or to drink up the Seven Seas. And now you tell us it's only to fight a couple of humans and a troop of monkeys!"

"Do not dismiss lightly these humans and monkeys?'

[Maliyavan ] "Wisely spoken. Ravana had the same attitude when Rama and his army first set siege to Lanka. Besides, those puny humans, as you call them, vanquished Vali."

'Vali? Really?"

"And they killed your leader, Kumbhakarna."

"They killed Kumbhakarna?"

"Yes. As for the monkeys, one named Hanuman leaps over oceans, sets cities on fire, and makes widows by the thousands."

"I see. It's not a marriage we've been invited to—it's a real war!"

[In the morning, after a natakam of celestial dancers, Ravana and Vanni lead their armies to the battlefield; Indra, watching from above, addresses the gods :]

"Look, Ravana and his armies have massed for another attack. They have a thousand divisions, but Rama only—"

"Do not worry, Indra, even a million demons cannot kill Rama."

"I know you are right. Still, let us chant for his victory as we watch the battle."

[While the gods chant 'Victory to Rama,' the limitless demon army takes the field. Seeing them, Jambuvan loses heart and leads the monkeys in flight, but Rama sends Angada to stop them .]

"Halt! Halt!"

"Angada, come on, we're running for our lives. What can our seventy divisions do against their thousand? We'd only make a meal for them! I'm not ready to die yet."

"Jambuvan! Don't say that. Once, at my father's death, you spoke brave words and now you talk of retreat!"

"You're a young boy, Angada, and cannot understand what these demons can do in battle. Ravana has hordes, and this time Rama will not defeat him."

"But, surely Laksmana, Hanuman, and Sugriva—"

"Don't be naive. Do you think we are anything more than bodyguards to them? Did anyone protect my son, Vacantan, when Kumbhakarna mauled him? And no one will stop the pain when you die, either. Better to escape into the forest and drink pure water and eat fresh fruits. Let Rama win or lose; what's it to us anyway? Why should we die for them?"

"Jambuvan, do you think—"

"Listen, you just mentioned that I spoke to you at your father's death. What do you know of death if you've only seen one?"

"Well, what do you know of death?"

"Boy, I've seen death since the day I was born, since the third day of this era. Mali and Maliyavan, Kala Nemi and Hiranya, Madhu and Kaitabha—where are they all now?"

"Sure, sure, Jambuvan, but who killed Madhu and Kaitabha?"

"What?"

"Who killed Madhu and Kaitabha?"

"Er . . . Visnu."

"And who killed Hiranya?"

"It was Visnu . . . in his man-lion avatar."

"And who is going to kill these demons who face us now?"

"It will be Rama . . . as Visnu's avatar. I see what you mean, Angada. But how can I face Rama after this disgraceful retreat?"

"Don't worry, I'll make sure that Rama knows nothing."^[13]

[Amid loud war drums and furious fighting, Ravana hurls a spear at Vibhisana, but Laksmana steps in front and receives it in his chest. Hanuman, sent again by. Vibhisana, brings medicinal herbs and revives the lifeless Laksmana; Ravana's armies are annihilated.^[14] From his palace tower Ravana sees the massive destruction and prepares to fight Rama. As he mounts his chariot, he speaks to Mandodari, Mahodara, and his private troops:]

"This will be the final battle. From tomorrow, either Sita or Mandodari will live as a widow. You soldiers who remain alive, fight beside me against Rama."

[As the war drums roll below, Siva speaks to Indra :]

"Ravana has finally ridden out to battle against Rama in his flower-chariot. But, look, Rama is on foot! Send him your chariot, Indra."

[Indra sends his chariot to Rama, who mounts it and arrives on the battlefield; Mahodara enters first and Rama kills him with many arrows, each severing a separate part of his body.^[15] Suddenly a strange cry startles Rama.]

"Who are you?"

"I'm an umbrella holder."

"I can see that! What are you doing on this battlefield?"

"Look. You have killed everyone in sight. All that remains is Ravana himself."

"So?"

"When he comes to battle, you'll kill him, too."

"I will."

"Before you . . . er . . . do away with him, can you give me some lib'ation?"

"You're thirsty?"

"No. I want you to fight me so I can get lib'ation."

"You mean you want me to kill you and grant you 'liberation'?"

"Yes, but first I would like your blessings."

"What do you wish for?"

"Well, in this life I've had to scrape by, so in the next birth I want to be rich. Second, my body looks like a shrunken gourd, so next

time I want to be handsome 'cause then women will wink at me instead of spitting betel juice in my direction."

"Wealth and beauty—what else does one need? Meditate on my name and they are yours. Now you must die."

[Rama raises his sword, but the umbrella holder cringes :]

"Ooooouch!"

"You shouldn't fear death."

"I know, but I do . . . just a little."

[Rama kills him. The war drums announce Ravana's entrance on the battlefield .]

"Prepare to meet your death, Rama.

Listen here, human!
Do not think Ravana will lose this battle!
Fierce arrows will bathe your body in blood
And Yama will come for you today!"

[ Rama responds :]^[16]

"Compassion spared you in the first battle,
But don't count on that today, Mr. Ravana.
I offer your head as a gift to the gods.
Look quickly, behold my war dance!"

"Listen, Rama. . . .

Down in Patala, in the skies, in Lanka,
On middle earth, on Wheel Mountain, upon Mt. Meru,
My flower-chariot flies, and you, poor human,
Cannot conquer my victory. flag.

"Rama! Look above you. Gods and humans have gathered to watch our majestic battle. You in Indra's chariot and I in my flower-chariot, we will fight on earth, in the netherworlds, and in the heavens—over the full length and breadth of the worlds. Let no one say this was an ordinary battle."

"Fly where you wish, Ravana. Choose the spot for your death?"

"On earth!"

[They battle eveywhere, but as neither Rama nor Ravana is able to gain an advantage, Ravana turns to his priest .]

"Sukra, this Rama seems invincible. Is there no way to defeat him?"

"Go to Patala Lanka, raise a sacrificial fire, and from it you will receive a special bow and arrow with which you can kill Rama."

[With Mandodari's help, Ravana chants mantras and raises a fire. Unable to find Ravana, Rama is confused and complains to Vibhisana, who finds Ravana raising the fire, assumes the form of a bee and stings the fire, a bad omen which Ravana curses. Vibhisana resumes his normal form and reports to Rama :]

"Act quickly, Rama! Ravana is building a huge fire in the nether-world to gain new weapons. Destroy that fire immediately!"

"Go, Vibhisana, destroy the sacrifice! And if you fail, drag Ravana's wife by the hair to the sacrifice for that will surely disturb his concentration and his sacrifice."

[On Rama's orders, Vibhisana flies on Hanuman's back, battles the demons, and scatters the fire^[17] Then Mandodari addresses Ravana:]

"The sacrifice has been destroyed! Now I'll have to light a fire for your funeral!"

"No, Mandodari. Do not worry; no one can kill me, and my only sorrow is that I will outlive you."

[On the battlefield, Rama and Ravana counter each other's weapons until, finally, Rama is able to cut off Ravana's heads and arms but not kill him. Rama then speaks to a sage :]

"Agastya, each time I sever one of Ravana's heads, another grows in its place."

"Pray to the Sun God and he will reveal a secret."

[Rama sings and Surya appears .]

"Surya, is there no way to kill Ravana?"

"Rama, listen carefully. Ravana's strength lies in a pot of ambrosia hidden in the left side of his chest. If you destroy it with your Brahma-weapon, he will die and you will be absolved of the sin of killing a Brahmin."^[18]

[Rama shoots his Brahma-weapon, which pierces Ravana's chest and destroys the pot of ambrosia .]

"Now I'll cut off nine of his heads. Done! And with this final arrow I'll sever his tenth and final head!"

[When Rama cuts off his last head, Ravana slowly chants a verse in praise of Rama :]

"Govinda! All-Knowing Visnu! Ramachandra! In my final moments, grant me your blessings."

"Whatever you wish, Ravana."

"You are destined to destroy me in three incarnations. In your man-lion incarnation you killed me as Hiranya, and now in your human form you kill me as Ravana. In your next incarnation, I ask that you kill me and take me to heaven with you.^[19] Show compassion and grant me this request."

"Granted."

"My second request is that you show me your cosmic form?"

"Granted, but first you must cover your eyes to protect them,"

[Rama reveals his absolute form; Ravana chants Rama's names and then speaks :]

"Rama, kill me as I meditate on your cosmic form."

"Gods, l, Rama, now kill Ravana!"

[An arrow is placed through the Ravana puppet, which is then splashed with red dye and left dangling from the cloth screen while the gods sing :]

     "'Rama, Rama' in my heart
     'Rama, Rama,' in my deepest dreams
'Rama, Hari-Rama,'
     I call out every day
When fear strikes
     or life is cruel,
I simply call your name,
     'Rama, Hari-Rama.'"

[Vibhisana tells Rama that the monkeys are mutilating Ravana's corpse and that he cannot bear to watch. Rama orders the monkeys to desist, and they answer :]

"But, Rama, he's evil."

"No longer. Leave him and let Vibhisana perform the last rites for his brother."

[Vibhisana approaches Ravana's body and is overcome with grief :]

     "Poison does not kill if not swallowed,
     yet the fatal poison called Sita
Strtck you dead when you looked at her;
Destroyer of kings, Yama to gods,

     mighty brother, dead on the field,
What do you think now of my words
     that once you scorned?"^[20]

[Mandodari comes to her husband's body and wails :]

"When Rama's arrows ravaged and covered from head to toe
Your splendid body that shook Mt. Kailasa and white-flowered Siva,
Did they enter looking for your life force?
Or for that secret chamber where you hid love for sweet-haired Sita"^[21]

[Fireworks celebrate Ravana's death outside the drama-house .]

[Vibhisana ] "Mandodari, grief is useless now. Our duty is to cremate his body properly."

"Yes. I will bathe, put on new white clothes, and prepare to burn with him on the pyre."

[The fire lit, Mandodari burns with Ravana. Rama then orders Laksmana to conduct the coronation of Vibhisana as Raja of Lanka. After circumambulating Vibhisana, Laksmana places the crown on his head. Rama speaks :]

"Vibhisana, you must rule Lanka justly. Hanuman, bring Sita here." "And here we end the story for tonight. Tomorrow, come to Ayo-dhya and watch the coronation of Rama!"

[On the final night of performance, the Brahmin puppets speak :]

"Last night we told of the great battle, the Rama-Ravana battle, fought in the Three Worlds and eight directions. In Lanka, with Ravana dead and Vibhisana crowned Raja of the city, Hanuman sang to Sita."

"Good news, Sita, good news! Rama has killed that giant Ravana! Your perseverance, your endurance in this prison, is rewarded and your long, beautiful black hair may now join with Rama. Like Siva and Parvati, like Atri and Anasuya, Satyavan and Savitri, Hariscandra and Candramati, you and Rama will live united. By Rama's order, Vibhisana has been crowned Raja of Lanka, with Nilan, Sampati, and Annal as his ministers. Vibhisana will rule justly because he is not touched with hate, and he will treat the descendants of Ravana as his own. All the soldiers have been killed—"

"But, Hanuman, their widows . . . what of them?"

"Vibhisana will see to their welfare. Sita, why are you silent? You are like a mother to me. Speak."

"Hanuman, you see—"

"What? Tell me, what is wrong? Do you think me an imposter? I am the same Hanuman who came to you in the Ashoka grove and predicted that Rama would rescue you within a month. Rise up, Sita, and come with me to Rama."

"Hanuman, you are a true friend, and I remain silent not for the reasons that you imagine. You alone know what I suffered in Ravana's prison; abused, tormented, with no word from Rama, I decided to kill myself . . . once I tied a vine to a tree . . . and at that moment you appeared. When you left, I vowed that I would kill myself if Rama did not come within thirty days, and now you are here with this news! What does one say to a person who has twice saved one's life? I know no words and that is why I cannot speak. Even if I gave the earth, heaven, and the underworld, they would not suffice because everything in those Three Worlds is mutable, whereas you are eternal. So I have decided merely to bow my head at your feet; at least the respect you receive from me will never perish."^[22]

"No, Sita, do not bow, to me. You are a goddess, a holy mother to me. Please respect my feelings. If you must offer something, give me a boon. That will be enough."

"Ask for anything you wish."

"There is only one boon that I could possibly desire—that you and Rama will live together forever. I will be content to serve you, to bring you flowers, and keep you cool, like a deep pool of water."

"If that is your wish, it is granted."

[Meanwhile Rama addresses Vibhisana :]

"Hanuman delays, Ruler of Lanka!
Go to Sita and console her
And bring her here in full beauty
That she may dazzle my eyes!^[23]

"Where is Hanuman? I told him to bring Sita and still he has not returned. Vibhisana, bring her dressed in jewels and a sari, as if she were entering the marriage hall."

[Vibhisana turns to face Sita and Hanuman .]

"Sita, your fidelity has been rewarded. Rama has entered Lanka, destroyed Ravana, and set you free. Your husband wishes to see you; even the gods are waiting to receive you. Take off your prison clothes, and dress in your finest sari and jewels so that they will be pleased."

"Vibhisana, you are Rama's messenger and I do not wish to oppose you or my husband. But consider this: everyone knows that I have been separated from Rama for a year, imprisoned in Ravana's palace. What would those gods, sages, and royal women think if they see me appear in my wedding jewels? 'Where did she get them? She's looking pretty!' they will sneer. No, I will remain as I am, for if a woman is separated from her husband, she should remain in rags until she is reunited with him. To do otherwise would invite unkind suspicions about my conduct. Certainly, you do not wish to encourage that, and I doubt that it would give Rama pleasure, either."

"Sita! Sita! There is no need for concern on that issue. No one doubts your fidelity to Rama. We all know that since the day you were separated in Pancavati, you have refused clothes, food, even water. You are the very model of truthfulness, who never so much as thought of another man while separated from your husband. Wearing fine clothes will not tarnish your reputation. Go now and change, to please Rama."

"Vibhisana, I will accept your word as I would accept Hanuman's. Although I feel it is not proper to put on royal clothes before actually seeing Rama, I will change and join you." [She turns to Hanuman .] Why are you silent? Is something wrong?"

"No—"

"Then lead me to Rama."

[A seated Sita puppet, representing her imprisonment, is replaced by a standing Sita puppet; all puppets turn to face Rama, and Sita speaks :]

"Rama, I bow to you as my husband, as protector of all living creatures. We are only 'bodies,' and you guide us through this sea of suffering called life. Do you know, can you possibly imagine, how I longed for you? Only yesterday, I had given up all hope of ever seeing you again, and now you are here. We must resume our married life. I swear to you, Rama, that I have been faithful to you in mind, deed, and speech. If I have ever committed a minor oversight, a

child's forgetfulness, you must forgive me. For one year I suffered in Ravana's captivity—even Hanuman cannot tell you all I suffered."

"I see no signs of suffering, Sita. The only change is that your conduct has suffered."

"Rama, what are you saying? If you reject me now, I—"

"You know very well that a woman separated from her husband must not wear new clothes or jewelry, nor loosen her hair, nor enjoy good food or drink. But I see no evidence of such deprivation in you. If you had fasted for this year, like ascetics who uphold virtue, you would be weak, emaciated. But, no, you are round and healthy. And look at your clothes! Those jewels!"

"Rama, when Vibhisana came to lead me here, I was not wearing these clothes. Since the day I was captured by Ravana, I did not change my clothes or wear jewelry, but Vibhisana said you desired to see me in fine clothes. Inside I said 'No,' but Vibhisana insisted that it was your order. I have preserved my fidelity, as a gift I would offer you when you rescued me. Accept me now as your wife."

"How can I after you've been in Ravana's palace? Obviously you enjoyed yourself in his court, and now that he is dead you ask me to take you back! And you say that this is what I 'desired'? A demon's wife?"

"Rama! Believe me! I wore no other clothes until Vibhisana ordered me to change into these. Then the maidservants continued to fasten on more jewels; I said, 'No more,' but they insisted that it would please you. I did fast in Lanka; my only subsistence was your name, which I chanted and meditated upon every day. Just as the sages in the forest grow healthy in the fiercest austerities, I, too, grew strong meditating on your name. Examine my body, if you wish; you will find no trace of food."

"Do not fall at my feet and cry that I should accept you. Cry only that your Ravana is dead!"

"How can you call me a courtesan! If you believe that, you must leave me since you know the custom that a man should enter the forest when he renounces his wife. Yes, you've done your duty—killed Ravana and crowned Vibhisana—so what keeps you here in Lanka? Leave me and go into the forest as a wandering ascetic. Otherwise, why did you send for me?"

"Why? Listen.

I crossed seas, overcame fierce enemies,
Destroyed demons with lightning-fast weapons,
And came to Lanka not to rescue you,
But to rescue my own honor.^[24]

"I did not come to Lanka to rescue you; Ravana stole my wife, and I came here to remove that disgrace from my name. The demons are destroyed and my honor restored. Now—"

"What! You came here to restore your honor? Killed Ravana so that you would remove the stain on your name?"

"I came here to exonerate myself."

"Wait! Who ordered Vibhisana to bring me back dressed in fine clothes? Am I wrong to have considered him your emissary? Should he have disobeyed your command and not told me to change?"

"You repeat your claim that Vibhisana made you change your clothes, but if a woman is touched by another man, if her chastity is compromised, any good woman would first ask forgiveness from her husband. Not you. From the beginning you have professed your innocence. As for what Vibhisana said, will you obey whatever words escape from his lips? 'Will the planets stop just because Paramesvara [Siva] says "Stop"?' One's sense of decency should guide one's actions. Yours has not. Therefore, either ask forgiveness or be gone!"

"Rama! I am innocent! I have done nothing wrong. All my long and painful sacrifice in Lanka, unlike that of an ascetic, bears no fruit. How can you, who are learned and compassionate, order me to leave?"

"Who can understand women? Gods see into all things as clearly as they see into a nelli fruit, but they cannot penetrate a woman's mind.^[25] Brahma does not understand Sarasvati; Visnu lies in Laksmi's arms but does not comprehend her; even Siva, who is himself half-woman, cannot make sense of Parvati."

"How can you speak like this, Rama?

The whole world knows my chastity,
Even Brahma cannot sway nay woman's mind,
But if you who protect us all refuse me,
Can any god change your mind?^[26]

"Look closely at me, at my actions, Rama. There is only fidelity, nothing more. But if you will not believe me, there is one thing left for me to do. Laksmana, gather wood for a fire."

[Laksmana turns to Rama for permission, but Rama is silent. Laksmana stacks the wood, and Sita invokes the Fire God as the puppeteers perform a small puja behind the screen :]

"Come, Agni! Come to me! Long ago in Mithila, after Rama broke my father's bow, I invoked you as a witness to my pledge never to leave my husband. Now, once again, I call on you to bear witness: If I have ever been unfaithful to my husband, in word, thought, or deed, then burn me with your flames. If I am innocent, return me to Rama."

[Chanting Rama's name, Sita leaps into the flames, and Agni speaks :]

"Her fire is too hot! Sita's chastity is burning me. Sita, return to Rama."

[Rama ] "What is this? One woman jumps into the flames, and another emerges unharmed? Who are you?"

"No, Rama, I'm not a woman. I am Agni and she is your wife. When she entered my flames, she scorched me with her truth. She has done you no wrong.

In mind, word, and body she knew only you;
But do you harbor base thoughts,
Or are you wise, Rama?
Accept her and end her long suffering."

"Because you, Agni, vouch for her, I will accept Sita as my wife."

[Sita stands behind Rama while the gods appear overhead and address Rama :]

"Rama, have you forgotten that you are the avatar of Narayana, the protector of dharma on earth, and that Sita is Laksmi? How can you imagine that she would err? Look, above you. It's Dasaratha in his celestial form."

[Rama bows to his father, who speaks :]

"The past is over, Son, and you must prepare for your coronation. Rama, how I longed to see you. That fear—that I would never see you again—is what killed me. When I heard the words that sent you into exile and made Bharata king, they pierced my chest like sharp spears. Only now, by embracing you, have they been removed. Take

this crown that I have brought from Brahma's heaven. Take it and rule Ayodhya!"

"Father, I know full well how you suffered in granting those boons, and now I will return to Ayodhya for my coronation."

"Rama, I offer you two boons."

"These are my requests:

You gave boons to mother and brother,
Then renounced them as unworthy 'wife' and 'son';
I ask that you, my father,
Return 'mother' and 'brother' to me."^[27]

"Rama, I only renounced Kaikeyi and Bharata because I thought they had wronged you. But I was mistaken; neither acted against you. Oh, the story of those treacherous boons began even before I offered them to Kaikeyi on the battlefield. [His puppet moves upward and is removed .]^[28]

[Rama ] "Vibhisana, we must now prepare to leave for Ayodhya. But how? Is there some vehicle we can use?"

"Yes, Rama. We will use Ravana's flower-chariot."

[Laksmana, Vibhisana, and Rama settle in the chariot. In an abrupt shift, all the puppets tarn from facing left, toward Lanka, and face right, toward Ayodhya .]

"What's that, Vibhisana?"

"Ravana's tower, where he slept before a battle. If you want it, we can rip it up and take it with us."

"No. I don't need it."

[Jambuvan enters and cries out :]^[29]

"I saw Mali and Maliyavan,
I saw Kala Nemi and Hiranya,
But never have I seen
A person revoke a gift he gave!"^[30]

"Oh, I see what you mean, Jambuvan. Vibhisana, do you grant me permission to use Ravana's chariot?"

"Yes."

"Now, are we ready to depart?"

"Rama, do not leave us monkeys behind. We also want to see your coronation in Ayodhya."

"All right. Climb aboard."

"Rama, I will not set foot in that chariot."

"Jambuvan! Why not?"

"I want to see nay son, Vacantan, who led the troops against Kumbhakarna and was killed. I will not leave without him."

"I understand. Laksmana, write a message to Yama asking him to revive Vacantan and his two regiments of soldiers."

[Hanuman takes the message to Yama, who sends him to Brahma's heaven, whence he is sent to Visnu's heaven, where he retrieves the soul but not the body of Vacantan. Finally, Brahma recreates Vacantan from his soul, and Hanuman leads him back to Rama. With no further reason for delay, Rama, Sita, Laksmana, Hanuman, and all the monkeys depart for Ayodhya in the chariot. Sita speaks :]

"Rama, you came all the way from Pancavati to Lanka on foot; show me what happened along the way."

[Rama points out various landmarks of his journey to Lanka, until Sita says :]^[31]

"Tell me about this place, from which you built the bridge."^[32]

"It's called Rama's Lord [Ramesvaram] and it purifies all sins. As you know, one will suffer in hell for any of thirty thousand crimes; and if you commit one of the five heinous sins^[33] —murdering a Brahmin, a cow, your guru, wife, or parents—then you never leave hell. However, if you bathe in the holy waters of Ramesvaram, even these terrible sins, even killing a parent, will be absolved. Everything—including the greatest sin of refusing food to mendicants when you hide behind closed doors and eat sumptuously—even that unforgivable sin will be washed away in these waters."

"Is there no sin that cannot be absolved there?"

"There is: ingratitude. All else will vanish, like dew drops before the sun, but not repaying a kindness done on your behalf—that's never excused. As the proverb says: 'To forget a small kindness is not a small error.' And now we need to build a Siva temple here at Ramesvaram. Hanuman, go to Kaci and bring back a Siva lingam."

[When Hanuman does not return, Rama grows impatient and orders Sita to form a lingam from the sand, but just as Sita completes her lingam, Hanuman appears with his .]

"Hanuman ... you were a little late, so Sita has made a lingam with her own hands. We have just consecrated it, infusing it with life. This lingam might curse yours, so we must separate them. Curl your tail around ours, and move it over there."

[Hanuman ] "Ugh! I can't budge it. Not an inch!"

"Leave it where it is. All who come here to Ramesvaram will worship your lingam first, and afterwards, this Rama lingam. If anyone worships the Rama lingam before your Siva lingam, then their sins will not be absolved by bathing here. Now, we must continue our journey back to Ayodhya."

[Flving in the chariot, Rama points out landmarks of their adventures in exile, and Sita recalls that Bharadwaj invited them to visit his ashram on their return, but Rama recalls something else :]

"Remember also what Bharata swore on the day we left him fourteen years ago: 'If you do not return by sunrise on the first day of the fifteenth year, I will immolate myself.' Hanuman, go quickly and tell Bharata that we are here in Bharadwaj's ashram."

[Scene switches to Bharata and Satrughna on the outskirts of Ayodhya, where they have lived in semi-exile since Rama left .]

[Bharata ] "Satrughna, Rama has not yet returned and time is running out! We must determine the exact time; consult the Brahmins."

"They say it's exactly two hours until sunrise."^[34]

"And still Rama is not here. I gave my word to Rama and I will keep it. Prepare the fire pit immediately."

"But Bharata! Let me talk with Kausalya first."

[Kausalya arrives and speaks :]

"Bharata—"

"I gave my promise to Rama and I intend to fulfill it. That is all."

"Bharata, there may be a million Ramas, but you are incomparable. Your death would leave the world without compassion. If Rama does not come tonight, he will come tomorrow. Do not throw away your life uselessly."

"Mother, even you cannot sweep away my vow to Rama. I have said that I will die on the first morning of the fifteenth year, and that time has come."

"Bharata, listen to me—"

"No. Satrughna, is the fire ready?"

"Ready."

"Rama, Rama, Rama—"

[As Bharata jumps into the flames, Hanuman arrives disguised as a Brahmin and speaks :]

"Stop! Stop! Rama has come! He and Laksmana are at Bharadwaj's ashram. Your death would have accomplished nothing. There! I've put out the fire."

"But who are you?"

"Hanuman, son of Vayu and emissary of Rama. [Brahmin puppet removed; Hanuman puppet pinned up ] Here is Rama's signet ring."

"His ring? Then, I accept you."

"Come, let's all go to greet Rama. Climb in this chariot; later I'll tell you the long story of what happened." [They fly back to Rama .]

"Rama! Greetings to you, brother."

"Bharata, tell me about Ayodhya. How is everyone?"

"Since the day you left, Rama, I have been engaged in austerities. You must ask Sumantra about the affairs of state since they were left to him."

"Tell us, Sumantra. What has transpired during these fourteen years?"

"Rama, ...

Like women desiring ornaments of gold
Like grain aching for fresh rain,
Like mothers longing for their first son
We waited and waited, for you.^[35]

"This verse, better than anything I might say, describes Ayodhya since your departure; we have done nothing but think of your return: 'Is it today that he comes? Tomorrow?' No other words have been spoken in Ayodhya for fourteen years."

[Bharata ] "Rama, we must prepare for your coronation. First bathe in the Sarayu river, then take off that forest bark and put on your royal dress. The rest of you, decorate the palace. We need flower garlands everywhere! Hang them from every corner and every roof. Prepare the temple! Invite the fifty-six rajas!"

[Conch shells sound, cymbals ring, and drums boom, as the puppeteers chant loudly :]

"Rama is Raja of Ayodhya!"

The Limits of Restoration

Ravana is dead, Rama reigns, and the epic struggle is resolved, but behind the finality and tranquility of Rama's coronation lie the tensions that this book has traced through the now completed series of overnight performances inside the drama-house. Discussing those tensions in the preceding chapters has led me to identify several distinct features of the puppet play and its adaptation of the Kamparamayanam. Let me summarize those findings as background before extending the analysis in this concluding chapter.

1. The Tamil Ramayana composed by Kampan (twelfth century?) in the Chola country was transmitted to the Palghat region of Kerala by Tamil weavers and merchants in the fifteenth or sixteenth century and was adapted by those groups to the art of shadow puppetry sometime before the mid-eighteenth century. Both the Kamparamayanam and the Rama story told by the puppeteers are composite texts borrowed from diverse sources.

2. The linguistic and cultural admixture of the Kerala puppet play (Tamil text in a Malayali temple festival performed [primarily] by Tamils for Malayali patrons in a Tamil-Malayalam hybrid) is inseparable from the history of the Palghat region as a borderland and a nexus for trade.

3. The puppet play relies heavily on the Kamparamayanam : 70 percent of the verses are chanted verbatim with printed editions of that text or vary by no more than two words.

4. The puppet play, however, recontextualizes Kampan. The puppeteers sing Kampan's composition in a context in which Rama is not worshiped, demonstrating that a Rama story is not the same as Rama bhakti. The general principle of adaptation is additive; rather than rewrite Kampan's poem, the puppet play reorients it through innovations ("Song of the Drama-house," Brahmin narrators, natakam , conversations, oral commentary, auxiliary stories, folk verses, altered Kampan verses).

5. Narrative change is one major technique by which the puppeteers adapt the medieval epic to its new context: through limited but strategic alterations in content, bhakti ideals of isolation and perfection are tempered by folk principles of relation and balance; in particular, the puppet play narrows the moral distance between Rama and the demons.

6. The puppeteers also recontextualize Kampan's poem through oral commentary and conversations. In their commentary the puppeteers reach beyond Kampan's text and tell stories from the wider Rama tradition; through a set of four conversations, which comprise the whole of performance, the puppeteers weaken the voice of the poet and speak in their own voice.

7. These conversations create internal listeners, inside the text and inside the drama-house. The absent (external) audience is a consequence of several factors: the medium of shadow puppetry, a removed stage, difficult language, slow commentary, verbal (rather than visual) orientation, and the ritual role of performance.

8. Finally, however, the puppet play's adaptation of Kampan is an accommodation. Rather than reject the bhakti ideals of Kampan's epic, the puppet play complicates them with a folk morality, and the result is a Rama story more complex than either Kampan or any single folk text.

Two of these conclusions are the core of the puppeteers' recontextualization of the Kamparamayanam in Kerala: the narrative and moral shift (5); and the commentary and conversations (6). These two primary means of adaptation—changes in content and changes of speaker—work together, especially in the countervailing voices of the puppet play. Skeptical, angry, comic—these are the voices that we heard when Surpanakha mourned her son and when Viii rebuked Rama, and we hear them again during the coronation of Rama when they deflate epic intent and tilt the story toward the ethical balance sought in those earlier episodes. These countervoices also complete the analysis of vocalization begun in the previous chapter for they speak in sharp opposition to the received text. Critical words are heard in Kampan, too, but the puppet play amplifies them and creates new characters to express them, especially on the two final nights translated in this chapter when the puppet play tests the limits of Rama's triumphant return to Ayodhya.

At the outset, we must understand both that Kampan's conclusion is a restoration and that it is only one of three typical conclusions to a Rama story. Folktales and songs, for example, often omit more than half of what is considered the plot and close with the marriage of Rama and Sita; auspicious and joyful, this first typical conclusion is not clouded by later events in the forest and in Lanka. Longer, "epic" texts of the Rama story, like other epics in India, however, seldom settle for such a simple resolution and instead drive into tangled allegiances and dilemmas to reach, despite the temporary solutions achieved by victory and revenge, an uncertain end. In many oral epics, for example, the hero fades away, as a holy man or as a warrior lifted to heaven, and some go out of their way to deny the hero a marriage (conclusion 1) by dragging him from the wedding pavilion to the battlefield, where he will die.^[36] Tragedy and ambiguity, the hallmarks of this second conclusion to Rama texts, take the story far beyond the exile and into the Uttara Kanda, where Sita is banished and finally received into the earth while Rama ascends to heaven. A third conclusion, midway between the felicitous marriage and the fadeaway Uttara Kanda, is Rama's coronation (pattabisekam ) at Ayodhya, and this is the ending in many bhakti texts, including Kampan.^[37] That event, occurring long after the marriage but before the final separation of Sita from Rama, is both auspicious and ambiguous: bhakti theology demands more than marriage—the avatar of Visnu must confront evil and lust, and subdue them—but can Rama remain untouched by that contact?

In the Kamparamayanam , Rama's coronation is a triumphant restoration, a culmination of recuperative events set in motion by Rama's conquest of Ravana. As I said earlier, Ravana's death, at the end of the penultimate performance, is not the puppet play's dramatic climax; but Ravana's puppet, splashed with red dye and dangling upside down on the screen, is the final image of the vanquished enemies of dharma. When the bloodied screen is taken down (some say to remove the evil of killing the Brahmin Ravana) and a new cloth tied up for the next night, the long war is at an end. An even more decisive shift is enacted on the final night when Sita is vindicated in the trial by fire and stands by Rama's side; at that point, the epic appears to have overturned the past, to have erased fourteen painful years that began with a mother's fear and led to exile, abduction, bloody war, and death. On the cloth screen, this turning point is unmistakable: from their very first appearance many nights ago, Rama, Laksmana, and their allies have faced left

(viewed from inside), toward Lanka, until suddenly, after the trial by fire, all the puppets turn and face right, toward Ayodhya. Soon the long dead Dasaratha appears, deus ex machina, and declares to Rama: "When I heard the words that sent you into exile ... they pierced my chest like sharp spears. Only now ... have they been removed." Restitution is complete when Rama requests that his father restore Bharata and Kaikeyi to their former status as his brother and mother, and Dasaratha does so. These reconciliations achieved, the restoration of lost harmony is symbolized by Rama's return to Ayodhya, an aerial journey that is an event-by-event retracing of the unhappy path to Lanka, a Ramayana in reverse.

At the coronation in Ayodhya, after Ravana and his demon armies have been eradicated, Vibhisana crowned king of Lanka, and Sita reunited with Rama, the whole earth rejoices in the restitution of Rama's rule. The narrative of the puppet play does not deviate from the received text in this regard, and after twelve or twenty or forty nights of chanting, the puppeteers faithfully rest their telling with King Rama, until this final moment represented by a standing puppet, now seated on the throne at Ayodhya. Much has been restored, but like Valmiki and other texts that extend into the Uttara Kanda, the puppet play is only half convinced by this conclusion. The triumphant return of the exiles and Rama's righteous rule are called into question by the puppeteers' commentary on the last nights of performance, specifically by Sita and Jambuvan, who remember what the epic has turned its back upon.

Scrupulously the puppeteers adhere to Kampan's narration of Sita's trial by fire—they do not alter a single verse nor omit a detail (that Sita's purity burns the Fire God, for example), yet the scene seethes with a hostility only hinted at in the epic text. Sita's reunion with Rama is far from harmonious even in Kampan, where the entire episode is off-kilter, shot through with a metaphysical "lunacy," as David Shulman remarked.^[38] In the puppet play, the disorder in this abrupt return to normality erupts into discord, vocalized through Sita, who now speaks with a sarcasm we do not hear from her in the epic text.^[39] At issue is her fidelity. A woman separated from her husband is, by tradition, a widow; during her year in Lanka, Sita therefore has refused to eat Ravana's food or to wear fine clothes and jewelry. But now that Ravana is dead, should she go to Rama in rags or wear a beautiful sari? Sita knows that this is a serious question, and Rama will seize upon her improper vestiture as evidence that she has been unfaithful to him, yet on this critical point,

Kampan's Sita, though not silent, is acquiescent.^[40] When she learns from Vibhisana a that Rama desires her to come to him "dressed beautifully" (cirotum ), Sita at first hesitates:

To remain as I am is virtuous and pious,
As the gods, my husband, the sages,
And chaste women of high rank all know;
To wear fine clothes is not proper now, Oh mighty Vibhisana.^[41]

But when Vibhisana insists that this request is Rama's order, Sita agrees and does not protest again.

In the puppeteers' commentary, however, Sita is far from silent and speaks from the first in a mocking voice to Vibhisana. Not to go to Rama in her torn clothes, she declares, "would invite unkind suspicions about my conduct. Certainly you do not wish to encourage that, and I doubt that it would give Rama pleasure, either." Only after wisely securing these grounds for her innocence and only after Vibhisana reassures her (as he does not in Kampan) that no one doubts her chastity, does Sita accept Rama's order. She is then dressed by servants and prepares to follow Vibhisana, yet as she leaves, she turns to Hanuman and asks him the question that he asked her only a few minutes ago: "Why are you silent? Is something wrong?" "No," Hanuman replies, but plainly he and Sita understand something that Vibhisana and Rama do not.

For a short moment, when first in Rama's presence, Sita believes that all her sorrows are lifted, until suddenly Rama accuses her of infidelity, of growing fat on palace pleasures, and rejects her. In Kampan, Sita responds by reminding Rama that Hanuman himself must have informed him that she suffered terribly. Next she despairs that all her self-denial amounts to naught, that all the gods know she is innocent, yet her own husband does not comprehend a woman's mind; with no alternative, she decides to die and asks Laksmana to prepare the fire. She is distraught, even angry, but Kampan's Sita does not openly contradict her husband or accuse him of cruelty; her voice is plaintive and confused, but never mocking or bitter. Confronted on the cloth screen, however, Sita speaks fire in her defense and turns her scathing tongue against the patently weak arguments of her husband. For instance, when Rama announces in a verse that he came to Lanka not to rescue her but to kill Ravana and regain his lost honor, the puppeteers' Sita interrupts: "What! You came here to restore your honor? Killed Ravana so that you

would remove the stain on your name?" Earlier, when Rama accuses her of enjoying Ravana's bed, she shrewdly turns this argument against him:

"How can you call me a courtesan [vesi ]? If you believe that, you must leave me since you know the custom that a man should enter the forest when he renounces his wife. Yes, you have done your duty—killed Ravana and crowned Vibhisana—so what keeps you here in Lanka? Leave me and go into the forest as a wandering ascetic."

To appreciate Sita's sarcasm we must know that in a previous verse Rama condemned Sita for not acting "like ascetics who uphold virtue"; now Rama must himself return to the forest if he wishes to uphold his ascetic ideal. But Rama, whose words are harsh enough in Kampan, speaks with the heartlessness of a wounded lover in the puppet play: "Do not fall at my feet and cry that I should accept you. Cry only that your Ravana is dead!" In the end, and only on the strength of Agni's testimony of Sita's purity, Rama accepts his wife, yet it is difficult to imagine that their bitter, mutual recriminations have left no scars.

Precisely at this moment of reunion, the celebration is undercut by another voice, that of Jambuvan, leader of Rama's bear allies. With the puppets turned to face Ayodhya for the return journey, with Rama, Sita, Laksmana, and all the monkeys seated in defeated Ravana's chariot, and with the past apparently erased, Jambuvan enters in tears. Asked why, he explains in a folk adaptation of a Kampan verse:

I saw Mali and Maliyavan,
I saw Kala Nemi and Hiranya,
But never have I seen
A person take back what he gave.^[42]

With this verse and the scene that follows, the puppet play presents an abbreviated form of "The Revival of Vacantan." In this episode, considered a later addition to Kampan manuscripts, Jambuvan questions Rama's character but even those interpolated verses do not burn with the accusatory tone heard in the folk verses in the puppet play. In the verse above, Jambuvan's allegation that Rama is using Ravana's chariot, which he only minutes ago gave to Vibhisana, may appear contrived, but the rancor it injects into the scene is not: Jambuvan is angry at Rama's indifference to the death of his son, Vacantan, who died unnoticed by

the poet in the ferocious battle with Kumbhakarna and now stands as symbol of those who lost their lives in defense of Rama's cause, Rama may celebrate that his brother and wife are alive, but what of the thousands who died that they should live? Are they to be forgotten amid the reconciliations and return to Ayodhya?

Wise, old Jambuvan, never quite as pious as Hanuman or Sugriva in the puppet play, has had misgivings about Rama and his war all along.^[43] Much earlier, when Angada attempted to halt his retreat from battle, the old leader explained:

"What can our seventy divisions do against their thousand? We'd only make a meal for them! I'm not ready to die yet."

"Jambuvan, don't say that! Once, at my father's death, you spoke to me with brave words and now you talk of retreat!"

"You're young, Angada, and cannot understand what these demons can do in battle, Ravana has hordes, and this time Rama will not defeat him."

"But, surely Laksmana, Hanuman, and Sugriva—"

"Don't be naive. Do you think we are anything more than bodyguards to them? Did anyone protect my son, Vacantan, when Kumbhakarna mauled him? And no one will stop the pain when you die, either. Better to escape into the forest and drink pure water and eat fresh fruits. Let Rama win or lose; what's it to us anyway? Why should we die for them?"

Jambuvan questions Rama's war in Kampan, too, though his words are less caustic. In one Kampan verse he asks, "If men rule or Ravana rules, what's the difference?" but this is a tepid and strategic revision of a proverb often quoted to express skepticism toward authority: "If Rama rules or Ravana rules, what's the difference?" In the puppet play, Jambuvan attacks Rama's motives with the same skepticism as the proverb and other countervailing voices that refuse to accept the bhakti text's attempt at restoration.

Even Rama is disgusted with war and loses heart in his campaign against the demons.^[44] When we compare the treatment of his emotions in Kampan with that in the puppet play, however, two related differences emerge which confirm earlier observations: (1) the emphasis is verbal in the puppet play but visual in Kampan; and (2) the puppet play

vocalizes emotions mute in the epic text. As a first example, consider the parallel verses given below, which describe Rama's reactions when he sees Laksmana felled by Indrajit's snake-weapon:

Puppet Play
No more war for me, and no more fame!
My victory bow, my wife, my kingdom
Even Siva who gave me life—I renounce them all!
If you, Laksmana, do not live.

Father and mother we left; Ayodhya we left;
Yet, like the Vedas, we were inseparable, Laksmana;
Now you've left me and earth is not my home;
Let my soul leave, too, if Yama will receive it.

Kampan
Strong-shouldered Rama looked at his bow at the knots of the snake-weapon
Looked at the still dark night, at the gods in heaven and
Screamed, "I'll rip up this earth"; then, biting his coral lips,
He considered what wise men had said, and remained calm.^[45]

He rubbed Laksmana's feet with his lotus hands
Opened Laksmana's lotus eyes and peered inside;
Hearing his heartbeat, he rejoiced lifted him to his chest,
And lay him on earth;
Looking into the sky, he wondered, "Is that devious Indra around?"

Although Rama's anger and frustration are evident in both sets of verses, those emotions are suggested in Kampan by what he sees and expressed in the puppet play by what he says. For instance, the first Kampan verse is structured by the recurrence of "looking" (nokku ): he looked at the useless bow, the knots of the snake-weapon, the night, the gods. Rama does scream but bites off his feelings and retreats inside, remembering that calm befits a perfected being. In the first folk verse, by contrast, the recurring element is verbal; crying vente ! ("no more"), Rama condemns war and its rewards in the first line and cries louder with each repetition of that word. Similarly, in the second Kampan

verse, Rama remains mute and continues to look, into Laksmana's eyes and again at the sky while contemplating revenge against Indrajit; in the second folk verse, however, we hear only Rama's sad words. Rama does not look at the source of his grief in the puppet play, he speaks of it.

Rama's despair at death is expressed again in a later, parallel scene when he finds his armies felled again, this time by Indrajit's Brahma-weapon, and again the puppet play replaces the Kampan verses with others more verbal and emotive. Moving along the battlefield, Rama stands over the body of Angada, whom he has pledged to protect and whose father he has killed. This highly charged scene is sung in the puppet play with a string of folk verses, the first of which and its equivalent Kampan verse read as follows:

Puppet Play
As he lay dying, your father's soft hands
Held mine and placed you in my care;
Now, your hands are torn and bleeding in my defense:
Who would not die of this shame?

Kampan
Like a bull fallen among a noble herd,
He saw that strong elephant,
Angada, his spear eyes blazing fire;
"This is the value of my protection," he cried,
"This shame, these battle wounds."^[46]

Kampan's verse again works through visual imagery—we see fallen bulls, strong elephants, fiery eyes—and even when Rama speaks of his shame (pali ) in the last two lines, he draws us to its visible manifestation in Angada's wounds. His feelings are also constrained by self-mockery when referring to his pledge of "protection." The folk verse, on the other hand, is almost entirely verbal; Rama addresses Angada directly, tenderly, and without the distance of self-reproach. When he refers to his failure to protect Angada and then juxtaposes Vali's "soft hands" with Angada's bloody ones, there is no irony, only remorse. A similar verbalization of grief recurs throughout the puppet play, for instance, when Rama, leaving Angada's body, moves further along the battlefield and sees Laksman's body. Although Kampan's eight beautiful verses describe Rama's emotions, the hero speaks in none of them, whereas in the puppet play he cries out:

Wives may die, but we marry again;
Our children die, and others are born;

Lost wealth is regained, knowledge retrieved;
But, tell me, is a dead brother replaced?

Rama's sorrow, Sita's sarcasm, and Jambuvan's cynicism do not share in the rejoicing that trumpets so loudly in the final scenes of the medieval text. They do not celebrate a future; they grieve· But the countervailing voices in the puppet play are not always grim, and some are comic, even farcical, especially when spoken by characters either absent or insignificant in Kampan. Among these clownish folk characters, the most talkative is the umbrella holder (kutakkaran ), who is nowhere found in Kampan but is conspicuously stationed next to Ravana on the cloth screen· He first stirs from his silent pose when he unexpectedly meets Indrajit on the battlefield and they survey the litter of corpses felled by Indrajit's snake-weapon. Speaking to the mighty warrior, the umbrella holder mimics the sounds of war:

"Bing-bang! Wham-bang! Bing-bang, who are you?"

"Me? I just shot the snake-weapon, the whole point of this performance."

...

"Problem is your snake-weapon didn't kill them; only knocked 'em out. I'll finish them off by stabbing them with the tip of my staff."

This scene, repeated with minor differences when Rama's army is knocked out by the Brahma-weapon, contains compound deflations of the epic text. Pairing the umbrella holder, a lowly servant who washes his wife's saris and "just grabbed onto the chariot and came along for the ride" with Indrajit, the most powerful figure in the epic, is not intended to elevate the stature of the demon-warrior. The servant's umbrella staff turns out to be more potent than Indrajit's snake-weapon, the epic's most lethal armament; and war itself is mocked by the umbrella holder's first words, which playfully simulate the battle sounds produced by drums in the drama-house. Parody extends to a later scene, too, when the epic battle grinds to a halt because the umbrella holder refuses to hold the banner of Ravana's armies without receiving his pay. Like Jambuvan's intrusive demand for his son's life, but gentler and more absurd, his strike for wages (as Lysistrata's for peace) exposes the fragility of the noble cause.·As if these blasphemies were not sufficient, we then watch the umbrella holder march down the

line, condemn each of Rama's captains (Nalan is a boss-man; Sugriva a drunk; Angada ill-mannered) and stab them one by one while they lie defenseless on the ground. In the end, this marginal and unrepentant figure appears fully converted to the bhakti ethos when he requests that Rama grant him moksa ; yet, just as Rama is about to strike, he flinches.

The nameless umbrella holder also plays the wise fool. In his conversation with Indrajit, he appears stupid, thinks intelligence is a "thing," and mangles grammar, but only he has the foresight to warn Indrajit that his dead enemies may be revived. Similarly, although he cannot pronounce the word "liberation," he is smart enough to gain boons for beauty and wealth in the next life. He also admonishes Indrajit to discriminate between bravado and courage when he tells an edifying folktale about another apparent dimwit, Poor Brains the frog, who warns his own exalted friends about an impending disaster.^[47] The frog's friends, Thousand Brains and the others, confident of their superior endowment, dismiss the threat and decide to remain in the doomed pond. Though skeptical, Poor Brains remains with them, and after the others die from their stupid pride, only he survives. Through the character of the umbrella holder, the puppet play recommends not cunning but prudence and common sense, which was taught also in the cautionary tale told in the "Song of the Drama-House" (chapter 3) about wisely giving money and brides.

The comic voice in Kerala is spoken as well by more respectable epic characters, including Hanuman, the ideal devotee. His journey to the Medicine Mountain in order to save Rama and Laksmana, indisputably one of the solemn moments in the War Book, is my favorite example of the puppet play laughing at epic inflation, Jambuvan speaks excitedly:

"Listen, Hanuman, we have only three-quarters of an hour to revive Laksmana and the others; then the sun rises and Indrajit will behead them. Before that, you must travel seventy-three thousand yojanas to the Medicine Mountain, find the longevity herb, and return."

"Are you joking?"

"Joking?"

"Seventy-three thousand yojanas in three-quarters of an hour? And return? It's ... it's impossible."

"But, Hanuman, if you don't—"

"That far, that quickly, to locate a rare herb for an incurable disease? Ridiculous, that's all."

If Hanuman's critical mission to revive llama and Laksmana is not immune to the puppet play's parody, what is? Nothing held in high regard, it seems, and certainly not the oracle-priest of Bhagavati. As described in chapter 1, the veliccappatu is the ritual link between temple and drama-house when he leads the procession to the puppeteers and offers them the official cloth and rice on the first night of performance; and he, after becoming possessed by Bhagavati, blesses their performance on each succeeding night. The oracle-priest also appears as a character in the puppet play, but only once, on the night of Indrajit's death, when, paralleling the umbrella holder's sham battle sounds, he playfully imitates the temple oracle's cries during spirit possession: "Kriyommmmmmmm!" That the pronouncements of this possessed oracle turn out to be hocus-pocus is not surprising since his spiritual inspiration is a phoney Bhagavati called Money Maker.

Dismissing the temple oracle by debunking his prophecies is part of the puppeteers' broad satire of verbal authority, including their own. The oracle's gibberish and the umbrella holder's grammatical blunders ("Ravana and me went") are linguistic transgressions so obvious that they draw attention to the verbal rules governing performance itself. The puppeteers are wordsmiths who must memorize at least twelve hundred (and as many as two thousand) verses and hundreds of quotations, deliver a lengthy, learned commentary, and comment on derivations and usage. Against these high demands, the puppeteers' play on words may be a charm intended to defuse the power of words: "Sticks and stones may break my bones," they seem to say, "but names [words] will never hurt me." In any case, words play tricks on nearly every major figure in the story. Ravana's messengers, an insignificant pair in Kampan, for instance, take a verbal beating on several occasions. Once, when neither has bothered to remember Ravana's orders, they attempt to avoid punishment by inventing a story: the words were tied up in a bundle, they say, but it fell into a river. Having lost the bundle of words, the messengers are then forced to relearn them, this time by repeating each phrase Ravana speaks, an exercise in tomfoolery that ends in a beating for the witless messengers when they duly restate Ravana's angry blast: "Don't talk to me like that, you dog!" Even Ravana is coaxed by Visnu (disguised as a Brahmin) into using a word that "cancels" most of the future lives granted to him by Siva. All this verbal

chicanery, however, is not what it seems, and although the victims appear to be fools, the joke is on language itself. When the umbrella holder errs or Ravana is duped, it is not that they are stupid but that speech is deceptive, indeterminate, dangerous. After all, Kampan began his epic by telling a lie.

Clowns and fools are prominent in the shadow puppet traditions elsewhere in south India (notably Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka), but the differences with the Kerala clown figures are revealing. In Andhra Pradesh, as Jonathan GoldbergBelle has shown, the clowns appear regularly in interludes or "skits" unconnected with the epic stow and indulge in sexual slapstick complete with huge penises, aggressive homosexuality, and female promiscuity. Drawing on Don Handelman's work, GoldbergBelle concludes that these clowns represent "internal oscillation" and not role reversal; that is, rather than simply reversing norms, the clowns contain both social and asocial roles, between which they vacillate.^[48] In Kerala, however, the umbrella holder and other humorous figures are jesters of a different order. Because performance serves as temple ritual and because the Kampan text is considered close to scripture, the umbrella holder and his foolish friends display little overt, or even covert, sexuality, and their scenes are more tightly integrated into the epic story. Nor do these clowns contain contradictory states within themselves; instead, they represent one half of a complementary pair that juxtaposes authority with its caricature (Ravana and the messengers, Indrajit and the umbrella holder, the oracle-priest parodied by the sham oracle-priest). The comic characters in Kerala thus achieve, by deflation, the balance that the puppeteers pursue throughout the puppet play.

These deflating figures and their countervailing voices bring our study of the Kerala puppet play full circle for, although we hear them most frequently in the War Book, we have heard them before. Sita's anger and Jambuvan's mockery, like Surpanakha's defense of kama and Vali's condemnation of Rama, arise from a worldview that reveals hidden affinities and seeks to redress injustice. Under this watchful eye, the Rama story told by the puppeteers cannot be a tale of triumph celebrating Rama's victory and coronation. On the contrary, if one emotion pervades the puppet play, it is grief, a sentiment that runs deep in the wider Rama tradition, especially the Uttara Kanda, from which the puppet play draws so much. A popular story explains that the sloka (a type of verse used by Valmiki) arose from the poet's cokam (grief) when he saw a lovebird cruelly killed by a hunter's arrow. Similarly, the goal

of puppet-play performance in Malaysia, according to Amin Sweeney, is to induce weeping in Rama and the audience.^[49]

The puppet play also cries aloud and often. Beginning with Surpanakha's wailing over her son's body and continuing on to Mandodari's mourning of Ravana, the Rama story told by the puppeteers is a tale dominated by the pain and separation of death. Comedy is not missing, as we have seen, but humor often appears only in order to relieve the relentless sorrow that attends the war against Lanka. We know that countervailing voices grieve when others celebrate, as Jambuvan does in the "Revival of Vacantan," but they also laugh when others mourn. Twice Rama weeps over his fallen comrades and brother, and twice his agony is preceded by the umbrella holder's and Indrajit's routine in which jokes are played and dirty laundry exposed. An even more explicit parody of grief occurs just before Ravana learns of Indrajit's death. Returning from the battlefield to report this sorrowful event, the messengers indulge in a mock dirge for Indrajit, inserting chilies into their eyes to cry crocodile tears. When they reach the palace and Ravana asks for news (of his son), they trifle with his sentiments, equating that news with gossip in the marketplace; anticipating Ravana's tears when he hears that his son is dead, they comment sarcastically, "It's monsoon time again." Nearly every major scene of mourning in the puppet play is similarly hedged with comedy, as an antidote, I think, to the intense sorrow that underlies the puppet play. The senior puppeteer Natesan Pillai once told me something that I duly wrote down but did not fully understand: "People like the Rama story," he said, "because it has so much sorrow (cokam ); they hear it and they get some relief from their own problems; it makes them happy." At first I thought that his words merely explained why so many people donate a rupee to performance—to eradicate disease, mitigate misfortune, or stake a claim to future success—but now I realize that they say something more: the power of the Rama tale told in the drama-house resides not in the divine status of its hero but in the soothing sadness of its stories.

No one grieves on the final day of performance. After the puppeteers declaimed the last words translated in this chapter, they left Rama on the screen, put up the Brahmin puppets, and for nearly four hours they read the names of twelve hundred one-rupee donors and sang songs on their behalf. At seven o'clock in the morning, with the sun already warm, they took down those puppets, pinned them on the outer side of the white cloth screen, and departed by bus for their homes. Only then, with the puppeteers gone and the story over, was the Rama puppet, seated on the

throne at Ayodhya, fully visible to the public; and it remained on view throughout the last day of the festival. As the final scene of the Rama story in both medieval poem and oral performance, this sight of the righteous king at rest is an auspicious resolution, an end to the epic conflict of betrayal, death, and mourning. But the puppet play in Kerala is a conversation, not a visual tableau, and there can be no complete restoration because other voices have spoken and the past is not so easily forgotten.

The puppeteers headed home, and next year they will return to tell their Rama story, unresolved and incomplete, but how many years they will continue to perform is anyone's guess. Already, as of 1989, the tradition is losing ground, and the lamps are no longer lit in at least a dozen temples that sponsored puppet plays as recently as 1960; at several other temples, the number of nights has been reduced from sixteen to twelve or from twelve to eight. More important, when puppets become damaged, new ones are no longer manufactured because the skin (of deer and buffalo) has become too expensive and the skill of puppet making too rare; torn puppets are patched together or discarded, and a complete set of intact puppets is not to be found. In 1979, upon learning that the most well-endowed puppet troupes had only about half of the more than one hundred puppets required for a full set, the All-India Handicrafts Board initiated a scheme to revive the skill of producing puppets, but it failed for lack of funds; a minor success is that one young puppeteer completed a course in puppet making at Pinguli, Maharashtra, though since then, no one has asked him to make puppets.^[50] Here and there, one sees drama-houses abandoned and in disrepair; I spent days looking for a particular drama-house outside Palghat and was eventually directed to a field, but it had vanished—its bricks and beams sold to a contractor.

Perhaps another two or three generations will pass before the Kerala shadow puppet play joins other folk performing arts in India's cultural museums. That end appears inevitable not because patronage will dry up—the personal problems which villagers seek to alleviate with one rupee are not likely to cease—but because there will be no puppeteers to receive patronage. The simple fact is that puppeteers are not being replaced by younger men. Forty puppeteers were reported to be active in 1982, of whom only twenty-five still performed in 1989, and many of them were too feeble to chant through the night.^[51] Over the five-year span of my research, three puppeteers died and one retired from

illness, but not a single new man entered the drama-house. The reason for this puppeteer drain, I believe, is that performing behind the cloth screen requires many years of training yet earns little income and prestige. While puppeteers are not treated with disrespect, neither are they shown the attention and courtesy accorded to higher caste performers. It is hard to imagine that conditions were dissimilar in the "good old days," but the art of shadow puppetry apparently holds even less attraction for young men today. Will the puppet play adapt and become more entertaining in order to survive? I see no sign of any change in the puppeteers' ritual recitation, but predictions of an early demise often prove to be notoriously shortsighted. An inexperienced but perceptive American observer of the Kerala puppet play wrote this:

The life of a puppet is said to average the life of a man. But in all probability, these puppets will not wear out, for the traveling days of the shadow play will no doubt soon be over. When the twenty-seater busses bring the sound and shadow-play of our own day, sound on film, within easy reach of the jungle, then these shadows of a remote age will fade out. The puppets will lie all year in the palm-frond case or stand shadowless behind glass in some museum.^[52]

That was written in 1935, and although the cinema has overtaken Palghat district, as it has all of India, the puppets still throw shadows in more than eighty drama-houses.^[53] One reason for such persistence is the prestige of the text, but more influential is the belief that donations, in whatever amount, will benefit the donor; this belief, shared by the tens of thousands of individuals who donate one rupee and the dozens of families who give hundreds or thousands of rupees each year, supplies lifeblood to the tradition. The possibility of personal relief also explains both how the puppet play has withstood the onslaught of the cinema and why it requires no public audience: it is not popular entertainment; it is temple ritual. The Kamparamayanam is respected, but presenting it with shadow puppets is considered by most to be a common man's puja , a medium through which everyone may address their problems to Bhagavati, though attendance is not required. Others may concur with those observers who have faulted the Kerala tradition for its remote puppeteers, and I cannot disagree that insulating them from audience interaction has denied the puppet play popularity, both locally and nationally, or that such isolation may well prevent the tradition from adapting and, ultimately, from surviving in a world of electronic entertainment.^[54] Yet weaknesses are sometimes strengths,

and I believe that the Kerala puppeteers' anonymity and absent audience have stimulated them to create conversations inside the drama-house. Whatever its future, the shadow puppet play in Kerala shows us that stories and their audiences are not always what or even where we think they are.