Ram and the Ocean

Vibhishana had crossed to Ram's side, and the army knew now what it faced across the water. But knowing Lanka's defences did not move a single soldier closer to it. The ocean itself was still in the way.

On Vibhishana's advice, Ram chose to ask before he demanded. He sat on the shore and waited for the Ocean to rise and grant safe passage — a full day, then a second, then a third, with the water answering nothing but its own waves. By the third evening his patience had run out. He lifted his bow and warned that if the sea would not open a way, he would dry it to the last drop and walk his army across the bare ground.

The Ocean rose then, and spoke. Water followed its own nature, he said — it could not simply choose to become solid earth, no more than fire could choose to run cold. But he was not without an answer. He pointed to Nala, whose skill at building was equal to any task, and promised that wherever Nala laid a causeway, the sea beneath it would hold firm and support the weight. Ram heard him out, and turned the force of his raised bow toward the distant point the Ocean had named instead.

Nala took charge of the work at once. Vanaras came down to the shore by the thousand, carrying trees and boulders and coils of rope and timber. The strongest hauled the heaviest loads; others measured the distance, set each piece in place, bound it fast, and levelled the surface behind them. Day by day the causeway grew longer across the water, built by hands rather than by any single miracle.

At last the broad road reached all the way to the far shore. The army crossed in ordered groups, company by company, with Ram and Lakshman walking among their allies rather than ahead of them. Scouts watched both the sea behind and the distant walls of Lanka in front. When the whole army had crossed, they made camp without rushing forward — close enough now to see the city they had come so far to reach.