Rama’s Lost Ring and Mandodari’s Curse—Kala Chakra and the Cyclical Nature of the World

“Hari Anant, Hari Katha Ananta” — The divine is infinite, and so are the stories that flow from that infinity. Among those countless streams of sacred narrative, some remain hidden in the folds of regional retellings and oral traditions. These are not contradictions to the canonical Ramayana, but rather parallel visions — luminous echoes of the same eternal truth. One such tale is that of Hanuman's encounter with a heap of Rama’s rings in the mysterious realms of Naga Loka, a cosmic event wrapped in the enigma of time — Kala Chakra — and interwoven with a haunting curse from Mandodari, the noble queen of Ravana.

This narrative, though not part of Valmiki’s Ramayana, resonates with spiritual profundity. It captures the pain of separation, the inevitability of divine destiny, and the grand cosmic theatre in which time loops endlessly — where avatars are born, play their roles, depart, and return again.


When the time came for Shri Rama to end His earthly leela, He knew that Hanuman, the embodiment of devotion, would not allow it. Hanuman’s love was so fierce, so absolute, that even Yama, the god of death, would cower before it. How then could Shri Rama depart without breaking the heart of His most faithful bhakta? The Lord devised a plan — subtle, mysterious, and cosmic in scale.

One day, as the story goes in some lesser-known Ramayanas, Shri Rama deliberately dropped His ring onto the ground. It rolled into a crack in the earth, seemingly an accident. But nothing in a divine play is accidental. Turning to Hanuman, Rama said, “My ring has fallen into the earth. Please retrieve it for Me.”

With folded hands and unwavering loyalty, Hanuman obeyed. He followed the ring into the crack, which deepened and widened with every step. Soon, Hanuman found himself entering another dimension — the Naga Loka, the subterranean world of serpents.


There, Hanuman was received by Vasuki, the king of the Nagas. In the heart of this otherworldly realm stood a dazzling heap of rings — all identical to the one Rama had dropped.

Confused, Hanuman picked one up. It was unmistakably Rama’s. He picked another — also Rama’s. A third, a fourth, and a hundred more. Each ring was Shri Rama’s.

Bewildered, Hanuman turned to Vasuki. “What sorcery is this?” he asked.

Vasuki smiled with calm wisdom. “Every time the divine Shri Rama incarnates on Bhuloka, he eventually drops his ring into the earth. And every time, a Vanara like you comes searching for it, only to find a heap of identical rings. You are not the first, Hanuman, and you shall not be the last.”

It was then that Hanuman grasped the grandeur and despair of Kala Chakra — the great Wheel of Time.


Kala Chakra is not just a poetic metaphor in Hindu thought. It is a metaphysical truth, a cosmic law. Time is not linear. It is cyclical. The universe unfolds in cycles of creation, preservation, and dissolution — Srishti, Sthiti, and Pralaya. These cycles are further divided into Kalpas, Manvantaras, and Yugas.

According to Hindu cosmology:

Shri Rama appears in Treta Yuga — not once, but again and again, in each Mahayuga of each Manvantara, of each Kalpa.

Hanuman’s discovery in Naga Loka was a cosmic initiation. He learned that his bond with Rama, though eternal in spirit, was subject to the laws of cosmic time in the material realm. Rama’s life and departure were part of a larger divine rhythm. No matter how much he loved, no matter how powerful his devotion, Hanuman could not stop the wheel from turning.

But why was Hanuman not by Rama’s side at the end? Was it only the Lord’s plan to protect His devotee from heartbreak? Or was there a deeper cause rooted in karma and consequence?

The story leads us back to the golden palaces of Lanka, to the refined and sorrowful Mandodari — queen of Ravana, yet righteous in heart.

Mandodari was no ordinary queen. She was one of the Panchakanyas — five chaste women whose remembrance destroys sin. Unlike her arrogant husband, she recognized Shri Rama’s divinity and repeatedly urged Ravana to release Sita with honor. But her pleas were ignored.

As the war reached its climax, Vibhishana revealed a dark secret: Ravana could only be killed using a magical arrow, one that Mandodari herself had safeguarded beneath her bed.

To obtain this weapon, Hanuman disguised himself as a wandering sadhu and approached Mandodari. Through wit, wisdom, and spiritual charm, he gained her trust. When she lowered her guard, Hanuman seized the arrow and vanished.

With this arrow, Rama targeted Ravana’s navel — the hiding place of his soul — and brought an end to the demon king’s tyranny.

When Mandodari saw her husband’s lifeless body, she wept not just in grief, but in betrayal. Her pain turned into a solemn curse: “For the one you tricked me, he shall be taken from you. As I weep in solitude today, you too shall one day weep — separated forever from the one you love the most.”

Years passed. Yugas turned. The curse lay dormant — until the moment of Rama’s departure. And then, it ripened.

Hanuman, the mighty, the immortal, the unshakeable, was not there as Shri Rama walked into the Sarayu River to take Jala Samadhi. The curse took effect. His Lord departed, and he could not stop it. He could not even witness it.

Perhaps Hanuman would have shattered the cycle, held back time itself. Perhaps, out of love, he would have defied the cosmic order. But such defiance was not permitted. So, Rama did what only God can do — He sent his beloved away on a quest, a journey that was a cosmic initiation, a moment of divine realization.

The loss Hanuman felt wasn’t just personal; it was metaphysical. His realization in Naga Loka wasn’t a consolation. It was enlightenment. He now understood the pattern, the rhythm, the script written by Kala itself.


This story, like many others, does not come from Valmiki’s Ramayana. It arises from alternate versions — folk Ramayanas, regional retellings, and oral traditions. From the Adhyatma Ramayana to the Ananda Ramayana, from the Tamil Kamba Ramayanam to the Assamese Saptakanda Ramayana, there exist over 285 known versions of the epic, and likely countless more that remain hidden or forgotten.

Each version adds its own fragrance to the eternal lotus that is Shri Rama. One may emphasize dharma, another devotion; one may glorify Sita, another Hanuman. Some may dwell on battles, others on inner transformation.

The beauty lies not in choosing one over the other, but in recognizing that all are true in their own realm — for truth in Hindu thought is not a monolith but a prism.

The story of Rama’s lost ring and Mandodari’s curse is a perfect example of how alternate Ramayanas expand the narrative universe of Shri Rama, revealing new dimensions without contradicting the core.

As the wheel of time turns, Rama will be born again in another Treta Yuga. Hanuman will return. The leela will be re-enacted. Mandodari’s curse will once more find its echo in the future. And the heap of rings in Naga Loka will continue to grow.

But Hanuman — the eternal devotee — remains. He is Chiranjeevi, destined to live until the end of Kali Yuga. He watches, waits, and meditates. His loss transformed into wisdom. His grief converted into strength.

When the next Rama comes, Hanuman shall return again, perhaps wiser, perhaps more silent — but always ready to serve.

This story isn’t just mythology. It is philosophy wrapped in narrative. It reminds us of the laws that bind the universe. Of love that must eventually let go. Of devotion that matures through loss. Of time that does not pause for anyone — not even gods.

Shri Rama’s leela is not confined to Ayodhya or Lanka, to Sanskrit or Tamil, to Valmiki or Kamban. It is a vast, living force — whispering in every corner of Bharat, breathing in every heart that chants His name.

In the end, the story teaches us this: Even gods must follow the rhythm of Kala Chakra. But in love, as in eternity, no separation is final. For the leela continues — forever and ever.