Ram, Sita, and Lakshman stood on the roof of the Bees Quarter as dawn broke through. The gentle rays of the sun fell on the harsh devastation of Lankan spears. The damage was heart-rending.
Sita stared at the mutilated Mithilan corpses strewn all around her; heads hanging by sinew to bodies, some with their guts spilled out. Many simply impaled on spears, having bled to death.
‘At least a thousand of my soldiers …’
‘We too have hit them hard, Bhabhi,’ said Lakshman to his sister-in-law. ‘There are at least a thousand dead Lankans lying between the inner and outer wall.’
Sita looked at Lakshman, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Yes, but they have nine thousand left. We have only three thousand.’
Ram surveyed the Lankan camp on the other side of the moat-lake. Sita’s gaze followed his eyes. Hospital-tents had been set up to tend to the injured. Many Lankans, though, were furiously at work; hacking trees and pushing the forest line farther with mathematical precision.
Clearly, they did not intend to retreat to Lanka.
‘They will be better prepared next time,’ said Ram. ‘If they manage to scale the inner wall … it’s over.’
Sita placed her hand on Ram’s shoulder and sighed as she stared at the ground. She seemed to gather strength from the simple touch. It was like she had a dependable ally now.
Sita turned around and looked towards her city. Her eyes rested on the steeple of the massive temple dedicated to Lord Rudra, which loomed beyond the garden of the Bees Quarter. Fierce determination blazed from her eyes, resolve pouring steel into her veins.
‘It’s not over yet. I’ll call upon the citizens to join me. Even if my people stand here with kitchen knives, we will outnumber the Lankan scum ten to one. We can fight them.’
Sita could feel Ram’s shoulder muscles tensing under her touch. She looked at his eyes. She saw only confidence and trust.
He believes in me. He trusts me to handle this. I will handle this. I will not fail.
Sita nodded, like she had made up her mind. And rushed away, signalling some of her lieutenants to follow her.
Ram and Lakshman followed her too, trying to keep pace. She turned around. ‘No. Please stay here. I need someone I can trust, someone who understands war, to stay here and rally the forces in case the Lankans launch a surprise attack.’
Lakshman tried to argue, but fell silent at a signal from Ram.
‘We will stay here, Sita,’ said Ram. ‘No Lankan will enter the city as long as we are standing here. Rally the others quickly.’
Sita smiled and touched Ram’s hand.
Then she turned and ran.
The third hour of the second prahar was almost ending. It was three hours before noon, in clear daylight. But this light had not blessed the city’s residents with more wisdom. The news of the death of over one thousand courageous Mithilan policemen, and the devastation of the battle at the Bees Quarter, had not stirred the citizens to anger. Tales of the outnumbered and under-equipped Mithilan police, led by Prime Minister Sita, heroically fighting back the Lankans, had not inspired them. In fact, talks of surrender, compromise and negotiations were in the air.
Sita had gathered the local leaders in the market square in an effort to rally a citizen army to fight back the Lankans. This had been a few hours ago. That the rich would not think of risking their lives or property for their motherland wasn’t surprising. It was shocking, though, that even the poor, who had benefited greatly from Sunaina’s and then Sita’s reforms, did not feel the need to fight for their kingdom.
Sita thought she would burst a capillary in utter fury, listening to the arguments being put forth by her fellow Mithilans; excuses to give a moral veneer to their cowardice.
‘We must be pragmatic …’
‘We haven’t emerged from poverty, earned all this money, ensured good education for our children, built property, to just lose it all in one war …’
‘Seriously, has violence ever solved any problem? We should practise love, not war …’
‘War is just a patriarchal, upper-class conspiracy …’
‘The Lankans are also human beings like us. I am sure they will listen, if we talk to them …’
‘Really, is our conscience clean? We can say all we want about the Lankans, but didn’t we insult Emperor Raavan at the swayamvar …’
‘What’s the big deal if so many police officers died? It’s their job to protect us. And die for us. It isn’t as if they are doing this for free. What do we pay taxes for? Speaking of taxes, Lanka apparently has much lower tax rates …’
‘I think we should negotiate with the Lankans. Let’s vote on that …’
At the end of her tether, Sita had even asked Janak and Urmila to help her rouse the citizenry. Janak, respected as a saintly figure by the Mithilans, tried his best to urge them to fight. To no avail. Urmila, popular among the women, had no impact either.
Sita’s fists were clenched tight. She was about to launch into an angry tirade against the cowardly citizenry when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to find Samichi standing there.
Sita quickly pulled her aside. ‘Well, where are they?’
Samichi had been dispatched to find Vishwamitra or Arishtanemi. Sita refused to believe that the Malayaputras would abandon her at a time like this, especially when her city was threatened with annihilation. She was sure they knew she would die with her city. And she also knew that her survival mattered to them.
‘I have searched everywhere, Sita,’ said Samichi. ‘I can’t find them anywhere.’
Sita looked down and cursed under her breath.
Samichi swallowed hard. ‘Sita …’
Sita looked at her friend.
‘I know you don’t want to hear this, but we’re left with no choice. We must negotiate with the Lankans. If we can get Lord Raavan to …’
Sita’s eyes flared up in anger. ‘You will not say such things in my …’
Sita stopped mid-sentence as a loud sound was heard from the Bees Quarter.
There were some explosions from a section of the roof of the Bees Quarter, hidden from where the battle with the Lankans had taken place just a few hours ago. A few seconds later, a small missile flew up from the same section. It sped off in a mighty arc, moving farther and farther away in a few short seconds. Towards the city moat, where Sita knew the Lankans were camped.
Everyone in the market square was transfixed, their eyes glued in the same direction. But none had any idea of what had just happened. None, except Sita.
She immediately understood what the Malayaputras had been up to all night. What they had been preparing. What they had done.
The Asuraastra.
As the missile flew high above the moat-lake, there was a flash of a minor detonation. The Asuraastra hovered for an instant above the Lankan camp. And then exploded dramatically.
The spectators in Mithila saw a bright green flash of light emerge from the splintered missile. It burst with furious intensity, like a flash of lightning. Fragments of the exploded missile were seen falling down.
As they witnessed this terrifying scene play out in the sky, the ear-shattering sound of the main explosion shook the very walls of Mithila. Right up to the market square where the citizens had been debating themselves to paralysis a few moments back.
The Mithilans covered their ears in shock. Some began to pray for mercy.
An eerie silence fell on the gathering. Many cowering Mithilans looked around in dazed confusion.
But Sita knew Mithila had been saved. She also knew what would follow. Devastation had fallen on Raavan and his fellow Lankans. They would be paralysed. In a deep state of coma. For days, if not weeks. Some of them would even die.
But her city was safe. It had been saved.
After the reversal at the battle of the Bees Quarter, perhaps this had been the only way to stop Raavan’s hordes.
As relief coursed through her veins, she whispered softly, ‘Lord Rudra, bless the
Malayaputras and Guru Vishwamitra.’
Then, like a bolt from the blue, her elation suddenly evaporated. Raw panic entered her heart.
Who had fired the Asuraastra?
She knew that an Asuraastra had to be fired from a substantial distance. And only an extremely capable archer could do so successfully. There were just three people in Mithila right now who could shoot an arrow from the distance required to ignite and launch an Asuraastra. Vishwamitra, Arishtanemi and …
Ram … Please … No … Lord Rudra, have mercy.
Sita began sprinting towards the Bees Quarter. Followed by Samichi and her bodyguards.
Chapter 24
Sita bounded up the stairway of the Bees Quarter, three steps at a time. A grim-faced Samichi followed close behind. She was up on the roof in no time. Even from the distance, she could see the devastation in the Lankan camp. Thousands lay prone on the ground. Deathly silent. Demonic clouds of green viscous gas had spread like a shroud over the paralysed Lankans.
There was not a whisper in the air. The humans had fallen silent. So had the animals. The birds had stopped chirping. The trees did not stir. Even the wind had died down. All in sheer terror of the fiendish weapon that had just been unleashed.
The only sound was a steady, dreadful hiss, like the battle-cry of a gigantic snake. It was the sound of the thick viscous green gas that continued to be emitted from the fragments of the exploded Asuraastra missile that had fallen to the ground.
Sita held her Rudraaksh pendant in fear. Lord Rudra, have mercy.
She saw Arishtanemi and the Malayaputras standing in a huddle. She ran up to them.
‘Who shot it?’ demanded Sita.
Arishtanemi merely bowed his head and stepped aside; and, Ram came into Sita’s view. Her husband was the only one holding a bow.
Vishwamitra had managed to pressure Ram into firing the Asuraastra. And thus, breaking Lord Rudra’s law.
Sita cursed loudly as she ran towards Ram.
Vishwamitra smiled as he saw her approach. ‘Sita, it is all taken care of! Raavan’s forces are destroyed. Mithila is safe!’
Sita glared at Vishwamitra, too furious for words.
She ran to her husband and embraced him. A shocked Ram dropped his bow. They had never embraced. Until now.
She held him tight. She could feel his heartbeat pick up speed. But his hands remained by his side. He did not embrace her back.
She pulled her head back and saw a solitary tear trickle down her husband’s face.
Guilt gnawed at her. She knew Ram had been forced to commit a sin. Forced due to his love for her. Forced due to his sense of duty, which compelled him to protect the innocent: The citizens of Mithila, even if they were selfish and cowardly.
She held Ram and looked deep into his empty eyes. Her face was creased with concern. ‘I am with you, Ram.’
Ram remained silent. But his expression had changed. His eyes didn’t have an empty look anymore. Instead they had a dreamy sparkle, as if he were lost in another world.
Oh Lord Rudra, give me the strength to help him. To help this magnificent man. Suffering because of me.
Sita continued to hold Ram in a tight embrace. ‘I am with you, Ram. We will handle this together.’
Ram closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his wife. He rested his head on her shoulder. She could hear him release a deep, long breath. Like he had found his refuge. His sanctuary.
Sita looked over her husband’s shoulder and glared at Vishwamitra. It was a fearsome look, like the wrathful fury of the Mother Goddess.
Vishwamitra glared right back, unrepentant.
A loud sound disturbed them all. They looked beyond the walls of Mithila. Raavan’s Pushpak Vimaan was sputtering to life. Its giant rotor blades had begun to spin. The sound it made was like that of a giant monster cutting the air with his enormous sword. Within moments the rotors picked up speed and the conical flying vehicle rose from the earth. It hovered just a few feet above the ground; pushing against inertia, against the earth’s immense pull of gravity. Then, with a great burst of sound and energy, it soared into the sky. Away from Mithila. And the devastation of the Asuraastra.
Raavan had survived. Raavan had escaped.
The following day, a makeshift Ayuralay was set up outside the city. The Lankan soldiers were housed in large tents. The Malayaputras trained the Mithilan doctors to tend to those who had been rendered comatose by the lethal weapon. To keep them alive till they naturally emerged from the coma; a few days or maybe even a few weeks later. Some would never surface and pass away in their sleep.
Sita sat in her office, contemplating Mithila’s governance after her impending departure to Ayodhya. There was too much to take care of and the conversation with Samichi was not helping.
The police and protocol chief stood before her, shaking like a leaf. Sita had never seen her friend so nervous. She was clearly petrified.
‘Don’t worry, Samichi. I’ll save Ram. Nothing will happen to him. He won’t be punished.’
Samichi shook her head. Something else was on her mind. She spoke in a quivering voice. ‘Lord Raavan survived … the Lankans … will come back … Mithila, you, I … we’re finished …’
‘Don’t be silly. Nothing will happen. The Lankans have been taught a lesson they will not forget in a hurry …’
‘They will remember … They always remember … Ayodhya … Karachapa … Chilika …’
Sita held Samichi by her shoulders and said loudly, ‘Pull yourself together. What’s the matter with you? Nothing will happen!’
Samichi fell silent. She held her hands together in supplication. Praying. She knew what she had to do. She would appeal for mercy. To the True Lord.
Sita stared at Samichi and shook her head. Disappointed. She had decided to leave Samichi in charge of Mithila, under the titular rule of her father, Janak. Ensuring that there would be continuity in leadership. But now, she began to wonder whether Samichi was ready for additional responsibilities. She had never seen her friend so rattled before.
‘Arishtanemiji, please don’t make me do this,’ pleaded Kushadhwaj.
Arishtanemi was in the section of the Mithila Palace allotted to Kushadhwaj, the king of Sankashya.
‘You will have to,’ said Arishtanemi, dangerously soft. The steel in his voice unmistakable. ‘We know exactly what happened. How Raavan came here …’
Kushadhwaj swallowed nervously.
‘Mithila is precious to all who love wisdom,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘We will not allow it to be destroyed. You will have to pay for what you did.’
‘But if I sign this proclamation, Raavan’s assassins will target me …’
‘And if you don’t, we will target you,’ said Arishtanemi, stepping uncomfortably close, menace dripping from his eyes. ‘Trust me, we will make it far more painful.’
‘Arishtanemiji …’
‘Enough.’ Arishtanemi grabbed the royal Sankashya seal and pressed it on the proclamation sheet, leaving its imprint. ‘It’s done …’
Kushadhwaj sagged on his seat, sweating profusely.
‘It will be issued in the name of King Janak and you, Your Majesty,’ said Arishtanemi, as he bowed his head in mock servility.
Then he turned and walked out.
King Janak and his brother, King Kushadhwaj, had authorised the imprisonment of the Lankan prisoners of war left behind by Raavan. Vishwamitra and his Malayaputras had promised that they would take the Lankan prisoners with them when they left for Agastyakootam. The sage intended to negotiate with Raavan on Mithila’s behalf, guaranteeing the kingdom’s safety in return for the release of the prisoners of war.
This news had been greeted with relief by the Mithilans, and not the least, Samichi. They were petrified of the demon king of Lanka, Raavan. But now, the people felt more at ease knowing that the Malayaputras would ensure that the Lankans backed off.
‘We’re leaving tomorrow, Sita,’ said Arishtanemi.
The military chief of th
e Malayaputras had come to Sita’s chamber to speak with her in private. Sita had refused to meet Vishwamitra since the day Ram had fired the daivi astra.
Sita folded her hands together into a respectful Namaste and bowed her head. ‘May Lord Parshu Ram and Lord Rudra bless you with a safe journey.’
‘Sita, I am sure you are aware that the time to make the announcement draws close …’
Arishtanemi was referring to the declaration that would publicly announce Sita’s status as the Vishnu. Once it was made, not just the Malayaputras, but the whole of India would recognise her as the saviour who would lead the people of this land to a new way of life.
‘It cannot happen now.’
Arishtanemi tried to control his frustration. ‘Sita, you can’t be so stubborn. We had to do what we did.’
‘You could have fired the Asuraastra, Arishtanemiji. In fact, Guruji could have fired it as well. The Vayuputras would have understood. They would have even seen it as a Malayaputra effort to protect themselves. But you set Ram up …’
‘He volunteered, Sita.’
‘R-i-g-h-t …’ said Sita, sarcastically. She had already heard from Lakshman how Vishwamitra had emotionally blackmailed Ram into firing the divine weapon, exhorting him to protect his wife’s city.
‘Sita, have you forgotten what state Mithila was in? You are not appreciating the fact that we saved your city. You are not even appreciating the fact that Guru Vishwamitra will handle the crisis with Raavan, ensuring that you do not face any retaliation after what happened here. Seriously, what more do you expect?’
‘I would have expected you to behave with …’
Arishtanemi interrupted Sita, guessing what she would have said. ‘Honour? Behave with honour? Don’t be childish, Sita. What I have always liked about you is the fact that you are practical. You are not taken by silly theoretical ideas. You know you can do a lot for India. You must agree to make the announcement of your Vishnuhood …’
Sita raised an eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t talking about honour. I was talking about wisdom.’
Sita: Warrior of Mithila Page 22