Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had been in exile for twenty-four months now. The fifteen Malayaputra soldiers accompanied them everywhere.
Each member of the small party had settled into an established routine, as they moved deeper into the forests of Dandak. They were headed in the westward direction, but had not been able to find a suitable enough permanent camp. They usually stayed in one place for a short while before moving on. Standard perimeter and security formations had been agreed upon. Cooking, cleaning, and hunting duties were shared by rotation. Since not everyone in the camp ate meat, hunting wasn’t required often.
On one of these hunting trips, a Malayaputra called Makrant had been gored by a boar while trying to save Sita’s life. The wild boar’s tusk had cut upwards through the upper quadriceps muscles on his thigh, piercing the femoral artery. Fortunately, the other tusk of the boar had hit the hard pelvic bone; thus, it had not pushed through and penetrated deeper where it would have ruptured the intestines. That would have been fatal as the resultant infection would have been impossible to treat in their temporary camp. Makrant had survived, but his recovery had not been ideal. His quadriceps muscles were still weak and the artery had not healed completely, remaining partially collapsed. He still limped a great deal; a condition which could be dangerous for a soldier in the hazardous jungle.
Because of the injury it was impossible for Makrant to move easily through the forest. So, they had not moved camp for some time.
Makrant had been suffering for a few months. Jatayu knew something had to be done. And, he knew the cure as well. He simply had to steel himself for the journey …
‘The waters of Walkeshwar?’ asked Sita.
‘Yes,’ said Jatayu. ‘The holy lake emerges from a natural spring bursting out from deep underground, which means it picks up specific minerals on its way to the surface. Those minerals infuse the waters with their divine goodness. That water will help Makrant’s arteries recover quickly. We can also get some medicinal herbs from the island which will help his partly atrophied muscles to recover fully. He can have the full use of his legs again.’
‘Where is Walkeshwar, Jatayuji?’
‘It’s in a small island called Mumbadevi on the west coast. Specifically, the northern part of the Konkan coast.’
‘Weren’t we supposed to stop at an island close to it for supplies on our way to Agastyakootam? An island called Colaba?’
‘Yes. Our captain had thought it would be a good idea to stop there. I had advised against it.’
‘Yes. I remember.’
‘Mumbadevi is the big island to the northwest of Colaba.’
‘So, Mumbadevi is one of that group of seven islands?’
‘Yes, great Vishnu.’
‘You had advised against stopping there since it is a major sea base for Raavan’s forces.’
‘Yes, great Vishnu.’
Sita smiled. ‘Then, it’s probably not a good idea for Ram and me to accompany you.’
Jatayu didn’t smile at Sita’s wry humour. ‘Yes, great Vishnu.’
‘But the Lankans will not dare hurt a Malayaputra, right?’
Fear flashed momentarily in Jatayu’s eyes, but his voice was even and calm. ‘No, they won’t …’
Sita frowned. ‘Jatayuji, is there something you need to tell me?’
Jatayu shook his head. ‘Everything will be fine. I will take three men with me. The rest of you should stay here. I will be back in two months.’
Instinct kicked in. Sita knew something was wrong. ‘Jatayuji, is there a problem in Mumbadevi?’
Jatayu shook his head. ‘I need to prepare to leave, great Vishnu. You and Prince Ram should remain encamped here.’
It was dark when Jatayu and the three soldiers reached the shoreline of the mainland. Across a narrow strait, they saw the seven islands that abutted the south of the far larger Salsette Island. Torchlights on houses and tall lamp towers on streets and public structures had lit up the central and eastern side of Salsette Island. Clearly, the town had expanded on this, the largest island, in the area. It was ten times bigger than the seven islands to the south put together! It was logical that a fast-growing town had come up here. There were large freshwater lakes in the centre of the island. And enough open area to build a large town. Crossing into the mainland was easy since the creek that separated it was narrow and shallow.
There had been a time when the seven islands to the south of Salsette had been the centre of all civilisation in the area. The island of Mumbadevi had a wonderful harbour on its eastern shores, which worked well for larger ships. The port built at that harbour still existed. And clearly, it was still busy. Jatayu could also see lights on the other four smaller islands on the eastern side: Parel, Mazgaon, Little Colaba, and Colaba. But the western islands of Mahim and Worli were not clearly visible.
The hills at the western end of Mumbadevi, where Walkeshwar was, were tall enough to be seen from across the straits, during the day. In fact, the hills had once been visible at night as well. For that’s where the main palaces, temples, and structures of the old city were. And they had always been well lit.
But Jatayu couldn’t see a thing there. No torchlights. No lamp towers. No sign of habitation.
Walkeshwar remained abandoned. It remained in ruin.
Jatayu shivered as he remembered those terrible days. The time when he had been a young soldier. When Raavan’s hordes had come … He remembered only too well. For he had been one of the horde.
Lord Parshu Ram, forgive me … Forgive me for my sins …
‘Captain,’ said one of the Malayaputra soldiers. ‘Should we cross now or …’
Jatayu turned around. ‘No. We’ll cross in the morning. We’ll rest here for the night.’
Jatayu tossed and turned as he tried to sleep. Memories that he had buried deep within himself were bursting through to his consciousness. Nightmares from his long-hidden past.
Memories of when he was younger. Many, many years ago.
Raavan used our own people to conquer us.
Jatayu sat up. He could see the islands across the creek.
When he had been a teenager, Jatayu had carried the pain, the anger, of being ill-treated as a Naga. As someone who was deformed. But Nagas weren’t the only ones ill-treated. Many communities had complaints against the rigid, supercilious, and chauvinistic elite of the Sapt Sindhu. And Raavan had seemed like a rebel-hero, a saviour of sorts to many of them. He took on the powers-that-be. And, the disenchanted flocked to him. Fought for him. Killed for him.
And, were used by him.
Jatayu had, at that time, enjoyed the feeling of vengeance. Of hitting out at the hated, self-absorbed elite. Until the time that his unit had been ordered to join an AhiRaavan.
Raavan’s forces were divided into two groups. One group commanded the land territories, with commanders called MahiRaavans in charge. And the other group commanded the seas and the ports, with commanders called AhiRaavans in control.
It was with one such AhiRaavan called Prahast that Jatayu had been ordered to come to Mumbadevi and its seven islands.
These seven islands were peopled by the Devendrar community at the time, led by a kindly man called Indran. Mumbadevi and the other six islands were an entrepot, with goods stored for import and export with minimal custom duties. The liberal Devendrars provided supplies and refuge to any seafarer, without favour or discrimination. They treated everyone with kindness. They believed it was their sacred duty to do so. One such seafarer, who had been provided refuge for some time, was Jatayu, when he was very young. He remembered that kindness well. It was a rare place in India, where Jatayu had not been treated like the plague. He had been welcomed like a normal person. The shock of the compassion had been so overwhelming that he had cried himself to sleep that first night in Mumbadevi, unable to handle the flood of emotions.
And many years later, he had returned, as part of an army sent to conquer that very same Mumbadevi Island.
Raavan’s strategic r
easons were obvious. He wanted absolute control over all the sea trade in the Indian Ocean; the hub of global trade. Whoever dominated this Ocean, dominated the entire world. And only with absolute control could Raavan enforce his usurious customs duties. He had conquered or managed to gain control over most of the major ports across the Indian subcontinent and the coasts of Arabia, Africa, and South-east Asia. Those ports followed his rules.
But Mumbadevi stubbornly refused to charge high custom or turn away any sailor who sought refuge there. Its inhabitants believed this service was their duty. Their dharma. Raavan had to gain control over this important harbour on the sea route between the Indus-Saraswati coasts and Lanka.
AhiRaavan Prahast had been sent to negotiate a solution. And, if needed, force a solution. The Lankan Army had been waiting, camped in their ships, anchored at the Mumbadevi harbour, off its eastern coast. For a week. Nothing had happened. Finally, they had been ordered to march to Walkeshwar, the western part of Mumbadevi, where the palace and a temple dedicated to Lord Rudra had been built, right next to a natural-spring-filled lake.
Jatayu, being a junior soldier, was at the back of the line.
He knew the Devendrars couldn’t fight. They were a peaceful community of seafarers, engineers, doctors, philosophers, and storytellers. There were very few warriors among them. Jatayu hoped desperately that a compromise had been reached.
The scene he saw at the main town square, outside of the palace, baffled him.
It was completely deserted. Not a soul in sight. All the shops were open. Goods displayed. But nobody to tend to, or even secure them.
At the centre of the square was a massive pile of corkwood, with some mixture of holy sandalwood. It was held in place by a metallic mesh. All drenched in fresh ghee. It had clearly been built recently. Perhaps, the previous night itself.
It was like a very large unlit cremation pyre. Humongous. Massive enough to potentially accommodate hundreds of bodies.
It had a walkway leading up to its top.
Prahast had come in expecting a ceremonial surrender, as he had demanded, and then the peaceful expulsion of the Devendrars. This was unexpected. He immediately made his troops fall into battle formations.
Sanskrit chants were emanating from behind the palace walls. Accompanied by the clanging of sacred bells and the beating of drums. It took some time for the Lankans to discern the words of the chants.
They were from the Garuda Purana. Hymns usually sung during a death ceremony.
What were the Devendrars thinking? Their palace walls were not tough enough to withstand an assault. They did not have enough soldiers to take on the five-thousand-strong Lankan Army.
Suddenly, smoke began to plume out of the palace compound. Thick, acrid smoke. The wooden palace had been set on fire.
And then, the gates were flung open.
Prahast’s order was loud and clear. ‘Draw! And hold!’
All the Lankans immediately drew their weapons. Holding their line. In military discipline. Expecting an attack …
Indran, the king of the Devendrars, led his people out of the palace. All of them. His entire family. The priests, traders, workmen, intellectuals, doctors, artists. Men, women, children. All his citizens.
All the Devendrars.
They all wore saffron robes. The colour of fire, of Lord Agni. The colour of the final journey.
Every single face was a picture of calm.
They were still chanting.
Every Devendrar carried gold coins and jewellery. Each one carried a fortune. And each one carried a small bottle.
Indran walked up the pathway to the stand that overhung the massive pile of wood. He nodded at his people.
They flung their gold coins and jewellery at the Lankan soldiers.
Indran’s voice carried loud and clear. ‘You can take all our money! You can take our lives! But you cannot force us to act against our dharma!’
The Lankan soldiers stood stunned. Not knowing how to react. They looked at their commander for instructions.
Prahast bellowed loudly. ‘King Indran, think well before you act. Lord Raavan is the King of all three Worlds. Even the Gods fear him. Your soul will be cursed. Take your gold and leave. Surrender and you shall be shown mercy!’
Indran smiled kindly. ‘We will never surrender our dharma.’
Then the king of the Devendrars looked at the Lankan soldiers. ‘Save your souls. You alone carry the fruit of your karma. No one else. You cannot escape your karma by claiming that you were only following orders. Save your souls. Choose well.’
Some Lankan soldiers seemed to be wavering. The weapons in their hands shaking.
‘Hold your weapons!’ shouted Prahast. ‘This is a trick!’
Indran nodded to his head priest. The priest stepped up to the pile of wood and stuck a burning torch deep into it. It caught fire immediately. The pyre was ready.
Indran pulled out his small bottle and took a deep swig. Possibly a pain reliever.
‘All I ask is that you not insult our Gods. That you not defile our temples.’ Indran then stared at Prahast with pity. ‘The rest is for you to do as you will.’
Prahast ordered his soldiers again. ‘Steady. Nobody move!’
Indran pulled his hands together into a Namaste and looked up at the sky. ‘Jai Rudra! Jai Parshu Ram!’
Saying this, Indran jumped into the pyre.
Jatayu screamed in agony. ‘Noooo!’
The Lankan soldiers were too shocked to react.
‘Don’t move!’ screamed Prahast at his soldiers again.
All the other Devendrars took their potions and started running up the walkway. Jumping into the mass pyre. Rapidly. In groups. Every single one. Men, women, children. Following their leader. Following their king.
There were one thousand Devendrars. It took some time for all of them to jump in.
No Lankan stepped up to stop them. A few officers close to Prahast, to the disgust of many, started picking through the gold jewellery thrown by the Devendrars. Selecting the best for themselves. Discussing the value of their loot with each other. Even as the Devendrars were committing mass suicide. But the majority of the Lankan soldiers just stood there. Too stunned to do anything.
As the last of the Devendrars fell to his fiery end, Prahast looked around. He could see the shocked expressions of many of his soldiers. He burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be sad, my soldiers. All the gold will be divided up equally among you. You will all make more money today than you have made in your entire lives! Smile! You are rich now!’
The words did not have the desired impact. Many had been jolted to their souls. Sickened by what they had witnessed. Within less than a week, more than half of Prahast’s army had deserted. Jatayu was one of them.
They couldn’t fight for Raavan anymore.
The loud sound of the waves crashing against hard rocks brought Jatayu back from that painful memory.
His body was shaking. Tears pouring from his eyes. He held his hands together in supplication, his head bowed. He gathered the courage to look across the straits at Mumbadevi. At the hills of Walkeshwar.
‘Forgive me, King Indran … Forgive me …’
But there was no respite from the guilt.
It had been a few months since Jatayu’s return from Mumbadevi.
The medicine from Walkeshwar had done wonders for Makrant. The limp had reduced dramatically. He could walk almost normally again. The atrophied muscles were slowly regaining strength. It was obvious that within a matter of months Makrant would regain the full use of his legs. Some Malayaputras were even planning hunts with him.
Sita had tried a few times to ask Jatayu why the mention of Mumbadevi caused him such distress. But had given up over time.
Early today, she had stolen away from the group to meet Hanuman at a secret location.
‘Prince Ram and you need to settle down at one place, princess,’ said Hanuman. ‘Your constant movement makes it difficult for me to keep track of you.
’
‘I know,’ said Sita. ‘But we haven’t found a secure place yet.’
‘I have a place in mind for you. It’s close to water. It’s defendable. You will be able to forage food easily. There is enough hunt available. And, it’s close enough for me to track you.’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s near the source of the holy Godavari.’
‘All right. I’ll take the details from you. And, how’s …’
‘Radhika?’
Sita nodded.
Hanuman smiled apologetically. ‘She’s … She’s moved on.’
‘Moved on?’
‘She’s married now.’
Sita was shocked. ‘Married?’
‘Yes.’
Sita held her breath. ‘Poor Bharat …’
‘I have heard that Bharat still loves her.’
‘I don’t think he’ll ever get over her …’
‘I’d heard something once: Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’
Sita looked at Hanuman. ‘Forgive me, Hanu bhaiya, I don’t mean to be rude. But only someone who has never loved at all can say something like that.’
Hanuman shrugged his shoulders. ‘Point taken. In any case, the location for the camp …’
Chapter 30
Six years had lapsed since Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had gone into exile.
The band of nineteen had finally settled along the western banks of the early course of the mighty Godavari, at Panchavati. Or the place of the five banyan trees. The site suggested by Hanuman. The river provided natural protection to the small, rustic, yet comfortable camp. The main mud hut at the centre of the camp had two rooms — one for Ram and Sita, and the other for Lakshman — and an open clearing for exercise and assembly.
Another cluster of huts to the east housed Jatayu and his band.
The perimeter of this camp had two circular fences. The one on the outside was covered with poisonous creepers to keep animals out. The fence on the inside comprised nagavalli creepers, rigged with an alarm system. It consisted of a continuous rope that ran all the way to a very large wooden cage, filled with birds. The birds were well looked after and replaced every month with new ones. If anyone made it past the outer fence and attempted to enter the nagavalli hedge, the alarm system would trigger the opening of the birdcage roof. The noisy flutter of escaping birds would offer precious minutes of warning to the inmates at the camp.
Sita: Warrior of Mithila Page 28