Vanara

by Anand Neelakantan

  ‘What do you want, Tara?’

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘Sleeping. Haven’t you seen anyone sleeping?’ Ruma said, gazing up at the roof.

  ‘I saw you sleeping around. Why do–’

  ‘Yes, I was f**** him,’ Ruma’s lips curved derisively.

  The crudity of language shocked Tara. ‘Is he . . . is he your lover?’

  ‘I don’t even know his name.’

  ‘Ruma, he is an Asura,’

  ‘I don’t care. I will f**** whoever I please. I will f**** every man in Kishkinda. I will f**** Vanaras, Asuras, Devas, why I will f**** your husband too.’

  Tara slapped her across her face, ‘How dare you–’

  Ruma started sobbing, ‘I have no one. My Sugreeva hates me. He wants you. In his sleep, he whispers your name. Why don’t you f****him once, b****? Maybe he will–’

  Tara stormed out of the room. She had to tell Baali. There was no other choice. She waited restlessly in her chamber, waiting for Baali to come. When it was almost dawn, she heard approaching footsteps and rushed out. She came face to face with Sugreeva. Her eyes searched for Baali.

  ‘Yata, I am sorry. He is drunk and has passed out.’

  ‘Drunk? Tomorrow he must fight the duel,’ Tara cried in alacrity.

  ‘I tried Yata, but he wouldn’t listen. May be that Asura has tricked him.’

  Tara wasn’t sure whether it was Ravana who tricked her husband or Sugreeva. She felt anger rising within her. Was he such a big fool, allowing her husband to get drunk and pass out on the most important day of his life?

  ‘You left him alone?’ Tara asked incredulously.

  ‘That wolf is there with him. He isn’t easy to carry, Yata.’ Sugreeva grinned. She was about to rush out, when he grabbed her hand.

  ‘Tara–’

  She snapped out of his hand. ‘Fool, your wife is waiting for you.’

  ‘Be mine, Tara!’

  ‘Fool,’ Tara panted, ‘Your wife is sleeping around with any willing male. Aren’t you ashamed?’

  ‘I know, Tara. I know what she does. Ruma wants to spite me. I have neither love nor hatred for her. Let her sleep with the whole world, I don’t mind a bit. All I want is you.’

  Tara spat in disgust and rushed out. She had to drive some sense into the thick head of her husband. As she reached the eternal fire place, she could see his crumpled figure lying prone on the street. Maharaja of Vanaras, she wanted to spit on his face. How dare he demean himself like this? He has gambled with the future of Vanara race and is behaving so irresponsibly. When she reached near him, the wolf jumped across her path and growled. When it saw her, it moved away to lie down by its master’s feet. She ignored it and rushed to him. She tried to shake him awake. His toddy pot was lying half-drunk by his side. On an impulse she took it and smelt it. There was the faint smell of cannabis. Somebody had laced her husband’s drink with drugs.

  Chapter 30

  Sugreeva sat looking at the pale moon playing hide-and-seek with the puffy clouds. It was unusually cold. His head was bursting with pain. I’ve had too many drinks, he thought. He shouldn’t have talked to Tara the way he did. He spat in disgust. Fool, fool, he chided himself. He was perched atop the hill above the royal cave. The embers in the campfire they had lit had died down and the air had an acrid, smoky smell. He wished he could flare up the fire again, but he dared not to. He rubbed his palms together to keep himself warm. The images of Ahalya being tied to the tree came flashing to his mind from nowhere. He blinked and Ahalya’s face turned to that of Tara. They were dragging Indra out, naked. No, it wasn’t Indra. It was he. They were dragging him naked through the Ashram. They were going to castrate him. He screamed in horror.

  ‘Have this. Good for cold,’ the man said, startling him. After a moment’s hesitation, Sugreeva grabbed the pitcher and drank. The stinking liquid burned its path to his belly and he coughed. His companion chuckled.

  ‘Too strong for your taste? This is Asura brew, brother. Now, what we need is a girl. It is cold like hell in this place. In our little island, it is always balmy and the sea breeze carries the fragrance of the Ashoka flowers. Ha, Ha! the sea does not have Ashoka trees. My brother’s gardens do. A beautiful garden he has. Everything about him is beautiful, you know. He has a beautiful palace, beautiful city, beautiful wife, the bastard. Ha, Ha!’

  Sugreeva didn’t reply. The Asura’s rant was making him anxious. He wished the Asura would stop talking and leave him alone. The Asura filled Sugreeva’s pitcher without asking. Sugreeva stared at it. He tried to push his thoughts away, but guilt weighed him down. He shouldn’t have done what he had done.

  ‘Brother, you don’t worry. I know you hate your brother–’

  Sugreeva flung the pitcher and stood up. The Asura stared at him in disbelief. The pitcher rolled down the hill and vanished into darkness.

  ‘I don’t hate my brother.’

  The Asura chuckled and took a gulp from his pitcher. Sugreeva grabbed the Asura’s shoulders and shook him, ‘I don’t hate my brother. I love him.’

  The Asura smiled at Sugreeva and took another gulp. Sugreeva grabbed the Asura’s pitcher and flung it down the valley.

  ‘Now that was unnecessary, brother. You are wasting good arrack.’

  Sugreeva turned away in disgust. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have listened to this sly Asura. I shouldn’t have–

  ‘Now relax, Vanara. Relax. I know you are weighed down by guilt. Don’t be guilty. It isn’t a crime to covet the throne, even if it is the throne of a bloody, godforsaken monkey kingdom.’

  Sugreeva turned in rage, ‘How dare you–’

  ‘Hey, don’t glare at me like that. You look funny, monkey. You take me for a fool? I am the brother of Ravana. You came asking for cannabis. You aren’t the cannabis type. Hell, you can’t stand a pitcher of mild arrack. Who did you take it for? Eh? Hmm, let me guess. Your brother . . . eh?’

  Sugreeva turned away. It was a mistake to come. He wanted to see his brother. He wanted to fall at Baali’s feet and ask for his forgiveness. He was feeling giddy. He wiped beads of sweat that had formed on his brows despite the biting cold. His shoulders stooped. His eyes filled up with tears. He felt the cold damp hand of the Asura on his shoulders. It sent a shudder down his spine.

  ‘If isn’t the throne, what it is? A woman?’

  Sugreeva didn’t answer.

  ‘You can’t hide anything from me, brother. You can’t hide anything from this Vibhishana. Let me guess. You love your sister-in-law and–’

  Sugreeva started walking away. Vibhishana caught up with him. ‘She is beautiful. Not as beautiful as my brother’s wife. Mandodari. You should see her, brother. Oh, she is an Apsara–’

  Sugreeva hurried down, but the Asura followed him, talking incessantly, ‘I can understand how you feel, brother. We have more in common than you could imagine. Let me tell you a secret. I have an eye on Mandodari. Just like you have on your brother’s beautiful bride.’

  Sugreeva stopped in his tracks. The Asura had crossed all limits. ‘You are drunk, Asura,’ Sugreeva hissed.

  ‘A drunken man always tells the truth, brother. Have no guilt. Love is a divine thing. Love for a beautiful woman is the most divine thing in the world.’

  The Asura was holding a mirror to Sugreeva’s soul, but irrationally it was the frequent use of the word beautiful that was riling Sugreeva’s nerves. He thought of pushing Vibhishana down the cliff for a moment. The Asura had no plans to stop talking.

  ‘Monkey man, listen to me. What you did is the right thing to do. I wish my life could be so beautiful. My problems could be solved so beautifully, and I would get my beautiful Mandodari. You should see her, brother. You would forget your monkey girl. Your monkey girl is also beautiful, but Mandodari is more beautiful.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Brother, oh this is an occasion to sing. Don’t worry, brother. You did a beautiful thing. You have given me a beautiful idea. When the time co
mes, I would do what you did now. Until then, I would be the faithful brother to the great Ravana. The fool Ravana. One day he would die, just like your ugly brother, Baali will tomorrow.’

  Sugreeva smacked Vibhishana across his face. The drunken Asura fell on his back. Sugreeva pounced upon him and punched him repeatedly. The Asura put up his hands, trying to ward off the blows.

  ‘Hey, hey, monkey. Why are you angry? Oh, I get it. You are too good, Vanara. I should learn a trick or two from you. You are a born actor.’

  Sugreeva beat him until his arms ached, but the drunken Asura kept laughing hysterically. Sugreeva left him in disgust and staggered down the path to the cave. When he reached his chamber, to his disgust, Ruma was sitting on the bed. She scrambled up when she saw him. She stared at his face. He looked away.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ Ruma asked.

  ‘Out,’ Sugreeva screamed and Ruma cowered. ‘Nothing will happen to your brother,’ Ruma said through tears.

  Sugreeva grabbed her hair and dragged her out. He threw her on the floor outside his chamber. Ruma lay crying on the floor. When he turned, he saw Tara behind him with a bowl in her hand. He averted his eyes and stumbled to his chamber. He could feel her eyes boring his back. He collapsed on the floor and wept.

  Chapter 31

  Since the bullfighting, where Baali had killed Dundubhi, the arena was full for the first time. Though it was only dawn, the gallery was overflowing with Asuras and Vana Naras. Many Vana Naras could be seen praying to the great God Ayyan. In the sacred grove of the seven palmyra trees, a special puja was done with fish and toddy to satiate Ayyan, his army of ghosts and the Vana Nara ancestors. Vana Naras, in their coarse clothes made of rough cotton, birch skin or deer skin sat with pounding hearts. Mothers were breastfeeding their babies, but their lips were chanting the name of Ayyan and his elephant faced son, Kari.

  The other side of the arena was filled with Asuras in glittery clothes and helmets made of copper. Their ornaments caught the rays of the rising sun and gleamed. They mocked the poor Vanaras, passed coarse comments on the breast-feeding mothers and made fun of their black skin and thick lips of the Vana Nara people. They were sure of victory and argued over which Vana Nara woman each would take as slaves. They had every reason to cheer. The chief of Vanaras, the arrogant Baali, was sitting by the fountain on one corner of the arena. He appeared stoned. To add to the ridiculousness of the situation, the beautiful wife of the Vanara chief was trying to revive him. Tara was forcing him to drink some medicine. She was crying, but the Vanara king was refusing her treatment. Beside him, lay Chemba, the red wolf, surveying the gallery for anything that could endanger his master.

  ‘Is your monkey husband meditating?’ an Asura asked and the Asura side erupted with howls and laughter.

  ‘Send that shaggy dog to fight. He looks sober.’

  ‘Maybe the black monkey is doing Sandhya Vandhana, the prayer to the sun,’ another Asura said, paying mock obeisance to the rising sun. There was more laughter and cat calls. The Vana Nara people sat with their head held low in shame. Tara could hear the elders making vitriolic comments about her husband. Rishabha was extolling the people to rebel. People were becoming edgy. Their freedom was at stake.

  ‘Baali, Baali, please . . .’ She tried to press the bowl of concoction to Baali’s lips. He grabbed the bowl and threw it into the fountain. Fortunately, it didn’t overturn. It floated over the ripples of the fountain. Baali looked at her with bloodshot eyes. The cat calls of Asuras were becoming unbearable. Any moment the King of Asuras would be in the arena to fight her husband. She needed help. She looked around, ignoring the raunchy comments about her wet clothes that clung to her body and saw Sugreeva. He was standing at a distance.

  ‘You stand here watching the fun?’ she asked him.

  Sugreeva walked to her. ‘Yata?’

  ‘Hold his hands,’ Tara said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Hold his hands you fool.’

  Sugreeva held Baali’s hands and Baali struggled. Chemba started barking. Asuras roared with laughter. Rishabha cried, ‘Enough of this mockery.’

  Swallowing the insult and mockery, Tara entered the fountain. She was aware of the spectacle she was providing to the crass Asuras as water splashed over her body and had wet her clothes. She controlled her tears. She would bear any shame, even walk naked, if that would save her Baali. She retrieved the bowl of medicine. Sugreeva held a struggling Baali. Tara prised open Baali’s mouth, and emptied the medicine into his mouth. He tried to spit it out, but she held his mouth shut tight. Chemba bit Sugreeva and tried to drag him away. Sugreeva cursed and kicked the wolf. The Asuras were howling with laughter.

  A sudden hush fell in the arena. Tara slowly left Baali’s mouth. Sugreeva somehow retrieved himself from the grips of Chemba. The wolf ran to its master and started licking Baali’s face.

  ‘Devi, may I request you to kindly leave the arena.’

  She looked up and saw Ravana, her husband’s foe, the one who may kill him in a few minutes. Ravana was standing with his head bowed, his palms joined in Namaste. Sugreeva had walked away. She stood before Ravana, wondering whether she should plead with him to postpone the duel. She was tempted to plead for her beloved’s life. Then she looked around and saw the arrogance of Asuras, the way they were mocking her husband, her people. Baali would prefer to die as a warrior than a beggar. She turned away, struggling to control the trembling of her lips, the immense heaviness that was descending on her shoulders.

  ‘Devi, you are wet. Please . . .’ Ravana waved his shawl made of the finest silk, embraided with gems and pearls, with the fragrance of some exotic perfume. He was smiling at her. He was being chivalrous, performing an act that his bards would sing in his praise. Hatred bubbled up from her belly and made her gag. Suppressing her urge to lash out at him, she returned his smile. Then she threw back her head, matching his arrogance with her pride and walked away with steady steps. She would watch her dear Baali die in this charlatan’s hands, but she would not bow her head, take his help. She was Baali’s wife. The monkey woman.

  Her gaze met that of Nala who was the middleman for the duel. He turned away, suppressing his sob. She gave her friend’s hands a squeeze and smiled tearfully before taking her seat in the gallery. Some woman kept her hand on her shoulders, as if to pacify her. She snapped at the poor woman, saying she needed no sympathy. She looked around and saw Ravana watching her with a smile. He gave a bow. She couldn’t help but notice how dashing he looked in his fine clothes. Baali was sitting by the fountain like a stone. Nothing could be more contrasting than the opponents. As Ravana’s gaze fell on hers, he gave his exquisite shawl to Nala to hold. She saw her friend’s eyes open in surprise. He was feeling the texture of the shawl, the richness of the weave and the pattern. He was smelling the pattern. She saw the derisive smile at the faces of Asuras and the bowed heads of her people. Her Baali’s people. They were slaves since time immemorial. For a brief period, Baali had showed them a dream. The dream was ending. Something snapped in Tara’s mind. She couldn’t allow Ravana and his men to dazzle them with their wealth. Baali mustn’t lose.

  ‘Baali, my beloved,’ Tara cried, forgetting propriety, forgetting shame. ‘Finish the arrogance of this Asura.’

  There was no response. Her people had raised their heads. But Baali sat like a stone. ‘Kill him for me, Baali,’ Tara cried pitifully. Baali sat without moving a muscle. She slumped on her seat. The Asuras roared in laughter. She could hear Chemba barking. Nala tried to pull the wolf away, but it snarled at him. Baali snapped his fingers and gestured it to move away. The red wolf walked to Tara, its tail behind its legs. It looked at her with pitiful eyes and curled down beside her feet. Nala blared the horn. Ravana waited at the centre of the arena, flexing his muscles. Tara could hear Vanara women whispering and admiring the Asura King. Nala blared his horn again. There was still no response from Baali.

  ‘The monkey is still at his Sandhya Vandhana,’ an Asura cried. A wave of l
aughter followed.

  ‘Sandhya Vandhana? That is done by Brahmins,’ another said. ‘But this is a low-caste Monkey.’ More laughter followed. Some Vanara young men rushed forward at this provocation but elders calmed them down.

  Ravana laughed and walked to Baali. He tapped Baali’s shoulders with a finger, as if he didn’t want to dirty his hands by touching the monkey. Baali didn’t move.

  ‘What are the rules of duels? I can’t be standing here the entire day watching my opponent dry in the sun,’ Ravana said to Nala.

  Nala explained to him that there are four fountains at the four corners of arena. Whoever flips the opponent to all the four fountains will be the winner. Ravana remarked that that made his task easy. Baali was already sunk half in the western fountain. Many found the remarks witty. The Asuras tittered.

  Ravana tried to lift Baali by his armpit. Baali didn’t budge. The entire episode was turning into a farce and the king of Asuras was enjoying it. Tara sat with her cheeks burning in shame. She could feel the sense of defeat among her people. A sudden gasp caught her attention. The crowd had gone silent. Baali had caught Ravana’s head in his armpit. Ravana was still laughing, treating it as fun before he finishes off his opponent. Baali sat without moving. Only his bulging biceps betrayed his struggle. Ravana tried to free himself. His laugh had turned to a grunt. He started pummelling Baali’s back with his free hand but Baali was choking him. The pummelling soon became weak. Baali stood up with a roar. Ravana was still at the crook of his arm. He jumped into the fountain, dragging his opponent. He dunked into water, taking Ravana with him. The crowd watched with trepidation. Baali sprang up, dripping wet but Ravana’s head was still in his grip. He threw Ravana into water and walked out of the fountain. Behind him Ravana was struggling to get up. Baali stood at the edge of the water, beat his chest, threw back his head and roared.

  The crowd erupted in a loud cheer. The Parai drums that were silent for so far, rolled in a frenzy. Many Vanaras were crying, hugging each other and Vanara women were ululating. Tara couldn’t control her tears or her smile. Baali walked to the centre of the arena. The Asura crowd was dangerously silent. Baali stood with his clenched fists pressing his waist. Tara wanted to cry, Baali, watch out, for she saw Ravana had recovered and was rushing towards Baali. Ravana kicked Baali, sending him sprawling on the mud. The Asuras roared with cheer, but it was short-lived. Baali grasped Ravana from behind, his arms locking the Asura king’s neck in a death grip. He dragged Ravana and threw him into the fountain on the east side of the arena. Baali let out his monkey roar again. Tara saw a few Asuras stand up. Their swords had come out of the sheath. Some were stringing their bows. The Vanara warriors on the other hand were busy cheering their chief. The moment Ravana was on his feet, Baali jumped into the fountain and caught Ravana by his long hair. He dragged the Asura king to the Southern fountain. The wild roar accompanied the pummelling of his chest. By now the Parai drummers had jumped to the arena and had started dancing. The drum rolls were deafening and the Vanaras were cheering in ecstasy. When Baali dunked Ravana in the Northern Fountain, the entire Vanara crowd rushed to the arena, erupting in joy. A monkey man had vanquished the mighty Asura emperor. The Asura crowd rose in anger, clanging their swords on their shield. They couldn’t believe their king, the greatest of all warriors who had conquered the entire Jambudweepa, under whose armies the mighty armies of Devas crumbled, was defeated by a black-skinned, thick-lipped, monkey man. The great scholar of Vedas, musician, scholar, statesman, warrior and dashingly handsome Mahabrahmana Ravana was squirming under the feet of a crude, low-caste, untouchable, illiterate, ugly monkey. The Asuras couldn’t digest the insult.