Vanara

by Anand Neelakantan

  ‘What do you eat, Appa?’ she asked, suppressing a sob.

  ‘Why? I eat tubers, honey, fruits, nuts, whatever I get. Whatever my patients can afford to give.’ Sushena smiled. ‘I’ve no use for your fancy equipment from the city, girl. I’ve seen sixty-five rains and lived well without cooking.’

  Lived well, indeed, she wanted to say. If she said much, she was scared she would cry. She went out to find a broom to dust the floor. She didn’t want to face her father. She worked through the day, cleaning the cobwebs, patching the cracked floor with cow dung, cleaning the windows. There was no latch on the door.

  ‘You’re staying alone and you’ve no latch on the door?’ she asked him.

  ‘Ah, I have the fortune of Kubera buried here for someone to steal,’ Sushena guffawed.

  There was no point arguing with the old man. When she was carrying his clothes to wash it in the river, he was sitting on the Veranda and chewing betel leaves. ‘What is this new habit?’ she asked in a stern tone. He smiled sheepishly. She thought of stopping him, then remembered these were his little pleasures. What right did she have to barge into his home—she paused. Did she think of it as his home? It is her home—no, it was her home. She sighed as she walked past him. How different would it have been had her mother been alive? Her father could have married again. He wouldn’t have been this lonely. He hadn’t for her sake and how had she repaid him. There were a few old women who were washing their clothes on the riverbank. They were surprised to see her. One of them remarked that the Maharani of Kishkinda was washing clothes like a common woman. She remarked it was her father’s clothes. They watched her as if she was a creature from another universe. She felt she was showing off her false humility. The childhood she had dreamt about had vanished. She wished she hadn’t married and remained the little daughter of her father. She wished she was that teenager, sitting with her ankles dipped into the cold waters of Pampa, and discussing boys with Prabha. Where was she now? Why did she go away?

  When she was returning to her hut with the washed clothes, a few village children came running to her. They stood at a distance, watching her with awestruck eyes. She called them to the veranda and they approached her reluctantly. Tara spread out the savouries and treats she had brought from the palace. Her father distributed them among the village children. Old women came to enquire after her. Her father showed everyone the shawl Tara had gifted him. She had brought presents for everyone. The villagers overwhelmed her with their love. By the evening, her father’s friends came with wild honey from the forest and gooseberry wine. It was delightful to watch the old men sitting on the protruding rock that overlooked the falls and finding joy in trivial things.

  As the evening fell, she felt an inexplicable joy in the rustic simplicity of her village. The pain she felt when she came had withered away. She was getting used to the slow rhythm of village life. The breeze was fragrant and the air rich. Even the moon looked different, its light somehow felt purer. She sat on the veranda, savouring her childhood. The bush where she used to hide during the hide-and-seek game with Prabha had grown into a tree. The courtyard looked smaller than she had imagined. Everything looked different yet familiar, smaller yet more beautiful. If she wished, she could perhaps lean and touch her younger self playing hopscotch in the courtyard.

  Her mind went to Baali. Where would he be? Would he miss her as much as she missed him? Suddenly, the world swam before her eyes. She tried to stand up and staggered. She tried to call out for her father. Everything went blank and she collapsed on the ground.

  When she woke up, she was inside the hut. There were many faces smiling at her. She tried to get up, trying to orient herself. Her father gently pushed her down. He was grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Daughter, take rest.’

  ‘What happened to me?’

  ‘Nothing. Take rest.’

  ‘What illness do I have?’

  The villagers burst into laughter. What was so funny about it? An old woman came forward and said with a toothless grin, ‘Sushena is soon going to be a grandfather.’

  For a moment, she didn’t comprehend what the old woman had said. Then it stuck her with full force. She wanted to see Baali now. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ she cried. She could not control her tears. She held her father’s wrinkled hands and laughed, then cried. A huge cheer went through the villagers who had crowded near her reed mat. The village women gently helped her to stand up. They led her to Veranda. There were many people waiting anxiously. The old woman announced the good news and an impromptu dance broke out. They made her sit on the veranda. They showered her with affection, sweets, the ones she had gifted them in the morning.

  She was anxious to meet Baali and tell him the great news. Her father’s home no longer appealed to her as it had sometime before. She wanted to be back in their chamber, in their carved stone bed. She wanted to lie on his chest and stare at his cragged face, feel the stubbles on his chin with her hand. She imagined his face when she told him that he was going to be a father. She spent a restless night, dreaming, in delicious anticipation, yearning for Baali’s presence, dying for his words of endearment. She told her father she wanted to go back to Kishkinda the next day. Her father smiled sadly and blessed her.

  She woke up with a searing headache and morning sickness. Her father was not in the hut and she fretted at the unexpected delay. Her father came, panting and puffing. He was covered in sweat. He sat on the veranda, fanning himself with his Uthariya.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she could not hide her irritation.

  ‘I had to prepare for your departure,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘What preparation?’ she asked puzzled and then it dawned on her. Her father might have begged and borrowed to give her gifts and savouries as per tradition.

  ‘There was no need for all that, father,’ she said.

  ‘It’s my duty, daughter. You’re a Maharani. No one should speak ill of you in your in-law’s home,’ Sushena gave her an endearing smile. Her eyes misted.

  ‘No, father. There is no one to speak ill or otherwise in my home. Baali is the last person to be bothered about such trivial things. I lack nothing.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you will deny your father the pleasure,’ Sushena said. ‘That doesn’t mean I can’t buy new clothes for my son-in-law as per custom and that doesn’t mean I should not present a few gold bangles to my daughter.’

  There was no point arguing further. Soon, men and women arrived bearing gifts for her. Some were paid by her father, and some were gifted by the villagers on their own accord. She and her father started for Kishkinda by noon. They were trailed by a few men and women carrying gifts and presents.

  When they reached Kishkinda, there was a crowd assembled near the palace. What was wrong? Tara felt uneasy as many stared at her. There were hushed whispers. Her heart started beating faster. Something was seriously wrong. No one was facing her. She ran to the palace and found the council of ministers huddled at the courtyard. Hanuman was there too.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, and the men parted to let her pass. She saw Sugreeva sitting on the threshold with his head buried in his palms. She repeated the question. Hanuman came to her and stood without speaking. His eyes were brimming.

  ‘Daughter, pray for strength.’

  ‘What happened? Why’re you looking at me like that? Please tell me.’ No one answered. Sugreeva’s shoulders heaved with emotion. He was sobbing.

  ‘Will someone please tell me what happened?’ she screamed in a shrill voice.

  It was Hanuman who answered.

  ‘Baali is dead.’

  Chapter 33

  Tara laughed. She rushed to Sugreeva, ‘It’s your prank. Is it not? Tell me, it’s your prank, right?’ she laughed aloud and turned to the council of ministers. ‘It’s just a prank. He is a prankster. Baali can’t be dead. Don’t try to fool me.’

  Sugreeva started sobbing.

  ‘Sugreeva, enough of your acting. Nothing has happened t
o my Baali.’ She laughed. Except for Sugreeva’s sobbing, there was complete silence. A few dry leaves cartwheeled through the courtyard. No one spoke. Tara stopped laughing. She collapsed on the steps.

  ‘Baali can’t die, Baali won’t die,’ she kept mumbling. She could hear her father wailing loudly. The villagers who had accompanied her were beating their chests and crying aloud. Someone must have told them. She wanted to scream at them to stop. Baali can’t die like that. Baali wouldn’t leave her alone. He had to see his unborn child. How can he leave her like that? He had no right to do that. She hated him for it. He couldn’t die.

  Hanuman came near her. ‘Daughter, no one can stop death when the time comes. That is the only certainty in life.’

  ‘Baali isn’t dead,’ she repeated.

  ‘He will always live in your memories and in those who admired and loved him. Only his physical form has changed. His soul is immortal.’

  ‘Baali can’t die,’ she insisted.

  ‘Anyone born will die, daughter. Baali had spotted Mayavi and the Rakshasa ran for his life. It was raining heavily in the hills. Baali chased him. The Rakshasa entered a cave and Baali went in search of him. It was then the landslide happened, trapping both Mayavi and Baali inside the cave. The whole mountain caved in–’

  Tara staggered towards Sugreeva. ‘And you didn’t do anything to help him?’ she asked suspiciously.

  Sugreeva stared helplessly at her and then at Hanuman. His eyes were red with grief.

  ‘I did everything possible. I tried to remove the boulders with my bare hands. All the soldiers tried. But the entire mountain collapsed in the landslide.’

  Tara withdrew to her room. She sat on the carved stone cot where they had spent countless hours in each other’s arms. The chamber had Baali’s smell. Every item in the room reminded her of him. She felt that any moment he would come in with his boyish grin and laugh at the prank he had played with her. The red wolf would come with him. Wolf . . . where was Chemba? Like a woman possessed, she ran down the steps of the cave palace. Hanuman and Sugreeva were huddled with the elders near the eternal fire. Their eyes widened in surprise when they saw her. Nala rushed to her. She pushed him away and went to Sugreeva.

  ‘Where is Chemba? Where is the red wolf?’ she cried holding his angavastra.

  ‘The wolf . . .’ Sugreeva fumbled. ‘It was refusing to come with us. It is a wild animal. Without Baali it would have left to join its pack.’

  ‘The wolf won’t leave Baali.’ Tara broke down. ‘My Baali isn’t dead. He can’t die,’ Tara repeated to everyone she saw. People nodded in sympathy. Nala accompanied her to the cave palace. Ruma was sympathetic for once. She tried to pacify her. Tara had ears for no one. She kept repeating that Baali can’t be dead. Despite her protests, the arrangement for Baali’s last rites were made. Her father tried to pacify her. She screamed at him to leave her alone. She watched him walk away with stooping shoulders. She waited for Baali, refusing to talk to anyone. Ruma came with food and tried to talk to her. She sat like a stone, refusing to cry, refusing to believe that Baali was dead, refusing to eat anything. She wanted to be left alone with her grief and people respected it. Sugreeva avoided meeting her, but she cornered him once. ‘He hadn’t given up on you, when you were at the doors of death, Sugreeva. Why did you abandon him?’ she screamed at him. He stood with his head bowed, not uttering a word in his defence. When she broke down, he left quietly.

  There were no mortal remains of her husband to cremate and even if there were, Baali had no son to perform the rituals, at least not yet. No one asked Tara anything. She was left alone in her bereavement. Nala came and sat on the floor, not saying anything. His silent presence was soothing for her. A few women of her village tried to pacify her but were shoved away by Nala. Hanuman came and talked about the immortality of the soul. Tara kept repeating that Baali can’t die.

  When Hanuman brought Brahmins from Matanga’s ashram to conduct the rituals, Tara stopped them and pleaded with them not to do the rituals. Everyone was sympathetic, but the rituals went on as per custom. Hanuman convinced the council to spare some money from the city administration. Cows were gifted to Brahmins, pindadan was done for the departed soul. Rituals were done by Sugreeva—as the younger brother, only he had the right to take the place of the son. Kishkinda mourned the death of a great warrior and king, a man who was generous to a fault. Magadhas and Sutas came to moan him. They made songs in his praise. Sugreeva gifted generous presents to everyone. Sugreeva’s grief was heartbreaking for anyone who watched.

  When the council met and decided that Sugreeva would be the king, he refused. He said no one could take the place of his brother. Hanuman and the others took almost a week to persuade him. Meanwhile, Tara mourned alone. Every rustle of leaf left her with an irrational excitement of perhaps seeing Baali, followed by heart-wrenching disappointment and grief. She wished she had seen the dead body of her beloved. She wished she could fall on him, hug his rigid body and weep so that the coldness of death would seep into her. She lived between hope and despair.

  In moments of desperation, she hated the life growing in her womb that had brought her misfortune. It was followed by guilt for hating the only thing that Baali had left for her. She refused to see her father or anyone else. Finally, once all the rituals were over and it was time for her to enter the dreary life of a widow, Sugreeva once again refused the throne.

  The council met for an emergency meeting. Sugreeva said that he couldn’t bear to see his sister-in-law a widow. The shastras of Brahmins said a younger brother could marry his elder brother’s widow. A few members who still followed the old tribal customs spoke against it, saying it was not as per Vanara tradition. However, the majority were for adopting the new Shastras. It was left to Hanuman to convey the news to Tara.

  Hanuman met Tara to gently break the news. He said Tara had the right to refuse. However, he said it would be prudent to marry Sugreeva as it would render legitimacy to the child who would be born. If it was a son, perhaps he would inherit Kishkinda. For her unborn son’s sake, she should agree to the marriage. Tara was livid at the suggestion. Though she didn’t put it into words, she had a gnawing doubt that Sugreeva was responsible for Baali’s death. Nala told her that it would be safe for the unborn child if she married Sugreeva. That set her mind ticking. She said she wanted to see the place where Baali had met his end.

  Sushena tried to dissuade her from undertaking the arduous journey of fifteen days. However, she was adamant. Finally, a group of ministers along with Hanuman and Sugreeva decided to take Tara to the place where Baali and his foe, Mayavi had disappeared.

  Chapter 34

  They reached the place after more than twenty days. Incessant rains had delayed their journey. The climb up to the hill was treacherous and slippery. She was determined to push herself to get there. When they reached the valley, Sugreeva pointed out the place where Baali had vanished. Her heart sank. Almost half of the hill had collapsed. Trees lay uprooted in a slushy mountain of mud. Water still gushed through the cracks of rocks and boulders were strewn around.

  ‘The cave mouth had vanished,’ Sugreeva said. His face was drained of blood. She uttered a cry of grief. The finality of everything broke her from within. She rushed up through knee-deep slush, fighting those who tried to restrain her. She wanted to try removing the huge boulder that lay over what could’ve been the cave mouth. It towered over her. She tried to push it, but it was like an ant trying to move a mountain. She banged her head on it and cried.

  She heard a low growl. ‘Chemba . . .’ She called. The wolf came crawling from the debris. Its paws were thick with mud. Its nails had cracked. It came to her and stood, as if trying to convey something. Tara broke down when she saw her husband’s companion. As if understanding her grief, it moved to her and licked her face. She hugged the beast and cried. Chemba wriggled out of her grip and ran, climbing the rocks. She watched it stand, staring at her, wagging its tail.

  ‘Go, Chemba . . . you bel
ong to him . . . be with him always,’ she said through tears. The wolf lay down on the rock and watched her with mournful eyes.

  Sugreeva and others stood at a respectful distance, allowing her to cry and overcome her grief. She talked to the boulder as if it was Baali. She said he was going to be a father. She whispered entreaties and asked him to come back. She chided him for playing this prank and threatened that she would leave him if he didn’t come out fast. The boulder remained stone hearted. Finally, she collapsed and cried. No one dared to come near her. They waited for the storm to pass.

  When the sun started dipping in the west, she stood up on her weak knees. She kissed the boulder and allowed the coldness of the rock to touch her. Then she whispered, ‘Forgive me, Baali. Our son needs a father. I’m going to marry your beloved brother.’

  She waited for some clue, some response. ‘They say that souls are immortal, can’t you give me a sign, Baali?’ she pleaded. The rock stood solid, unmoving, uncaring. She sighed. Chemba was lying on the rock, as if he had been sculpted from it. Her gaze met the wild beasts’ and she saw immense sadness in its eyes. The wolf’s grief was heartbreaking to watch. She said a tearful goodbye to Baali’s companion.

  Tara had to pick up her shattered life and start living again. She told herself that it would be something her Baali would have approved of. She gave a parting kiss to the boulder and started climbing down with a heavy heart. The red wolf let out a mournful howl. From somewhere deep in the forests, the wild call was answered. Tara felt she was leaving her soul in the mountain. The others helped her tread the dangerous trek down the hill. When she reached the bottom, night had fallen and a full moon had risen above the mountain that had swallowed her beloved. She paused at the bottom of the valley and turned to look at the boulder. The wolf was silhouetted against the rising moon. She sighed. She wanted to say goodbye but she froze.