Vanara

by Anand Neelakantan

  ‘Did you hear that? Did you hear him crying?’ she screamed. She had heard him clearly. He had called her name. She rushed back, but Hanuman stopped her. He shook his head sadly. ‘Daughter, your grief is making you imagine things.’

  ‘Leave me, leave me. He is alive. My Baali is alive,’ she cried. Hanuman left her. She took a few steps uphill, then came back. She wiped her tears. Hanuman was right. She was imagining things. They travelled back in silence. Everyone was respectful to her. Sugreeva was caring and deferential. On the third day of the journey, when they were resting by the sea shore where the Asura king Ravana had built a magnificent temple for Lord Shiva, they started talking again. Sugreeva talked about how he grew up under the protection of his elder brother. He talked about funny incidents that Baali had never shared with the others. He had a knack for making the most mundane things amusing. He had a gift for making her laugh and cry. She learnt more about Baali through his admiring words than she had ever known living with him. Baali grew in stature through Sugreeva’s words. She saw how, despite his laughter and excitement while talking about Baali, Sugreeva ended up hoarse in his voice and misty in his eyes at the end of the story. His love for his elder brother was touching. She doubted whether she had loved Baali as much as Sugreeva did. The nagging suspicion of Sugreeva’s hand in Baali’s death melted away. The landslide was massive, and it was an accident. Sugreeva couldn’t be responsible for it. It was her destiny. Sugreeva confessed to her that he had nightmares about a childhood incident. He told her about Ahalya and how Indra was castrated for his adultery. He said he was getting nightmares of someone castrating him. He pleaded that he was not seeking an adulterous relationship. He was honourably asking her to marry him. She had to learn to love Sugreeva for the sake of the life blossoming in her womb. Finally, under relentless pressure she agreed to marry him. She struggled to convince herself that she had never harboured any secret love for Sugreeva and she was doing it for the child in her womb.

  The wedding was a simple affair. It had none of the gaiety of her marriage with Baali. Only a few were invited. Sugreeva wanted it that way. It was difficult for Tara to face Ruma. The woman never uttered a word of protest.

  Sugreeva sat in the palmyra grove where they had come without uttering a word on the way. On the night of the wedding, Tara made a strange request to Sugreeva. She knew it was cruel, but she said that until she gave birth to Baali’s child, she would not give herself to Sugreeva. The sky was overcast and there was the threat of a thunderstorm. The small lamp they had carried had gone off in the moisture-laden wind that howled around them.

  ‘Alright, Tara. That is the least I can do for my brother,’ Sugreeva said.

  ‘Have you ever been a good husband to Ruma?’ Tara asked. Sugreeva didn’t reply. She repeated her question.

  ‘My love for you doesn’t allow me to do that, Tara,’ Sugreeva said and walked away without waiting for her answer. Lightning split open the sky and a thunder cracked, shaking the earth. She watched him walking down the hill. The horrible doubt which she had suppressed so far started raising its hood in her mind again. A man, who was so madly in love with her to avoid his wife, wouldn’t hesitate to murder for her. She steadied herself by holding the palmyra that was swaying in the wind. Oh God, oh God, let it not be true, she prayed. She hated herself for harbouring such a doubt. It seemed that the wind was carrying the distressed call of Baali to her from the hill where he had died. The howl of Chemba lingered in the air. Or did he die? Was he trapped inside? Did someone trap him inside? ‘Oh God, why don’t you allow me some peace? Why am I having such horrible thoughts?’ she cried aloud. Lightning hit the ground ahead of her and the smell of burnt grass assaulted her. A deafening thunder clap followed a moment later. The vaults of heaven opened, and it started raining. She ran towards the palace. Behind her the seven palmyra trees danced wildly, their heads swinging like someone possessed, their fronds scratching the skies as the wind screamed murder.

  Tara rushed to Sugreeva and blocked his path. He looked at her face and averted his gaze. Tara asked him, ‘Did you kill my husband?’

  Sugreeva’s shoulders stooped. ‘Do you suspect me, Tara? Do you think I am capable of such a crime? He was the one who brought me up. I loved him, Tara, more than anyone else in the world.’

  ‘Remember the day before the duel with Ravana? Who laced Baali’s drink?’

  Sugreeva didn’t raise his head. ‘Answer me,’ Tara said.

  ‘Vibhishana. It was Vibhishana who brought the cannabis. It grows in Lanka,’ Sugreeva mumbled.

  Tara sighed. ‘I . . . I suspected. I had seen them drinking together. But–’

  ‘How could you suspect me, Tara? Do you think I am so mean?’ Sugreeva’s voice cracked. ‘To . . . to kill my brother?’

  ‘I . . . I am sorry,’ Tara sobbed. She felt Sugreeva’s hand embracing her. She pressed her face on his chest and cried. ‘I miss him.’

  ‘I miss him too,’ he whispered. His hands caressed her hair soothingly. Suddenly, the image of his mother, Ahalya in the arms of Indra flashed in his mind. There was a boy standing at the door. He was watching them. There was a sparrow in his hand. A nest. The sparrow tweeted. Sugreeva shuddered. His hands went stiff and he stopped caressing Tara’s hair. He started sweating.

  They stood in silence. Then, she felt embarrassed. Guilty. She turned and hurried away. He stood watching her, his heart heavy.

  Months passed, with one dreary day turning into another. Sugreeva enquired about her health every day and he sat with her often without speaking, like a prayer, but she never spoke a word to him. She knew he understood the change in her behaviour, yet he never complained. Like a chastised dog seeking its master, he came to her with touching devotion. No man would have cared for a woman like that, yet that filled her with a disturbing abhorrence.

  Tara gave birth to a boy on an usually cold morning. She had refused to go to her father’s home and her father had spent an awkward month anticipating her delivery in the palace. Sugreeva ordered for a great celebration and the entire city was decorated with marigold and jasmine. The priests came again to name the boy. When Sugreeva whispered Angada, his name in the boy’s ears three times, Tara felt she would burst with grief. It should have been Baali who should have been doing it. She had dreaded the day Sugreeva would come to claim his rights as a husband. Now that Angada was born, she had no excuse to deny his conjugal rights.

  Angada was showered with presents. Ruma came to her chamber for the first time after months. She stood awkwardly at the threshold, watching Tara feed the baby. Tara called her in and she sat at the edge of the bed, watching Angada surreptitiously. When Angada had finished his feeding and Tara had made him burp, she asked Ruma whether she would like to hold the baby. Ruma didn’t reply but sat staring at her toes. Tara felt pity for the girl. For no fault of hers, she was suffering.

  Tara placed Angada in Ruma’s lap. She saw Ruma’s eyes glisten with tears. She stared at the baby, her face displaying various emotions. Then she started cooing to the baby. The baby stared at Ruma with its bright eyes. Ruma kissed the baby’s cheeks and Angada broke into a wail. Tara rushed to take the baby from Ruma, but before she could take him, Ruma started singing and Angada stopped crying. Tara did not know that Ruma’s voice was so sweet. Her song filled the palace with a delicious melancholy and Angada slowly drifted to sleep. She gently placed the sleeping baby in the cradle, but the moment the baby touched the cushion, he started crying again. Ruma started singing another lullaby. Angada closed his eyes, as if in bliss. Tara wished she was blessed with such a voice. From that day, except for feeding, Ruma became the mother of Angada for all practical purposes. Sometimes, Tara felt jealous and possessive about her son, but she told herself that Angada was the only pleasure poor Ruma had. She didn’t have the heart to deny her that.

  The day that Tara dreaded arrived sooner than she had anticipated. It was strange that when she was wedded to Baali, she used to secretly fancy the love of Sugreeva, but now,
as his wife, she felt she was betraying Baali. Tara feared facing Ruma; the guilt that she had stolen the girl’s husband hung like a stone on her neck. Ruma acted as if no one except Angada and herself existed in the world.

  Tara prayed for rain so that the event may be postponed, but the evening was crisp and clear. It was as beautiful as poetry and as lyrical as a painting. And it filled her with an unfathomable longing for Baali.

  As the sun was setting she was ushered to the room that had a balcony overlooking the river. The palace servants bathed her in milk and turmeric. They smoked her hair with fragrant incense and ushered her to the balcony. The sun was painting a magical vista over the hills and the river looked as if someone had toppled a cask of saffron into it. They made her sit facing the valley. She could see Ruma carrying Angada around. They were busy watching the birds that were coming to roost. Puffy clouds grazed like sheep in the sky. The maids pushed a table near her. It had various perfumes in it. They applied musk behind her ears. They braided her hair with jasmine flowers. A maid held a polished metal mirror for her to admire her beauty. The woman staring back at her from the mirror was a stranger to her. As the time approached, a numbness crept in from her toes and spread over her body. She had no ears for the naughty taunts of the maids.

  Tara was shaken awake from her reminiscences by a commotion by the river. Why was everyone running towards the river? She stood up in confusion. She could see a mob coming towards the palace cave. The mob was growing larger as it approached. Was she having visions? She held the balustrade firm to steady herself. She blinked to reassure herself that she was not dreaming. She saw the wolf first. Behind the wolf was that familiar face she had pined for every moment. Baali was coming to the palace. She let out a cry of joy. She ran, toppling the table of perfumes. She rushed down the stairs, stumbling, half-falling, running down, pushing away the maids who were coming up with fruits. She ran through the palace hall, sobbing and laughing. She stood at the main door, panting.

  ‘Sugreeva!’ Baali’s angry voice rose in the courtyard. He slammed his huge club on the lamp post and it broke into two. He screamed at the top of his voice, ‘You bastard!’

  Sugreeva came running from the palace. He pushed Tara out of his way and ran to Baali with open arms.

  ‘Anna, Anna,’ he cried, sobbing. Baali swung his club. It caught Sugreeva’s chin, smashing his teeth. Tara screamed. Sugreeva cried in pain. He had fallen on his back. He folded his hand and pleaded, ‘Anna, please, why’re you–’

  Baali kicked Sugreeva on his face. Ruma came running from the palace. She was carrying Angada. She was screaming at the top of her voice. She fell on Sugreeva and Baali stopped kicking his brother for a moment. Angada fell from her hand and started bawling.

  ‘Your son?’ Tara heard Baali asking Ruma. Tara rushed to pick Angada. She checked whether the baby was hurt.

  ‘Tara . . .’ Baali called in shock. He was staring at the baby and Sugreeva. Before she could say something, Baali grabbed Sugreeva by his hair and started dragging him down the steps. Ruma ran behind them, crying, pleading with Baali. Sugreeva’s head bounced on the stone steps. He was begging for forgiveness from Baali.

  ‘You trapped me, you bastard. You wanted my throne, you wanted my wife.’ Baali was cursing Sugreeva who was pleading his innocence. He grabbed his brother’s feet and cried, ‘I thought you were dead. Believe me, brother–’

  ‘You liar, you don’t deserve to live.’ Baali lifted his club and smashed Sugreeva’s knees. Sugreeva screamed and writhed in pain, but he didn’t try to defend himself. The wolf sat near the eternal fire and watched them with unforgiving eyes. Tara rushed back to the palace. On the way in, she shouted at the guards to fetch Hanuman before Baali murdered Sugreeva. The guards rushed to bring Hanuman.

  By the time Hanuman came, Baali had beaten Sugreeva to a pulp. He was sitting by his side, watching Sugreeva writhe like a worm. Sugreeva kept pleading his innocence. Hanuman came like a storm. Tara heard a heated argument between Hanuman and Baali after which Hanuman lifted the injured Sugreeva on his shoulders and walked away. Baali kept screaming abuses, threatening to kill Sugreeva if he dared to step into Kishkinda again.

  Then he turned towards the palace. Men moved away in fear. Tara hid behind the door, holding Angada close to her heart. This was not the reunion she had dreamed about. She caught herself thinking, why did he come back? When she saw his shadow, she rushed to her chamber. She sat on the cot. Angada had drifted to sleep. She dreaded the moment Baali would come to her. This wasn’t the Baali she knew.

  The pungent smell of the wolf came first. It came inside the chamber and growled. Baali followed with bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair. He had become leaner and fitter. He stood before her. She waited for him to speak.

  ‘You betrayed me, Tara,’ he said softly.

  She closed her eyes tight, but a drop of tear escaped and traced its path through her cheeks. She knew he had sat down beside her when the cot creaked, but she didn’t dare to open her eyes.

  ‘He looks exactly like Sugreeva,’ she heard him say. That broke her restraint.

  ‘Why should he look like Sugreeva?’ All her pent-up rage exploded in that question.

  ‘Is it wrong for a son to resemble his father?’ Baali said in a derisive tone.

  ‘So you’ve concluded everything,’ Tara said bitterly.

  ‘I expected you to wait for me, Tara,’ Baali’s voice sounded tired. That broke her. She bit her lips.

  ‘I thought–’ Tara didn’t know how to complete the sentence.

  ‘That I was dead,’ Baali said with a sad smile. Tara leaned on the bedpost and sobbed.

  ‘You forgot me so easily, Tara. Were you two waiting for me to die? Were you also involved in the conspiracy, Tara? You could’ve just told me about it. I would have happily given away the kingdom to him. I loved him with all my heart, perhaps more than I could ever love you. Yet, the two people I loved most, betrayed me, and . . . wanted me dead.’

  ‘How easily you come to the conclusion? Every moment I have yearned for you. Every time I heard the rustle of footsteps outside, my heart would jump with joy, for I thought you would be coming for me.’ Tara buried her face in her palms and sobbed.

  ‘Then why did you leave me alone to die, Tara?’ Baali asked with an edge in his tone. He was working himself to a rage. He stood up and came near her. He leaned towards her and she staggered back. He pointed a finger at her face and poked the air, ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t understand,’ her teeth chattered in fear. Oh God, it should not be that, it should not be that, she prayed.

  Baali slammed his fist on the bedpost. Angada woke up startled and cried. Baali ignored him and screamed, ‘You don’t understand . . . you don’t know. I saw you, Tara. I saw you with him, when you came with him. He brought you to show you that he had done his job. You came to ensure I was dead. You had even the gall to say that you’re going to marry him.’

  ‘What– what–’

  ‘STOP YOUR ACTING! You came to the hill. I was trapped behind the boulder. Through the crack between the boulder and the cave mouth, I could see you. I called you. I screamed for help. My leg was broken, my ribs had shattered. I was bleeding to death. I thought you had come to help me, Tara. And then you left. You came to gloat that you two were getting married. I tried to stop you, Tara. I called you with all my strength. You even stopped, perhaps stuck by an iota of conscience that was left. Then my brother–’ Baali spat, ‘I can’t call him my brother anymore. That scoundrel, he persuaded you to leave me.’

  Tara stood up in shock. The scream she heard that day was true. It was not her grieved mind playing tricks. Oh God, oh God, she had left him to die without knowing it!

  He caught her chin and turned her face towards the wolf. ‘This animal never gave up on me. But you, Tara, the one who I loved with all my heart, the one I called my Apasara was waiting for my death.’

  Tara sobbed.

  ‘When you went away with h
im, I was determined to live. The anger gave me strength to live. I had killed Mayavi. I survived a few days, eating his flesh. You made me a cannibal, Tara! I found a source of water and I used to drag myself on my knees. What if you had given up on me, Tara. I learned a great lesson that day. Animals have better souls. This wolf, nay my brother . . . not brother . . . I hate the word brother . . . this Chemba, my friend, he dug through the debris. His paws broke, yet he wouldn’t give up on me. Baali laughed bitterly. ‘And I loved my brother perhaps more than I loved you and he wanted me dead. See this animal. What did I do for such love from this beast? For giving him a few crumbs from my food, he showed me so much devotion. I gave you my whole world, and you . . .’

  Tara had lost the strength to cry. She wished Baali would stop.

  ‘He managed to reach me in a few months by digging through the mountain. We hunted rats together. He would bring me food, raw meat from his kill. Slowly, everything healed except the wound in my heart. I could never crawl through the way he had burrowed. We dug for months, shoulder to shoulder. This wolf and I. He taught me the meaning of love. A good lesson to have, for I had thought what you had for me is called love. How mistaken was I? I wanted to know why you betrayed me, Tara. I wanted to know why, you, of all people would do this. It took me so many days, I have lost count of days and time, to find my way out of the cave. Then we started to walk. I begged for food. I hewed firewood for a living and ploughed like an oxen. Chemba would wait at the edge of the villages. He was a wolf and heartless men would have stoned him to death. They don’t deserve him, so I kept him hidden. No one was ready to believe I was Baali, the Maharaja of Vanara. I preferred not telling anyone the same. I was collecting news. I heard you had married him. You had a son. You were living happily. I was not bitter about your happiness, Tara. I always wanted you to be happy, Sugreeva to be happy, but not by betraying me.’

  ‘No one betrayed you. Not your brother, nor me.’