From the other side of the cave, she heard a soft whimper. Angada might be awake. He was running a fever. The boy hadn’t been sleeping properly for quite some days. He had been haunted by nightmares. She had wanted to put him beside her and tend to him, but Baali would hear nothing of it. A Vanara boy can’t be tugging along his mother’s tail always, Baali used to say. Angada was only fourteen years old, but Baali treated him like an equal. He wanted Angada to grow up to be a better warrior than he was and in the name of training, Baali showed no mercy to him. She often pitied Angada for being her husband’s son. It was tough to live up to the reputation that his father had built with his legendary deeds.
Angada whined again. She sighed and disentangled herself from Baali’s grip. She rushed to where her son was sleeping. She frowned when she saw him. He was hugging Ruma. A pang of jealousy ran through her heart. This woman had no right over her son. She snarled at her.
‘Nightmares as usual,’ Ruma said. Tara shook her son awake. Angada looked at her and then at Ruma.
‘Come and sleep beside us,’ Tara snapped at her son.
‘I will sleep here,’ Angada turned away.
Tara yanked Angada’s hands. ‘You’re not a small child, get up, hurry.’
‘Let him be here, sister. Our son is scared. He is getting nightmares about our husband being dead.’ Ruma tried to intervene.
Tara despised this woman. Our son indeed! Angada was born in her womb. He had drunk her milk. Ruma had no right over her. Wily woman! Tara was sure that Ruma didn’t care much for Angada. She was simply trying to ascertain her right over her husband.
‘He is neither your son nor is Baali your husband,’ Tara hissed.
‘Oh, sister, why’re you so angry? I was once Sugreeva’s wife, but since Baali defeated him, I became his. Just like how you used to be Sugreeva’s wife when Baali was thought to be dead.’ Ruma smiled at her. Tara’s lips trembled in anger. She wanted to pronounce a scathing retort, but she could not think of any.
‘Baali doesn’t care for you. You’re just the spoils of war,’ Tara managed to say as she turned back. She had never spoken harshly to Ruma in sixteen years of their life together. But tonight, she felt she had the right to do so. She didn’t like the way Ruma had been behaving since she had heard about the duel between Sugreeva and Baali. She was unusually aggressive. It was as if she knew something. It was as if she was waiting in anticipation of something.
‘That is the rule of the jungle, sister. The one who wins gets the mate and the kingdom. Tomorrow, if Baali is defeated, you too will be a spoil of war.’ Ruma’s laugh scalded her ears.
Tara wanted to retort that Baali was never going to be defeated, but she didn’t want to tempt fate. She dragged Angada to where she was sleeping and ordered him to sleep in her bed. Angada looked at her confused. His father’s strict demeanour often scared him. She shoved her son down. The boy lay down, gingerly, unsure of himself. Baali turned in his sleep and put a protective hand over his son. She saw Angada eye his sleeping father with surprise. When he looked at her, she smiled and nodded her head. Angada hugged his father back. Baali didn’t move, but his embracing hands never left Angada. Tara’s eyes grew misty. She put her hand over her family, holding them close. Baali’s hands sought hers and their finger’s entwined. She felt like crying. This was too precious to lose. She tried to push away the evil premonitions she was feeling, but they came like waves, sometimes ebbing, sometimes cresting, but relentless. Oh, mother of the forest, let us be happy like this always, she prayed. Fireflies danced around them, giving an ethereal glow to the cave. She felt uneasy. She hugged her family closer and tried to sleep.
Sleep refused to be coaxed and kept away from her like a petulant lover. With a sigh, she sat up. There were snoring noises from dark corners of the caves. The wolf slept in the corner of the chamber. Her heart went for Chemba. Her husband’s precious friend. She went to caress its red coat and it wagged its tail without opening its eyes. She felt a rush of affection for the beast.
There were many Vanaras sleeping on the floor. She treaded carefully, so as not to step on them and wake them from their sound sleep. She was jealous of the Vanaras who never worried about the future or the past. She wished she had that skill. Maybe she was an Apsara as Baali used to say and not an ordinary Vanara woman. That thought brought a smile to her lips. She came out of the cave mouth and stood at the edge of the cliff.
It was breathtakingly beautiful outside. A sliver of a moon floated in the sky sprinkled with thousands of stars. River Pampa glittered like a silver necklace as it snaked its way through the rocky valley of Kishkinda. A crisp wind played with her hair carrying the fragrance of Ankola flowers from the hills above. The smell brought back a thousand memories. She wished she was still the carefree young girl she used to be. She wanted to relive the movements when the first love flowered in her heart. She wanted to laugh the same way and feel the pangs of yearning. She closed her eyes, and everything rushed back with the same joy and pain. A delicious, numbing, exhilarating pain. The pain of first love. And she shuddered at the thought she was having. She was betraying Baali by such thoughts. She was scared. Baali had won again the previous evening. Why was she having such dreaded thoughts? Why did the fear refuse to go away?
Chapter 39
When dawn broke, Baali was surprised to see her still standing on the balcony. He came and encircled her narrow waist with his hands. He pressed her close to him and looked into her eyes. ‘Tara,’ he whispered softly and kissed her forehead.
She could not withhold herself. She sniffled. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered in his ears.
They were shocked from their dream-like moment by a bone-chilling roar at the gate. Sugreeva had come back. He was wearing a garland of hibiscus around his neck. It looked so incongruous and dandy on him. He was screaming abuses. Baali cursed and was about to rush down when Tara hugged him tight.
‘Don’t go.’
Baali sighed. He gently said in her ears, ‘Tara, you know I can’t stay here like a cuckold. I have to go and fight.’
‘An enemy who was beaten yesterday has come back in the morning, full of confidence. He has powerful friends. He is laying a trap.’
‘Sugreeva is a fool. He will never learn however much I beat him. It’s his fate. Had it been some other enemy, I would have killed him long ago. I can neither bring myself to kill the boy who I brought up, nor will he grow up strong enough to kill me. This joke will continue.’ Baali laughed.
‘Sugreeva is powerful. He may win this time. Please–’
Chemba came running to the balcony. His ears were straight. He let out a low growl.
‘Tara,’ Baali’s frowned, ‘Are you supporting him? Do you think he can beat me? Do you secretly wish that?’
‘Why do you talk like that?’
‘A good wife will encourage her warrior husband to win. She wouldn’t sap his confidence with her tears and fears.’
‘I’m a bad wife. It’s alright. I can accept that tag. But please don’t go. I saw the enemy hiding behind the tree yesterday.’
‘Who? That Rama? I don’t think he would do that, Tara. No warrior would do that. I have fought warriors of all tribes—Rakshasas, Vanaras, Asuras, Yakshas, Gandharvas—I have fought mean men, uncouth barbarians, cannibals. I have fought beasts. They might have been evil or noble, but they fought face-to-face with me.’
Tara cried, ‘He was hiding there. If not for killing you, why should he hide with a loaded bow?’
‘Tara, when even the most evil of tribes like Rakshasas chose to fight me face to face, I can’t believe a Prince, who the bards claim to be an Avatar of God, would do such a thing. No, Tara, he can’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. And even if he does that, what choice do I have Tara? I don’t know to hide and shoot. I know only to fight face-to-face like a man. And I’m sure, even if Rama wants to do that, my Sugreeva wouldn’t allow that. It was not how I had brought him up. So there is nothing to worry. And if Rama comes to fight me, face-
to-face, like what I believe him to do once I defeat Sugreeva, I would fight him too. If he is a better warrior, let him kill me. That would be an honour for me. So don’t stop me, Tara.’
Baali turned to go but Chemba stood in his way.
‘Move’ Baali said to Chemba but the wolf refused to give way. Baali scratched behind its ears and patted its head. He asked the wolf to stay quiet. Chemba whimpered and wagged its tail. Tara watched helplessly as Baali walked away with deliberate steps. She watched him with tearful eyes when he crossed the gate of the palace and vanished. Chemba started whining.
Sugreeva had run away like the previous day. Tara knew what was in store. She didn’t share the naïvety of Baali. She knew men who could brutally chop the breast and nose of a woman wouldn’t play by the rules that a rustic like Baali cherished. She walked to the riverbank, dreading every moment, fearing her every step that took her near the place where Baali’s death could be waiting. Chemba ran ahead of her, growling, whining and occasionally howling. The behaviour of the red wolf filled her mind with horrible premonitions.
The sky was overcast and heavy, pregnant with rain. The humidity was unbearable. Not even a leaf stirred. Dark clouds swirled above her head. When she reached there, Baali had thrown Sugreeva on the ground. Baali placed his right leg on Sugreeva’s chest and roared. Chemba was growling at a tree that lay about twenty feet away. The wolf’s ears were alert, eyes squinted in concentration and tail straight. Tara looked to see whether someone was hiding behind the tree like previous day. No one was there. Tara sighed in relief. Baali roared in victory. He was alive. She could not control her tears. All her fears were unfounded. She felt guilty that she had suspected Rama to be someone who was capable of shooting in sly. She said a word of prayer.
At that moment, an arrow whooshed through the air. She turned in surprise to see a dark young man ducking behind the tree. She watched in horror as the arrow pierced Baali’s chest. She screamed, but no sound came out. She ran to her husband. Chemba reached first. Baali fell like a huge tree struck by lightning. She went near him, beating her head, crying, but she had lost her voice. Baali saw her with pity-filled eyes. She collapsed near him and took his head on her lap. Chemba whined piteously. It kept its head on Baali’s heaving chest and stared at his face with all the sorrow in the world.
‘As usual, you were right, Tara.’ Baali gave a sad smile and blood bubbled out through his mouth.
‘Don’t go, Baali, don’t go,’ she wanted to say, but no sound came out. She was feeling cold. She shivered. He was dying in her arms. Sugreeva had got up and he watched his brother dying. He collapsed on his knees and buried his head in his palms.
Rama and his brother came near them. Baali saw the man who had hidden behind a tree to shoot him dead. Chemba stood up and bared his teeth. Baali patted the wolf to calm it down. It placed its head on his chest. Baali folded his hands to greet the uninvited guests. There was a derisive smile on Baali’s lips.
‘Welcome, Rama.’
Tara saw the dark man shifting his eyes, nervous, uneasy. Beside him stood a man with an angry scowl.
‘You’re unique, Rama,’ Baali said.
Rama stood watching Baali die. Lakshmana’s lips curved into a derisive smile.
‘May I know why you shot me slyly instead of facing me like a man, Lord Rama?’ Baali asked. His voice was getting weak.
‘You had done injustice to your brother.’
‘You could’ve faced me like a man,’ Baali said.
‘You stole his wife,’ Rama declared.
‘You could’ve faced me like a man,’ Baali laughed.
‘You’re evil and my dharma is to eliminate evil,’ Rama said.
‘You could’ve fought evil like a man.’ Baali laughed and vomited blood. Ignoring it, he laughed again.
‘I’m a Kshatriya and my duty is to vanquish evil,’ Rama said.
‘You could’ve faced me like a man,’ Baali said again.
‘It’s the Dharma of a Kshatriya to hunt animals. You’re not human. You’re a Vanara. I can hunt you and kill. It’s Kshatriya dharma.’
‘Ah, we’re animals. Vanaras. Now I understand, my lord. Our lives don’t matter. We’re mere animals. Yes, my lord, we belong to the forest. We aren’t familiar with the noble ways of civilized men. In the jungle, the tiger hunts its prey by stalking, like how you did, Rama. But the tiger does it because it’s hungry. What are you hungry for, Rama?’ Baali scoffed. Rama stood without a reply.
Baali turned to Tara. ‘Don’t cry, my dear. I have been killed by a God. The rules of men don’t apply to them. As the Brahmins say, maybe I will get moksha. I don’t know what that is. All I wanted was to live. Who can question gods, Tara? So bid me goodbye, dear,’ Baali turned to his brother, ‘Sugreeva . . .’
Sugreeva crawled near him. Baali’s hands were shivering. Life was ebbing out of him. ‘Son, I’m sorry I stood in your way. I know you love her. I was a selfish man. I mean a selfish animal. A mere Vanara. What do I know about nobility, son? I don’t blame you, Sugreeva, my dear brother.’
Sugreeva broke into sobs. He hugged his brother and cried, ‘I’m sorry. I’m a sinner.’
Baali touched the garland Sugreeva was wearing. ‘It doesn’t look good on you, brother. Garlands are for gods. We’re animals, brother. We eat, love, fight and die. Our lives hold no value for anyone except us. Don’t cry my brother. You might have promised something in return for the favour Rama did for you. Do it with all your heart. And take care of my . . . I mean . . . your Tara. She is a wise woman. She had warned me, but I was a fool. Don’t ignore her advice. And take care of our Angada. And be nice to Ruma. The heaven for animals is waiting for me. Or do they allow animals into heaven? Don’t bother. I’m not going to leave my forest. I will be the breeze, I will be the butterfly, I will be the grass . . . ah, I’m blabbering. My time is nearing. Tara, my love . . .’
Baali tried to kiss Tara, but lost his strength midway. His hand kept caressing the wolf on his chest. His strength ebbed away and he collapsed and died in the arms of two people he loved most. Chemba let out a heart-wrenching howl that fell on Kishkinda like a curse.
It started raining, first as a drizzle but soon copiously, as if Indra, the God of rain and thunder had lost all his restraint and was weeping unabashedly at the injustice done to his son. Tara watched in shock and disbelief. Memories rushed like torrents. She felt numb. She placed Baali gently on the ground and turned away, unable to see the blood that had pooled below him being washed away. Rain was washing away even the stains of Baali’s blood from her clothes. The wolf lay on its paws, staring at the face of his master, waiting for his call, for a gentle pat on its head.
Tara tried to stand up but her head reeled. She gathered all her will and stood up on her weak legs. Rain lashed at her face like a whip. She stood drenched, gathering herself. Her fists curled and nails dug into her palms. She lifted her head and stared at Rama. He averted his eyes. She said in an even voice, ‘I don’t know whether you’re God or a man. For me, you’re just my husband’s killer. I curse you. Though I’m not sure whether an animal’s curse will have any effect on the gods, that is all a poor widow can do. I curse you. For whatever purpose you had killed my husband, let it be futile. I heard you’re going to fight for reclaiming your wife. I curse you that you will never know happiness with her, even if you manage to win.’
She didn’t wait for Rama’s reply. She walked away, leaving Sugreeva to grieve over her husband’s body. Hanuman ran after her, calling out her name loudly. She didn’t bother to stop for her friend. He managed to catch up with her near the eternal fire and stood before her, panting. He was about to console her with wise words, but when he looked at her distraught face, he became incapable of saying anything. He folded his hands, seeking forgiveness.
‘I have to plan for my Baali’s funeral’, she said softly. Hanuman stood with his head bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘Sugreeva is in no state to plan anything. I have to arrange the funeral’, sh
e said, looking far away. Her wise friend stood like a statue. She walked away, repeating she had to make arrangements for the funeral, had to make arrangements, had to make arrangements for funeral befitting a King.
The wolf continued to howl, piercing the conscience of all who boasted one. For others, gods were there.
Chapter 40
Later, when the funeral was over and when wise men had consoled her with words like the soul doesn’t die and it discards bodies like old clothes, the kind of words which one can afford to say when the death has occurred not in one’s own family, and she had given courage to Angada and Sugreeva, she went home to grieve alone. Her father didn’t say anything. It wasn’t needed. She just wanted to get away from the memories of Baali. She had failed miserably. Sugreeva came seeking her and begging her forgiveness. She was indifferent to him initially.
Slowly, her zest for life started asserting. Hadn’t Baali himself asked her to live with Sugreeva? She was tormented by the thought of whether she was justifying her wish. Was she using Baali’s words as an excuse? What will people say if she lived with the killer of her husband? Angada was devastated by the loss. Did she not have a duty to Angada? But every time she tried to convince herself that Baali had gone irrevocably from her life, she felt guilty. He had cheated death once, would he do that again? Would all this turn out to be a nightmare, perhaps a prank played by Sugreeva?
The rains were torrential that year as if mother earth needed more water to wash away the stain of Baali’s brutal murder. She walked to the place where Baali’s ashes were buried. To her surprise, she found Chemba lying over the umbrella stone paved over Baali’s grave. The wolf let out a low bark and ran to her. All the courage and restraint of Tara broke at the sight of the beast. It ran to the stone and attempted to dig the stone with its paws. After a few attempts, it laid down panting. It had not given up hope. It had not given up on the one it loved. Once again, the animal’s love was proving stronger than hers. She wished she could share the same hope and faith. She went near the wolf and found there were cracks between its nails. Chemba might have been desperately trying to save its master as it had once done. The wolf whined when she touched the blisters. She dragged the wolf to the river and washed its paws. Then she applied a paste of herbs. The moment she left it, Chemba ran to the grave and attempted to dig the stone with its bruised paws.
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