Then Dasaratha punctuated his words with a look at Kausalya. The expression in the maharaja’s shining, beady eyes, the ghastly pallor on his sweat-washed face, the involuntary rhythmic shaking of his jowls, these told Sita what the maharaja’s words could not express.
She saw the truth beneath his diplomatic words. Dasaratha was even sicker than he looked. The maharaja was at the end of his resources, and was asking Kausalya, as the senior queen, to give him a little respite, buy him a little time. An outright call of help could hardly have made his condition plainer. The look in the king’s eyes was as close to a plea as one could expect to see. Sita felt ashamed at all the criticisms of Dasaratha that had passed through her mind only moments ago. In the end, he was just an ailing man on the verge of his end.
Kausalya’s face softened immediately. The First Queen’s quick eyes caught the plea in her husband’s response and look, and she responded at once. ‘Of course, my lord. If that is your will, we shall discuss it later.’ She looked around, aware of the several hundred pairs of eyes upon them both, analysing and judging shrewdly. A nation was watching its king in his last days, measuring how these words and decisions might affect them individually and universally. Kausalya raised her voice. ‘Truly, you speak wisely, Ayodhya-naresh. As ever your adherence to dharma is beyond reproach. Verily do you insist that tradition and ritual must come before all personal considerations. Our private family matter would best be discussed behind closed doors later tonight.’
Sita distinctly heard a sigh of frustration rise from the aristocratic ranks. A private sabha would mean that none of them would be able to see how the drama unfolded.
Kausalya touched Sumitra’s arm gently. ‘My sister-queen, I urge you to withdraw your accusation for the nonce. We shall debate this issue within the chambers of the sabha hall after the completion of this rite.’
Another look passed between the two queens, this one of empathy and understanding. Sumitra glanced at Dasaratha, her own face reflecting her concern for her husband’s well-being, and she nodded. ‘Of course, my sister. A few more moments will hardly matter.’ She hesitated, then glanced over Kausalya’s shoulder at the other queen. Her expression hardened again. ‘I ask only that Rani Kaikeyi be placed under … ‘ she seemed to weigh her words cautiously, ‘under close watch until such time as this matter is resolved. If it pleases you and our lord?’
Kausalya hesitated a moment, as if debating how to agree to Sumitra’s request without launching them all upon yet another stage of accusations and counter-accusations. Then, before the First Queen could say another word, Kaikeyi herself spoke. Silent this past spell of time as her identity was being questioned and then disputed, the Second Queen now leaped back in the saddle. She took a step forward, raising an arm heavy with glittering gold.
‘Justice.’
Heads turned to look at Kaikeyi.
The Second Queen’s voice was fraught with a haughty air of righteousness that even Sita, who did not know Kaikeyi well, thought was obnoxious.
‘My honour has been sullied in public. I protest against this barbaric offence and demand redress at once. Clear my name before we proceed further.’
Kaikeyi looked at the four princes with their new brides, all watching anxiously as the drama unfolded. ‘I apologise for first interrupting and now delaying your rite of welcoming, my sons, my new daughters. But I was not the aggressor here. I have been wrongfully accused in a shocking and reprehensible manner.’
She gestured at the watching aristocrats, nobles, ministers of the court and other onlookers. Sita sensed their glee at the continuance of the drama, an interest that Kaikeyi was milking for all it was worth. ‘The accusation was made publicly. To take the matter under private advisement would be to deny me my opportunity for vindication. I demand therefore that the matter be settled here and now, this very minute. An injustice was done unto me and it must be undone before we can proceed.’
Sumitra’s delicate features sharpened into a birdlike ferocity. ‘You see? She does not even have a heart in that breast, or she would understand why it is we are willing to postpone the matter. I tell you, Kausalya, this witch–’
Kausalya pressed down on the younger queen’s shoulder, cutting off Sumitra’s outburst. The senior queen spoke with a tight-lipped formality that sharply rebutted Kaikeyi’s overblown tone of self-righteousness. ‘Rani Kaikeyi, you heard the maharaja’s decision. Once spoken, his word is law. Is it now your desire to invoke the charge of treasonous disobedience by ignoring his judgement? For that is what you appear to be doing by refusing to accept his decision.’
Bravo. Sita wished she could applaud. Kausalya’s response was as masterful as anything she could have wanted. That’ll put the shrew in her place.
Kaikeyi’s smile showed that she was undaunted. ‘Come, come, Kausalya. How could I possibly deny the authority of our lord? Of course I abide by his decision in every respect. What I am saying now is no contradiction to Dasaratha’s pronouncement, it is simply an expansion. The maharaja himself said that we should finish the rites first before continuing this discussion in private. And part of these rites includes my welcoming my own son and his new bride into our household. A right that you seek to deny me.’
Kaikeyi pointed at Bharat and Mandavi, who were standing even now before Kausalya. ‘I should be the one receiving Bharat and his beautiful wife. By standing in my stead, you dishonour me and sully my untarnished name. I demand that you apologise and step away at once, and then repeat the rite once more with me present.’
People gasped openly. Sita heard her sister and cousins turning their heads with alarm, peering out through the flower-veils that hung from their foreheads. For a new bride to repeat her griha pravesh was considered very bad luck. But so is being interrupted in the midst of the rite, which is what’s already happened here.
A commotion broke out, this time among the Brahmins clustered to one side, still dutifully reciting the mantras of welcoming. Kausalya had fallen silent and Sita could understand why. The senior queen was in a fix now. If she denied Kaikeyi her right as mother and mother-in-law, it could be seen as a violation of Arya tradition, and a personal insult against Kaikeyi. But if she repeated the ritual, it would only delay the whole process further, restore the face Kaikeyi had just lost, and fatally undermine Sumitra’s allegations. She could hardly claim the Second Queen was an asura in disguise if she permitted her to go through the rite now!
And she can’t arrest her either, Sita thought, because that would also be a violation of the maharaja’s decision. What would Kausalya do? Sita glanced discreetly at Dasaratha, and saw that the maharaja’s head was bowed painfully low as he coughed again into Pradhan-mantri Sumantra’s napkin. This time, the splotches of blood on the cloth were unmistakable. Sita saw Sumantra take the cloth from Dasaratha and replace it with another. Dasaratha remained hunched over, like a man on whose shoulders a great new burden had just been placed.
Beside her, Rama moved briefly. Sita sensed he wanted desperately to go to his father’s side and support him. Escort him out of this debate and to his sickroom, where he could rest and be tended to in comfort. Even Sumantra seemed to be debating whether or not to put his arms around his king to hold him upright, for it seemed sure that Dasaratha would keel over at any moment.
Into this miasma of tension, Rani Kausalya’s voice spoke quietly.
‘Very well, Kaikeyi. As queen of this kingdom, it is your royal right to participate in the ritual. And you are Rani Kaikeyi after all, are you not? So why should you not exercise your right? Go ahead then, rani. Offer your pranaam first to Guru Vashishta as is customary, and then you may take my place here and welcome your son and your bahu home.’
And Kausalya indicated with her hand the place where the great preceptor stood before the Brahmins of the palace, inviting Kaikeyi to come forward.
Except that it wasn’t an invitation. It was a challenge. Sita rejoiced inwardly again at her mother-in-law’s ingenuity. Pressed to the wall, Kausa
lya had found a way to expose Kaikeyi as well as end this debate swiftly. By reminding Kaikeyi to offer pranaam to the senior Brahmin present, she was challenging her to touch the guru’s feet. At that point, if she was indeed an asura in human guise as Rani Sumitra claimed, she would be exposed beyond doubt. There would be no concealing her true identity from Guru Vashishta.
To Sita’s surprise, Rani Kaikeyi only smiled, bowed her head gracefully, then walked across the marbled foyer, watched closely by everyone present. The Second Queen of Ayodhya went to the preceptor of the kingdom, bowed deeply, and touched his feet. The guru in turn touched her head and gave her the ritual ashirwaad. Then Kaikeyi straightened, turned around, and walked towards Kausalya and Sumitra, her eyes glittering with triumph as she approached.
‘Ranis,’ she said in a dangerously soft voice. ‘Make way for your sister.’
And to Sita’s chargin, Kausalya moved aside, her arm compelling Sumitra to move with her, and made way for Kaikeyi to stand on the high step to take her place in the rite of welcoming.
TWELVE
Jatayu almost flew into the sleeping rakshasa’s face. The creature was lying prone on its back, occupying most of the enormous chamber, its prodigious snores filling the air with the warm stinky gusts that Jatayu had foolishly mistaken for a wind current. Further down to the south, its belly rose impressively, curving roofwards like the rise of a ridge of mountains. Beyond that, the far reaches of the chamber were too dark to make out how long it stretched.
By the vulture-king’s estimate, the beast’s nose alone was at least half a mile off the floor. And its belly at its peak must rise to two or three miles. Jatayu shuddered to imagine how high the creature might be when it stood up. Something close to nine miles, or why else would the chamber be built a yojana high? Now it understood why this room had such fantastical dimensions and why it stank only of kumbha-rakshasa and nothing more. This sleeping giant could be none other than the legendary Kumbhakarna, brother of Ravana. And Kumbhakarna, as legend had it, slept for three score years, then rose and feasted for as many years, before going back to sleep.
This cycle had continued for some millennia, to the best of Jatayu’s knowledge. But in the relatively brief time it had served the demonlord of Lanka, a mere four hundred years or so, it had not yet had the experience of setting eyes on the legendary giant himself. Because Kumbhakarna had not left his chamber deep within the black fortress for almost a thousand years! Or so it was believed.
Jatayu saw the lights of the two mashaals flickering still by the western wall of the chamber. That was where it was headed now. It had a sense that the torches were held by the same two kumbha-rakshasas it had followed down here. In moments, as its flight carried it swiftly across the murky expanse of the chamber - and high above what it now saw was Kumbhakarna’s rising and falling chest - it came within sight of a Pushpak flying towards it.
The air-chariot was nothing like the Pushpak that Jatayu had hitched a ride on three days earlier. That one, the first of its name, Ravana’s personal vehicle, driven by his other brother, the more normal-sized Vibhisena, was glorious in its beauty; after all, it was the personal vehicle of Lord Indra-deva Himself. This rath, in stark contrast, was dark, ugly and menacing in appearance. It befitted the two foul-looking and even fouler-smelling kumbhas that rode in its cradle, peering and waving angrily at Jatayu as they approached. The bird-beast sniffed disapprovingly. The kumbha whose stench it had tracked was one of those in the approaching Pushpak - there was no mistaking that festering uraga-bite stench.
The Pushpak slowed as it approached the vulture-king, then started to execute a turn that was apparently meant to intercept Jatayu. Abruptly it lurched and dropped several dozen yards, before stopping its fall. The two black-hide kumbhas manning its controls seemed to be having some difficulty manoeuvring the air-chariot. No doubt because they were more intent on cutting off Jatayu’s flight path.
Foolish wretches. Did they think that any vehicle could ever match the flying ability of the lord of birdkind? Even depleted and damaged as it was, Jatayu could still have danced rings around the Pushpak. Even Ravana’s Pushpak, if it came to that. For all the celestial vehicle’s pyrotechnics, it was ultimately just a device. And as for being divinely created, well, what was Jatayu then? Puffed rice?
The Pushpak lurched violently, then flew forward and back in fits and starts. The two kumbhas were desperately attracting Jatayu’s attention. One of them seemed to be trying to do something to the controls. It lost its temper and kicked hard, and with a whoosh the Pushpak rose and shot upwards like a flung spear. Jatayu flapped its left wing hurriedly as the air-chariot shot past it, its rusting iron frame brushing the vultureking’s wingtips. It screed in indignation, forgetting where it was and what lay below, and turned to follow the kumbhas, folding its wings and shooting after the Pushpak like a bat out of hell, quite literally, considering that it had in fact been released from Narak, the first level of hell, by the Lord of Lanka. In the thrill of the chase, its healing wounds and painful scars were forgotten, and there was only the wonderful waft of the wind upon its face and body, and the sense of power in being able to change direction or speed simply by elevating or declivating certain wingtip feathers.
It caught up with them a mile higher, still shooting madly towards the ceiling. As Jatayu raced closer, it could hear their gruff voices yelling furiously. Closer still, it could see them fighting each other as well as the Pushpak, mashaals flaring and flickering as they battled in the brainless way of all rakshasas. Cruds! Dolts! Imbeciles. At the rate they were accelerating they would reach the roof in moments. High as the chamber might be, it was not infinite, no matter how great the illusion of infinity might be. If they struck the roof at this velocity, they would be smashed beyond all recognition, the Pushpak itself crumpled into a twisted mass of rusted metal that would fall and probably be lost within the valley of Kumbhakarna’s navel miles below.
Jatayu came up from below them and caught hold of the Pushpak’s sides. At the same instant, the bird-beast opened its wings and used all its strength to slow both itself and the shooting vehicle.
The air-chariot resisted its efforts fiercely for a moment. Then, with surprising meekness, it relented and lay limp in Jatayu’s grip. The vulture-king screeled triumphantly and flew towards the far end of the chamber, carrying the chariot.
A while later, it descended to a spot on the floor close by the northern wall of the enormous chamber. It had passed Kumbhakarna’s feet a couple of miles back, large and hairy and thirteen-toed, like all rakshasas. It had glanced down briefly and by the light of the flickering mashaals in the Pushpak had seen what looked like lice scrambling over the giant asura’s hirsute feet. That was the last it had seen of the mountainous brother of Ravana. It realised now that those could not have been lice: the creatures it had seen had been huge, larger than most asuras. It shuddered in distaste and put the memory out of its mind. It had other matters to deal with now.
It set the Pushpak down on the floor with a softly ringing clanging and let go of it. Its feet were glad to be free of that filthy iron monstrosity. The Pushpak was all but falling apart from rust and neglect. The two kumbha-rakshasas tumbled out of the air-chariot, falling over each other in their haste to look up and face the vulture-king properly.
‘You!’ the larger, uglier one rasped. ‘You in trouble! Master teach! Master punish! Dare enter forbidden chamber! Dare defy kumbhas!’
Jatayu raised one of its feet menacingly. The bird-beast was no Kumbhakarna, but the kumbha-rakshasas were barely five yards tall apiece, while Jatayu itself was twice as high at the head. Each of the bird-king’s talons was a yard and a half long, enough to cut one of the blustering buffoons in half if it wished; all it would take was a single flick of its talons.
At the sight of the raised foot, the kumbhas sputtered and protested again, but they quietened down. These were the languages they understood: threats and intimidation.
Jatayu crooked its head. ‘What mast
er? No master have you no more, kumbhas! This Jatayu saw the flag you raised atop the ramparts. And saw as well Ravana dug bodily out from ground by Vibhisena. Dead as good was he. Frozen bug in amber like.’
The kumbhas stared up at Jatayu. Slowly, smiles of wicked delight spread across both their faces. Their outer mouths opened to reveal second and third mouths within, all three opening and closing, emitting choking, gasping sounds. It took Jatayu a moment to understand that this was the sound of rakshasa laughter.
‘What laugh at, you two?’ Jatayu asked angrily. ‘Drop you like rats to smash your brains out Jatayu could have, up there. Answer! Command you!’
One of the two rakshasas, the one without the sickening uraga-bite stench, paused in its merriment long enough to waggle a horny arm and six-fingered hand at Jatayu.
‘Master drop you! Smash you! Say master is dead, do you? Fool! Flying fool! Flag we put on the roof was to show mourning for comrades killed by vile mortal treachery at Mithila battle. You thought it was for master? Master alive and well, preparing new plans, new war campaign already. Wait till we tell him what you said about him being dead as bug. You birdbrained fool! You dead then!’
And that set them off on a fresh wave of laughter. But Jatayu didn’t care any more. It was too stunned by their words. Master alive and well.
Ravana was alive!
THIRTEEN
Bharat’s maternal uncle Yudhajit, Kaikeyi’s older brother, was waiting to speak with them when the welcome rituals were over. A handsome, big-built man, Yudhajit had a striking similarity to his sister. They shared the same arrogantly handsome features, a small forehead with wiry brows, and intense eyes set wide apart, set off by prominent cheekbones. They were quintessential north-western faces, eye-catching in their forceful lines, yet hinting at brutal wills and violent histories.
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