PRINCE IN EXILE

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PRINCE IN EXILE Page 17

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker


  A pisaca chieftain, its ghostly white eyes glowing in a rotting face, called out seductively, ‘If this is true, why does not the demonlord appear to us in person? Why does he send you poor fool to speak on his behalf?’

  A danav further down the line made a tearing, ripping sound with its tooth-rimmed maw. ‘Perhaps Ravana has lost his voice!’

  That drew honks and roars of laughter all around. An uraga turned abruptly and lunged at its companion, a diti, swallowing the angelic horse-asura up in two quick gobbles. Vibhisena didn’t dare ask what the diti had done to aggravate the uraga. The giant serpent uncoiled to allow for the animal it had just ingested, which slid down the python-like body with lurching progress as the diti suffocated to death within the uraga’s gullet. The uraga’s little-girl face beamed beatifically, in start contrast to its horrific body.

  Vibhisena raised his hand, asking for silence. It was slow in coming. He could see that the chiefs were not impressed or intimidated by his appearance or manner. That was to be expected: they had been accustomed to millennia under the yoke of the cruellest asura ruler that had ever existed. A rake-thin albino rakshasa dressed and marked like a mortal Brahmin would hardly cause them any consternation. For all his religious piety, Vibhisena was still a rakshasa. He could smell from the mélange of odours in the Hall that the chiefs were bordering on open mutiny. He must bring the sabha under control and quickly, or his very life would be forfeit.

  He went on, trying for a sterner, more commanding tone this time. ‘My brother is still indisposed, that is why I speak for him. But none of his power is diminished in the slightest, so, friends, let me warn you—’

  ‘What do you mean, indisposed? Does he just have a cold and a fever, or did he grow wings and fly away?’

  Vibhisena wasn’t sure where that question came from, but it seemed to have originated from the rakshasa section. That was a very bad sign. If the rakshasa chiefs were losing respect for Ravana, then the other asuras would pounce on the lohit-stone throne in a trice. The fact that the rakshasas had outnumbered the other asura species by a factor of ten was one of the things that had kept the rest of them in check; after the massacre at Mithila, that safeguard had been lost. As the vanguard of the attack, the rakshasa clans had been the most badly hit. The rakshasa races, so long the masters of their asura associates, were no more superior in numbers. And with Ravana’s powerful sorcery and brutal leadership absent, it left no check on any kingly ambitions the other chiefs might have.

  The lurid remark drew another mangled burst of asura laughter. On the floor below, the female rakshasi had finally stopped writhing and lay spreadeagled in a grotesquely inviting sexual posture. If she wasn’t moved soon, he wouldn’t put it past some lusty asura chief to cover her and use her for his necrophilic satisfaction.

  Vibhisena looked around for the kumbha-rakshasas that customarily stood by when Ravana held his sessions. Not a single one was in sight, yet another telling sign of the rapid deterioration in morale and discipline. If he didn’t act quickly and decisively, the asura races would soon break out into open mutiny. From there to outright inter-species war would be a short step. And much as Vibhisena deplored his brother’s excesses and brutalities, he had never doubted that without Ravana the asuras would all go their separate ways. There was good reason why no one master had been able to command all the species until Ravana came along and dared to attempt the feat. To rule over a million million demons, you had to show that you were more demonaic than them all.

  Vibhisena raised his arms, holding them out before him, palms facing upward.

  Someone saw him and commented boldly, ‘Now the brother is praying for rain. Quit it, white-face! All the waters of the world won’t revive your brother now!’

  Something exploded like a blast of thunder from the heart of a barkha cloud. A lightning bolt, jagged black edged with crimson, shot out from the roof of the Hall and struck the vetaal who had spoken the last comment. It was indeed the last comment that wretch would ever speak. The bolt of black lightning entered his mouth and impaled him on the point of its jagged tip. The vetaal’s skinless body crumpled in a single burst of flame, then dissipated into a hundred thousand flakes of ash. The flakes flew apart and were lost in the murky light of the mashaals that lit up the Hall.

  The voice that spoke into the ensuing silence was as deep and sonorous as the distant rolls of thunder fading away.

  ‘I am Ravana, Lord of Lanka. Who dares show me disrespect in my own house?’

  This time, Vibhisena noted with relief, there were no vulgar retorts or comments. Every asura chief in the sabha stared transfixed at the object that had appeared in the centre of the Hall.

  Ravana, still embedded within his block of transparent red stone, floated in mid-air, several yards above the ground. The enormous block rotated rapidly, turning on a diagonal axis to allow a view to every chief in the assembly. Frozen within the heart of the redstone, the demonlord’s body was still suspended like a beetle in glass, but his eyes, all twenty of them, were open and glaring.

  SIXTEEN

  ‘Dasa, don’t go,’ she said, catching his arm as he rose wearily from the bed. The attendants had brought the travelling chair into the sickroom and had set it down beside the bed. Dasaratha, a shawl wrapped around his chest, was preparing to move his ailing self from the bed to the chair when Kausalya stopped him.

  He looked up at her with woeful large eyes, rimmed red and shot through with a fine tracery of veins. The irises seemed as if ringed by filmy white orbs, like cataract-ridden pupils, even though Dasaratha had not complained or displayed any loss of vision. ‘Kausalya,’ he said softly. Sumantra had left the chamber, escorting Manthara out, and Kausalya could hear his voice berating the daiimaa in the antechamber for the way she had barged into the maharaja’s private chambers unannounced. But the attendants who would carry the chair were yet here, and it was to avoid them overhearing that the maharaja kept his voice low.

  ‘You heard the daiimaa,’ he said now, his eyes pleading. ‘She has taken a vrath vow and locked herself into the kosaghar. You know what that means. If I don’t go to her, then she will allow herself to die of starvation and thirst.’

  ‘Even if she does, which I doubt,’ Kausalya said softly but urgently, ‘she’s hardly likely to die this very night. Why not go see her on the morrow, after a night’s rest?’

  Dasaratha shrugged, although it came off as the merest twitch of his shoulderblades. The powerful arm, shoulder and upper back muscles that she had once stroked with such pride and pleasure were dissipated and sagging with disuse. It was all he could do to continue speaking hoarsely. ‘Why put off what must be done anyway?’

  ‘Because I don’t trust her,’ Kausalya said. ‘Because her timing is so bad. You saw her this evening, strutting about at the griha pravesh welcoming rite. Did that seem like a woman about to take a fast-vow unto death? On her son’s wedding night?’

  Dasaratha sighed, his eyes flickering weakly. ‘That is what I must go to find out, Kausalya. Sitting here, how can these questions be answered?’

  ‘But why would she do this if not to rouse you from your sickbed?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Sumitra and you did give her cause for upset.’

  ‘Cause enough to take her own life? Come on, Dasa. Even for Kaikeyi that’s making a Himalaya out of an ant-heap. Besides, it still doesn’t make sense for her to do it at such a time, when she knows that you are so ill and in need of rest. Why tonight? Why now? Why not wait until you are stronger to take up the matter formally? After all, she won her vindication before everyone present. She proved her identity beyond doubt when Guru Vashishta recognised her and blessed her. She has already won that little battle. Why drag you out of your bed?’

  ‘As I said already, Kausalya, we’ll never know if I don’t go.’

  She clutched his arm, gripping his flabby flesh through the sleeve of his ang-vastra. ‘Then do it for my sake.Don’t go tonight. Send back word that you are too unwell to move abo
ut. Let the daiimaa take the message back to her that you will see her on the morrow. Then, after the coronation, you will be up and about anyway, and you can go meet with her then.’

  He shook his head doubtfully. ‘I don’t know, Kausalya. I have already said I will go, I told Manthara.’

  ‘Forget Manthara!’ Kausalya glanced around, aware of the attendants standing with eyes averted, waiting. ‘I told you about Sumitra and her experience with that old hag. Surely you believe that there was something wrong, even if we could not track down any hard evidence of actual wrongdoing. Where there is smoke, there must be fire.’

  ‘But there was no smoke,’ he said wearily. ‘Not even a wisp to be seen, from what I gathered. And she has been under close guard ever since. It was the guards who escorted her here to my chambers. Besides, she has nothing to do with this. This is between Kaikeyi and me.’

  Kausalya was about to speak again, marshal a new line of argument, when he raised his eyes sternly, silencing her.

  ‘Kausalya, listen to me. I spent fifteen years with Kaikeyi. She gave me a son, as you did. I shared my life, my kingdom and my bed with that woman every night for those many hundreds of moons. I cannot simply detach the rope and set myself adrift without so much as a backward glance. If this were simply some tantrum, I might have protested. But a vrathvow is a serious act, to be taken seriously. I must go to see her in the kosaghar. The moment I am done, I will return here to you. It will be you I share this bed with tonight, and every night hereafter. But first I must perform this one last duty as a husband to his lawful wife. I must go minister to Kaikeyi and see what ails her.’

  I know what ails her, Kausalya wanted to scream. She cannot accept the loss of you to me. And she will not accept it, no matter what you do or say to placate her. She is a warriorqueen, the daughter of a long line of raj-Kshatriyas. Defeat is not in her vocabulary. This is the only reason she has staged this new drama tonight. Stay here with me. Let this night pass.

  Dasaratha was shuffling toward the chair. It broke Kausalya’s heart to see him hunched like a vanar. The attendants stepped forward but Dasaratha gestured them away as fiercely as ever he has more pride than strength left now -and made it to the seat on his own. He sat down with a great sigh, face flushed and dripping sweat. He accepted the napkin given by one of the attendants and nodded.

  ‘Kosaghar le chalo.’ Take me to the anger room.

  The attendants bent as one and raised the poles on which the chair was hung. Moving in perfect tandem, they strode swiftly out of the chamber. Sumantra’s voice broke off in the antechamber and he said something to which Dasaratha replied.

  Kausalya didn’t hear their words. She was absorbed by a fresh thought that had struck her. She would tell Dasaratha to ask Guru Vashishta to go to Kaikeyi in the kosaghar. It was an old and accepted practice for the preceptor to intervene in such matters. Kaikeyi could not refuse the guru’s requests; in fact, with Vashishta she would not have the emotional hold she had over Dasaratha. Then, after the guru had ascertained what exactly the Second Queen was demanding this time, Dasaratha could decide whether or not to see her on the morrow.

  Kausalya raced out of the chamber to stop Dasaratha and tell him of this strategy. But the chair was already far down the long corridor, and as she watched, it turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

  It was too late to stop him now without causing a hullabaloo that would awaken the entire palace. She could hardly go running after the chair through the heart of the palace, yelling out suggestions to thwart Kaikeyi.

  She stood at the aangan and twisted the edge of her sari pallo into a knot, struggling to control the wave of anguish that threatened to drown her.

  She was not given to over-emotionality. But this once, she could not stop the small inner voice that kept repeating over and over again that she had lost some crucial battle she had not even known she was fighting.

  And that this lost battle would cost her the war entire.

  SEVENTEEN

  The sabha had ended. The Hall of Lanka was empty once more. Even the naked dead rakshasi had been dragged out by the kumbha-rakshasas who had appeared magically the minute they were given evidence of Ravana’s continued existence.

  Now Vibhisena was alone in the vast echoing expanse of the great Hall. He felt ashamed of himself. Ashamed and unclean. He took two steps back, unable to believe that he had just done what he had done. Forgetting where he was, he continued stepping backwards, as if trying to physically retreat from his own actions and words. The back of his knees struck the edge of the lohit-stone throne and he sat down heavily, gasping with surprise. The iron throne was cold as ice, and he sprang back to his feet at once. But somehow the frozen consciousness that was all that remained of his brother spoke once more into his mind.

  Brother, you play the part of a tyrant well. Perhaps you should have your own throne.

  Vibhisena looked up at the block of redstone, still rotating slowly in mid-air. Ravana’s splayed arms and feet were motionless, but in those terrible commanding eyes he thought he saw a flash of life.

  ‘Brother,’ he said softly. ‘You know I will never sit on a throne or command others. It goes against my principles.’

  Ah. Of course. You are that rarest of rare creatures, a rakshasa with scruples. A Brahmin, no less. How did I ever grow a Brahmin rakshasa under my own roof, I wonder?

  ‘You had nothing to do with it. If anything, you were even more pious and devout in your worship than I was when we were children. It was only later in puberty that you began to change. But you and I are still grandchildren of Pulastya, don’t forget that, brother.’

  How can I, when you never let me forget! You and my wife Mandodhari. Sometimes I think that you should have been the brother she married, not me! The two of you would have gone through life happily together, chanting the praises of the devas.

  Vibhisena clicked his tongue disapprovingly. ‘Ashubh, ashubh!’ Inauspicious, unsuitable. ‘Do not speak of my sisterin-law in that manner. She is a paragon of moral virtue, as you well know.’

  Oh, I do know. Which is why, when I desire true womanly passion, I have to seek it in the arms of one or other of my sweet rakshasi mistresses. Which isn’t always easy, there being so many to choose from! And any of them are far more enjoyable to mate with rather than your too-sweet sister-in-law.

  Vibhisena pinched his earlobes, then turned and made a throwing gesture in the general direction of Varanasi, seeking to cleanse himself thus of Ravana’s vulgarity.

  Did I cause some offence? Excuse me if I don’t apologise. As you can see, my resources are limited and I must make the most pertinent use of the only shakti I seem to have access to communication. To the point then, brother. You did well today with the asura council. Those bottom-feeders would have eaten you alive if you had shown the slightest bit of weakness. By putting them in their place so effectively, you held my kingdom together for a while longer. I have to admit, I would never have thought that you would be the one to help me thus. Tell me, what made you rise to the occasion so admirably? If anything, you’ve always sought to thwart my desire to destroy the mortals. Why do you help me now?

  ‘I help you because nobody else can, brother,’ Vibhisena said. ‘Because you are my brother after all. It becomes my dharma to do whatever I can to save you.’ He gestured at the empty Hall. ‘As for the kingdom, it was a matter of survival. Had I not held the asura races together, civil war would have broken out. And in that infighting, even the devout Brahmin rakshasas of my order would have been destroyed.’

  Most certainly. They’d be the first to be butchered. Their very presence is an affront to any self-disrespecting asura. Why, there are times when I feel like taking a mile-long rod, skewering them all through their bellies, and roasting the whole clutch over a spit. Kumbhakarna would feast well on them! You know how he relishes roasted Brahmins!

  ‘Brother,’ Vibhisena said grimly, ‘if you persist in making such talk, perhaps you should turn to Kumbhakarna for as
sistance. Whatever evils you may have done before, you know I cannot even brook talk of them, let alone stand by and watch the act itself committed.’

  Vibhisena began walking down the dais steps. ‘I will order your kumbhas to go awaken our eldest brother. You and he can savour such vulgar talk to your heart’s content. I have not the stomach for such discussions.’

  Stop, Vibhisena!

  Vibhisena paused on the third step.

  It would take months, even years, to rouse Kumbhakarna. You know that. I must be freed of this cage of stone much sooner. I have unfinished work to see to. You may have held the hounds and bitches of our allies at bay for now, but very soon they will understand that I am trapped physically within this block of Brahman-created redstone, unable to do more than cast a few feeble spells like the one I sent through your hands to kill that snivelling vetaal. By the way, thank you for allowing me a channel to rid myself of that blood-sucking scum. I hate vetaals! So, as I was saying, if I am not freed from this cage before the chiefs realise my limitations, they will revolt in force. And then there really will be Brahmins roasting on spits in Lanka, Vibhisena.

  ‘Your sons are great warriors, Jay,’ Vibhisena said, looking unmoved. ‘Meghnath isn’t called Indrajit for nothing. It was his victory over Indra, Lord of Devas, in your great campaign against Swarga-lok that earned him that title. And your younger son Akshay Kumar’s prowess on the field has never been matched by any warrior, asura or mortal, till now. They have both been most anxious about your condition and have repeatedly offered to help. I will send them to speak with you here.’

  Vibhisena. Great warriors do not always make great leaders. My sons are brilliant in the field, but duffers at court. That is why they’re not permitted to set foot in this Hall, by my own order. Were they handling today’s council session, they would have created more chaos in the asura ranks, and worse, they would end up fighting each other, just to answer the old question of which of them is the better warrior. No, my sons cannot help me now. Only you can. You know this as well as I do, so why do you try my patience, brother?

 

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