The almost-white sari was tied at the bottom rather than left loose, its top draped tightly around her womanly form. Her beautiful long, lustrous hair was wound tightly into a braid that dangled by her knees. The devil’s orchid flowers whose scent pervaded the temple were embedded in her hair, at the top and by the ears.
She came forward like an apsara entering Indra’s court, filled with the beauty of night and darkness and all that was most alluring about the rakshasa race. Mandodhari was considered the most beautiful rakshasi ever to have lived; how else would she have caught the ever-roving eye of Ravana? Yet she possessed that certain quality of beauty that was attractive not only in a sexual way but in a complete, holistic sense. She was a perfect mother; a wonderful daughter; a fine sister; a great queen. Her sense of dharma showed in the way she instantly bent to touch her brother-in-law’s feet, as tradition demanded when approaching an elder in sanctified surroundings.
He bent and caught her arms, raising her up before she could prostrate herself.
‘Brother … ‘ she began, her voice filled with sorrow and fear. The emotion revealed by that single word shook him. It was not often one saw Mandodhari brought to the point of either emotion.
‘Nay, wife of my brother. Do not let yourself be overwhelmed. I know it seems like the end of the world, but it is only a beginning, a new beginning.’
She looked up at him, her beautiful dark eyes large and searching in her face. ‘But Lanka is burning.’
‘It will be rebuilt.’
‘But the asuras, our people, are at war with one another. They seek to wipe each other out.’
‘Even war must have an end. The greater the violence, the greater the calm that follows.’
She shook her head, unable to find consolation in his wisdom. ‘My husband … I saw him when you landed. Saw how he sat in the flying vehicle. I came here when you took him away to the volcano, to pray for his full recovery. But when I saw how he sat, lifeless and mindless, I could not even go to him. Instead, I waited here, like a coward, unable to face the corpse of my own beloved.’
‘He is not dead, Mandodhari. Only drained by the effort of escaping the Brahman stone cage. Together, you and I, we can revive him, help him recover to his former strength and vigour.’ He gestured at the stone temple. ‘Here, where he first gained his powers, we will help him regain them. His patron deity will preside and guide us. We will revive Ravana.’
She looked up at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. He saw a spark of hope light in her face. ‘You believe this is possible?’
‘I believe it is inevitable. It is our dharma, yours to save your husband, mine to save Lanka.’
She nodded, her face regaining its strength and determination. He saw Mandodhari, the terrified wife and hapless mother, transforming back into the woman he had come to know and love and respect, Mandodhari the wife of the greatest asura lord, wife of Ravana, mother of champions.
‘Then it shall be done,’ she said. ‘Come, lead me to my husband. Let us bring him within these sacred walls. Let us begin by asking He Who Wields The Dumroo to play his drum for my lord and master, to bring back the strength to his limbs.’
Vibhisena nodded, pleased at her quick recovery. Mandodhari had always seemed so strong and immutable, he had felt a twinge of terror at the thought of her breaking down before his eyes. ‘And the rest of the family? Your father, my nephews, our loyal retainers?’
She gestured downwards. ‘They are safe and well. There is a secret passageway that leads from the black fortress directly into the heart of Nikumbhila. There are caves there. We have moved into that habitation until such time as the civil violence ends.’
He nodded, recalling the ancient passageway. It had been designed for precisely such a time, in the highly unlikely event that Lanka was overrun by war or disaster, that the royal family might be able to make their way safely to their patron shrine. This was the first time it had ever been used in all these millennia. That itself bespoke the rarity and magnitude of the current crisis.
As they walked back to the temple entrance, he wondered aloud: ‘I don’t understand though … those explosions? Why would the asura races try to destroy the whole city? Rioting and fighting I can understand … they have a great many old scores to settle. But to undermine the kingdom itself? Which faction would take such an extreme step?’
She replied easily, almost nonchalantly, as they exited the dim, gloamy light of the temple and emerged into the gaudy daylight outside. The enormous cloud far south marked the aftermath of the very explosions he had just spoken of, vying with the effusion of the volcano’s eruption in density and toxicity.
‘The explosions were done at my bidding.’
He stopped short, staring at her. She paused, turning.
‘You, Mandodhari?’
Her profile was a classical portrait against the backdrop of grey sky. The billowing cloud visible in the far background only added to the allure and mystique of her exotic features. Her slanted pupils, not wholly like an animal’s yet quite unlike any human’s eyes, nictitated sideways as she gazed into the distance, replying,
‘Yes, brother-of-my-husband. I ordered them set off.’
He felt his knees buckle beneath his weight. A temple pillar provided support for his arm. ‘But why? Why would you devastate our own kingdom, decimate our own people?’
She replied calmly with the same demureness with which she had bowed to touch his feet. ‘The riots were uncontrollable. Despite my best efforts, the warring factions would not cease and desist. They thought that with Ravana gone, the strongest force would rule Lanka … and share my bed. I thought of all the options, waking Kumbhakarna, sending my sons forth to quell the rebellion, calling up more asuras from the netherworlds … but in the end, this was the only viable option.’
He gestured at the distant cloud. ‘This? Total annihilation? How could this be an option?’
She shrugged. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. I did what had to be done.’
He was at a loss for words. Not only because it shocked him to know that it was she who had ordered the destruction of Lanka, but because of the calm, steadfast way she admitted to having done so. He began to look at her in a new light. Perhaps he had not understood Mandodhari after all. Perhaps the quiet, docile facade he always saw was nothing more than a mask for the blood-thirsty rakshasi that lay beneath. He shook his head. He could not believe it. After all, was she not the island’s next most diligent adherent of dharma? Next only to himself? No, there had to be some more rational explanation for her act.
‘You feared for the welfare of your family,’ he said, seeking some glimmer of insight, of empathy. ‘You feared that the rebels would seek revenge on yourself and your family for Ravana’s excesses. That is why you took this extreme step. Fear always breeds destruction, my sister. Your actions, though contrary to your dharma, are understandable in that light. You must atone for your acts, of course. I will aid you in that atonement. But … ‘
She turned her face fully to him. With the sky behind her and the darkness of the temple at his own back, her features were shadow-smeared, obscure. Only her eyes glinted in that shadowed visage.
‘I did not do it out of fear, Vibhisena. I had my family removed at the very outset of the riots. Otherwise my sons would never have stood by quietly and let a chance at armed combat pass by. No, my brother-in-marriage. I did what I did because it had to be done. When I saw the lust and rapaciousness in the eyes of the rebels, in those who were formerly most loyal to my husband, those who had sat by his feet and fed on his scraps like hounds, fawning on his slightest favours, it filled me with loathing and disgust. I decided then and there that if those wretches could not be loyal to Ravana, if all they sought was to usurp his authority shamelessly and repay his governance with open treachery, then they might as well all die. It was a difficult thing to order, but order it I did. So hear me well now. I ordered the destruction of Lanka for one reason and one reason only. If Ravana c
annot rule Lanka, then nobody will.’
And then she turned on her heel and walked on towards the Pushpak, leaving Vibhisena standing in the dim half-light of the temple threshold, stunned and dismayed beyond belief.
SIX
Lakshman stood on a boulder upon a ridge, silhouetted against the faintly reddening sky. A soft breeze rustled the grassy meadow around him. His rig was on his back, his bow in hand and tightly strung, an arrow notched at the ready but held loosely; only the cord remained to be drawn. As Rama approached, Lakshman raised the bow, forming a perfect silhouette against the lightening predawn sky, and drew the cord taut to its limit. If it had been a statue, Rama would have named it Ayodhyan Bowman. There were moments, not as rare as one might expect, when he caught himself wishing he had been born into the house of some artisan in the guilds of Ayodhya. A sculptor’s would have done. He had always had a good hand for carving and sculpting, clay-modelling even. In these day-dream moments outside the normal span of consciousness, he imagined what it might be like to be that Rama, a shilpi by birth, a professional sculptor for hire. He would have carved flattering busts and representations of rich noblemen and vaisyas who commissioned them, and in his spare time he would have wrought pieces such as this one. Ayodhyan Bowman. An attempt to capture the grace and agile beauty of an anonymous young hunter. Yes. Sometimes the day-dream seemed almost desirable. What did paupers dream of? Becoming princes. What did princes dream of? Becoming kings, of course. But what did kings dream of? Becoming … someone else. Anything but kings. Even commoners would do.
He paused below the boulder and waited.
Lakshman loosed his arrow, the sound of the cord echoing like a whip-crack in the placid morning. High above, a flock of birds cried and altered course. A moment later, a heavy object fell fluttering to land with a muffled thud in the thick overgrowth across the clearing.
‘Yes, bhai.’
Lakshman’s voice was as taut as the cord had been, held by an invisible hand.
Rama looked up.
Lakshman remained standing, still staring upwards at a diagonal, scanning the dark skies intently. ‘Speak if you wish.’ He added after a moment, ‘It will not disturb my shooting.’
‘Why do you hunt?’ Rama said. ‘We already have food to break our sleep-fast. Guha provides generously.’
‘And should we not repay his generosity?’ The question contained the faintest trace of a challenge. ‘These fowl are to replace the fish and meat he gave us. Were we not taught by our guru to repay every debt, be it ever so small, at the earliest possible time? For debt unpaid becomes debt unbearable over time. That is all I am doing. Repaying Guha for his hospitality.’
Rama chose his words carefully, knowing that the wrong choice of phrase could turn his brother’s barely contained sullenness into belligerence. He had no stomach for an argument with Lakshman, not at this early hour, not at any time. ‘That is good,’ he said, using honest praise. ‘I should fetch my rig and do the same. Or … ‘ He allowed himself a brief pause, hoping that Lakshman would catch his meaning. When that did not happen, he continued, ‘Or perhaps you will allow me to use your bow to down a bird or two.’
Lakshman found a new target, sighted intently, pulling the cord taut once more, then released. ‘I can down enough for all three of us.’
Rama nodded, then leapt on to the boulder. ‘I have no doubt you can.’ He stood beside Lakshman, compelling his brother to pay attention to him by entering his private space. There was very little room on the boulder for one bowman, let alone two. Lakshman was forced to lower the bow and stare at Rama. Rama deliberately did not meet his gaze but looked towards the east, where a crack had opened in the deep blue sky and strange hues were leaking out, heralding the new day.
‘Lakshman, my brother,’ he said.
‘Yes, Rama?’
‘I wish to ask you a question.’
Lakshman kept his eyes on the sky. ‘Yes, brother, speak. I am listening.’
‘What Guha said last night … It was a generous invitation, and a wise one too.’
‘I thought so. But I did not think you felt the same.’
‘It was not an invitation I could accept. Not for myself at least, for the terms of my banishment are crystal clear. I must go to the Dandaka-van. But Lakshman, you are not bound by those same terms. You may stay here freely of your own choice. Why, if some calamity were to befall Ayodhya, or, the devas forbid, our family, you would be free to ride back to the capital and deal with it as you will. Guha’s ties to our nation are strong, and communication between Ayodhya and his lands is easy and frequent. You would be in a position to travel to Ayodhya whenever you wished. If Bharat spoke truly in Guha’s presence, and I have no doubt that he did, then our brother intends to take up residence at Nandigram. Which means that he will not set foot in Ayodhya again until I return from exile. You know our brother well, Lakshman. He will do as he has vowed, no matter what it costs. Even open civil riot would not draw him back against his word. Given these circumstances, it would be a blessing to our mothers if you were to remain here, accessible to Ayodhya and our family.’
Lakshman looked down. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. ‘You wish me to remain here in the land of the Nisadas while Sita and you travel to Dandaka-van to live out your exile?’
‘I wish it, yes, for then I could rest easy knowing that at least you, my brother, are at hand to raise your sword in Ayodhya’s and our family’s protection should such a need arise.’
Lakshman turned to look at him. Even without seeing his face, Rama could feel the accusation in Lakshman’s eyes, burning into him. ‘Do you not wish me to go with you? To travel by your side? To sit by your cookfire at nights? To hunt shoulder to shoulder? To face whatever dangers - and surely the Dandakavan is far more dangerous than civilised Ayodhya - in that forest of banishment alongside you? As we have faced so many dangers and shared so many days together? Are you so weary of my companionship and brotherhood that you wish to have done with me now?’
Rama sighed. ‘How can you even think such things, Lakshman? You know I love you as much as my life itself. I would spend every living moment with you if I could.’
‘Then why do you wish to separate us?’ Lakshman hesitated, then asked, ‘Is it because you are married now?’
Rama frowned, turning to look at him. ‘What does my being married have to do with this, or with anything else? Am I not still your brother now that I am married? Do I not love you as much?’
‘Yet you will take Sita with you into Dandaka-van today but you ask me to stay behind.’
‘You cannot compare the two things, Lakshman. She is my wife. You are my brother. One is neither more nor less than the other.’
‘Yet you are treating us differently. By asking me to stay and allowing her to accompany you.’
‘Lakshman, her dharma is different from yours. Her dharma demands that she follow her husband wherever he may go, in sorrow or joy, sickness or health, wealth or poverty … these are part of our wedding vows. But your dharma commands you to protect your family and your kingdom, to serve our people.’
‘And your dharma does not?’
Rama sighed. ‘I am already following my dharma.’
‘And so am I.’
Rama shook his head vehemently. ‘No, Lakshman. You are thinking now like a brother, not a raj-Kshatriya. Not like a prince of Ayodhya. You forget: you have not been exiled. I have. I must go. And for the same reason, you ought to stay.’ Rama glanced at the eastern sky. ‘Already it’s nearing daybreak. In a little while we must start out, before the sun rises too high. Give me your answer swiftly, my brother. What will you do?’
Lakshman stared at the horizon for many moments. Rama let him think his way through the decision. The sky grew steadily lighter, the crack opening to fill the whole world with new light. Even so, it was still not fully daybreak yet. Mere moments had passed, though it felt like a lifetime. Rama’s heart ached with too many unspoken words and feelings. My brother
. I wish I did not have to burden you with such decisions. But such is the burden of princes and someday kings.
Finally Lakshman asked simply, ‘Rama, can I ask a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘If I were the one banished into exile, and you were my brother, our positions reversed, and I said the same things to you that you have just said to me, then would you have agreed to stay, and let me go into Dandaka-van without you?’
Rama nearly smiled, but caught himself in time. Clever Luck. A mind as quick as your bow. ‘What I might or might not have done is not relevant. You have to decide for yourself.’
‘I have already decided. But I still want to know what you would have done.’
Rama looked at him. He could just make out Lakshman’s features now. Staying awake all night with Guha seemed not to have marked Lakshman’s face too much. His eyes still seemed clear, though filled with that heartbreaking sorrowful look that seemed to have become part of his appearance since leaving Ayodhya. ‘If I answer that question, it will influence you.’
‘It won’t. I will not change my decision either way. You have my word on that.’
Rama hesitated, then nodded. He trusted Lakshman. ‘If our places were reversed, then I would have stayed and let you go into the Dandaka-van without me.’
Lakshman nodded, smiling in triumph. ‘I knew you would say that. It is exactly your way. You would have stayed because you believe in the truth of your words: that my dharma would be better served by staying here with Guha, within reach of Ayodhya. And you, Rama, would always follow your dharma, even if it meant letting me go into exile alone. That is always your way.’
Rama didn’t say anything. There was no need to.
After another thoughtful pause, Lakshman went on, ‘But I will not do as you would have. Rama, I will not stay here with Guha. I will come with you into Dandaka-van, if you will have me. If you still want me to, my brother.’
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