Jatayu released the boulder, feeling one of its claws snap off with a wrenching pain as it caught on a sharp edge. It was jerked sideways, losing its balance, and began to wheel around in a spiral. It took it several heart-stopping seconds to regain control of its flight and catch a current sufficiently strong to lift it high, high above the arrows that the rakshasas on the south bank were sending towards it. They fell too low to hurt Jatayu.
Then again, Jatayu didn’t need to be struck by any arrows to die. It knew it was dying anyway.
Supanakha saw the boulder fall from the clutches of the man-vulture and leapt backwards to safety. She had only just reached the branch of the nearest tree, clinging to it with all four claws, when the enormous rock struck the bridge. The double row of logs lashed together were hit squarely in the middle, at their weakest point. The rock ploughed through them, snapping them like twigs. It crushed several rakshasas who were directly beneath it as well, the impact throwing those who were also on the bridge into the flowing river. The bridge sank into the water, the wood snapping and cracking as it broke free, and then there was just so much flotsam and shards floating downriver, along with about a hundred of Supanakha’s brethren.
She watched the mayhem from her vantage point, her eyes dancing with glee. Khara was beside himself with rage, yelling curses at the flying beast above, now rising well out of range of the puny arrows that Dushana and his soldiers were firing up at it. Ah, what a stroke of genius. It would take the rakshasas another two hours to rebuild the bridge, and she would wager everything she had that if and when they did, the jatayu would be back, carrying another boulder.
She wished Khara had the guts to cross the bridge himself, as he had started to do. But the oversized fool had egged his soldiers on, while falling back himself, moving aside to let the rank and file cross. Now he was still on this side of the river, yelling himself blue in the face without any effect.
She looked across the river and her heart sank. Rama! He was so covered in blood, he looked red. She hoped it wasn’t all his blood, but knew better. She had watched the way he had stood his ground, giving no quarter and taking none. He must have a dozen wounds, some deeper than others. She watched him ignore the hail of arrows that Dushana was ordering his soldiers to fire, the piled corpses of the rakshasas he had slain giving him sufficient cover to stand and recover his strength. He swiped at his face, smearing more blood across his brow instead of clearing it.
She licked her chops. Suddenly she wanted Rama more than she had ever wanted him before.
Rama and Lakshman sat beneath the banyan tree in which Lakshman had been ensconced. They were both exhausted. Lakshman had taken an arrow to the thigh too, a lucky shot or perhaps a very good one. They sat with their backs to the trunk, lines of sweat running down Lakshman’s body, lines of sweat and blood down Rama’s.
‘They will find a way across eventually,’ Lakshman said finally. ‘They can build three bridges at once instead of one. Or five. Or ten. They have enough numbers to do it. Jatayu will not be able to stop them all at once. One way or another, they will get across.’
‘Yes,’ Rama said.
‘And once they have crossed in large enough numbers, they need not come at us in ones and twos as they are forced to do now because of the bridge. They will regroup on this bank, then launch an assault on a wider front, surrounding us completely. We cannot fight on all sides at once, even if we stand back to back.’
‘Yes,’ Rama said.
‘And once they have us surrounded, it is only a matter of time. How many wounds can we sustain and still fight on? How many slashes can we deflect? How many corpses … ‘ Lakshman trailed off, as if he had lost the thread of his argument.
‘Yes,’ Rama said again, wearily.
Lakshman rose to his feet. ‘Rama.’
‘Yes,’ Rama said. He did not look up.
Lakshman reached down and shook Rama’s shoulder. ‘Bhai.’
Rama looked up. He saw only Lakshman’s arm and his face. Lakshman was looking uphill.
Rama heard a sound and was on his feet in an instant, sword in hand. He gazed up the path, peering through the lengthening shadows. The sun was at the horizon, the air suffused with the golden glow that presaged the purple glamour of dusk in Chitrakut.
He saw figures moving through the trees, coming down the pathway. He gestured to Lakshman, who was already setting an arrow to his bow in readiness.
Rama looked around for Sita, remembered that Lakshman had told him she had left soon after the crossing began, running uphill, and bit back an exclamation. He prayed that these rakshasas, however they had managed to get across the river, had not stopped to check the hut.
The first of the figures stepped into view. This time Rama spoke the exclamation that had leapt to his tongue just a moment ago. Lakshman lowered his bow.
Somashrava strode forward, his white dhoti tied at mid-thigh in the wrestler’s fashion. He carried a bow and a quiver. Following on his heels came a line of men and women, all armed with bows and quivers, several carrying swords and other weapons. None of them was young, and they were a motley bunch. Their clothes were as ragged and worn as their faces, their weapons cracked and rusted, and their bearing unlike any Kshatriyas either Rama or Lakshman had seen before. But their faces were well fed, if lean from exertion and activity, and their eyes were sharp and alert.
Somashrava embraced Rama warmly, uncaring of his blood-smeared body. ‘Rama,’ he said. ‘It is good to see you again. And you, Lakshman,’ he said, embracing Lakshman too.
‘And you as well, Somashrava,’ Rama replied. ‘But what does this mean?’
Somashrava gestured upwards. ‘Our mutual friend from the skies came this morning. It spoke to Sage Agastya and told him of your plight. I entreated the sage to let me come to your aid. We marched all day without rest, and I feared we would be too late. But we saw the jatayu drop the rock on the bridge as we reached the crest of Chitrakut hill, and we saw how bravely you two fought. Truly, Rama, all that they say about you is too little praise. You fight like all the great heroes of legend combined into one man.’
Rama shrugged off the compliments. ‘Who are your companions, Somashrava? They do not look like brahmacharyas.’
Somashrava gestured to the others to come forward. They came slowly, reluctantly, as if shy of making Rama’s acquaintance. He noticed the way none of them would meet his gaze. Strange. And one or two of them even looked vaguely familiar. If he did not know them personally, he was sure he knew their type. Yes. As the last one stepped into view, Rama knew beyond doubt who these people were.
‘These are friends of my late father and my late brother. All good men and women. All of them have suffered losses to the demons of this region. All share one common goal. To see every last asura in this part of the world exterminated or driven away for good. It is no mere coincidence that they were passing by the ashram at almost the same time that Jatayu brought its message. For all things serve Brahma’s purpose.’
‘Yes,’ said the last man, sauntering forward with a sardonic smile on his face. Rama heard Lakshman’s sharp intake of breath as he recognised the man as well. ‘Even such things as this, a partnership of princess and poachers. Strange, is it not, Rajkumar Rama?’
And the man that Rama knew as Bearface bowed with a flourish, his mutilated face split in a wide grin.
TWENTY-TWO
Before either Rama or Lakshman could say a word, the sound of another pair of feet came to them. Sita burst into sight, her hair wild and windblown, her manner agitated.
She blinked in surprise at the gathering but ran straight to Rama. She clutched his hand. ‘Rama, they are gone.’
He frowned. ‘Sita. What—’
‘The Bow of Vishnu, the Arrow of Shiva. They are not in the place where they were kept. They have vanished.’
‘Why were you seeking them?’
She hesitated. ‘Watching you fight … I could not bear it. If we are to die defending ourselves against the rak
shasas of Chitrakut, surely we can use the bow and the arrow as well, can we not? I was going to fetch them and urge you to use them. I was the one who held you to Anasuya’s warning the strictest, so it’s only right that I should be the one to release you of that hold. But I could not find them, Rama. They’re gone!’
Rama shook his head. ‘Yes, I know. Anasuya told me they would. She spoke to me in my mind besides the words she spoke to us aloud. She told me that the celestial weapons were not meant to be used just for our personal defence but to uphold dharma in a righteous fight. They will return to me when that time comes. I did not wish to tell you or Lakshman earlier because I knew you both believed that we could not fight the rakshasas without those weapons. They were your last hope. I could not bear to take that from you.’
She stared at him in the fading daylight. ‘But then, how will we—’ She stopped and looked around, remembering the crowd surrounding them. ‘Who are these people? Somashrava? You, here?’
‘Yes, my lady,’ he said gravely. Briefly he explained for her benefit how he had come to be here. ‘There are more of us gathering. We have sent word for all to assemble on this north bank of the Godavari. We will make our stand here with Rama and Lakshman and yourself, rajkumari.’
Sita turned to Rama. He nodded. ‘You see now? We thought it was hopeless. But it isn’t. Where there was one, there were three. And where there are three, now there are many. And more will come. We will stand together and fight, my love. We will fight them with all our wit and skill and strength. And in the end, we will triumph.’
Bearface stepped forward. ‘Moving words, my lady. And sound ones. I can’t say as your husband and I have met on friendly terms before. But this here fight is our fight as well. We have long waged war against the demons of this region; even before Ravana’s troops came, there were always demons here. Viradha, whom I am told you killed, was one of them. But never have we dared to risk open war with them.’ He gestured at the river. ‘What we saw while coming downhill earlier, that kind of fighting, alone against that multitude … ‘ He shook his head. ‘Never have I seen the likes of it. We are not all Ayodhyans. Not even fit to call ourselves Aryas, most of us. Back in the civilised world we would be considered brigands, outlaws, poachers, thieves, vagrants. But here we are all human. Like yourselves. And this has now become a war between mortals and demons. Because as you saw, they will not rest until they have wiped us out. And so we cannot rest until they are all wiped out. If you will have us, my lord Rama, I will be proud to fight beside you. I do not speak for these other men, for we consider ourselves free men and servants of nobody, not even princes of Ayodhya, begging your pardon. But I think they too will be inclined to help balance the odds in this battle.’
He held out his hand in a Kshatriya’s greeting. Rama looked at it, then at Sita and Lakshman. Somashrava watched anxiously. Rama took the hand, clasping it close to his chest and clapping his other hand over the other man’s fist. Bearface did the same. A ragged cheer rose from the rest of the group. One by one they came forward to greet Rama and introduce themselves. Another small group of four arrived in the interim and were brought up to speed.
A screel from overhead interrupted them all.
Rama went out to the riverbank and looked up. A few arrows began flying at once, but they were half-heartedly aimed. The destruction of the bridge had shocked and disheartened the rakshasas. He saw Jatayu flying overhead. The man-vulture pointed upriver with its winged arm, then turned slowly, and pointed downriver as well. Rama understood.
He turned back to the ragged gathering of allies. ‘The enemy has split into groups. Upriver as well as down. They will be building more bridges and attempting to cross again.’ He explained to them what Lakshman had been arguing earlier. ‘If we stay here, sooner or later we will be overwhelmed.’ He paused, looking at Bearface. ‘Unless you think your numbers will match theirs?’
Bearface snorted. ‘Nowhere near, friend. At most we can expect two or three hundred. And that includes women and children. Although you can count almost everyone old enough to walk as a fighter.’
Rama nodded. He wasn’t surprised. ‘Then we have only one chance of winning this war.’
‘What’s that?’ Bearface asked with interest.
Rama looked around at the expectant faces of the outlaws, at the shining face of Somashrava, so eager to do right, at Sita and at Lakshman. ‘You understand that this war may not be ended in a day, or a week, or even a year? I cannot promise you how long it will take. All I can promise is that it will end some day, and we will win it in the end. If you can stand strong for that long, then we have a chance. If you expect to win every skirmish, every battle, then you may as well leave now.’
Bearface hawked and spat to one side. A rakshasa body happened to come in the way of his oral missile. ‘Friend Rama, we have been fighting all our lives. For some of us, who are older, the last asura war never truly ended; it is still going on. That is why we have no truck with your cities and your civilised rules. We know that those are only temporary. This enmity between mortals and asuras? This is for ever! We have fought all our lives; why should we be afraid of a few years more? Right, folks?’
‘Aye,’ they said in unison.
Rama nodded, pleased. ‘Good. Then listen to me carefully. If we are to thwart the enemy’s attempts today, we must do the opposite of what he expects.’
‘Which is?’ Lakshman asked eagerly.
Rama glanced back over his shoulder at the river, lit by the last rays of the setting sun. ‘He is trying to cross to this side, to attack us. We must go across the river, outflank him and attack from behind.’
Utter silence met his announcement. He cleared his throat and went on, ‘We will not break his back, of course. But if we strike hard and then melt away into the darkness, then strike again at another place and disappear again … we will draw the rakshasas back the way they came. When they think we are on that side, we—’
‘Circle round and attack them on this side, and keep outflanking them until they don’t know where we are and where we’ll strike next. That’s classic Vajra strategy.’ The voice that spoke these words came from the back of the group, where the shadows were too heavy now for even Rama to see clearly.
‘That they are,’ Rama admitted. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
The speaker shook his head. ‘Nay,’ he said. ‘I was once a Vajra Kshatriya. It is a good plan.’
A sound attracted their attention. A man came crashing through the undergrowth. He stopped short at the sight of Bearface, addressing his words alternately to the outlaw leader and to Rama, at whom he glanced with fearful admiration. ‘Their second bridge is ready,’ he said breathlessly. ‘They are about to cross soon. What are our plans? Stand and fight? Or flee?’
Bearface looked at Rama, then at the rest of the group that surrounded them, waiting anxiously.
‘We do as Rama orders,’ Bearface said at last. ‘We cross the river and strike them from behind.’
The man’s face fell. ‘Cross … the river?’
Bearface waved to one of his associates. ‘Dharu, explain the plan to him. Get the word out. We have to move quickly, or they’ll all be on this bank before we’re on that one.’
‘How do we cross?’ Lakshman asked Rama quietly as the others began shooting last-minute instructions and orders, preparing themselves for the crossing
‘We swim. The Godavari isn’t very deep. The others already know that, as they must swim to and from fairly often.’
He nodded. ‘I doubt the rakshasas are taking much comfort in that right now.’
Somashrava came up. ‘We’re all ready when you are, Rama. You propose to move right away, don’t you?’
‘We must. For this to work.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Ratnakar knows a good spot a few hundred yards upstream form here. We can cross over in minutes, without the rakshasas seeing us.’
Rama nodded. ‘We’ll cross there then.’ He caught Somashrava’s shoul
der. ‘You trust him, this Ratnakar?’
‘Who, Bearface? Of course, my prince. I trust him with my life.’
‘Then I will too. Lead on.’
Rama looked around one last time at the band of supporters gathered in the fading light. It was no army. Not even a company of PFs. But it was all he had. Lakshman and Sita looked at him expectantly, their faces more hopeful now that the odds were improved. After months of isolation it did feel good to be with others, to have the reassurance that you weren’t fighting alone, that the fight was for more than just one’s own self-defence.
He raised his sword and led them through the fading twilight, across the river, into battle.
The epic adventure continues!
THE RAMAYANA SERIES®
PRINCE OF DHARMA
PRINCE OF AYODHYA & SIEGE OF MITHILA
PRINCE IN EXILE
DEMONS OF CHITRAKUT & ARMIES OF HANUMAN
PRINCE AT WAR
BRIDGE OF RAMA & KING OF AYODHYA
KING OF DHARMA
VENGEANCE OF RAVANA & SONS OF SITA
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AKB eBOOKS
www.ashokbanker.com
Invocation
Ganesa, lead well this army of words
Dedication
For Biki and Bithika Banker,
The Gemini twins.
One saved my life,
The other gave me
Two new ones.
For Ayush Yoda Banker,
Friend, son, Jedi Master.
When you were born,
I was born again.
For Yashka Banker,
Devi, daughter, princess.
You made me believe in luck again,
And, more important, in love.
PRINCE IN EXILE Page 54