Sugreeva sighed deeply. ‘It is a sad day when vanars go forth to assassinate their own liege, and by such devious means. But you three are blameless in this matter. If Vali had your families hostage, then what else could you have done? My heart goes out to you, my brothers.’
‘What could they have done?’ Angad asked incredulously. ‘They could have spat in the usurper’s face and died like heroes, instead of skulking here like snakes in elephant grass!’
Sugreeva smiled sadly. ‘It is not easy to commit an act of bravery knowing that by doing so one condemns one’s loved ones.’
‘But you heard them, Father. Their families will almost certainly die anyway. Vali will not let liege-killers or their kin live.’
‘True. But this way, there is still hope, is there not? Vali must have promised them sanctuary. Did he not?’ Sugreeva addressed the last question to the assassins.
‘Aye, my lord,’ replied the first one. ‘He swore that if we did as he bade, our families would be spared and would prosper in his reign, and that even if we died in the commission of our mission, they would be well cared for.’
‘But it was all lies,’ Angad hissed.
‘Perhaps,’ Sugreeva said. ‘But it is the mark of a good vanar that he believes a promise made to him and honours his part of the bargain. These three have only done what they were ordered to do, they are individually blameless. They must be released.’
The vanars holding the three assassins looked at one another, confused. Angad stared in frustration at his father.
Hanuman spoke. ‘My lord, they are assassins sent to kill you. If we release them, they might assault you still. We cannot in good conscience permit them to roam freely.’
‘Exactly!’ Angad cried. ‘They must be killed. I say they should be torn apart, limb by limb.’
Lusty cries greeted Angad’s suggestion. Sugreeva looked up and around, his sad eyes silencing the shouters. ‘Is this what we have become? We will kill our own brothers for doing what their king commands them to do?’
‘Vali is not their king,’ someone shouted. ‘You are the only true king, my lord.’ A resounding chorus of agreement echoed across the mountain.
Sugreeva looked at each of the assassins in turn. They were frightened and shivered with fear as well as pain, their tails being clutched intolerably tight all this while. Hanuman knew they must be feeling great discomfort. For a vanar, his tail was the most sensitive of bodily parts, and to have it twisted and gripped so brutally was a form of torture unto itself. But he felt no sympathy for them, only a kind of pity. They had come secretly to Mount Rishimukha, their middle claws dipped in blackjuice poison, to kill his lord and master. He would not let himself feel sympathy for such blackhearts.
Finally, Sugreeva turned to the elder vanars who had been with him at the council. Hanuman saw his eyes rest upon Plaksa and Prabhava, his advisers on artha and dharma. The two elder vanars were bent over with age, their pelts almost entirely silvered, their faces wizened, their bones shrunken.
‘My wise friends, what do you advise? What should be the fate of these vanars?’
Both ministers scratched their heads at the same time. ‘It is a matter in need of much contemplation, milord,’ said Prabhava. ‘Allow us time to confer and recall the precedents before pronouncing our opinion.’
Sugreeva sighed wearily. Hanuman understood what the ministers did not: this matter had to be settled here and now, or the anger and frustration felt by all would fester and grow sour in everyone’s hearts. Sugreeva started to turn, then stopped. Hanuman’s eyes flicked to the object on which Sugreeva’s eyes rested. It was Rama.
Rama was surprised when Sugreeva addressed him. ‘My new friend, Rama. You are a prince-in-waiting. On your return home to Ayodhya, you will assume the throne of Ayodhya, capital of the Kosala nation. Your line of Suryavansha Ikshwakus are renowned for their justice and fairness in all matters of kingship and governance. Your ancestors Manu, Raghu, Aja and your father Dasaratha have been extolled in legends that have reached even the ears of vanars in this remote corner of the world, for our vanar kin from the Himavat ranges and other places do bring us news and tales of your mortal world from time to time. You are a veritable king in all but name, a great champion among warriors, skilled and knowledgeable in matters of warcraft. Do me the honour of gracing me with your opinion on this matter. What would you have me do to these three would-be assassins who are so repentant of their intended-but-uncommitted crime? Would you have them torn apart as Prince Angad wishes, or set free to do as they please, perhaps even resume their mission to assassinate me?’
Rama understood that the long, formal speech had been made more for the benefit of the vanar throng around them. A king had to justify his every action, especially when the action involved a matter as sensitive as the fate of three would-be royal assassins. But before he could frame an answer, one of the vanar assassins exclaimed frantically, bidding to be heard. It was the third assassin, Rama saw, who had been silent up to now while his companions spoke.
‘Nay, my lord!’ the vanar said agitatedly. ‘Whatever you may choose to do with us, that is your right and privilege as our king. But be assured, we will not harm you in any way. In fact, it was because we fell out over this very issue that we were exposed and taken captive by your warriors. I agreed to come on this mission intending to throw myself on your mercy and pledge allegiance to you alone. What is more, I have important—’
A hullaballoo erupted, drowning out the assassin’s last words. Sugreeva raised a hand, demanding silence. The chattering hordes quietened reluctantly, their resentment rumbling away down the sides of the mountain like a boulder rolling downhill. He motioned to the assassin to continue.
‘I have important information about Kiskindha, my lord,’ the third vanar went on. ‘Vali is preparing to sally forth and make war upon you. This mission to assassinate you was his last attempt to end the rebellion. All preparations have been made ready. I agreed to come also because we could thus bring you valuable information on Vali’s plans and movements.’
Hanuman spoke quietly to Sugreeva. ‘My lord, from what I overheard as I approached, I believe that these three were arguing and that was what gave them away. They were at odds with one another. So, there may be some little truth in what this one says.’
‘There is, my lord,’ said the first assassin. The second vanar nodded his head furiously as well. ‘We argued not about whether we wished to kill you or not, but about how we might approach you directly, for we knew that once we were found out, everyone would think we only came to assassinate you. I was telling Shanu here that we would be torn apart before we came within sniffing distance of you, so what would be the point? But he still urged us to make the attempt at least, if only for the sake of our souls in the afterlife.’
Sugreeva sighed and turned his sad eyes to his son. ‘Now, Angad. Do you still feel these three should be penalised with death?’
‘Definitely,’ Angad said without hesitation. ‘For all we know, they could be lying even now. The fact is, they came here armed to kill you and for that alone they deserve to die.’
His words received a chorus of agreement, but, Rama noted, this time the number of vanars agreeing were far fewer than before.
Sugreeva turned to him. ‘Well, Prince Rama Chandra, what do you say?’
Rama kept his voice level yet clear. ‘My lord, you do me great honour by asking my opinion. But is this not a matter for vanars to decide?’
Angad looked like he was about to respond to that, but Sugreeva said quickly: ‘As our ally, you are no less than a vanar, Rama. Speak your mind freely. We wish to know how you would judge this matter.’
‘In that case, King Sugreeva, I would not execute these men …’ He paused. ‘These vanars. I would make them pledge loyalty to you on pain of death, by the most binding oath possible, and then I would have them turn spaas against Vali himself.’
Sugreeva’s face creased in a frown. ‘Spasas against Vali?’
> ‘Yes. I would send them back to Kiskindha to aid us in our mission to attack and kill Vali.’
Sugreeva’s face cleared itself of all doubts. The king looked more pleased than Rama could have believed possible. His air of sadness, that had seemed so permanent until now, lifted like a veil, revealing his true face, the face that Rama suspected had lain hidden beneath the toils and troubles of exile and betrayal for too long. Rama saw the real Sugreeva beneath, a king no less noble than his father, and no less committed to the triple governing precepts of artha, dharma and karma. His reaction to Rama’s simple suggestion revealed this inner reality as effectively as if Rama had studied the entire history of his kingship.
‘Wise,’ said the vanar king. ‘Wise beyond your years or experiences. Truly young Hanuman, you were right in your assessment. All these many years, when you brought us word of the yoddha Rama and his exploits, even I, who wished more than anything to believe in heroes and saviours, doubted that such a perfect being could exist anywhere in this imperfect world. Even now, I hesitate to speak too soon and without evidence of Rama’s other qualities, but of his wisdom, I can say with full confidence, your reports did him full justice.’
‘You agree with his advice?’ Angad asked doubtfully. ‘You believe that we can trust these assassins to do as we bid them and not betray us to Vali?’
‘What will they betray? Vali already knows our numbers and our location and other relevant details. There is nothing more worth knowing. That is why he did not send these three as mere spaas, but as assassins.’
Angad frowned. ‘Even so, it is not fit that they should be let off without punishment.’
Rama spoke gently. ‘Prince, if I have assessed these vanars correctly, then they are in full agreement that your father is the rightful ruler of Kiskindha, am I right?’
‘Of course, for he is!’
‘In that case, by punishing them or killing them, you would be losing three good soldiers who have superior knowledge of your enemy’s current situation. In addition, you will ensure the destruction of their families and the loss of more possible supporters—not to mention citizens of your father’s rightful kingdom. Whereas by turning them against that enemy, you gain three warriors who will infiltrate his innermost sanctum, even come close enough to do unto him what they were not willing to do to your father. How rarely do such opportunities present themselves?’
Angad gave Rama an odd look. ‘You mean … we send them back … to assassinate Vali?’
‘Perhaps,’ Rama said. ‘Although I doubt he will be so trusting as to allow them that opportunity. No, I propose that we send them back with the news that they have succeeded in their mission. That they have assassinated your father. And to help us gain access into Kiskindha. So that we can kill Vali. You and I, together with a small band of chosen warriors.’
He drew a breath slowly, waiting and hoping. In a moment, Angad’s face cleared in a manner not unlike the way his father’s face had cleared moments earlier. In that instant, the resemblance
between father and son was striking. They are not that unalike, Rama realised. It is only circumstances that have caused them to take opposing viewpoints and approaches. Angad is a good man, but he is poisoned by the anger he feels because of the wrong committed to his father. Given time, and a change of fortune, he will come to see how great a king his father is, and follow in his footsteps.
‘Very well,’ Angad said. ‘I am in agreement with Rama too. We spare these men.’ He added quickly: ‘But we must keep a close watch on them, and they must not be permitted to come too close to the king, even after their claws are cleansed of the blackjuice poison.’
Rama sighed inwardly. How to explain to this brash young prince that trust was the first step towards gaining loyalty? Well, at least he had won the war, so it was best to concede these small measures to Angad.
‘Well spoken, my brother in princehood,’ Rama said. ‘Lord Sugreeva, the final decision is, of course, yours to make. How do you wish to proceed?’
Sugreeva beamed. To Rama’s surprise he came forward and clapped a furry paw on Rama’s back, embracing him warmly. ‘It shall be as our new ally and my son propose. These men shall be spared. Any who dispute this judgement, speak now or hold your tongue forever.’
Rama was relieved to see that nobody disputed the decision. The vanars holding the would-be assassins released them on Hanuman’s command, and both captives and captors stood staring at each other in some confusion. Then, with embarrassed smiles, they embraced and twined tails together.
FIVE
The fire crackled and spat and hissed like a living thing. The omnipresent ring of vanars surrounding them retreated a tree or two, waving their paws frantically, urging Rama and Lakshman to douse the fire. They watched with frightened fascination as Lakshman built the first flames into a full-fledged cookfire, tossing chopped wood into the ring of stones. When a partly rotted piece snapped and spat out a noisy shower of sparks, they broke into a chorus of yees and yaws. Two younguns who had ventured boldly—no doubt on a dare—to watch, cringing, from an overhead branch, screeched and bounded across the trees to land unerringly onto their mother’s back, where they clung, trembling, dark eyes looming large in their tiny faces.
Even Hanuman, for all his bravado, took several steps backwards from the rising flames. His eyes glittered like rubies in the reflected firelight and his chest heaved several times, but he held his ground. A tree or two behind, a slender vanar with an inquisitive face that Rama had noticed hovering around him, issued a sharp, challenging cheekha. Hanuman flicked his tail once like a whiplash in response then retraced his steps to come closer to the fire. His snouted features were rock-hard, but his flickering eyes, blinking each time the fire crackled and spat, betrayed his primordial fear of the natural element.
Rama smiled reassuringly at him. ‘There is nothing to fear, my friend. Come, sit with me. We will be quite safe.’
Hanuman approached slowly, glancing dubiously at the fire. Lakshman was now setting up a basting rig to prepare their evening meal. Squatting beside the fire, he worked with quick, efficient actions.
‘Does he not fear being burned, sitting so close to Agni?’ Hanuman asked, with genuine awe.
‘Of course he does,’ Rama replied. ‘He would be foolish not to fear. But that fear does not cripple him or prevent him from working with the gift of fire. Agni is a god like any other, my friend. He does not harm those who respect him and treat him with care and honour. This is why we always sacrifice the first and best portion of the food to his grace, before we partake of it ourselves.’
Hanuman watched Lakshman skewer a line of vegetables which they had washed in the brook after their evening ritual. Out of deference to the meatless diet of the vanars, Rama and Lakshman had decided to stay without meat themselves. In any case, neither of them had had much appetite for the past several days. This was the first fire they had lit since Sita’s abduction, and even this they had done only because Rama had felt the need to mark their alliance with the vanars in some fashion.
He watched Hanuman’s eyes following Lakshman’s every move. The vanar had a frank innocence that was fascinating to watch. It made Rama feel jaded and soul-weary. He sighed and passed a hand across his face, feeling his hand tremble ever so slightly as he did so. That hand had begun trembling this way ever since he had loosed that last arrow and watched it spiral hopelessly through the empty blue sky, the last echoes of Ravana’s laughter ringing in his ears.
‘Are you well, Lord Rama? You seem … troubled.’ Hanuman’s voice was softly anxious. All vanars were overly attentive—as the crowd of gawking watchers around them testified—but their new friend and ally was preternaturally so. Rama had found he could scarcely draw a breath or speak a word to Lakshman without Hanuman inquiring as to its meaning.
He tried to mask his inner turmoil with a smile. His treacherous right hand he kept down by his side, in an attempt to conceal the faint tremor that threatened to return at any moment. Th
e smile felt unconvincing and forced but he maintained it nevertheless. ‘Just weary, my friend. It was a long journey across the forested plains of Janasthana and over the redmist mountains. It took us nigh on five days of incessant travelling to reach Mount Rishimukha and we ran most of that time.’
Hanuman looked unconvinced. The vanar had watched him surreptitiously for countless hours, and had been witness to any number of occasions when Rama had led his ragged band through the jungles, pursued by or pursuing rakshasas, fighting incessantly, rarely sleeping or resting, always on the move, under threat, engaged in violence. A simple five-day run barely seemed sufficient to tire this legendary mortal yoddha. But the sooner Hanuman understood that Rama was simply mortal, not some indestructible yoddha, the better it would be for both of them.
He must learn that his hero was subject to all the normal vicissitudes of human endurance and emotion. Moreover, Rama’s excuse, lame as it might seem at first hearing, was not an outright lie—he was weary indeed, but the weariness was of the heart and soul, not the body.
Rather than try to explain all this aloud, Rama let silence speak for him. The vanar was intelligent enough to perceive the deeper meanings beneath the superficial rudiments of verbal communication. Rama sensed great, hidden wellsprings submerged beneath this creature’s wide, innocently staring gaze. There was a great deal more to Hanuman than outward appearances suggested.
As if echoing his thoughts, Hanuman spoke aloud quietly, his voice barely audible above the crackling of fire and the sudden outburst of playful screeches from a clutch of younguns in a peepal tree nearby. Young vanars raced from branch to branch, playing what seemed to be a vanar form of chhupa-chhupi, the time-honoured game of hide and seek.
‘It must have been very bitter,’ Hanuman said. ‘Like the juice of a gourd infested with worm-eggs. A difficult mouthful to swallow.’ He added quietly: ‘Seeing your mate being abducted by that demon out of hell.’
‘Bitter as venom,’ Rama said. A muscle in his forearm twitched once, furiously, and he felt his jaws tighten. ‘What I regretted most was that I could not stop it. That I was not there when he came to take her. That I allowed myself to be tricked into leaving her alone, duped by the petty chicanery of asura maya.’
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