As a result, the fights with his father had reduced.
So had the pain. It was still there. But so mild that Raavan sometimes forgot about the growth on his navel.
Then, one day, Rishi Vishrava left the ashram for a long journey westward. To the island of Knossos in the Mediterranean Sea. The king of Knossos had expressed a desire to meet the eminent rishi, and Vishrava had decided to accept the invitation.
A few weeks after his departure, Kaikesi discovered that she was pregnant. She considered sending a messenger after the rishi, asking him to turn back. But then decided against it. She would surprise him on his return.
Also, truth be told, the thought weighed heavily on her mind: What if the second child turned out to be a Naga too?
Unaware of his mother’s misgivings, Raavan was excited about the arrival of a younger sibling. He hung around his mother constantly, taking care of her and making sure she had everything she needed. Until, finally, the day arrived.
A wet nurse was attending to Kaikesi inside the house. Raavan waited outside, eagerly pacing up and down, almost like an anxious father-to-be. Waiting for news.
Many of the ashram’s residents waited with him. But it was a long labour. Twelve hours had already passed. Slowly, people began returning to their huts, until only Raavan and Kaikesi’s elder brother Mareech were left. Mareech had arrived several days earlier, to help his sister through her pregnancy in Rishi Vishrava’s absence.
After some time, even Mareech decided to call it a night. ‘I’m going to sleep, Raavan. So should you. The midwife will call us. I’ve given her strict instructions.’
Raavan shook his head. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away.
‘All right,’ said Mareech, getting up. ‘I’ll be next door. You are to come and fetch me as soon as the midwife calls. Is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘As soon as you hear anything, call me immediately.’
‘I heard you the first time, Uncle.’
Mareech laughed softly and ruffled Raavan’s hair.
Raavan jerked his head back and looked at his uncle in irritation. Mareech laughed even louder and raised both hands in mock apology. ‘Sorry… sorry!’
Chuckling to himself, he turned and walked away, and Raavan set his hair back in place. Neatly.
Now all alone, the young boy looked up at the starless sky. The tiny sliver of a new moon struggled to push the darkness away. Lamps had been lit around the open courtyard in front of the hut, creating tiny enclaves of light.
As he stared into the darkness, he thought he saw shadows lurking in the distance. The breeze picked up, the sound of it somehow eerie. Like ghost whispers. The nine-year-old shivered. The pain at the centre of his body returned. His navel throbbed in fear.
He folded his hands together in prayer and began chanting the Maha Mrityunjay mantra. The great chant of the Conqueror of Death. Dedicated to the Mahadev, the God of Gods. Lord Rudra.
As he repeated it, over and over again, he felt the fear disappear. Slowly. Leaving his muscles relaxed. His heartbeat slower.
The pain in his navel quietened once again.
He looked into the darkness with renewed confidence.
Who will fight me? Come on! Who will fight me?
Lord Rudra is with me.
Strangely, his navel began hurting again.
He began chanting even more fervently.
Suddenly, a loud scream resounded through the night. ‘Raavan!’
It was Kaikesi.
Raavan sprang up and ran towards the hut.
‘Raavan!’
He could hear the sound of a baby crying.
‘Raavan!’
His mother’s cry was more urgent this time.
Raavan flung the door open and rushed into the hut.
It was dark inside. Only a few lamps threw shadows across the floor. His mother was still on the bed. Weak. Struggling to get up. Tears pouring down her cheeks.
The midwife was holding the baby. Rather, she was dangling it by one leg. It was a boy. Raavan noticed that the baby was quite large for a new-born. As he took in the scene in front of him, he realised to his horror that she was about to smash the baby’s head on the ground.
‘Stop!’ he screamed, dashing forward and drawing his short sword in one quick motion.
The midwife froze as she felt the blade against her abdomen.
‘Hand over my brother, now!’ Raavan said, his voice hoarse.
‘You don’t know what you are doing! I am saving your mother! I am saving you!’ the midwife screeched.
It was only then that Raavan noticed the outgrowths on the baby’s ears. The strange lumps made his ears look like pots. There were outgrowths on his shoulders too, like two tiny extra arms. The new-born was unusually hirsute. And he was howling.
Raavan pressed the sword against her skin, puncturing it. ‘I said, hand him over.’
‘You don’t understand. He has to die. He is cursed. He is deformed. He is a Naga.’
‘If he dies, so will you.’
The midwife hesitated, resisting the pressure of the sword that threatened to pierce her abdomen. She wondered if she could survive a stab wound if a physician attended to her immediately.
‘You will not survive this,’ snarled Raavan, as if reading her mind. ‘My sword is long enough to cut through your abdomen and slice your spinal cord. I have practised on animals. Even human bodies. No doctor will be able to save you. Just give me my baby brother and I’ll let you go.’
The midwife was in a dilemma. She had her orders, and she was expected to follow them. But she didn’t want to die as a consequence. She knew of Raavan’s experiments. She knew he was good with a blade. Everyone knew.
Raavan pushed closer. ‘Give. Him. To. Me.’
The midwife looked at the furious expression on his face with a sense of foreboding. She had seen it before, this bloodlust. On the faces of warriors. People who killed. Sometimes, simply because they enjoyed it.
And then she noticed.
Raavan’s cummerbund had come undone. His navel was visible, and the ugly outgrowth. Proof that he, too, was a Naga.
The shocked woman stood rooted to the spot.
She could hear people gathering outside. They would support her. They knew what they had to do.
There was no reason for her to die. She thrust the baby into Raavan’s arms and rushed out.
Raavan could hear the angry voices outside. Arguments. People screaming about order. Ethics. Morals.
The door of the hut was closed. But there was no lock on it. Anyone could barge in at any moment.
He tried to control his breathing, his body tense. He gripped his sword tightly. Ready to kill anyone who entered.He looked back at his baby brother. Safe in his mother’s arms. Suckling at her breast contentedly. Unaware of the danger they were in.
His mother’s face, though, was a picture of terror.
‘What are we to do, Raavan?’ asked Kaikesi.
Raavan didn’t answer. His alert eyes were glued to the door, ready to attack anyone who dared to try and harm his loved ones.
Suddenly, the door swung open and Mareech rushed in. His sword was drawn. Blood dripped from its edge.
Kaikesi moaned in fear and hugged her baby to her chest. She pleaded with her elder brother, ‘Dada, please! Don’t kill us!’
The baby pulled back from his mother and started crying again.
Raavan stepped in front of Mareech. Brandishing his sword. His voice surprisingly calm. ‘You will have to fight me first.’
Mareech shot him an impatient look. ‘Shut up, Raavan!’ He turned to his sister. ‘What’s wrong with you, Kaikesi? I am your brother! Why would I kill you?’
Kaikesi looked at him, confused.
Without wasting any more time, Mareech yanked a cloth bag off a hook on the wall. And threw it towards Raavan. ‘Two minutes. Pack whatever you need for your brother and mother.’
The boy stood unmoving. Baffled.
; ‘Now!’ shouted Mareech.
Raavan snapped back to reality. He pushed his sword back into its scabbard and picked up the bag, rushing to obey his uncle.
Mareech turned to Kaikesi. ‘Get up! We have to leave!’
Within a few minutes, they were outside the hut. Raavan had the cloth bag slung over his shoulder. His baby brother was secure in his mother’s arms, the palm of her right hand supporting the new-born’s neck.
The residents of the ashram were gathered in front of the hut. Angry faces, torches in their hands.
Three bodies lay on the ground. Cut down by Mareech’s sword.
Mareech himself stood in front of his sister and her children, brandishing his sword at the crowd. The ashram’s residents mostly comprised intellectuals and artists. Good at social boycotts. Good at verbal violence. Good at mob violence as well. But unequipped to handle a trained warrior.
‘Stay back,’ Mareech growled.
Slowly, he edged towards the stables, sword aloft. His eyes still on the crowd. Quickly, he helped his sister mount a horse. Raavan was soon seated on another. In a flash, Mareech opened the gates wide and vaulted on to his own horse.
And they galloped out of the ashram.
The group had been riding for hours. Eastwards. The sun was already up, and rising higher and higher.
‘Please, Dada,’ pleaded Kaikesi. ‘We have to stop. I can’t carry on like this.’
‘No’ was the simple answer from a grim-looking Mareech.
‘Please!’
Mareech bent and whipped Kaikesi’s horse, sending it cantering again.
It was almost noon by the time they sat down to rest.
Mareech didn’t think much of the tracking and fighting skills of the ashram’s residents. But better safe than sorry, he had said, each time Kaikesi begged him to slow down.
They were in the Gangetic plains, where the thick alluvial soil and low, rocky terrain made it easy for someone to track them. They had changed directions often. Riding through streams. Moving through flooded fields. Doing all that was necessary to avoid being hunted down.
The three horses were safely tethered and Kaikesi was resting against a tree, suckling her infant. Mareech had left Raavan on guard while he went foraging for food.
He was soon back with two rabbits. In the bag over his shoulder were some roots and berries.
They cooked and ate the food quickly.
‘Twenty minutes of rest,’ said Mareech. ‘Then we ride out again.’
‘Dada,’ said a tired Kaikesi. ‘I think we’ve left them far behind. Why don’t we stay here for a little while?’
‘No. It’s safer to move on to Kannauj. Our family is there. They will protect us.’
Kaikesi nodded.
Mareech looked at Raavan, noticing he had not touched his food. ‘Eat up, son.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I don’t care whether you are hungry or not. Do you want to protect your mother and brother? Then, you need to be strong. And for that, you have to eat.’
Raavan started to protest.
‘Just eat, Raavan,’ said Kaikesi.
Raavan looked at his mother, then turned back to his food and started eating.
‘I don’t understand how the ashram people can do this,’ Kaikesi said. ‘I am the wife of their preceptor. We are the family of their guru. How dare they!’
Mareech glared at his sister. ‘Are you trying to play dumb, Kaikesi? Or are you in denial?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you really think they made this decision on their own?’
‘What are you insinuating, Dada?’
‘It’s clear as daylight. They were following instructions!’
Kaikesi shook her head in disbelief. ‘No, it can’t be. He left before learning of my pregnancy.’
‘It was him. He suspected this might happen, so he left instructions. Those people were simply carrying out orders.’
‘I refuse to believe it.’
‘Refusing to believe the truth doesn’t make it any less true. We had heard about it in Kannauj. Why do you think I came to stay with you at the ashram?’
Kaikesi kept shaking her head. ‘No, no. It can’t be true.’
Raavan spoke up. ‘My father ordered them to kill us?’
Mareech looked at Raavan and then back at Kaikesi. He had forgotten the boy’s presence in the exchange with his sister.
‘I asked you something,’ said Raavan.
‘Kaikesi?’ Mareech said helplessly.
‘Uncle, did my father order our killing?’ asked Raavan.
‘Kaikesi…’ Mareech repeated.
His sister remained silent. Still shaking her head. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
‘Uncle…’
Mareech turned to Raavan. ‘You have to take care of your family now. You may as well know the truth.’
Raavan kept quiet. His fists clenched tight. He knew the answer already. But he wanted to hear it.
‘From what little I know, he didn’t order your death or your mother’s,’ said Mareech. ‘But he did order the killing of your brother, in case he turned out to be a Naga.’
Raavan drew in a sharp breath. Anger and grief clouded his mind. He looked at his brother, sleeping peacefully in his mother’s lap. The two short extra limbs at the top of his shoulders moved slightly in his sleep. The rest of his body was motionless.
Raavan bent and picked up his infant brother. He cradled him in his arms, his eyes radiating love. ‘Nothing will happen to you. Nobody will hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.’
Over his head, Mareech and Kaikesi looked at each other, nonplussed and, at the same time, overcome. Mareech touched the boy’s shoulder sympathetically, but Raavan shrugged the comforting hand away and continued to croon to the baby.
Chapter 4
Two days had passed since Mareech had helped Kaikesi and her sons escape from Vishrava’s ashram. They were camped in a clearing in the jungle for the night, the horses tied in a circle around the camp.
It was the third day of the waxing moon. With the dense jungle cover and the night-time fog, visibility was reduced to barely a few feet. So Mareech set about lighting a small fire. Not just for heat, but also for safety.
He sat hunched over a flat wooden board that had a notch cut into its surface. The fireboard. In his hands he held a long slender piece of wood, which spun when he rubbed his palms together. Patiently, he got the wooden spindle into the notch. Waiting for the glowing black dust, like smouldering coal, to collect. It was a primitive and time-consuming method, but their only option in the jungle.
As he waited, Mareech’s eyes fell on the dark outlines of his sister and her infant son. They appeared to be sleeping, fatigued after the day’s journey. The baby, only a few days old, had a name now: Kumbhakarna—the one with pot-shaped ears. It was Raavan who had suggested it and Kaikesi and Mareech had instantly agreed.
Mareech looked at Raavan, who sat close to him. The nine-year-old’s knife was out of its scabbard. Mareech tried to get a look at Raavan’s face.
Were his eyes closed?
He was about to scold Raavan and order him to help with the fire, when the boy brought down his knife in a flash. There was a loud screech. Mareech stared at him, stunned. It was too dark for him to be certain, but it appeared his nephew had just pinned down a hare with his knife.
Very few people could shoot arrows unguided by vision. Even fewer could throw knives based on sound alone. But to stab a fast-moving animal like a hare, based only on sound, was unheard of.
Mareech looked at Raavan in awe, his mouth slightly open. Then he turned his attention back to where the smouldering dust had started collecting on the fireboard. Quickly, he slid the dust onto the small pile of tinder he had collected. Then he blew on it gently, till the tinder caught fire. One by one, he transferred the flame to the logs he had arranged beside the burning tinder. Soon there was a roaring fire in the centre of the small clearing.
The fir
e taken care of, Mareech turned to Raavan. The boy had begun skinning the hare’s hind legs. With a start, Mareech noticed the animal was still alive. Making frantic, yet weak sounds, like an agonised pleading. In the light of the fire, Mareech could also see Raavan’s expression.
A chill ran up his spine.
He got up, and in one fluid move, pulled out his own knife, took the hare from Raavan and stabbed it in the heart. He held the blade there for a few moments, till the hare stopped moving. Then he handed it back to Raavan. ‘This animal has done nothing to you.’
Raavan stared at Mareech, his face devoid of expression. After a long, still moment, he turned back to the hare and started skinning it again. Mareech walked over to where his bag lay and pulled out some dried meat. He began heating it over the flame, using a slim, sharpened rod as a skewer.
‘Uncle.’
Mareech looked up.
‘I didn’t thank you,’ said Raavan.
‘There’s no need for that.’
‘Yes, there is. Thank you. I will remember your kindness. I will remember your loyalty.’
Mareech smiled at the nine-year-old who spoke like an adult. And went back to heating the meat.
If only the night would pass quickly, and the dawn arrive soon. For the next day, they would finally be home, in Kannauj.
The ancient city of Kannauj had blessed many Indians with a great deal.
Situated on the banks of the holy Ganga, the city had been a great centre of manufacturing, especially of fine cloth, as far back as anyone could remember. It was known for its production of equally fine perfumes. It had also long been a centre of debate, research and shared knowledge, and was the heartland of the Kanyakubj Brahmins, a community of illustrious, if impoverished intellectuals. The joke among the Kanyakubjas was that Saraswati, the Goddess of Knowledge, was very kind towards them, while Lakshmi, the Goddess of Prosperity and Wealth, was wont to ignore them altogether.
As a seat of learning, the city was home to many of the finest thinkers and philosophers of the time, including the celebrated Rishi Vishwamitra, who had been born into the royal family of Kannauj. But it turned out to be not so understanding when it came to the weary band of runaways that showed up at its gates, seeking sanctuary.
Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta Page 4