The girl remained silent.
Raavan repeated his question. ‘What is your name?’
The little girl had heard what Raavan’s followers called him. Iraiva. The True Lord.
She finally spoke. In a childish voice that was disconcertingly calm. ‘Great Iraiva, my name is Samichi.’
Chapter 12
Raavan and his entourage had reached the bungalow in Vaidyanath that Kumbhakarna had rented for their stay. It was a nondescript building at a safe distance from the temple complex, and had none of the luxuries Raavan was now used to. But the brothers had decided to keep a low profile. With so many major temples in the region, many members of the royalty and nobility from across the Sapt Sindhu frequented the area. That meant high security. And a well-known smuggler would be a prize catch for the tax inspectors and the police in the Sapt Sindhu. The brothers had even chosen fake names for themselves: Jai and Vijay, rather than Raavan and Kumbhakarna.
Within an hour of reaching their place of stay, Raavan and Kumbhakarna set out to find Vedavati. She was an hour’s ride away, in a village called Todee.
Historically, temples in India were not just centres of worship, but also hubs of social activity around which community life revolved. Most temple complexes had ponds for the use of the local population. Food was provided for the poor, in the form of prasad. Free primary education was made available for children who lived in the villages nearby. Temples in larger towns offered higher education as well. Villagers could access basic medical help at temples in their neighbourhood. In addition, most temples acted as storehouses where essential grains were kept, to provide for people when the rains failed. If they were exceptionally wealthy, they even paid for local building projects, such as houses for the poor and check dams on streams. All of this was made possible because of the donations that the temples received from people, rich and poor.
But like most things now, the system was fraying. As trade declined, so did the donations. Even at the major temples, funds were beginning to dry up. To make matters worse, the royal families were using some pretext or the other to take over temples—ostensibly, to ‘run them better’. Soon, a significant portion of the temple donations was being siphoned off into royal treasuries.
Naturally, the charitable work that most community temples funded also began to suffer. Local infrastructure too was badly hit.
But this was not the case in Todee. Here, the local landlord, Shochikesh, was working with the villagers to create a check dam on a stream that flowed close by. It would help conserve water for the dry season. The landlord had supplied the material and the villagers provided the labour. Everyone would benefit.
This seemingly impossible collaboration had only been made possible because of Vedavati. For, while the villagers did not find it easy to trust the landlord, everyone trusted the Kanyakumari. Everyone.
And there she was, supervising the operation. Standing on a slightly raised platform, uncaring of the sweat gathering on her forehead and the dust flying all around.
Work on the check dam was progressing quickly. All the able-bodied men of the village were on the job, with hardly any breaks. The landlord stood on the same platform as Vedavati, observing the work. They were racing against time and he felt the pressure. He had even managed to convince his wayward son, Sukarman, to come and help out. The check dam had to be completed very soon. Not because the rainy season was upon them—there were still many months to go for that. The reason was Vedavati.
She was pregnant. Very obviously pregnant. Work on the dam had to be finished before she went away to the hospital attached to the nearby Vaidyanath temple, to give birth to her child. Neither the villagers nor the landlord’s men were sure they could work together without her calm presence. She was the only one who was capable and trustworthy enough to resolve all their disputes satisfactorily.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna tethered their horses a few hundred metres away from the worksite, and cautiously made their way towards it on foot. Raavan had decided they would spend the first day observing the Kanyakumari, without showing themselves.
‘Dada,’ began Kumbhakarna.
‘Softer!’ shushed Raavan. ‘Someone may hear us.’
Kumbhakarna looked around. There was no one to be seen. But he dutifully lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Dada, why are we hiding? Nobody knows us here. We can tell people that you are a trader visiting the Vaidyanath temple and that you stopped here on your way back to your rest house. You can then go and speak with the Kanyakumari. Only she will recognise you.’
Raavan shook his head.
Kumbhakarna wondered if he was the reason for Raavan’s cautiousness. ‘I have been here before, Dada. The people around here do not have any biases against Nagas. I’m safe here.’
Raavan looked at Kumbhakarna. ‘I’ll rip out any eyes that glare at you,’ he said quietly. He was walking carefully. Avoiding dry leaves or twigs that might snap under his feet.
Kumbhakarna smiled to himself. His big brother was nervous.
‘Do you know that we lived close to Todee for a few days when you were a baby?’ asked Raavan, keeping his voice low.
‘You’ve told me, Dada.’ Kumbhakarna raised his hand and held up three fingers. ‘Only three times in the last five minutes.’
‘Oh, have I? I guess I must have…’
Kumbhakarna smiled broadly this time. He had never seen his brother so anxious.
The brothers had found the perfect hiding spot, behind some dense vegetation. It had a clear view of the worksite at the stream. None of the workers had noticed their approach. Nobody had noticed them hiding. They were pirate-traders after all. Concealing themselves when required was a necessary professional attribute.
There were over fifty people at the worksite. But Raavan had eyes for only one of them.
He was transfixed. Practically paralysed. His gaze focused on Vedavati, as she walked among the villagers.
He couldn’t help thinking that the muse had truly blessed him, for she looked uncannily like his own paintings of her. She was tall for a woman. Fair, round face, high cheekbones, and sharp, small nose. Black, wide-set eyes with creaseless eyelids. Her long, black hair flowed down her back in a tight braid. Her image was burned into his mind. He had painted her as a curvaceous woman, with a full feminine body. She looked even more voluptuous now. Her frayed, yet clean clothes did not detract from her magnetism.
Kumbhakarna whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Dada. I didn’t know that the Kanyakumari was pregnant. It didn’t show earlier…’
But Raavan wasn’t listening. He just kept looking at her, unable to believe that he was finally in her presence.
It took Kumbhakarna a while to realise why, despite the resemblance, Vedavati looked just that bit different from Raavan’s paintings of her. It was not her baby bump. It was something else. On Raavan’s walls, she appeared divine and awe-inspiring, but also quite aloof and distant. She was different in real life. She still looked divine, yes. Awe-inspiring, yes. But there was nothing distant about her. Warmth and kindness shone in her eyes as she moved among the villagers. Like a Mother Goddess.
‘Dada,’ whispered Kumbhakarna.
Raavan placed his hand on Kumbhakarna’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture was enough.
Stay quiet, little brother. Let me look… Let me finally live my life…
Kumbhakarna said softly, ‘Dada, don’t you think it’s time we…’
He stopped speaking, as Raavan raised his hand to signal for silence.
A whole week had passed since their arrival in Vaidyanath. They had been coming to the worksite every day, changing their hiding place each time. Getting a different perspective of the worksite. Getting a different view of the people there. Getting a different darshan of the Kanyakumari.
What didn’t change was the fact that they hadn’t spoken to her yet. Not even made their presence known.
Kumbhakarna was at a loss. His mighty, indomitable brother simply couldn’t muster
up the courage to speak to Vedavati. His confidence and easy charm with women seemed to have abandoned him. Bereft of his usual bravado, he just stood in hiding and stared at the object of his devotion.
His Kanyakumari. His Goddess.
But Kumbhakarna could not keep staring at the Kanyakumari forever. So he observed the others at their work, and at rest. Over the past week, he had seen enough of the villagers, and their interactions, to start forming opinions of them. Shochikesh, the landlord, seemed like a genuinely good man. He wasn’t attired as grandly as most landlords in Lanka, but he seemed to care for the villagers. The villagers appeared to respect him, even if they did not trust him. Shochikesh’s son Sukarman, on the other hand, was a spoilt brat. Lazy. Selfish. Slacking off, and once, even stealing money when nobody was looking. But always on his best behaviour whenever the Kanyakumari or his father were close by.
Why am I wasting my time looking at these idiots?
Kumbhakarna turned to his brother. ‘Dada…’
Raavan raised his hand again for silence.
Kumbhakarna refused to be silenced this time. He was at his wits’ end, waiting for Raavan to make a move. He imagined spending the rest of his life hiding behind foliage and keeping an eye on the Kanyakumari. No, he had to do something. ‘Dada, why don’t we just kidnap her?’
Raavan glared at Kumbhakarna, horrified. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? She’s a Goddess! How can—’
Kumbhakarna interrupted his brother, laughing softly, ‘Dada, I still remember your speech in Mahua Island. The Power-of-using-and-exploiting-people speech. I thought we were good at that! What are we doing hiding behind bushes and looking at villagers going about their business?’
Raavan looked outraged for a moment. Then he smiled and shook his head. ‘Vaamah kaamo manushyaaNaam yasmin kila nibadhyate; jane tasmiMstvanukroshah snehashcha kila jaayate.’
He was quoting the words of a brilliant philosopher, one of the great Valmikis, the tribe left behind by the Lady Vishnu, Mohini. The line in old Sanskrit, a statement of helplessness by a man in love, translated as: It is ominous for a man to feel desire; for a man who is bound up in desire feels compassion and fondness.
The unspoken truth: such a man would be weak.
Kumbhakarna’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he smiled at his elder brother.
Raavan turned to look at Vedavati in the distance and whispered, ‘Tomorrow… We’ll go speak to her tomorrow.’
‘Yes,’ said Kumbhakarna, politely folding his hands together in a namaste. ‘We are traders who came to visit the great Mahadev temple in Vaidyanath. We were on our way to the rest house when we heard that there was a check-dam project going on here. So, we thought we would come and see it.’
As decided, Kumbhakarna and Raavan had finally emerged from their self-imposed hideout. Both the brothers had, wisely, come dressed in relatively simple clothes. In these impoverished times, amidst a community that was making the best of its constrained circumstances, it would have been impolite, even dangerous, to show off their wealth. Kumbhakarna was only thirteen years old, but he understood one of the most basic of human emotions: jealousy.
Of course, to the landlord and the villagers, Kumbhakarna looked like a grown man of at least twenty. And to his credit, Shochikesh did not even glance at the outgrowths that marked Kumbhakarna as a Naga.
‘You are most welcome to share our lunch, noble travellers,’ said Shochikesh. ‘We may not be well-off, but we know our dharma. Athithi devo bhava.’
Kumbhakarna folded his hands and bowed his head in respect, acknowledging Shochikesh’s recitation of an old Sanskrit line from the Taittiriya Upanishad. Any guest is like God. He nudged his elder brother, who followed suit. But Raavan’s attention was focused elsewhere. On the woman who was walking towards them.
The Kanyakumari.
The Virgin Goddess.
Vedavati.
‘What did you say your names are?’ asked Shochikesh.
‘My name is Vijay,’ said Kumbhakarna. ‘And my elder brother’s name is Jai.’
Shochikesh smiled. ‘Both your names mean victory. Your parents must have had high hopes!’
Kumbhakarna laughed genially. ‘And we dashed those hopes!’
Shochikesh smiled. He pointed at his red hair. ‘Well, my parents named me Shochikesh. One with hair like fiery flames, apparently! But there is nothing else about me that is fiery!’
‘Maybe it is the duty of all children to disappoint their parents?’ Kumbhakarna kept the banter going, hoping his brother would snap out of his reverie soon.
Shochikesh chuckled. On some unspoken instinct, he turned to look at his son, Sukarman, who was sitting not far away, watching the others at their work. And the smile was wiped off his face. Sukarman meant One who did good deeds. Harsh truths, even when garbed in humour, continue to inflict pain. ‘In any case, you are most welcome to have lunch with us.’
Kumbhakarna did not get a chance to respond to Shochikesh. For Vedavati had made her way up to them. Her left hand was on her distended belly, supporting her unborn child. Kumbhakarna looked at her and smiled. Raavan, on the other hand, stood staring at the ground.
‘Our noble landlord Shochikesh is right,’ said Vedavati. ‘You are most welcome to have lunch with us.’
Raavan lifted his head slightly and smiled. This was the voice he had ached to hear all these years. It was like a salve for his soul. He let it echo inside him, in his entire being. The words themselves were of little consequence.
He tried to say something. To respond. But his vocal chords seemed constricted. No sound escaped his mouth.
Kumbhakarna looked at his tongue-tied brother, and then at Vedavati. The painful truth was obvious to him. Vedavati had no idea who Raavan was. She didn’t recognise him at all.
Kumbhakarna bowed and said politely, ‘Great Kanyakumari, it is—’
‘I am not the Kanyakumari anymore,’ interjected Vedavati, smiling warmly.
Kumbhakarna nodded. ‘Of course, noble Vedavatiji. But I don’t know if we can stay for lunch. Because we have to—’
‘We’ll stay!’
If Kumbhakarna had not felt the firm hand of his elder brother squeezing his shoulder, he would probably not have recognised the voice. It was an alarmingly childish squeak. Not the usual baritone of the powerful Raavan.
‘Wonderful!’ Vedavati smiled at Raavan. Then she turned and walked away.
Kumbhakarna stared at his brother, who was now smiling absurdly at Vedavati’s retreating form. He had a bizarre look on his face. Of ecstasy. He couldn’t have been happier.
Kumbhakarna swallowed a lump in his throat. He had read somewhere that there was nothing worse than unrequited love. But they were wrong. There was something worse: Unrequited love that was not even aware of it being one-sided. He couldn’t watch his brother, the man he admired above all, succumbing to such heart-break.
He looked away, his mind racing to find solutions to this strange new predicament.
Chapter 13
‘It was quite shocking,’ said Vedavati. ‘We were going about our work as usual, when suddenly these people emerged out of nowhere and killed one of our colleagues. This is what the powerless are subjected to in our society.’
Raavan and Kumbhakarna were in Todee again. They had been coming back regularly for the last few days, under the pretext of wanting to learn the techniques of check dam construction.
On this particular day, they were having lunch with Shochikesh and Vedavati. Far enough from the work camp to be away from the dust.
Kumbhakarna had been curious to know more about safety measures at the work site. And they had got talking about past incidents and accidents that they had themselves encountered, or heard about. It was Shochikesh who had brought up the episode of a workman who had lost his life while working on a wharf three years ago. At Chilika Lake. Near Governor Krakachabahu’s residence.
Kumbhakarna had stiffened at the mention of the incident, though he had controlled himself i
n time. Raavan, however, had remained unruffled as they listened to Shochikesh, and then Vedavati, talk about that day, about the cruel men whose horses had trampled over the hapless young worker.
Shochikesh had gone on to expound some sketchy details of the robbery at the governor’s residence. Kumbhakarna had tried his best to pretend he was hearing it all for the first time. With appropriate expressions of shock and outrage.
‘From what we found out later,’ said Shochikesh, ‘the attack may have been the work of Governor Krakachabahu’s enemies from his native land, Nahar. When two elephants fight, the grass gets trampled. We were the grass.’
‘But this is adharma,’ said Vedavati. ‘Whatever quarrels the Kshatriyas have with each other, they have to ensure that no innocents are harmed.’
Raavan nodded in agreement, his expression giving nothing away.
‘That’s true,’ said Shochikesh. ‘But who cares about dharma these days? We have forgotten our traditions and culture. We are an embarrassment to our ancestors.’
Kumbhakarna once again thanked his stars that he had been on the ship during the raid at Chilika, too far away for these people to recognise him. He assumed Raavan had ridden by so fast that nobody had got a good look at him, especially not Vedavati. Also, Raavan’s beard was fuller than it had been three years ago. And his face looked very different with the handlebar moustache he now sported.
Maybe it’s a blessing that she doesn’t recognise him at all. Either from father’s ashram or from Chilika.
Vedavati was in the last stages of her pregnancy by now, and judging by the kicks that often took her by surprise, she was carrying a strong baby. And a strong baby needed robust nutrition. Rice cooked in milk, with a dash of cardamom and ginger, was considered excellent for the mother and her unborn child. But the small village of Todee did not grow or have access to cardamom. Black cardamom was usually grown in the foothills of eastern Nepal, Sikkim and Bhutan. It was expensive and difficult to obtain.
But what was difficult for others was easy for Raavan. He had sent out his men and procured five sacks of the fragrant spice. It was a huge amount, considering how little was required for one meal. He presented the cardamom to Vedavati, telling her that it was for the use of the entire village. He had also got some tools which he knew would make the construction work easier.
Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta Page 13