Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta

by Amish Tripathi

  It was a deeply grateful Vedavati who sat with Raavan over lunch the next day. Shochikesh was away in Vaidyanath. And Kumbhakarna had suddenly, and conveniently, remembered that he had some unfinished work in the village.

  As the two sat eating quietly, Raavan retained his calm demeanour, despite the storm in his heart.

  ‘Jai,’ said Vedavati, using what she had been told was Raavan’s name. ‘Are you from the Indraprastha region? From your accent, it appears that you are.’

  Raavan did not want to reveal his antecedents to Vedavati. Not yet. ‘I have spent some time there. But not much.’

  Vedavati looked uncertainly at him. ‘Jai, we are grateful for your generosity, of course, but I do hope you haven’t stretched yourself too much for us. If you don’t mind my asking, what is it that you do? How can you afford to do so much charity?’

  ‘Oh, I work in… trade. Importing things people here may need, and exporting items from here that people in other lands may fancy.’

  ‘I see. And it’s profitable?’

  If I had misplaced that money spent on the cardamom and the tools, I wouldn’t even have noticed it.

  Raavan kept his thoughts to himself, and said, ‘Yes. It’s a little difficult with the new licenses and restrictions. But I can make ends meet.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ said Vedavati. People who are innately decent and straightforward tend to accept others at face value. ‘Thank you, Jai. Your help means a lot to my village.’

  Raavan shrugged. It’s nothing.

  ‘Not everyone who can help, does,’ continued Vedavati. ‘Not in these times.’

  ‘Not everyone is… Jai,’ Raavan said, laughing, and stopping himself just in time from giving away his real name.

  Vedavati smiled, ignoring his conceit. ‘These villagers have suffered greatly. They are the real victims of all that’s going on these days. And most people don’t care about helping those less fortunate than themselves. The tradition of charity is slowly being forgotten in India. We are forgetting our dharma.’

  Raavan blanched but held his tongue.

  ‘I don’t mean someone like you,’ said Vedavati, misinterpreting Raavan’s expression. ‘But across the land today, dharma has been reduced to just rituals and talk. The philosophy that underpins the rituals, and the reason why we follow them, is being forgotten.’

  ‘Oh, I agree with you,’ Raavan said. ‘There is a great deal of uncalled out hypocrisy everywhere. But…’

  ‘But what?’ asked Vedavati.

  ‘Well, I don’t think these villagers should be thought of as victims.’

  Vedavati stopped eating, surprised. ‘You think they aren’t?’

  ‘Oh, they are victims.’

  Vedavati smiled, shook her head and resumed eating. ‘I don’t understand what you are saying.’

  ‘Of course they are victims,’ Raavan said. ‘Just like every other person in the world. All of us are victims in some way or the other. But that doesn’t mean we should think of ourselves as victims.’

  Vedavati looked up at Raavan, intrigued.

  He continued, ‘All of us have been through times when life seemed unfair. In such situations, we can choose to see ourselves as victims and blame the rest of the world. We can drown ourselves in the false comfort of knowing we are not responsible for our difficulties and expect others to change our lives. Or, we can pick ourselves up. Be strong. And fight the world.’

  ‘It’s true that all of us face adversity in life, Jai, but surely not everyone’s troubles are the same. Some people are at a greater disadvantage than others. And they need our assistance. Of course, nobody should expect others to solve their problems entirely but the strong must help…’

  ‘…help the “cult of victimhood”?’ interrupted Raavan.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The lot who just want to whine and complain.’ Raavan put his hands up and mimed in a high-pitched voice, ‘Oh, poor me. Look at me. Look at how much I’m suffering. Somebody come and take care of me. I’m a victim of society.’

  Vedavati bit her lip as though to stop a smile from forming, then frowned. ‘Jai, we shouldn’t indulge the weaknesses of others, but we shouldn’t mock them either.’

  ‘I’m… I’m not… Noble Kanyakumari, perhaps it was wrong of me to make fun of them. I’m sorry. But this is the way I see it: There is a lion and a deer within each of us. Only if we nurture the lion will we make something of ourselves. If we indulge the deer, we’ll be running and hiding all our lives.’

  ‘So… the hunter and the hunted.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And we should always aim to be the hunter, I suppose? Because the hunted cannot possibly have any virtues to recommend them?’

  ‘If we cannot fight for ourselves, how will we protect and provide for those who depend on us?’

  ‘So that’s how you see it? Every hunter is a magnificent warrior, and the hunted deserve no respect?’

  ‘You don’t agree, great Ve… Veda… Kanyakumari?’

  Vedavati looked at him sympathetically. She thought Raavan had a stutter that became acute whenever he had to speak a name, especially one that began with a ‘v’. So she had yielded to being called Kanyakumari by him.

  ‘Jai, have you heard of the Panchatantra?’

  Raavan nodded readily. ‘Of course!’

  Panchatantra, literally the five treatises, was a part of the primary learning of every child in India. It contained stories of talking animals, with a moral lesson embedded in each tale.

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Vedavati, ‘we don’t have to depend on animal fables to learn lessons in dharma. Sometimes, we can learn from real animals too.’

  Raavan leaned forward, his curiosity aroused.

  ‘This happened a long time ago,’ said Vedavati. ‘I was still a Kanyakumari. I had travelled a great deal, including to the wonderful lands of the brave Andhras. Close to the river port of Amaravati.’

  ‘I’ve been there. It’s stunningly beautiful. Truly a city worthy of its name.’

  ‘Yes, there are people who believe that the modern city of Amaravati is located in exactly the same place where, sometime in the faraway past, Lord Indra, the king of the Devas, lived.’

  ‘Yes, I have heard that too. For all you know, it could be true.’

  ‘Anyway, while we were there, the local ruler wished to take us on a tour of the jungle that lies between the holy Krishna and Godavari rivers. Much of it was open grassland, and we travelled on elephant back. Sometime during the day, we saw an old lion, with his cubs.’ Vedavati paused before asking, ‘Do you know what happens to many lions in their old age?’

  ‘Yes.’ Raavan nodded. ‘There is no sight more painful than that of a powerful hunter past its prime. I’ve seen it often enough: an old lion challenged by another, usually younger, lion. If he is defeated but lucky enough to survive, he has to flee the territory. The young challenger takes over the pride, and the lionesses switch their allegiance to him. This younger lion might even kill the cubs of the older lion. The mothers watch from the side lines, helpless. They probably see it as a command from their new master—new rules in the new pride.’

  ‘The ways of the jungle can be cruel.’

  ‘Now, if this older lion you saw had his cubs with him, he must have managed to save them somehow. Maybe he and his cubs together escaped the wrath of the young challenger.’

  ‘Very possible,’ Vedavati said. ‘So, as you know, hunting is difficult for an old lion. And if you happen to be one with a few cubs to feed, life can become a huge struggle. This lion’s cubs were starving. He was starving. They were weak. And desperate.’

  ‘What happened next, noble Kanyakumari?’

  ‘When we saw this lion, he was at the other end of the grassland, with his three cubs behind him. He had just spotted a few deer that had probably got separated from the main herd. A mother, with her babies. There were four fawns. One of them was clearly weaker than the others. The runt of the family.’

 
; ‘Food for his cubs…’

  Vedavati noticed that Raavan’s first thought was for the lion and his hungry cubs. He seemed to identify with the hunter, even when the hunter was old and weak. ‘Of course. But remember, the lion was old. A hunter past his best days. What do you think he did?’

  ‘Why, he would have gone for the weakest fawn, of course. It would provide less meat, but at least he could be certain of catching it and feeding his cubs. A little food is better than no food. His cubs and he would survive another day. Become a little stronger.’

  Vedavati smiled. ‘You understand the hunter’s mind-set well, Jai.’

  Raavan returned her smile, though he wasn’t entirely certain she meant it as a compliment.

  ‘So, as you correctly guessed, the lion charged at the runt among the deer,’ continued Vedavati. ‘The doe, sensing danger, lifted her head up, her eyes searching for any movement. On spotting the lion, she moved instantly, alerting the fawns, and they fled towards the tree line, running and leaping over each other. They were swift. All except one. The lion increased his pace. He was weak, but he was still a lion. He began closing the distance to the tiny fawn. It was just a matter of time, a few seconds perhaps, before he would catch up with his prey. It seemed that the lion and his cubs would finally get their meal.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then, much to our surprise, the doe slowed down. The bigger fawns had reached the edge of the clearing, and would vanish into the foliage any moment. Away from the lion. But the runt was still at risk. The mother stopped running, then came to a stop.’

  Raavan found that he was holding his breath. ‘Then?’

  ‘The lion turned towards the doe. A full-grown deer would last him and his cubs much longer than the little one. He changed course. Since the mother deer was practically stationary, he was upon her in no time at all.’

  ‘Didn’t the doe bolt away at the last minute? Now that she had deflected attention from her baby?’

  Vedavati shook her head. ‘No. She just stood there, watching the little one get to safety.’

  ‘What did the lion do?’

  ‘The lion also came to a halt. Just a few metres from the doe. He seemed confused. The runt, meanwhile, had caught up with his siblings. They turned to look at their mother, bleating frantically, as if pleading with her to flee. But the doe remained where she was. She made a sound, just once. Like she was ordering her children to run away. Perhaps she did not want them to see what was to follow.’

  Raavan remained silent. What a mother…

  Vedavati said, ‘The story doesn’t end there.’

  ‘So what happened next?’

  ‘The lion looked at the fawns, way out of his reach now. Crying and bleating for their mother. Then he looked at the mother deer, standing just one short leap away. And he seemed paralysed. Like he couldn’t bring himself to kill the splendid deer in front of him. And then, he turned to look at his own cubs in the distance. Hungry and waiting to be fed.’

  Raavan watched the changing expressions on Vedavati’s face as she relived those moments in the jungle.

  ‘What should the lion do? What does dharma say? Should he be a good father and kill to feed his starving children? Or should he exercise his goodness and gift life to a magnificent mother?’

  ‘I… I don’t know,’ answered Raavan.

  ‘We assume that animals cannot think in terms of dharma. Perhaps they are not able to express dharma, since they cannot speak. But why should we assume that dharma does not touch them too? Dharma is universal. It touches everyone.’

  Raavan remained silent, listening with his head and his heart.

  Vedavati continued to speak. ‘Dharma is complicated. It is often not about the what, but the why. If the lion had been hunting for pleasure—which most animals are not capable of—we might call it an exercise in adharma. Since he was hunting to feed his starving children, it’s fair to say he was following his dharma. If the deer had allowed circumstances to overwhelm her and not attempted to save her children, it would have been adharma. But her sacrifice to save her children can only be thought of as dharma. In the field of dharma, intentions matter as much, if not more, than the act itself. But one thing is clear. Only if you put your duty above yourself do you even have a chance of attaining a life of dharma. Selfishness is the one thing that’s guaranteed to take you away from it.’

  ‘Life was unfair to both the lion and the deer,’ Raavan remarked thoughtfully. ‘Both were victims.’

  ‘Life is unfair to everyone. As Sikhi Buddha said, the fundamental reality of life is dukha. There is no escaping the grief that permeates every corner of this illusory world. Accepting this basic truth is the first step towards trying to overcome it.’

  ‘Everyone is struggling… I suppose we must try to understand and learn, rather than judge.’

  ‘Precisely. If you don’t judge, you can open the space in your heart to help others. And that will take you towards dharma.’

  ‘But how did it all end, noble Kanyakumari? Did the lion kill the doe?’

  ‘That’s not the point of this story, Jai.’

  Raavan smiled. And stopped asking questions.

  ‘This is taking too long, Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna. They had been in the Vaidyanath area for nearly a month already. ‘Mareech uncle had wanted us to return as soon as possible. There’s that business in Africa—’

  Raavan stopped him with a gesture. ‘It’s nothing that Mareech cannot handle on his own.’

  ‘But Dada, what about our crew? And Samichi. They’re all sitting around doing nothing, probably wondering why they are cooped up in this guesthouse with no—’

  Raavan interrupted his brother. ‘Just give them something to do, Kumbha. Send them on some short trade mission or something.’

  Kumbhakarna fell silent. Raavan looked dreamily out of the window. It was late at night. All they could hear was the chirping of crickets. Occasionally, an owl hooted in the distance. Raavan had returned to the guesthouse in the evening after a long conversation with Vedavati. He stared at the moon and sighed.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful today?’

  Kumbhakarna turned and stared at the moon. It looked pretty ordinary to him. He exhaled softly and looked back at Raavan. ‘Dada…’

  ‘Shhh!’ Raavan picked up the Raavanhatha lying next to him. ‘Listen. I’ve composed something new.’

  He strummed the instrument, as though testing its sound. And began.

  From the first time he had heard it, Kumbhakarna had thought of the Raavanhatha as an instrument of grief. It tugged at your heart and brought tears to your eyes.

  But tonight, Raavan’s deep, attractive voice, the lilt of the melody he had composed, and the whisper of the wind, combined with the ethereal sound of the Raavanhatha to create an island of ecstasy and bliss. He managed to coax the musical instrument of grief to create a melodious tune of joy.

  The possibility to turn negative into positive always exists. But it takes a Goddess to inspire the change.

  Chapter 14

  What do you do when a woman you love deeply, a woman you have dreamt of and worshipped, is lost to you forever? You steel your heart and reconcile yourself to life without her.

  Then, by a twist of fate, you meet her again. And you find out that she is committed to someone else. You try to ignore this truth. Ignore the existence of another in her life. Suppress the instinctive hatred you feel.

  But you cannot keep away from her. You get to know her better. Fall even more deeply in love with her—if that’s possible. And then, you meet the other man. The… husband. And he is everything you did not expect. He is handsome. Honest. Kind. Generous. He is noble, in a way that you know you can never be.

  And he loves her. Perhaps as much as you love her. He respects her. Perhaps more than you respect her.

  And somewhere deep in your heart, a soft, monstrous, unwelcome voice is heard. You are forced to listen to the truth that you don’t even want to acknowledge: that maybe, just maybe
, he is better for her than you are.

  What do you do then? What do you do?

  The only logical thing to do is to hate and despise that man, even more than you did earlier.

  It was logical. Raavan told himself that.

  Prithvi, Vedavati’s husband, had returned to the village. When he heard this, Raavan decided to stay away for a few days, pleading some personal work. Until, one day, he took the bit between his teeth and made his way to the worksite with Kumbhakarna.

  It was late in the afternoon and a welcome breeze cooled the hot day. Shochikesh was away, ostensibly to make arrangements for some materials that were required for work to continue on the check dam. But Raavan knew better. Shochikesh’s son, Sukarman, had been caught stealing from the temple donation-box again; he claimed he had gambling debts to pay off. Shochikesh was trying to get the money back quietly, before word got around. Raavan kept the news to himself. He didn’t want to cause any distress to the pregnant Vedavati.

  ‘Thank you once again, Jai,’ said Prithvi, addressing Raavan. Like many people from the Baloch region in the far west of India, Prithvi was tall, with clean-cut features and a clear, fair complexion. Even Raavan had to admit that he was a handsome man. ‘The tools you donated have really helped pick up the pace of work here. It’s heartening to meet a businessman who believes in dharma and charity.’

  Raavan smiled and waved his hand awkwardly, not sure how to react to compliments from a man he loathed.

  ‘So how was your trip, Prithviji?’ asked Kumbhakarna.

  Prithvi glanced at Vedavati before replying. ‘It went very well. I made a good profit this time. Around six hundred and fifty gold coins.’

  Raavan found it hard not to snigger. That’s a good profit? I earn as much in an hour.

  ‘Finally, I have enough to take care of my wife and child,’ said Prithvi, taking Vedavati’s hand in his.