Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta

by Amish Tripathi

  ‘Your Highness…’ said Kubaer timidly, ‘I think it might be a little difficult to keep the commissions fixed at that level. Our costs have gone up and the trading margins are not what they—’

  ‘Don’t try your disgusting negotiating tactics with me!’ shouted Dashrath as he banged his hand on the table for effect. ‘I am not a trader! I am an emperor! Civilised people understand the difference.’

  Raavan clenched his fists under the table. Kubaer was not following any part of his advice, either in demeanour or in speech.

  Dashrath leaned forward and said with controlled vehemence, ‘I can be merciful. I can forgive mistakes. But you need to stop this nonsense and do as I say.’

  Kubaer shifted uneasily on his chair and glanced at the impassive Raavan, who sat to his right. Even seated, Raavan’s height and rippling musculature were surprising to the Sapt Sindhuans. They had not expected to find a warrior like this amidst what they derisively called a trader’s protection force. Raavan’s battle-worn, swarthy skin was pockmarked as a result of a childhood encounter with disease. His thick beard, accompanied by a handlebar moustache, only added to his menacing appearance. His attire was unremarkable and sober, consisting of a white dhoti and a cream angvastram. His headgear was designed to add to his intimidating presence, with two threatening six-inch-long horns reaching out from the top on either side. The message was clear: Raavan was no mere soldier; he was a bull among men.

  The Sapt Sindhuans kept glancing at the well-built Lankan general sitting amongst them, expecting him to say something. But Raavan sat still, offering neither opinions nor objections.

  Kubaer turned back to Dashrath. ‘But, Your Highness, we are facing many problems, and our invested capital is—’

  ‘You are trying my patience now, Kubaer!’ Dashrath snapped. ‘You are irritating the emperor of the Sapt Sindhu!’

  ‘But, my lord…’

  ‘Look, if you do not continue to pay our rightful commissions, believe me, you will all be dead by this time tomorrow. I will first defeat your miserable army, then travel all the way to that cursed island of yours and burn your city to the ground.’

  ‘But there are problems with our ships, and labour costs have—’

  ‘I don’t care about your problems!’ Dashrath was shouting now.

  ‘You will, after tomorrow,’ said Raavan softly.

  The emperor had lost his temper. The time was right.

  Dashrath swung around to look sharply at Raavan. ‘How dare you speak out of—’

  ‘How dare you, Dashrath?’ asked Raavan, his voice clear and ringing.

  Dashrath, Ashwapati and Mrigasya sat in stunned silence, shocked that this mere sidekick of a trader should have the temerity to address the emperor of the Sapt Sindhu by his name.

  Raavan suppressed a smile. They were behaving exactly as he had expected. These people are so easy to play. Their egos will be their undoing.

  The time had come to twist the knife.

  ‘How dare you imagine that you can even come close to defeating an army that I lead?’ asked Raavan with a half-sneer on his lips.

  Dashrath stood up angrily, and his chair went flying back with a clatter. He thrust a finger in Raavan’s direction. ‘I’ll be looking for you on the battlefield tomorrow, you upstart!’

  Slowly and menacingly, Raavan rose from his chair, with his fist closed tight around the pendant that hung from a gold chain around his neck. Holding her hand gave him strength. It was also a constant reminder of why he was doing all this.

  As Raavan’s fist unclenched, Dashrath stared at the pendant. It was obvious that the emperor was horrified by what he saw. He probably thought the Lankan to be a monster who vandalised the bodies of his enemies.

  Let Dashrath believe I am a cannibalistic beast. It will be a competitive advantage in battle.

  ‘I assure you, I’ll be waiting,’ said Raavan, with a hint of amusement lacing his voice, as he watched Dashrath gape at him. ‘I look forward to drinking your blood.’

  That’s enough. Let him stew in his anger.

  Raavan turned around and strode out of the tent. Kubaer wobbled out hurriedly behind him, followed by the Lankan bodyguards.

  ‘You weren’t able to sleep either?’ asked Kumbhakarna.

  Raavan turned towards his brother and smiled, letting go of the pendant in his hand.

  It was the fifth hour of the fourth prahar—just an hour before midnight. Raavan had been standing on the ramparts of the Karachapa fort, looking towards the Sapt Sindhu camp and the many fires lit there. The night was quiet, and the sounds of conversation and laughter carried all the way to the fort.

  ‘Looks like the enemy isn’t sleeping either,’ said Raavan.

  Kumbhakarna laughed. ‘These Sapt Sindhu Kshatriyas think war is a party.’

  Raavan took a deep breath. ‘By this time tomorrow, we will own the Sapt Sindhu.’

  ‘Technically, won’t it be Kubaer who owns it?’

  ‘And who the hell do you think owns that fat slob?’

  Kumbhakarna burst out laughing, and a moment later, Raavan joined in. Kumbhakarna put an arm around his brother.

  ‘You should laugh more, Dada,’ he said. ‘She would have liked that.’

  Raavan’s right hand instinctively sought the pendant again. ‘The best way to honour her is to destroy the army that defends the filthy society that killed her.’

  Kumbhakarna remained silent. He knew there was no point in saying anything to Raavan about this.

  Raavan stared at the inky black sea. He couldn’t see them, but he knew his ships were there, anchored more than two kilometres from shore. Those ships, with their unusually broad bow sections, were crucial to his battle plans.

  ‘The ships are to remain where they are,’ said Raavan. ‘I don’t even want the rowboats to be lowered.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Kumbhakarna.

  Raavan liked how his brother always seemed to read his mind. With the Lankan ships far away, and the rowboats still aboard, the Ayodhyans would assume that the vessels would have no role to play in the battle. Even if there was a reserve force on board those ships, it would not be possible to bring them into combat quickly enough.

  And that’s how the trap would be set.

  ‘Do you think they will fall for it?’ asked Kumbhakarna.

  ‘They have taken every bait so far, haven’t they? I have faith in their arrogance. Their assumption that we are stupid traders and incapable of battle is what will cause them to make mistakes tomorrow. Also, remember they have five hundred thousand soldiers. We have a little over fifty thousand in the city. The odds must look very good to them. And people do reckless things when they think the odds are in their favour.’

  ‘But unless the emperor commits them to an attack formation on the beach, our ships will be useless.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Raavan, turning to look at Kumbhakarna. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘I’ll do it, Dada. I’ll lead some of the battalions outside the city walls and offer them—us—up as bait. And when the Ayodhyans charge at us, you can do the rest with the ships.’

  ‘You know almost exactly how my mind works,’ said Raavan, smiling.

  Kumbhakarna grinned. ‘Almost? I always know what you are thinking.’

  ‘Not entirely. We’ll follow the battle plan that you just laid out. Except, I’ll be the bait. And you’ll be leading the ships.’

  Kumbhakarna was aghast. ‘No, Dada!’

  ‘Kumbha…’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You’ve said to me often enough, that you’ll do anything for me.’

  ‘Yes, I will. I’ll put my life at risk. And you’ll win the battle.’

  ‘Kumbha, I’m asking you to do something far more difficult. I want you to allow me to put my own life at risk.’

  ‘That’s not possible, Dada.’

  ‘Kumbha, listen to me…’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Kumbha, that arrogant fool Dashrath
hates me. I am the one who can drive him to act rashly. I have to be here.’

  ‘Then I’ll stay with you. Let Uncle Mareech lead the ships.’

  ‘My life will be at risk, Kumbha. You are the only one I can trust to have my back.’

  ‘Dada…’

  ‘You are the only one who will ensure that I don’t die.’

  Kumbhakarna raised his hand to cover Raavan’s mouth. ‘Shhh! Maa has told you not to speak of your own death. Just because the Almighty has given you a mouth doesn’t mean you have to use it to say stupid things!’

  ‘Then make sure that I don’t have to speak of it again. Lead the ships.’

  ‘Dada!’ Kumbhakarna was exasperated.

  ‘It’s an order, Kumbha. I can trust only you. You have to do this for me. You have to ensure that the ships sail in on time.’

  Kumbhakarna clasped Raavan’s hands tightly, not saying anything.

  ‘We will win tomorrow,’ said Raavan. ‘And then our era will begin. History will never forget the names of Raavan and Kumbhakarna.’

  The next day, by the fourth hour of the second prahar, Raavan was battle-ready. Mounted on his warhorse, and waiting at the frontline.

  Much to the shock of his enemies, and even some of his own followers, he had surrendered the immense defensive benefits of staying behind the well-designed fort walls. Instead, he had arranged about fifty thousand soldiers—most of his army—in standard chaturanga formation outside the fort walls, on the beach.

  The Lankans now had their enemy to the front and the fort walls behind them. Presenting a seemingly soft target to Dashrath and his army.

  A Lankan bait for the warriors of the Sapt Sindhu.

  And the bait had been taken.

  The emperor of Ayodhya had arranged his army along the beach, in a suchi vyuha, the needle formation. Dashrath knew that charging the fort from the landward side was not an option. Raavan’s hordes had planted dense thorny bushes all around the fort, except along the wall that ran beside the beach. Dashrath’s army could have cleared the bushes and created a path to reach the fort, but that would have taken weeks. With the Lankan army having scorched the land around Karachapa, and the resultant absence of food and water outside the fort, the option was simply not viable. The army had to attack before they ran out of rations.

  Dashrath should have stopped to consider why Raavan had blocked all possible options of engagement except for the one along the beach. The king of Ayodhya had never lost a battle in his illustrious military career. His strategic instincts should have alerted him. But Raavan’s insulting words the previous day still played on his mind, and he had let his pride get the better of his judgement.

  The beach was wide by most standards, but it wasn’t enough for a large army—hence Dashrath’s tactical decision to form a suchi vyuha. The best of his troops would take position alongside him, at the front of the formation, while the rest of the army would fall into a long column behind them. They intended a rolling charge, whereby the first lines would strike the Lankan ranks, and after twenty minutes or so of battle, slip back, allowing the next line of warriors to charge in. It would be an unrelenting surge of battle-hardened soldiers aiming to scatter and decimate the enemy troops of Lanka.

  Ashwapati, the king of Kekaya and Dashrath’s father-in-law, had misgivings about this strategy. He had pointed out that only a few tens of thousands of their soldiers would be engaged in battle at any point of time, while most of the others waited at the back. By forcing the battle along the narrow beach rather than a large battleground, Raavan had negated the huge numerical advantage of the Sapt Sindhu army. But Ashwapati’s concerns had been brushed aside by a confident Dashrath.

  To Dashrath’s mind, the Lankans were traders who were incapable of sophisticated battle tactics. The apparently stupid move of positioning the army outside the fort walls had only convinced him that Raavan and his troops had no understanding of what they were doing.

  Far away, at the other end of the beach, Raavan looked to his right, to where his ships lay at anchor more than two kilometres out at sea. The rowboats were not visible. Kumbhakarna was following his instructions perfectly.

  Raavan turned his gaze back to the Sapt Sindhuans.

  His arrogant and overconfident enemies had not even sent spy boats out to investigate the broad bow sections of his ships. They really should have done that.

  A smile played on his lips. Bloody fools.

  Raavan flexed his shoulders and arms. The most irritating part of battle was the waiting. Waiting for the other side to charge. You couldn’t allow yourself to be distracted and you couldn’t waste energy either. He had warned his troops not to tire themselves out by screaming obscenities at the enemy or chanting war cries. They had been ordered to wait silently.

  Clearly, Dashrath had given no such instructions to his soldiers. They were roaring their war cries, their voices rising and falling in a frenzy. Charging themselves on adrenaline. And tiring themselves out in the bargain.

  Raavan had worn his trademark battle helmet with its six-inch horns sticking out threateningly from the sides. It was a challenge to his enemies; to Dashrath.

  I am here. Come and get me.

  Dashrath, meanwhile, was on his well-trained and imposing-looking war horse, surveying his amassed troops. He ran his eyes over them confidently. They were a rowdy, raucous bunch, with their swords already drawn, eager for battle. The horses, too, seemed to have succumbed to the excitement of the moment, making the soldiers pull hard at their reins, to hold them in check. Dashrath could almost smell the blood that would soon be shed; the massacre that would lead to victory!

  He squinted as he observed the Lankans and their commander up ahead in the distance. He felt a jab of anger as he remembered Raavan’s words from their last meeting. The upstart trader would soon feel his wrath. He drew his sword and held it aloft, and then bellowed the unmistakable war cry of his kingdom, Kosala, and its capital city, Ayodhya. ‘Ayodhyatah Vijetaarah!’

  The conquerors from the unconquerable city!

  Not everyone in his army was a citizen of Ayodhya, and yet they were proud to fight under the great Kosala banner. They echoed their emperor’s war cry. ‘Ayodhyatah Vijetaarah!’

  Dashrath roared as he brought his sword down and spurred his horse. ‘Kill them all! No mercy!’

  ‘No mercy!’ echoed the riders of the first charge, taking off behind their fearless lord.

  Riding hard, riding fearlessly, riding to their own destruction.

  As Dashrath and his finest warriors charged down the beach towards the Lankans, Raavan’s troops remained immobile. When the enemy cavalry was just a few hundred metres away, Raavan unexpectedly turned his horse around and retreated from the frontlines, even as his soldiers held firm.

  Raavan’s strategy was clear—what was important was victory, not a display of manhood and courage. For Dashrath, however, brought up in the ways of the Kshatriyas, personal bravery was the most important trait of a general. Raavan’s apparent cowardice infuriated him. He kicked his horse to a gallop, intending to mow down the Lankan frontline and quickly reach Raavan. And the Ayodhyans followed their lord, racing hard.

  This was exactly what Raavan had hoped for. The Lankan frontline swung into action. The soldiers suddenly dropped their swords and picked up unnaturally long spears, almost twenty feet in length, which had been lying at their feet. Made of wood and metal, they were so heavy that it took two men to pick one up. The soldiers pointed these spears, tipped with sharp copper heads, directly at Dashrath’s oncoming cavalry.

  The mounted soldiers could not rein in their horses in time, and rode headlong into the spears, which tore into the unprepared beasts. Their riders were thrown forward while the horses collapsed under them. Even as the charge of Dashrath’s cavalry was halted in its tracks, Lankan archers emerged, high on the walls of the Karachapa fort. They started shooting a continuous stream of arrows in a long arc from the heights of the fort ramparts, into the dense formation of D
ashrath’s troops at the back, shredding the Sapt Sindhu lines.

  Many of Dashrath’s warriors, who had been flung off their impaled horses, stumbled up to engage in fierce hand-to-hand battle with the enemy. Their king led the way as he swung his sword ferociously, killing all who dared to come in his path. But all around him, he could see the devastation being wrought upon his soldiers, who rapidly fell under the barrage of Lankan arrows and superbly trained swordsmen. Minutes later, Dashrath gestured to his flag bearer, who raised his flag high in response. It was the signal for the soldiers at the back to join the charge, in support of the first line.

  This was the moment Raavan had been waiting for.

  On Kumbhakarna’s orders, the Lankan ships abruptly weighed anchor. Big ships always stay offshore, unless there is a proper harbour available. Naval warriors are transported to the beaches in small rowboats. But Kumbhakarna did not lower the rowboats. He ordered the ships themselves to speed to the beach! The sailors, who had been on full alert, extended oars and began to row rapidly to the shore. The ships’ sails were up at full mast to help them catch the wind. Within minutes, arrows were being fired from the decks into the densely packed forces under Dashrath’s command. The Lankan archers on the ships ripped through the massed ranks of the Sapt Sindhuans.

  No one in Dashrath’s army had factored in the possibility of the enemy ships beaching with speed; ordinarily, it would have cracked their hulls. What they didn’t know was that these were amphibious crafts with specially constructed hulls that could absorb the shock of grounding. Even as the landing crafts stormed onto the beach with tremendous velocity, the broad bows of the hulls rolled out from the top. These were no ordinary bows of a standard hull. They were attached to the bottom of the hull by huge hinges, and they simply rolled out onto the sand like a landing ramp. This opened a gangway from the belly of the ships straight onto the beach. Cavalrymen mounted on disproportionately large horses imported from the West thundered out of the ships and straight onto the beach, mercilessly slicing through the men who blocked their path.