Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta

by Amish Tripathi

  ‘Would you rather I respect them, dear brother?’ asked Raavan, laughing. ‘Trust me, women are not looking for respect or honour. They want someone to pay their bills and to give them protection. In return, they are prepared to give love, or something resembling it!’

  ‘Dada, you are about to get married for the second time. I really think you need to update your views on women.’

  ‘Listen, Kumbha, I have more women in a fortnight than you have had in your entire life. I know how they think. They may say they like nice, sensitive men. But remember, women never say what they mean. In reality, they dismiss the gentle, domesticated sort of men as weak and unreliable. They want real men—tough, strong men.’

  ‘Our dharma says that a real man is one who respects women.’

  ‘So a real man is one who surrenders himself and becomes a doormat for women?’

  ‘I never said that. A real man is one who respects himself and treats others with respect too.’

  ‘Bullshit. I can tell you from personal experience, four women don’t add up to the worth of one man. In fact, even four hundred women do not add up to the worth of one man.’

  ‘What nonsense! Do you even hear yourself, Dada?’

  ‘All the time. And I don’t hear anything wrong!’

  Kumbhakarna took a deep breath to control his irritation. ‘Forget it. Your views cannot shake my beliefs or the vows that I will undertake for Lord Ayyappa.’

  ‘How does your being celibate please a God?’ sniggered Raavan, clearly trying to annoy Kumbhakarna.

  ‘It’s not only about celibacy, Dada,’ Kumbhakarna explained patiently. ‘By taking the vow, I am pledging my loyalty to Lord Ayyappa, the son of the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra, and the Vishnu, Lady Mohini. Though Lord Ayyappa is worshipped across the land in thousands of temples, the vratham applies only to the temple of Shabarimala. A small forest-dwelling community in that region, led by Shabari, the Lady of the Forest, maintains the temple. And for all devotees, the rules are clearly laid out.’

  Kumbhakarna ticked off the rules on his fingers: ‘We will not eat meat or consume alcohol during the period of the forty-one-day vratham. We will sleep on the floor. We will not hurt anyone, either physically or with our words. We will stay away from all social functions. The point is to live simply and focus on high thinking.’

  ‘All that sounds very noble. But tell me something, you keep talking about how much you respect women. You do know that women are not allowed into the Shabarimala temple? Isn’t that disrespectful to them?’

  ‘Women are allowed! Of course they are. Only women who are in the reproductive stage of their life are not allowed in this particular temple. Basically, women who are capable of menstruating are forbidden entry.’

  ‘Aha! So you think reproduction is impure? And menstruating women will contaminate the temple? Do you know that in the Kamakhya temple in north-east India, menstrual blood is considered sacred and worshipped?’

  ‘You are misunderstanding me on purpose, Dada. The ban on menstruating women has nothing to do with menstrual blood being impure. How can any Indian think that? It’s about the path of sanyas, of renunciation.’

  Kumbhakarna continued, ‘As you know, practically all the temples in India follow the gruhasta route, the path of the householder. The rituals in these temples are built around the worldly life, celebrating relationships like that between a husband and wife, or a parent and child, or a lord and his subjects. The renunciates or sanyasis have temples too, many of them being rock-cut caves in remote mountainous regions; non-sanyasis are not allowed entry into these. The only way of entering a sanyasi temple is by giving up all worldly attachments, renouncing one’s family and material belongings, and permanently joining a sanyasi order.’

  Raavan pretended to be alarmed. ‘Are you becoming a sanyasi? Are you going to leave me? What the hell!’

  Kumbhakarna laughed. ‘Dada, listen to me. The Shabarimala temple is not for those who have taken permanent sanyas. We just have to be sanyasis for the forty-one days of the vratham. It essentially gives us a short experience of the life of a sanyasi. If you understand this, then all the vows I mentioned earlier make sense. For these forty-one days, we have to stay away from all the pleasures and comforts of life, as well as extreme emotions. That’s why the rule against consumption of intoxicants or meat, and sex. The temple is dedicated to the male sanyasi route, women in their reproductive phase are not allowed in, but young girls and older women are welcome. Similarly, there are temples dedicated to the female sanyasi path, where adult men are not allowed, like the Kumari Amman temple. There are temples for the sanyas of transgender people too. Misunderstandings arise because you worldly people don’t know enough about our sanyasi ways.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I give up,’ said Raavan, holding his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Go for your pilgrimage. When is it? In a few months?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kumbhakarna smiled and murmured, ‘Swamiye Sharanam Ayyappa.’

  We find refuge at the feet of Lord Ayyappa.

  While he may have been mocking his younger brother, Raavan was not about to disrespect Lord Ayyappa. The forest Lord was, after all, the son of Lord Rudra and Lady Mohini. He was considered to be one of the greatest warriors that ever lived.

  He repeated after Kumbhakarna, ‘Swamiye Sharanam Ayyappa.’

  Before Raavan could say anything more, a loud announcement was heard. ‘We are about to land. Please check your straps.’

  Raavan and Kumbhakarna double-checked the straps with which they were secured to their chairs. The hundred soldiers within the Pushpak Vimaan did the same.

  Raavan looked down at Mithila, the city for the sons of the soil, through the portholes. From up in the air, Mithila looked very different from the other large Indian cities, which were mostly located on the banks of rivers. Mithila had originally been a river-port town, but after the Gandaki River had changed course to flow westward a few decades ago, the fate of Mithila had altered dramatically. From being counted among the great cities of the Sapt Sindhu, it had witnessed a speedy decline. It was now far poorer than the other cities of the empire, which were themselves being rapidly impoverished by Raavan. So much so that Raavan had dismissed his appointed sub-traders in Mithila. There simply wasn’t enough work for them.

  ‘It’s rare to see such a dense forest coming almost all the way up to the city,’ said Raavan.

  Being a fertile, marshy plain that received plentiful monsoonal rain, the land around Mithila was extremely productive. Since the farmers of Mithila had not cleared too much land, the forest had used the bounty of nature to create a dense border all around the city.

  ‘Look at the moat,’ said Kumbhakarna, surprised.

  From the air, they could see a body of water around the fort that must have served as a defensive moat once, with crocodiles in it for preventive security. Now, it was a lake to draw water from.

  The lake circumscribed the entire city within itself so effectively that Mithila was like an island. Giant wheels drew water from the lake, which was carried into the city through pipes. Steps had been built on the banks for easy access to the water.

  ‘They don’t have a proper defensive moat anymore!’ said Raavan, astonished.

  ‘I think it’s a smart move. They don’t need one. Why would anyone attack Mithila? There is no money to be looted here. And they freely distribute their only treasure: their knowledge.’

  ‘Hmm… you’re right.’

  As the brothers looked at the moat around the fort, they observed an inner wall, about a kilometer inside the main fort wall. The area between the outer and the inner fort walls was neatly partitioned into plots of agricultural land. The food crops appeared ready for harvest.

  Raavan was impressed. ‘Good idea. At least someone in Mithila has military sense.’

  Growing crops within the fort walls would secure the food supply during any siege. Also, since there was no human habitation there, this area would be a killing field for anyone who managed t
o breach the outer wall. An attacking force would lose too many men in the effort to reach the inner wall, without any hope of a quick retreat.

  Kumbhakarna agreed with his elder brother. ‘Yes, it’s a brilliant military design; two fort walls with uninhabited land in between. We should try it too.’

  As the Pushpak Vimaan hovered over the ground for a little while, they could see one of the main gates of Mithila. There were no coat of arms emblazoned across the gate, unlike in most forts in India.

  Instead, an image of Lady Saraswati, the Goddess of Knowledge, had been carved into the top half of the gate.

  There was a couplet inscribed below the image, but it was not readable from this distance.

  ‘I wonder what the couplet says,’ said Raavan.

  ‘I remember Akampanaji telling me about it,’ said Kumbhakarna.

  ‘Swagruhe Pujyate Murkhaha;

  Swagraame Pujyate Prabhuhu;

  Swadeshe Pujyate Raja;

  Vidvaansarvatra Pujyate.’

  A fool is worshipped in his home.

  A chief is worshipped in his village.

  A king is worshipped in his kingdom.

  A knowledgeable person is worshipped everywhere.

  Raavan smiled. Truly, a city dedicated to knowledge. Truly, a city beloved of the rishis. Truly, a city that would serve his purpose well.

  Small, circular metal screens descended over the portholes, blocking the view.

  ‘We’re landing,’ said Kumbhakarna.

  As the thunderous sound of its rotors dipped, the Pushpak Vimaan slowly descended to the ground. It touched down in the space earmarked for it, far outside the outer fort wall, in the clearing ahead of the forest line. Raavan’s bodyguard corps of over ten thousand soldiers had already gathered there, in orderly formation.

  Raavan took a deep breath. ‘Time for action.’

  ‘Something is not right, Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna. ‘Let’s leave.’

  Raavan had set up camp outside Mithila. Safer to be there, surrounded by his soldiers, than within the city walls of a Sapt Sindhu kingdom. A kingdom that he had, through his trade policies, impoverished.

  ‘But King Kushadhwaj invited me himself!’ said Raavan, outraged. He had been waiting for Kumbhakarna and his aides to return from their visit to the royal court in Mithila, where they had gone to announce his arrival.

  ‘I know, but he was quiet throughout. So was King Janak.’

  ‘Then who the hell was speaking?’

  ‘Guru Vishwamitra.’

  ‘What in Lord Indra’s name is Guruji doing here? There is no debate during a swayamvar ceremony!’

  ‘I don’t know what he is doing here, but I can tell you that he seemed to be making all the decisions. And I was not even allowed to meet Princess Sita.’

  ‘What does this mean?’ Raavan was getting more and more agitated. ‘I am Lanka. Ruler of the most powerful kingdom in the world. The richest land on earth. I have done Mithila a favour by agreeing to come here to win the hand of Sita. How can they treat me this way?’

  ‘Dada, let’s just leave. The Sapt Sindhuans will never accept us. You tried. You did it with a clean heart. You wanted to make a fresh start. But these people won’t let that happen. To hell with this “Aryavarta”. Let us be happy in Lanka, in our own corner of India. Let’s leave.’

  ‘And let the entire world know I was humiliated? So that any insignificant bastard can rebel against me tomorrow? Never. I will not leave!’

  ‘Dada, listen to me. Guru Vishwamitra was trying to tell me, without actually saying so, that you would not be welcome at the swayamvar. Each time I looked at King Kushadhwaj, he was busy examining the floor. He didn’t say a word. None of this bodes well.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them that we were invited by that fool Kushadhwaj?’

  ‘What’s the point, Dada? He did not want to acknowledge us. We are not welcome here. Let’s just leave.’

  ‘No, we will not!’

  ‘Dada…’

  ‘Raavan will not be insulted this way! Lanka will not be insulted this way! I don’t care what they think. I will go to the swayamvar and I will win. I will leave with Sita, even if I just throw her into the dungeons of Sigiriya afterwards. I will win this swayamvar. I will redeem my honour!’

  ‘Dada, I don’t think that—’

  ‘Kumbhakarna! My decision is final!’

  On the day of the swayamvar, Raavan and Kumbhakarna left their camp, accompanied by thirty soldiers. Fifteen marched ahead of them and fifteen behind. The soldiers were dressed in their ceremonial best, as the representatives of the richest kingdom in the world ought to be. They carried the standard of Lanka: black flags, with the head of a roaring lion emerging from a background of fiery flames.

  Given that they were not welcome at the swayamvar, Kumbhakarna had arranged for a battalion of a thousand soldiers, armed to the teeth, to follow Raavan and his bodyguards. They were to wait outside the venue of the swayamvar. Kumbhakarna wanted to play it safe, but without provoking the Malayaputras.

  The Lankans crossed the pontoon bridge over the lake and marched through the open gates of the outer wall, and then past the inner wall. The soldiers behind Raavan and Kumbhakarna blew on their conch shells, attracting as much attention as they could.

  Most of the citizens of Mithila were headed to the swayamvar, or had already got there. The few who remained in the city came out of their houses to stare at the procession. The procession of the richest and most powerful man in the world. Faced with the pomp and grandeur of the Lankan party, the peaceful inhabitants of Mithila withdrew. They did not want to offend or aggravate the Lankans in any way.

  Raavan kept his eyes on the path ahead, his posture that of a king returning victorious from battle. He refused to even glance at the meek citizens of Mithila.

  The swayamvar had been organised in the Hall of Dharma, inside the palace complex, instead of at the royal court. The building had been donated by King Janak to the Mithila University and the hall regularly hosted debates and discussions on various esoteric topics—the illusion of this physical world, the nature of the soul, the source of Creation, the value and beauty of idol-worship, the philosophical clarity of atheism… King Janak was a philosopher-king who focused all his kingdom’s resources on matters of spiritual and intellectual interest.

  The circular hall was crowned with a large, elegant dome. Its walls were decorated with portraits of the greatest rishis and rishikas from times past. In some ways, the circular design embodied King Janak’s approach to governance: a respectful regard for all points of view. During debates, everyone sat at the same level, as equals, without a regulating ‘head’, deliberating issues openly and without fear.

  For the purpose of the swayamvar, temporary three-tiered spectator stands had been erected near the entrance to the hall. At the other end, on a wooden platform, was placed the king’s throne. A statue of the great King Mithi, the founder of Mithila, stood on a raised pedestal behind the throne. Two thrones, only marginally less grand, were placed to the left and right of the king’s throne. A circle of comfortable seats lined the middle section of the great hall, where kings and princes – the potential suitors – were seated.

  Accompanied by the loud cacophony of Lankan conch shells, Raavan and Kumbhakarna made their grand entry along with their entourage of thirty bodyguard. The battalion of one thousand soldiers waited outside the hall. Out of sight, but close at hand. Ready to charge to the aid of their king if summoned.

  Raavan and Kumbhakarna walked ahead, looking around at the arrangements.

  The upper levels of the three-tiered spectator stands were packed with ordinary citizens, while the nobility and the rich merchants occupied the first platform. The contestants sat in a circle, on comfortable chairs, in the middle section of the hall. Every seat was occupied. Princess Sita would be able to see all that was going on without being visible herself, as she had decided to make it a gupt swayamvar.

  In the centre of the hall, placed
ceremoniously on a table top, was an unstrung bow. The legendary Pinaka, the bow of Lord Rudra Himself. A number of arrows were placed beside it. Next to the table, at ground level, was a large copper-plated basin. Competitors were required to first pick up the bow and string it, which itself was no mean task. They would then have to move to the basin, which was filled with water, with more trickling in steadily from the top. This created gentle ripples within the bowl, spreading out from the centre towards the edge. To make things more difficult, and unpredictable, the drops of water were released at irregular intervals.

  A hilsa fish was nailed to a wheel, which was fixed to an axle that was suspended from the top of the dome, a hundred metres above the ground. The wheel revolved at a constant speed. The contestants were required to look at the reflection of the fish in the unstill water below, and use the bow to fire an arrow into the eye of the fish. The first to succeed would win the hand of the bride.

  Raavan did not pause to look at the task set for the potential suitors. Neither did he appear to notice that his entry into the hall had interrupted the speech of the great Malayaputra, Guru Vishwamitra. This was an unprecedented insult to the maharishi. But Raavan did not seem to care. For something else had caught his attention. Every seat in the competitors’ circle was occupied.

  They haven’t reserved a place for me! The bloody bastards!

  Raavan’s entourage moved to the centre of the hall and halted next to Lord Rudra’s bow. The lead bodyguard made a loud announcement. ‘The King of Kings, the Emperor of Emperors, the Ruler of the Three Worlds, the Beloved of the Gods, Lord Raavan!’

  Raavan turned towards a minor king who was sitting closest to the Pinaka, grunted softly, and gestured with his head. The terrified man rose without question and scurried away to stand behind another competitor. Raavan walked towards the chair, but did not sit. He planted his right foot on the seat and rested his hand on his knee. Kumbhakarna and his men fell in line behind him. Then, almost lazily, Raavan turned his gaze to the other end of the hall, where the thrones were placed.