‘And if you don’t order your men to move away and sheathe their weapons, you’ll see a bloodier fight than that little encounter with the bandits!’
Bejoo blinked. He rasped shortly: ‘Vajra. Stand down.’
The Vajra soldiers retreated, still staring curiously at the women in black. Nakhudi made one final menacing gesture with her curved sword before sheathing it expertly in its waist harness without even a downward glance. Sita saw Bejoo’s eyes flick down, following the sword’s descent, then return at once to the bodyguard’s face. He looked like a man who had just offered a flower gift to a deity then raised his eyes to gaze upon the deity’s visage.
‘And you can put your eyes back in your head, Captain. She won’t grow any taller if you keep staring.’
Bejoo looked suddenly embarrassed. He sheathed his own sword and glanced briefly at Sita. ‘Why does the princess-heir of this great nation travel in disguise and without adequate protection?’
‘The first question answers the second,’ Sita said curtly.
Bejoo stared at her dumbly.
Rama spoke, addressing the captain while keeping his amused eyes on Sita. ‘The rajkumari means that since she is travelling in disguise, it would be pointless to bring along her entire royal entourage. She might as well hang a sign around her neck announcing who she is.’
Understanding dawned on Bejoo’s face. He kept his eyes on a point midway between Rama and Sita. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at the taller woman again.
Rama went on, ‘As for why she’s travelling in disguise, I have a fair idea what her motive might be, but perhaps the rajkumari would like to tell us in her own words?’
‘The rajkumari would rather jump in the River Shona and drown,’ Sita said.
Lakshman made a show of looking at the shallow stream flowing beside them. ‘Better find another river. Frogs couldn’t drown in this one.’
Nakhudi glared down at Lakshman. ‘When you address my mistress, you must speak politely and preface your words with her title, rajkumari.’
Lakshman waggled his eyebrows at the bodyguard. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Rama and I are rajkumars. So if we do as you say, we’d all be adding a lot of extra syllables to our sentences. What do you say we drop the formalities and just use our first names and save all of us a lot of breath and energy?’
He ended with a broad wink.
Nakhudi strode forward, her face darkening.
‘Enough!’ Sita moved to join her companion, turning to face the others. Now Vishwamitra, Rama, Lakshman and Bejoo were on one side, facing into the light of the camp-fires, their faces clearly illuminated, while Nakhudi and she had their backs to the fires, their faces shrouded by flickering shadows.
‘What my motives were in travelling incognito are none of your concern, rajkumars,’ Sita said. ‘But out of respect for the venerated brahmarishi, I shall share this information with you.’
‘Your graciousness makes me want to supplicate myself in undying gratitude,’ Lakshman said.
Rama nudged his brother. ‘Enough,’ he said softly. Lakshman subsided reluctantly.
Sita studiously ignored Lakshman. Instead she directed her attention to the sage. Inclining her head, she joined her hands in a namaskar. Her tone lost its sharp edge and grew humble and respectful. ‘Guru-dev, it was foolish of me to expect to deceive your infinite wisdom and insight. But such was not my intention. I had no expectation of meeting such a venerated seer-mage on the road to—’
She broke off abruptly. ‘On the road,’ she finished simply.
‘On the road to Dandaka.’ The seer’s tone was final. He was telling, not asking.
Sita stared up at Vishwamitra dumbly for a moment before answering, unable to conceal the shock she felt at the seer’s words.
She found her voice at last. ‘Indeed, maha-dev. That is where my companion and I were headed.’
Vishwamitra nodded grimly. ‘You heard the tales then. Of asuras massing in the Dandaka-van and Bhayanak-van, and other areas south of the sacred rivers. And you requested your father to send scouts to investigate the rumours. But Maharaja Janak’s preoccupation with spiritual matters precluded him from seeing the depth of your anxiety. And so, when he failed to be moved by your entreaties, you decided to take matters into your own hands.’
Sita nodded, awed by the seer’s intimate knowledge. ‘It was just as you said, Guru-dev. My father is a good man, but his days are spent increasingly in philosophical discussions and the performing of yagnas. More and more, he has come to believe that ahimsa is the only road to salvation. He has almost completely disbanded the armed forces. The entire kingdom of Videha now has barely one full division to guard its borders and police its capital city. Every time we receive news of some new asura movement or attack–such as the recent invasion attempt on Ayodhya–he dismisses it as idle gossip with no basis in fact.’
She shook her head in frustration, remembering how hard she had tried to convince her father on that last morning, and how he had smiled indulgently and nonchalantly at her and tried to change the topic to her marriage plans.
The sage nodded. Sita felt as if he understood every thought, every emotion she was experiencing now and had ever experienced. His eyes were filled with such bottomless empathy. When he spoke his voice were tinged with a hint of sadness. ‘And so you decided to bring him proof that this was not idle gossip. You took your trusted bodyguard into your confidence and convinced her of the merit of your plan.’
Nakhudi spoke, her gruff voice softened by her respect for the seer. ‘My people have known of the Lord of Lanka’s plans for many moons now, sire. But city Kshatriyas regard our clans as warmongers and refuse to listen. They forget that back when war was a way of life, it was the rakshak clans and our clans that watched and warned all the Arya nations. Too many years of peace have made the people soft and thick-bellied. We have forgotten the lessons of our mothers and gurus.’
The large warrior chanted aloud: ‘Always watch, always prepare. Carry a sword with you to prayer. Never forget, never forgive. No rest as long as our enemies live.’
She ended by making a gesture of grief at a lost one’s memory. ‘My father, mother, four sisters and two brothers all died in the last asura war. I was too young to fight, or I would have gone to Vaikunta with them.’
She clenched her fist on the pommel of her sword. The sound of the leather was audible to Bejoo, five yards away.
The seer nodded. ‘Strong words, Jat. Angry words. As one who has walked the earth from the time of the First asura War to the present day, I understand your anger and feel for your pain. But Maharaja Janak too saw many loved ones lost in the same war; his own bow and sword were drenched with asura blood in that last terrible conflict. I know this even though I was engaged in bhor tapasya, for events of such magnitude cannot escape even a seer absorbed in transcendental devotion.’
Nakhudi and Sita frowned at the sage, trying to understand his meaning. He went on gently, ‘Both of you misjudge Maharaja Janak’s desire for peace and nonviolence as a failing. Yet it is the very opposite of a fault, it is a great virtue. The desire for peace and ahimsa is the true sign of the enlightened Arya. It takes great courage to embrace the way of the word over the way of the sword. Maharaja Janak’s acceptance of the principles of ahimsa and peace are just as brave as the taking up of arms.’
The two women were silent. Vishwamitra smiled. ‘You disagree. After all, you reason, I am a Brahmin, and a Brahmin would of course favour peaceful non-violence over armed aggression any day.’ He shook his head. ‘I will not preach to you. These things you must understand through direct experience.’
He glanced up at the dark night sky. ‘But the hour grows late and we have a mission to fulfil tonight. Go on, Rajkumari Sita. Continue your tale. After your father rejected your advice yet again, you and your companion donned the black garb of travelling Kshatriyas and left the palace and the capital city unrecognised. You travelled southwards, heading for Dandakavan, the un
explored forests beyond the vale of Chitrakut hermitage. For this was the part of Videha that was mentioned in most of the rumours. You wished to see if there were asuras there, perhaps even slay a few yourself. Then you could return home and convince your father to allow you to lead an armed contingent back to the Dandaka-van to deal with the menace.’
Sita nodded, her eyes still reflecting her awe at the seer’s insight. ‘Yes, Guru-dev. It was as you said. But we never reached the Dandaka-van. We were crossing the hills when Nakhudi smelled bandits nearby.’
Nakhudi nodded. ‘Even a noseless man could smell them a yojana away.’
Nobody argued the point. Sita went on.
‘We crept close to the bandits. They were waiting for something, we saw. We assumed they were laying an ambush for some unsuspecting merchant carting spices or silkworms up from the southern territories where such natural wealth is profuse. We did not know then that they were lying in wait for rksas. We overheard the leader of the clan, the scarred one they called Bear-face, speaking to another bandit. He was speaking of the coming asura invasion, of how the Lord of Lanka’s hordes were already making their way across the great ocean.
‘He said that once the asura armies came north, they would swarm across the land like a plague, laying waste to all in their path. But he and his gang would be spared, for they served the dark lord in their own small way. By slaying the vanars, rksas and kachuas which are the only enemies of Ravana among the animal species. That was why it was important for them to kill as many rksas as possible before the asuras came. Then they would be able to travel as allies with the hordes and join in the sacking and plundering of Ayodhya.
‘He spoke of a jail warder there whom he would torture to death in his own dungeon, and of things he and his gang would do to the female members of the royal family.’
Sita glanced to the right, her eyes meeting Rama’s briefly. Then she looked down, clenching her fist in exactly the same way that Nakhudi had done. ‘It was horrible hearing such things. Nakhudi and I wanted to rush them and cut them down right there and then. But there were too many of them. Then the rksas came by and the bandits attacked and began… began slaughtering them. And we could take no more. We jumped into the fray. And moments later, you appeared.’
She shrugged. ‘The rest you know already. Once again, I am grateful to you for assisting us in our attempt to save the rksas from those vile miscreants. But now that you know who I truly am, you will probably understand why I must leave you as well. It is imperative that Nakhudi and I return to the capital as soon as possible. We must return to Mithila and inform my father of these things I have heard and seen. He must be persuaded to arm the city and prepare for its defence.’
She focused her attention on Rama, her voice reflecting her urgency.
‘More importantly, Rama, Lakshman and you, with the permission of Guru-dev of course, must return to Ayodhya at once. There was no doubt in the bandit leader’s mind that Ayodhya is the primary target of the asura invasion.’
Sita turned back to the brahmarishi, folding her hands, and went on earnestly.
‘Guru-dev, I humbly request you to permit us to leave your company and proceed directly to Mithila. I shall inform my father of your imminent arrival and we shall receive you in Mithila with all due respect and hospitality. But you must allow my companion and I leave to go to the capital with all speed. We cannot afford to take the long diversion to Visala.’
Vishwamitra moved his hand a few inches down the length of his staff, the wildwood rasping against his palm.
‘Rajkumari Sita, your father has raised you well and wisely. You are a young woman of great resourcefulness, intelligence and maturity, and I assume, once you have washed the grime of the road off your face and garbed yourself in more alluring garments, great beauty as well. However, you are mistaken in your assumption. The news you seek to carry home to your father is not only inaccurate and grossly misleading, it is in fact planted in your ear by those very forces that you seek to warn Maharaja Janak against.’
Sita stared at the sage in dismay. ‘Guru-dev?’
Nakhudi swore. Then immediately apologised to the seer. Vishwamitra ignored both the curse and the apology.
He said instead, ‘My good princess, your intentions and efforts were admirable. But you only heard a small part of the full information and deduced the rest from it. It is true that the ultimate goal of the asura invasion is to take Ayodhya. But it is not their first goal!’
Sita stared up at the sage. ‘But maha-dev, if not Ayodhya, then where? What other target could the Lord of Lanka have in mind?’
Vishwamitra’s face darkened as he raised his staff and brought it down once resoundingly on the gravelly riverbed. It made a crunching sound like glass breaking underfoot. Sita glanced down and saw that the small smooth stones of the riverbed had shattered into fragments and splinters beneath the force of the apparently small blow.
‘The main asura army will attack neither Banglar nor Kosala, nor even Gandahar or Kaikeya. While there will be sorties carried out on all the Arya nations, the main thrust of Ravana’s forces will be directed at only one capital city. The asura army will pass through these very lands, across this riverbed on which we now stand.’
The sage lifted his staff and pointed in a north-eastern direction. The blazing intensity of the campfires turned the seven-foot staff into a twenty-yard-long shadow racing across the riverbed to the far bank and the edge of the woods. There it vanished into dense darkness.
The seer’s voice was so quiet, it was almost lost beneath the crackling of the logs in the fires and the renewed chanting of the Brahmins in their camp downriver. Yet every one of them heard his words clearly, and felt the chill they brought to their hearts.
‘The attack will be directed at Mithila.’
TEN
Jatayu was overcome by a great desire to spread its wings and emit the loudest, most ear-shattering screech it was capable of
producing. It was slowly going mad with impatience and frustration. How much longer was it expected to wait like a common lackey or steward-at-table?
Was it not Jatayu, king of vultures, proud descendant of the mighty Garuda himself, creator of all birdkind? Had it not led its black-winged hordes in numerous battles, often providing the decisive advantage that swung the seesaw of victory? Had it not slain over a thousand brave Kshatriyas with its own talons and beak? Had it not dispatched uncounted thousands of other mortals, Brahmins, women, children, and other castemen who dared to oppose its master, the Dark Lord of Lanka?
Even in the cosmic assault on Swarga-lok, the celestial realm of the devas, had it not led the sky attack, swooping down through a barrage of Brahman bolts that decimated more than half its fellows in a few eye-blinks? Had it not personally avenged its felled companions by setting ablaze the towers of the heavenly city, distracting the king of devas Lord Indra long enough for Ravana’s ground troops to gain a vital ingress in the city’s battlements?
Did it not father a thousand thousand fledglings each year, every one devoted from birth to the bloody cause of the king of asuras? And now, on this momentous day, did it not come bearing vital news for Ravana’s many ears? News that the Lord of Lanka himself had commissioned it to seek out? Then why was it kept waiting here in this hall of horrors like a common foot-soldier on dog duty? Not just a few moments but several days had it waited for an audience with its lord and master, precious days in which its valuable news was losing its potency as surely as water leaking from a punctured water-skin.
It started to unfold its leathery wings, sorely tempted to vent its fury in the natural way of its species. It was not the way of the Jatayus and Garudas to be treated thus. To be kept waiting in hallways for audiences. To be ignored and neglected. Creatures of wing, masters of the open sky, a Jatayu was free to roam the world, unfettered and unbound by the puny limitations of mortal limbs. Why should a Jatayu wait when it could simply leap out of a window and soar away?
But there were
no windows in the Hall. And the winding corridors down which it had been led by the pair of grunting kumbha-rakshasas—imbeciles! dolts!— had been too labyrinthine. It would never find its way up again to the Roost, the large terrace where the Jatayu forces massed. The Fortress of Lanka was one of the few places that managed to physically intimidate Jatayu. It had no desire to lose its way in these endlessly winding, dark, slime-encrusted corridors and hallways. There were nagas and uragas here, hundreds of thousands of them. And nagas and uragas loved to eat birdfood. Large as he was, ferocious and fierce and renowned as he was, even Jatayu was ultimately mortal. Landlocked, within an enclosed stonewalled structure like this one, confronted by an army of nagas and uragas, even it would succumb eventually.
It shuddered, its powerful shoulder and wing muscles rippling to produce a sound like a thousand pigeons fluttering. No, it decided, its burst of temper subsiding as suddenly as it had simmered. Better to stay here and wait a while longer. No need to go wandering in those unholy places. At least here in the Hall there were others of its kind. And whatever a being’s individual size or strength, there was always more safety in numbers.
Still, it peered unhappily down the dark, pillared length of chamber. It had been kept waiting much too long. And it was hungry. If the Lord of Lanka didn’t take audience with Jatayu soon, it would do something, anything. There came a point when even the king of man-vultures lost patience.
A sound echoed in the depths of the Hall.
Jatayu opened its rheumy yellow eyes, abruptly alert, and scoured the chamber.
That was easier said than done. The Hall of the Fortress of Lanka was no mere assembly chamber. It was vast.
Even if Jatayu were to spread its enormous wings right now, the vulture-king’s twenty-yard wingspan would barely stretch across a quarter of the width of the chamber. And if it flapped its powerful wings and flew upwards, it would not achieve any opposition for well over a hundred yards above its scraggy bald head. In fact, several dozen of its own kin were flying high above even now, small, dark silhouettes as small as bats in the uppermost reaches of the vaulted ceiling. Maybe even hundreds. It was too shadowy in the Hall to see much beyond a few yards clearly.
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