Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  Kubera, the Money-God and the giver of justice, was seated on his throne, busy signing palm documents with his royal stamp and barking instructions about various vagaries of commerce, shipping rates, pepper prices, gold equivalent for cardamom weight, etc, which would be carried to the respective officers in the various ports of the island and then back to the merchant king by messengers on swift Arabia s sw and wn horses. There were other criminals waiting for the God of money to dispense wisdom and justice but in this world of high profile trade and commerce, everything else was insignificant.

  I saw Kumbha had passed out and was afraid I would follow him. I wanted to hear what our punishments would be for trespassing on the Money-God’s property. It seemed like an endless wait and for the first time in my life, I pondered my mortality. I was too young to think about death, but with every inch of my body hurting, thoughts of death came easily. It was then that I saw my uncle among the crowd, restlessly waiting for judgment. We made eye contact and he smiled that beautiful, heart-warming smile that made me forget the pain. A few of his front teeth were missing but I could feel the sincerity of the man. He looked concerned and at the same time, I felt that with him around, nothing bad could happen to us.

  Two criminals who had stolen jewels from the temple were the first to go on trial and before they could plead their innocence or the city police could arrange proof for examination, Kubera pronounced them guilty and ordered their arms chopped off. There was a loud wail from a woman, probably the wife of one of the men. The man was probably a craftsman before poverty had driven him to steal from the Gods. Now the State would take away his arms and the Gods would have their jewels back. Justice was exact and swift and the crime rate low.

  Kubera was an efficient ruler, especially for the trading class, who were assured of a safe city. His popularity among the middle classes was always great. The rich did not care who ruled, as long as they were allowed to be rich. The poor could not afford to care and nobody asked their opinion in any case. Only the middle class mattered and any half-witted ruler knows how to pamper them. One of the men offered himself as slave. He claimed he was an expert weaver and said that he would weave for free. Kubera immediately reversed the sentence and the weaver’s new punishment was to be a slave for the next ten years and keep weaving and making money for the establishment.

  The next man was too proud and offered no apology or deal. He was taken away for his arms to be chopped off. In any other country he would have begged, but as this was a prosperous country, begging was not allowed. Beggars were banished to the interiors or more often taken to the sea and drowned with stones tied to their necks.

  “Next,” a soldier stationed near the throne barked. Kubera was looking at some business papers in the meantime. He was an efficient time manager. We were shoved forward by the guards. “Accused of trespassing into the royal cow pens and attempted theft of cows,” barked the police commissioner.

  “Not guilty,” I wanted to roar, but only a shrill, boyish sound came out. A sudden hush fell in court. Nobody has ever dared to speak in court when the King was present. Kubera was immersed in his palm leaves and it took him a few seconds to register the silence. He deliberately read through the entire document and put it aside. Then he raised his head. A smile spread across his face. He was a handsome man and the smile made him more so. But there was something creepy and spider-like in his movements.

  “My, my, who have we here? My beloved step-brothers. I am honoured. If you had asked, I would have gifted you a few cows. Instead, you wanted to steal. How natural. I see you have taken after your mother. So, what do you prefer, your arms chopped off; your noses cut off; or a plain simple branding on your cheeks that you are thieves? I cannot be blamed for nepotism.”

  “Sir, I have a request.” Maricha walked into the centre of the court and a hundred pairs of eyes bored into him. I believe he had broken se hquethe elaborate Deva court decorum. These uncouth Asuras! They behave like children. It is perhaps the Deva’s burden to civilize us. I watched with horror at what my uncle was doing. I wanted to scream at the top of my voice and stop him, but I did not for fear of punishment. The old fool was blundering on, the old lovable rascal. I felt some small hope that we might be let off easily. “Sir, these are children and they scarcely know what they were doing.”

  I felt my cheeks growing hot as all eyes turned towards me to see the foolish boy. I was sixteen and still being referred to as a child. Even if I got out of this, I would be taunted for the rest of my life by my friends. I had missed a few sentences, immersed in my teenage wrath, and it took a while for the enormity of what my uncle was saying to sink in.

  “So you offer yourself in return for the freedom of these ugly brats? I hope you are not in an extended state of inebriation from last night’s revelry and that you are saying it of your own free will. You say you are a soldier, but you have a few missing teeth and an arm in a sling to prove that.” The laughter in the court echoed around us and my cheeks burned when I saw my uncle standing there with his right arm in a sling, dignified, his eyes staring at a distant point a few inches above the fool who was playing the buffoon king.

  “Six years in the oil mill.” The order passed like a lightning bolt and I shivered. Kumbha showed signs of waking up. I could see that even Maricha was shocked. This was too harsh for a small trespass. I could see tears sprouting from the old man’s eyes. I could see the face of his wife and the twins. I had brought this upon the old man. How old was he? Thirty, thirty-five perhaps? At sixteen, everyone over twenty looked old. Six years meant that he would be fourty-one by the time he got out. That is, if he made it at all. The oil mill was the most dreaded of all punishments. Instead of bulls, men were tied to the mill and walked round and round, grinding sesame seeds or copra into oil. It sapped the life out of them. Twenty hours of back-breaking labour, 365 days multiplied by six, for the old man. Just because his hot-headed nephews could not help playing heroes and trespassed on the premises of their step-brother, the merchant-king.

  “And add one year more so that this old bastard learns how to address a king. Sir, indeed! Next.”

  I heard this with horror. This was justice. Fast and swift. For contempt of court, my old uncle got one more year of slave labour. My uncle stared at his toes. The guards came and handcuffed him. He was then bound in chains and shoved hard by the guards. People laughed. My people, the Asuras, laughed when one of their kin was treated like an animal for no fault of his. Someone whistled. We were dragged out of court and dumped outside. The State had no use for us anymore. Our bones were broken and our internal organs damaged. So we were discarded like gnawed chicken bones. Chewed out by the State. Then, the first stone hit me. Soon it turned into a hail. My people were stoning me for sending my old uncle to hard labour. Their impotent wrath was falling on two teenagers. So this is the end, I thought. Dying ignobly as a thief at the hands of my people, after sending my lovable, old uncle to prison. What an end to a fool who dreamt of conquering the world and freeing his people.

  The pelting of stones stopped as suddenly as it had started. With blood dripping from my face, I saw my mother weeping inconsolably and hugging the inert form of Kumbha. Fortunately, our citizens had yet to reach those heights of civilization when they stone women to death. Thank god for the small mercies he showers on our life. Slowly we were carried into our hut. My aunt lay unconscious and the twins were wailing. My neighbour, sMy how a fat, ugly lady, who had a heart of gold, but the tongue of a serpent, desperately tried to stop the wailing. It was then that I saw Vibhishana sitting in a corner and reading a book in Sanskrit and not even looking at us. I boiled with rage. So the guards had not buried him. The studious, good boy had come home and slept while we were getting thrashed. Then, when the uncle who was past his prime has been dragged to the oil mill to work with the bulls, the bastard was sitting and chanting some obscure Deva text like a frog.

  I felt like murdering him there and then. I wanted to shove that book of the Rig Veda down his
throat. I wanted to do so many things, when he caught my eye. He came and sat on the floor at my feet. I tried to raise my leg and kick his hateful face. Instead, a groan escaped me. Kubera’s guards knew where to kick. Then Vibhishana broke down like a baby. He hugged my feet and oh God, it hurt like hell. But he would not let it go. The bastard wanted forgiveness. He said he was afraid and it took him the greater part of the morning to get the courage to tell my uncle. He was sorry for everything and wanted his big brother to forget and forgive and hug him. I wanted to get up and tear him in two. I tried to sit up. I made some gurgling sound which might have frightened my mother. She left Kumbha and came to me. Then she soothed my raging mind with songs of my long-past childhood. She sang as if I was a baby still in the cradle, searching her nipples for milk. She sang those old songs of Asura valour and the sad songs of long-lost glory. I slept, with love replacing the hatred I had felt for my younger brother. When I woke, my rage had gone.

  I knew that my aunt had left the village the next day and a message came which said that that she had joined a weaver’s guild. The pay was not good but the guild provided a roof and two square meals a day. Not the life for a former queen of a small Asura state, but certainly better than a hut with the night view of the stars and moon through the roof.

  I was seeing my family after a long time, thanks to this old man with a cheeky smile, who thought nothing of handing over a pearl necklace for which his wife had sweated for seven years, to arrange safe passage for his sister’s family; or about grinding sesame in a tyrant’s prison so that his nephews could go free

  . The old rascal had lost a few more teeth, but looked healthier than I had last seen him, in chains. It seemed that he would outlive us all. He was forty-two now, but remained the same kind and jovial fellow. A king in his time, he will remain a kind-hearted uncle always ready to sacrifice his life to save those who he loved. I shall always remember that.

  10 The pearl island beckons

  The Council had assembled under the Banyan tree. I presided over the meeting, with Prahastha as moderator, and the debate raged on. No one was making any sense. Everyone wanted to somehow take Lanka, but no one seemed to have a concrete idea how to do it. Kumbha wanted a frontal attack where we would cross the sea during low tide in bamboo canoes and challenge Kubera’s army head on. I knew we would not last an hour. We were less than 2000 people and more than half were inexperienced warriors. They had the passion to fight but knew next to nothing about using arms. The best seemed to have only shot wood pigeons in the forest. A few others had been in various highway raids. There was no doubt that the only ones with any experience in real combat were Prahastha, Sumali, and Maricha. But that was years ago and military technology had changed.

  Bhadra passed in and out of the meeting place, carrying refreshments. I felt uneasy in his presence as he was a vMy ho hut withlways on the verge of saying something. I didn’t want a servant to interrupt the council of ministers and offer his unsolicited war strategy. I also did not want anyone to know I had spoken with him once in a while, when no one was around. Many of the things he said made sense and some of the ideas I put forth as my own, were actually his. It was surprising that no one, including myself, had thought about the fact that our army would not last long once we moved out of this forest, until Bhadra drew my attention to it. This forest abounded with game, wild berries, mangoes and jackfruit, so we never needed to worry about feeding the troops. Once we moved out, we were sure to starve to death. After that, we started collecting jackfruits and drying them in the sun, making mango pastes, cultivating wild rice and bamboo shoots, and storing these meagre rations.

  We also got our armaments ready and resorted to making wooden spears, swords and arrows, as copper or iron was hard to come by. Maricha had started a brewery for poisonous potions, which could be effectively used in spears and arrows. But this was all insignificant. The fall of Kubera had to be through a sudden, surprise attack. He had a standing army of 20,000 men, 4,000 mounted archers, 2,000 horse chariots, 500 elephants, and supplies to last two years. He had an effective navy with more than twenty ships patrolling the shores and two huge snake-boats, each rowed by sixty men. Sixty archers could be mounted on these swift and sleek snake-boats and they shot flame arrows with deadly precision. His training schools were famed far and wide and the swordsmanship of his soldiers was envied by other kings.

  Of course, Kubera could afford all these things. He could hire the best talent from across the world, whether from China or Egypt or even the pale barbarians from colder lands. He could use the latest technology for his army and navy. It was even rumoured that he had developed a flying machine and was going to make fifty more, so that he could employ them to drop huge flaming balls or stones on enemy camps. It was also rumoured that only one prototype had been made and the technician who designed it had been poisoned. I forced my mind back to the debate.

  “We need horses and have to get them from across the sea, so we also need ships, or at least large dhows. The question is, how many can we afford?” asked Prahastha. A debate ensued on the number of horses needed, the number archers to be deployed, the number of ships required, the timing of the attack. My mind drifted away again and it was then that I caught Bhadra’s eye. He beckoned. I was irritated. Perhaps he thought that he had something better to offer than these veteran soldiers? I would have to put him in his place. But I thought it was better to hear him out first and walked away as if enjoying a stroll, towards the waterfall. The fall was huge here and the Poorna was almost 500 feet wide, where she fell a majestic 200 feet to meet the river and then flowed to the distant sea. On a clear day, one could spot the sea bordering this land of coconuts. All around was thick, evergreen tropical forest, with hundreds of colourful birds chirping and flying about. Dragonflies fluttered over the water. At night, when everyone was asleep except the sentries, I would listen to the forest. The occasional elephant herd rummaged through the forest; the distant roars of leopards and tigers; bears drinking from the stream. It was a different world out there. The drama of survival took place all around my camp, with life hunting or being hunted in turn. Violence was the very foundation of nature. Every moment something became prey to something else. The circle of killing went on. Could man stop it? Wars are inevitable, so is cruelty. Most animals are successful killing machines. The humble lizard on the wall is no less a hunter than a tiger.

  “Your Highness, can’t we go in as traders?” Bhadra’s voic {adrd one shocked me. I had not heard him approaching. He walked silently for a short and stout man.

  “And what would we trade in?” I could not help asking.

  “We could arrange for horses from the Arabs in Muzuris. We could get pepper from the hills, rubies from the east coast, and gold from the Greek camp in Muzuris. We could get some ships on lease from the rich traders… We could navigate around the peninsula and enter Lanka from the South- Eastern tip of India, where the sea is narrowest. Two ships would do, carrying about 400 people. . .”

  “And you, fool, you plan to conquer Lanka with 400 nitwits?” I could barely contain my anger.

  Bhadra waited for my temper to subside and then continued, “The ships could carry ivory and pearls back and about twenty men each. They could continue to the mainland and trade again. The rest could visit the king and ask to set up a guild on the coast, preferably near the Eastern gate of the Trikota fort, near the weavers’ street.”

  I was warming up to his idea. “In six trips, we would have sneaked all the men onto the island. We could buy arms from the local market and hoard them.”

  “No need for six trips, Your Highness, that would take too much time. Once the first lot has been placed, we could send a few hundred in small canoes, ten or fifteen in each batch, as fishermen. The second trip of ships could unload more soldiers and they could form a second guild near the northern gate. If we carry on like that, we’d be able to place half our army in a month. In the third sailing, we could purchase horses and arms only and anchor outside
the ports in the deep sea, at a distance of an hour, if the wind is advantageous.”

  I liked the plan. I needed just enough money to fill my two ships. I could manage that. But even for this, I would have to borrow heavily from Mahabali. I did not know whether the old man would agree. Otherwise, I would be left with no choice other than to plunder one or two ships in the high seas. It was a risky venture and we could encounter Varuna’s ships, which ran a protection racket in these parts, or Kubera’s navy. I doubted whether half the men in my army could swim, let alone fight in the seas. Most were inlanders and would see the sea for the first time in their lives. I knew the plan would be vetoed in the Council by Prahastha, and I would have to overrule him. I did not want any unpleasantness at this early stage.

  “I want to go, Your Highness.” I thought he was asking to go back to the servant quarters. I flicked my hand and became immersed in my own thoughts.

  “I want to go to Lanka first, Your Highness.” I was jarred and turned my head to stare at him.

  “What made you think that?”

  “I will be useful to you there.”

  He was going to be a spy. He made a funny figure as he stood there with bow legs, pot belly, curly hair, dark as midnight and without the least bit of respectability. He had a natural camouflage, he was common among common people. He would blend in like a chameleon. Was he going to desert the camp? Was he Kubera’s spy and leading us into a trap? Suddenly, I felt paranoid. I told him he was not going anywhere. I wanted to talk to him at night and he could leave in the morning. He was rather uneasy and I could see that he was perturbed. ‘I cannot leave you so easily, friend. There is something fishy about you,’ I wanted to tell him. Instead, I smiled at him. I was shocked at how easily I could lie.