“Let me, Sir.” The taller of the guards took the keys from my hands, put the right one in and turned. With a clank, the door opened and I stepped in, thanked the guard and quickly closed the door behind me. I checked the small mud vessel I carried with me. It had taken me more than ten days to prepare the thing. I removed the chief’s uniform, made a bundle and shoved it under a bush. Then, dressed in my own clothes, I walked into the royal kitchen, where I had worked earlier. About twenty cooks were busy preparing food for the army. I hoped they had not heard about my arrest and detention. Perhaps Suboga might have known, as Vikrama would have not let go an opportunity to get even with the fat cook. But the chef’s ego would have prevented him from telling his subordinates.
“Hey Bhadra, where were you? Suboga said you had gone to your native village on the mainland. You’ve just returned?” Kriman, a loud-mouthed fish cutter, shouted from the other end of the kitchen. All heads turned towards me and many smiled. I could not see my friend who had got me the job here.
“If you are looking for Arasu, he was sacked. I think some captain complained about his cooking and he was sent back to the mainland. These beggars in the army think they are Gods.” I felt a knot in my stomach. So Arasu got the boot for helping me. The bastards! I could not blame Suboga. It was his head he had to take care of first. “You have to first go and meet Suboga or he will get angry” old Mupra said “Is that his instruction?” I asked knowing all too well that Suboga didn’t think I’d be back at all.
“No. . .”
“Then I will join you now and see him later, after we have served breakfast.”
I enter="- size=ed the vegetable chopping section and started working. After I had moved close to the stove to pass on the chopped vegetables for the third time, I took out the mud pot and emptied the contents into the boiling rice. The soldiers prefer different curries, but everyone ate rice. I was counting on that. I waited with bated breath. Bullock cart after bullock carts arrived and carried baskets full of rice and different curries to the various sections of the army. Boats would carry them to the ships moored at sea, if they were stationed near the capital. A number of things could go wrong. A small bit could spill onto the ground, a crow could eat it and fall dead, and my secret would be blown. Or, a few soldiers could die or fall sick and the army would stop eating the food and start an enquiry. I would be caught. I prayed and fretted at the same time. Yet I smiled as I continued to work inside the steaming kitchen.
After an hour, I heard a commotion outside. They were bringing in soldiers upon soldiers, men retching, and men in the pangs of death, men twitching in agony. Bullock carts and horse-drawn carts were bringing men from all corners of the city and dumping them in the palace grounds for the palace doctors to examine. I ran out. Nobody noticed. I wanted to reach my master. I wanted my King, Ravana, to come and take over the city. I ran amidst falling soldiers vomiting, with their heads buried in drains, men grabbing their stomach, twisting in their death pangs. I grabbed the reigns of a horse from a soldier who was clinging with one hand to the horse and vomiting on the other side. I kicked him, mounted the horse, and galloped towards the Subela hills. Ordinary citizens started to assemble on the streets, peering at the dying soldiers. A country was being released from the tyranny of a merchant king.
I galloped through the pouring crowds, running to watch their tormentors dying. As I climbed the Subela hills, I remembered to tear off a portion of my white mundu and tie it to a staff. I did not want to die in friendly fire. As I neared the camp, I could see archers forming a circle around their king. They were ready to shoot and a slight movement of the kings’ brow would have ensured that I ended up looking like a porcupine. I slowed down and waved my white flag. Tears welled in my eyes. My words seemed stuck in my throat, “Your Highness, the city is yours. I have finished Kubera’s army. . .”
“Arrest him.” His voice shattered my heart. Images of my nails being pulled out, filled my mi
nd. My body ached in all the places where Vikrama had performed his art. I fell on my knees and howled like a wounded wolf. Soldiers from the side I had always believed to be my own, surrounded me, ready to kill.
“Ravana, just hear him out.” I could see the old, aristocratic figure of Prahastha walking towards us. Maricha also came, pushing the soldiers back, and lifted me up. He hugged me and patted my back. I sobbed like a little baby and I could feel Maricha’s tears wetting the bare skin on my back.
16 The pirate’s seige
Ravana
I took some time to realize that Bhadra was not a traitor but a friend. He was the saviour I had been waiting for. With renewed vigour, we clambered down the hills and marched with as much dignity an army of starving troops could muster. As we entered the Royal Street, we could see thousands of people standing on either side, cheering us. I was elated. This was the moment of triumph I had anticipated. Unknown amounts of wealth awaited me. I could build an army with the great resources this kingdom poss="- sn amoessed and then take over the entire sub-continent. Moreover, I could throw my half-brother onto the streets, which he deserved, and with a flick my hands, throw him a few gold coins. I could look at my father’s face and jeer. I could do so many things. I was the King and the Emperor. Ravana, the Emperor of Lanka, sounded good. Ravana, the Emperor of India, sounded even better. Was I getting too ambitious? No, no, I was always self-confident.
Cheers erupted from all sides and I raised my sword. The crowd went mad. There were cries of ecstasy. People danced on the roads. Drums beat with full vigour and pipes and horns blasted the sky. I was in dreamland. Then, suddenly, I felt bitter. This victory was empty. It was gifted to me on a platter by an ugly farmer, a coarse, uneducated villager, a sly serpent. I looked back and saw him carrying something heavy on his shoulders. He was bent over and Maricha was lifting a corner of the heavy load and talking to him as an equal. I tasted mud in my mouth. How could he demean himself by associating with such a lowly being? Maricha had been a king once and he was now the uncle of a king. True, Bhadra helped us to victory. But was it done the right way? It was against all the principles I had learnt as a child. Would an empire built on deceit and slyness last? Was I creating an empire of truth and dharma? Doubts lingered in my mind. I looked at Prahastha. He looked serious. I was not sure if it was because he thought like me or because he wanted my seat. Kumbha was dancing with a crowd of drunken, young men, to the tune of drums and was infinitely happy. Vibhishana was morose, but that was nothing new. Others smiled and acted happy.
As I entered the palace, the image of a poor woman and her four children standing before the merchant king with a begging bowl, flooded my mind. The derisive glance and the flick of Kubera’s hands fired the flames within me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I saw the cow pen and glanced back at Maricha. He glanced at it and then smiled at me. I loved him just for that smile. Kumbha was oblivious, in an advanced stage of inebriation. I wanted to see Kubera’s face as he came out to surrender. I waited outside the palace, waiting for its golden gates to open and the King to come out and lay his crown at my feet. That was how they surrendered, wasn’t it?
We waited for a long time, but nothing happened. I wanted to barge in and take the palace by force. At least that would quench my conscience. Then, suddenly, the gates opened. An uneasy hush fell upon the crowd. An old man came out and read from a parchment. “Kubera, the King and the God of riches, the richest King of the world, merchant par excellence, wishes to convey his regards to his dearest younger brother, Ravana and says, ‘I wish to tell you that I was always willing to pass the kingdom to you my brother, had you ever asked for it. I am sad that you have used deceitful methods, unworthy of a nobleman and unworthy of a brother, to secure this tiny island. I feel great sadness that, instead of fighting with my army as a man and soldier, you chose to poison them. I am ashamed of the fact that you used deceit to gain your brother’s riches, spurning hard work and honest means. You have failed both as a soldier and as a brother. I leave the kingdom
to you, but I hope the Gods will forgive me if I curse you that your rule also will end with betrayal and slyness by someone smarter than you. Adieu, my brother and rule well and long li--”
I jumped into the room and grabbed the parchment from the old man’s hands. “Where is he?” I shouted at him. He stared at my eyes for a full minute and then pointed his finger to the distant, blue sea. There, with Kubera‘s golden flag at half mast, I saw a huge ship leaving port. Victory dissolved in myissl min mind. I wanted to murder Bhadra. The crowd had slowly started to disappear. I looked at that sailing ship tiredly. I had missed the bastard! The next day I would be crowned the King of Lanka. I declared a public festival to last seven days to mark the occasion and dispatched a boat to bring my family and the others. Everyone was running around to make it a grand occasion. I searched for Bhadra but he was hidden somewhere in the crowd milling around as if they were contributing to the arrangements, but were in fact only hindering the progress.
I sat on the verandah on the first floor and watched the sun set. The western sea was purple and the ships in full sail were beautiful. The breeze was refreshing. Thousands of birds made music in the garden below. But there were too many ships in the sea. Something was troubling me. Something…
“Your Highness, Varuna’s fleet is approaching our shores.” I was shocked out of my lazy thoughts by a panting messenger, standing a few feet from me and wheezing like a mad dog. The whole palace stood still. There went my coronation! I ordered an end to all celebrations. Our Council met to discuss the emergency. We did not have any army to speak off. Kubera had taken most of the navy with him. The rest were poisoned, many dead, and many more violently sick. So we were left with only 300 odd soldiers to fight the pirate king. I gained a kingdom without any bloodshed and this bothered me. I wanted to fight with Varuna; I wanted a war with someone. I just could not accept that I had become a King without any heroics. A kingdom gained through the leaky bowels of a cheated army. Disgusting! The victory was hollow and I wanted to legitimize it. Crushing Varuna would increase my prestige and set my mind at peace, or at least that was what I hoped. But a fight would be disastrous. Varuna would swallow us and swarm the island like a tidal wave. It would be like trying to dam the sea with our bare hands.
Prahastha, as usual, was his irritating self. He spoke all sorts of uncomfortable truths and made everyone uneasy. I had started to hate this fellow. He was no pompous prude like my Vibhishana, whose spurts of moral preaching I had learnt to ignore. Prahastha made sense. His logic was always crystal clear. But he behaved as if he were a thinking machine, like Mahabali had wanted me to be, a walking brain with the necessary accessories attached to keep it functioning. Prahastha argued prudence. He pointed out that there wasn’t a reasonable army to fight the pirate. If Varuna chose to leave his ships and enter the city, there would be large scale plunder and arson, mass rape and butchery. So the only course of action left was to buy peace. Surely peace would be costly but the cost of war would be more. I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to say so many things but nothing sounded right. I did not want to go and fall at the feet of a third rate pirate. Finally, after an uneasy consent, Prahastha was authorized to negotiate with Varuna. I wanted to go with him but he curtly refused. I did not like his brusque tone and reminded him that I was the king.
“It was for that very reason that I do not want you to come with me,” he said. “If Varuna took you hostage, Lanka would fall into his hands.”
“If Varuna wanted to take Lanka, he could have done so by now,” I countered. But Varuna was a long-term thinker and a steady stream of riches year after year as ransom was more to his taste than quick plunder. By agreeing to pay him ransom, we were falling for his game.
“So, what is the alternative?” asked Prahastha.
I did not have an answer so I reluctantly let him go. He had the indulgent smile of a parent who had got rid of a stubborn child. I was left fuming when the small boat carrying Prahastha and his two aides left for the fleet of ships dotting the distant horizon.
I was edgy and irritable throughout the evening. There was no feeling of accomplishment, no happiness at the thought that I had come this far in life. I wanted to change the world. I wanted to make it a better place to live. I was afraid that I had misplaced all those gilt-edged dreams somewhere along my journey from that hut on the edge of a cliff, to the palace of Trikota. To my horror, I started behaving like an ass. I shouted at my servants, threw hot water on the face of a poor woman servant who thought my parched throat needed it and fetched it without my orders, and I slapped a bodyguard who was not standing in his assigned posture. I was behaving like petulant two-year-old. No one dared complain, no one dared to come near. I knew that my behaviour was odd. I had no right to kick around people who had been willing to die for me a few hours before. But strangely enough, I enjoyed the role I played. It was good to be a king. Even if it was just to kick people’s butts. The servants might even expect to get thrashed. It was natural and what Kubera used to do.
A servant came to my room and bowed before me. I saw that his knees were trembling and felt a sudden urge to see his head rolling on the ground. I had visions of severing his head with a graceful sweep of my sword and then kicking his head with my left foot, before it touched the ground. With great difficulty I restrained myself.
“Your Highness, Mayan seeks audience.” The last thing I wanted was an audience with someone who made a living counting numbers and taking measurements with a stick. But before I could dismiss the servant, Mayan walked in with a sheepish grin. He looked like an owl, with a sheep in some remote ancestral line, but more like an owl than a sheep, I decided. The servant withdrew discretely. Mayan came and sat in a chair across from me. He looked around the hall with approval. At times, a frown creased his forehead when his eyes met some garishly designed ceiling carvings added by that idiot Kubera. He made a noise with his tongue and then shook his head disapprovingly. He started blabbering, “Actually Ravana, they should not have used lime on the ceiling. It fades to yellow with the salty sea breeze. If they were particular, they would have used coconut milk and honey while mixing the plaster. Ideally the slate found. . .”
I watched in astonishment, the old, bald man was chattering like a monkey about various technical details of architecture and engineering. And I noticed that he called me Ravana. The last thing I wanted was an unsolicited master to give me a crash course in engineering. I wanted to get up, hold his head down by the scruff of his neck and rub his nose on the ground. Instead, I asked with all the civility I could muster, “ To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” I hoped my tone did not betray my emotions and that I had said the right thing to the venerable old professor and architect.
“I just walked by and thought I’d have a word with you.” Five minutes passed and I stood there while the old man muttered to himself, jotting down certain things, punctuated by exclamations and cries of anguish or joy. I imagined all sorts of things happening to him, like the huge pillar falling on his head, like Vishnu with a mask of a lion jumping from his hiding place in the pillar; like Mayan falling and breaking his remaining two teeth. Then it struck me. He was supposed to be with my mother and sister and that rigid daughter of his, on the mainland. How had he reached here? More importantly, where were my mother and sister? Had they fallen prey to Varuna? If anything had happened to my mother, I would flay Varuna alive, negotiations and peace treaties notwithstanding, irrespective of our relative strengths and Prahastha’s diplomacy and his intricate web of politicking.
“Shiva, Shiva, havva,iplomacy e you not told him yet, Mayan brother?” The knots in my stomach untangled as I heard my mother’s voice. I was relieved to see her walking in with her aristocratic bearing. ‘When was your mother an aristocrat, Ravana?’ I asked myself. The last time I saw her, she was a poor woman dressed in shabby rags. Now she was dressed in a pure white cotton dress. My sister beamed behind her. I also noticed the very stiff lady standing behind them, her gaze unwavering, meetin
g my eyes and not flinching. I had yet to attain the steely all-freezing gaze of a king. ‘Keep practicing, Ravana,’ someone inside me mocked. She looked into my eyes as if assessing me. Mandodari – the engineer’s daughter! Stiff as a rod, with straight-jacketed morals and thoughts, or that was what Soorpanakha told me, yet beautiful like a statue.
“What a gentleman, that Varuna. It was an absolutely delightful voyage,” Mother said indifferently.
Mayan turned back and said, “Yes, yes, an absolutely fascinating ship. The workmanship was superb.”
“Brother, the rickety boat uncle Jambumali arranged, nearly sank in the middle of the journey. It was Varuna’s ship that rescued us. Oooooo. . .it was a fabulous ship.” she cooed.
“So where is Jambumali? and why did you start before I could send someone to fetch you?”
“Jambumali is still on Varuna’s ship. Varuna was quite happy that you have taken over Lanka. They say he is a pirate, but he is a man with exquisite manners and he asked me to convey his regards to you for a long and illustrious reign.”
Asura- Tale of the Vanquished Page 12