Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  I came back to my room and dressed to go out. My crumpled dhothi smelt but I did not have a spare one. I looked like a beggar. I combed my hair with my hands and put ashes on my forehead. Then I walked towards the palace. By the time I reached the main gate, there was a huge crowd outside. I was curious about the commotion. Lots of sweet vendors and groundnut sellers were moving about among the general hustle and bustle and a gang of teenagers were trying to break into the crowd. I asked one tall, black, bony young man what the matter was.

  “You don’t know?” His large eyes bulged in surprise.

  “Hell! How should I know?”

  “It’s alright, you are too old and so you need not bother.” he said.

  I was irritated. I was only thirty-five, but perhaps, to a man of nineteen, anyone above twenty was an old man. Hiding my irritation as best I could, I asked him, “What are those buffoons fighting about?”

  “You old rascal, we are all going to become soldiers of our Emperor.”

  “Emperor, what Emperor?” I stopped in mid-sentence. Perhaps the king had promoted himself. I was alright with Emperor or Maharaja or whatever, as long as he did not bother me.

  “The Emperor needs a large standing army, which is why he needs idiots like you.” I could not for my life imagine what this lanky child was going to do in the army.

  “By Shiva, you are really a country bumpkicoue you.n, uncle,” his companions snickered. “Our Emperor is planning to attack north India. We Asuras are going to have our revenge. We will teach the Deva bastards a lesson they will never forget.”

  Almost at the same moment an electrifying thrill swept through the crowd. And huge cry rose in waves. I could see a tall, glittering figure on the top balcony of the palace. Cries of “Long live our Emperor! Victory to the Asuras! Death to Devas!” rang through the crowd. Bejewelled and bewitching, the tall figure of Ravana, with his sword drawn, shouted “Har Har Mahadev! Hail Shiva!” And the crowd picked it up. Cries of Har Har Mahedev rang through the crowd. The crowd swelled and I was almost in the middle now. Soon another, more attractive figure, joined Ravana. The spectacularly dressed Vidyutjihva, joined his brother-in-law on the balcony. He was followed by the portly Kumbakarna, and relatively diminutive Vibhishana. Then one by one, Ravana’s commanders and ministers joined the Emperor on the balcony. The crowd was in a frenzy. Drums were beaten. The sounds of chenda and timila created a huge din and the atmosphere was electric. Battle horns blared and conches were blown.

  I was thrilled. The secret wish I had nurtured in my heart, revenge on the Devas who had shattered my little daughter’s head and raped my wife, possessed me. This was the moment I had waited for. I cried at the top of my voice, “Har Har Mahadev! Death to the Devas! Death to Indra! Victory to Maheswara!” I was joined by many and I soon became the caller for a group of about fifty, who repeated whatever I said, with much energy and enthusiasm. The portly Asura closest to me, tried to outshout me but a well directed, secret, kick on his foot, silenced him for the day and my leadership was ensured, at least for the moment. Vidyutjihva tried to say something but nothing spoken from the balcony reached the crowd.

  Many small circles had formed in the huge crowd and each group tried to create the maximum noise. A few fought each other, but the general enthusiasm was unbeatable. This went on for more than an hour. The sun was almost overhead and thousands of black bodies glistened. The smells assaulted my senses as did the heat and humidity. A sore throat bothered me but I kept up the cries, lest someone else take over the mantle. Then suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd. The dignitaries had left the balcony as the sun’s rays now beat down mercilessly. They had retired to their cool chambers inside. Someone in the rear picked up the cry, once more hailing Shiva. I could see men on horseback entering the crowd. There was a big stir near the horses and food packets were thrown. Thousands of black hands went up to catch them. I too pushed forward and fought my way through to get a food packet. It turned out to be stale meat, some rice and a very spicy fish curry, wrapped in dried banana leaves. I gobbled it up. By late afternoon, the crowd dispersed, leaving the palace grounds littered with banana leaves, fish bones and food crumbs.

  I walked along the main street thinking about a way to get into the palace. The lanky Asura and his other teenage friends were sitting on the steps leading to the Shiva temple and ogling the girls passing by. Such an uncomplicated life! The lanky teenager waved to me and as I had nothing better to do, I moved towards him. He swept the step near him with his hand, sending a puff of dust flying, and motioned to me to sit down. I walked to the boiled-peanuts vendor under the Banyan tree and used my last change to buy a handful of steaming peanuts, wrapped artistically in plantcalthe Bain leaves and then went and sat with the teenager, offering my peanuts to the gang. They passed around the packet and by the time it reached me, only a few nuts were left.

  “I thought they were going to war today.” I said nonchalantly, and the teenagers burst out laughing as if I had told them a great joke. I grinned tentatively and the lanky teenager slapped my back. I grinned wider.

  “This has been going on for the past few weeks. Even we are impatient. We just want to go out and beat the Devas.” the boy said casually.

  “They say the Deva girls are very beautiful.” An ugly Asura boy with protruding teeth, added with some hope.

  “Oh they have fair complexions and breasts like mangoes,” another Asura boy stated dreamily.

  “But they smell like rats.” said another intellectual-looking boy.

  “Oh you have smelt them then?” asked my lanky one, and everyone laughed.

  “But why do you want to join the army? Do you have any personal grudges against the Devas?” The question I asked sounded stupid, even to me.

  “They have killed lots of Asuras, haven’t they? They destroyed our temples. They do not respect Shiva, do they?” The boys looked rather confused.

  “My mother says the Devas have horns and also tails. They hide the tails in their dhothi folds.”

  “Old women’s tales,” the intellectual one hissed, “they are just uncivilized barbarians.”

  “I suppose you people just want to roam the world.” I said.

  “Ah, but we will die for our race.” The lanky one stood up with his fist clenched and added dramatically, “Our bodies for the earth, our lives for the Asura race.” The other boys cheered and continued chatting animatedly.

  I envied their youth and innocence. I feared what war would bring to these poor children. What do these simpletons know of war? I felt very old next to them. I felt I did not belong. I was too grown up for my own good. I sat there for a long time and when the sun slid behind the tall coconut palms and the evening sea breeze caressed my tired body, I wearily slipped out of the chattering gang and made my way home.

  Wafts of evening prayers and the jingle of temple bells mixed with the jingle of bangles of pretty girls moving up the temple steps. There was an air of gaiet

  y and life brimming over from all sides. Yet, I felt a cold fear that this beautiful evening would fade away like the mist. I was mortally afraid of what the darkness would hold when it emerged from the folds of the mist. I could discern the faint smell of blood and smell war and death. But above all, I could smell a terrible treachery and decay. The dream of our poor, blasted race, had begun to turn sour.

  I dragged my feet to the palace and requested an audience with the Emperor himself. The portly gatekeeper looked as if I had escaped from a mad house and promptly shoved me out. I waited outside in the garden surrounding the palace, under an Ashoka tree, hoping the Emperor would see me from his balcony or window, and grant me audience. This just proved that I had yet to learn my lessons. I slept under that thick tree that night, and in the early morning, when it rained, I walked back to my hut. Then in the evening, I walked back and waited under the Ashoka tree again.

  26 The untouchable king

  Ravana

  t size="-1">The day faded slowly. It was so hot that the island was li
ke a damp cloth just washed in hot water. I was tense and nervous. The preparations for war had been going on for the past few weeks. It was a sort of pilgrimage for me. I had never crossed the Narmada, except for a brief trip to the Himalayas through the forest trails and I was eager to see the legendry cities on the banks of the Saraswathi and Indus, which the Asura civilization had built at its peak. Not that much remained standing now. The rising tides of the Indus, the slow drying up of Saraswathi, sieges and raids, had turned those cities into the biggest graveyard of our race and civilization.

  An entire civilization and its people had been crushed and their spirit annihilated. A great race had been taught to think of themselves as inferior creatures, to hate the colour of their skin and believe that fairness was equivalent to greatness. But now, the time of reckoning had come. From a remote island on the southern tip of this vast land, a man with no royal blood or great ancestry, a half-bred Asura, was going to claim the lost lands of an old civilization. I felt the thrill in my veins. It was a new dawn. When history spoke of Ravana, it would be with awe and pride, about a man who, against all odds of poverty and opposition, led a spiritually crushed and vanquished people to glory. By Shiva, the Asuras would rule this vast country again. That is if everything worked according to plan.

  I entered my private chamber and spread out the cloth with the hand-painted map of the sub-continent. If I had to begin an attack, I would have to follow the eastern coastline, smashing the smaller Asura kingdoms and then reaching Alakapuri. My step-brother held fort there and he, with his genius for business, had rebuilt his business empire. Now his ships sailed east instead of west and he chose to avoid the islands altogether. And he was once again one of the richest men in the world. To fund my campaigns, I would have to loot my brother once again.

  But, more than funding or war plans, what worried me was the fate of my little one. Her birth was difficult and we did not dare hope she would survive. When I held her little, tiny body in my hands, hardened by years of warfare, I felt deeply content. I felt I owned the whole world and nothing else mattered during the hours I spent watching my wife cooing to the baby, feeding and bathing her. I could have gone on with that life for ever. But then one day, everything changed. An astrologer, who claimed to be my father's friend, came to the palace, looked at my daughter and proclaimed in front of everyone, that she would bring destruction to the Asuras. From that day onwards, all my family members, the palace servants, my ministers, began to behave in a strange fashion. They showed great reverence and love when my daughter was in my arms or with Mandodari. But I could feel the hatred and fear they felt for her. The Asuras were always so superstitious. I was afraid to commence a campaign leaving my daughter behind. She was hardly a few weeks old and the Asuras were capable of anything. I feared for her life. It would be hard to convince Mandodari to allow me to take my daughter along. But I would find a way. It was ridiculous to carry an infant into war camps, but it was better than having her poisoned or stabbed while I was busy building my empire. I could keep a watch if she was with me. Perhaps I could ask Bhadra to keep an eye on her. But could I trust him?

  Ideally, a small army of dedicated troops would have been a better bet and more effective if our small group could strike repeatedly like lightning in the night and vanish. That way, we could break the peace and morale of the enemy. Only Karthiveerarjuna, on the west coast, and Bali, in central India, would be dangerous for a small army. Their kingdoms spread away from the sea and we would have to undertake pitched battles inland. The swamps of the ms spread he Narmada were too shallow for the bigger ships of the Asura navy and reaching the rugged middle India on foot, through thick shrub forests, would be tricky. But smashing the barbarian Deva tribes of the Gangetic plains might not be such a problem.

  I was about to retire when, in the dying light, I saw a lonely figure limping slowly away from the palace. There was an odd familiarity to the small, dark figure. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the entire area as if it was daylight and I clearly saw the figure as it looked up in fear. Bhadra! The fellow never seemed to die. I did not know what feelings surged through me, was it relief or hatred or pity? But then, why did I call my page and ask him to bring the man into my chamber at that godforsaken hour?

  Bhadra

  The siege of Alakapuri was the bloodiest battle I had ever fought in. By the time we reached Kubera’s kingdom, the Asura ranks had swollen to a few lakhs and the ravaging army left many smoking villages and fallen cities in its trail. By then, over sixty small and large kings and tribal chieftains had accepted Ravana’s suzerainty and joined the victorious army. In many cities the Brahmins were hunted down and hanged. The idols of Vishnu were smashed and trampled upon and the Shiva lingam, installed in their place. It was a restoration of Asura pride. It electrified the whole country which rose as one against the Deva oppressors. Ravana led from the front with inspiring bravery which at times bordered on dare-devilry or outright foolhardiness. But nothing inspired Asuras more than a leader who was contemptuous of death.

  Soon suicidal squads stormed the smaller forts and captured them one after the other, sometimes with boring ease but at other times, after bloody, pitched battles. Prahastha, Rudraka, Vajradhamstra, Maricha, Vidyutjihva, Kumbakarna, Dhumraksha – were all Asura heroes making a name for themselves through their ruthless execution of Ravana’s strategies. They thought nothing of the loss of a few thousand Devas or Asuras. They sought glory and achieved it through blood and gore. A few dead Asura boys were incidental and inconsequential. The lanky Asura lad who had been so eager to participate in the war, was dead within the first hour of the attack on a petty south Indian kingdom on the west coast. I had a strange desire to touch his headless torso, but before I could move, whatever remained of his body was trampled under the marching elephants.

  Finally, the army halted on the outskirts of Kubera’s capital, Alakapuri. Our army camped in the farms outside the city and we looted the countryside for provisions and meat, and needless to say, we did not spare any woman. The countryside was fertile and rich, the men strong, and the women lovely and doe-eyed. So it gave us great pleasure to slay the men and take the women. Sometimes I felt we were no different from the rampaging Deva army which had trampled my village. But then, peer pressure is something which even great men find hard to resist. It was easier to succumb to temptation than raise oneself to the chivalrous act usually heard about only in legends and fairy tales. After all, they were just Devas and deserved to be hated, irrespective of their social standing. Like any other Asura, I too was quite sure of that.

  We were getting desperate. It had been more than two months now and there was no sign of Kubera surrendering. The monsoon was approaching and we had stripped the entire countryside of everything it could offer. It was then that Prahastha saw stray dogs emerge from a hole in the ground, a few hundred metres into the jungle. Intrigued, he kept a watch at the spot and was surprised to find that at dead of night, men with supplies removed somes a fe earth and entered a secret chamber. Prahastha returned to the camp with the news and soon half our army was busy digging. Within minutes we found a huge, circular, iron door. We prised it open and one by one, thousands of soldiers entered the secret corridor which led to the fort.

  I was among the first brave fools to enter. We took Kubera’s army by surprise. They fought well but our army had swarmed the fort from all sides. We inched forward until finally, when the first rays of sun streaked across the eastern sky, Kubera’s army was either butchered or had fled. When we reached Kubera’s chamber, it was on fire. We cheered, thinking the King was dead, but Prahastha, after examining the scene, declared that it was just a ruse and the King had escaped. Then we found another secret chamber leading to the jungle, but we were too late. Kubera had got away.

  Hoofprints pointed to where the King had mounted his horse and galloped away. Our sentries searched the countryside but they were in no mood to continue as their colleagues were busy looting the palace. The treasures we plundered
from Alakapuri helped swell Ravana’s ranks.

  After the fall of Alakapuri, things went back to the routine. We smashed and ruined Deva kingdoms; burnt Vishnu temples; erected Shiva temples wherever possible; and religiously followed all the usual itineraries of war such as arson and rape. We dragged Brahmins out and sent them to Vaikunta, the Deva heaven and abode of Vishnu. It was amusing to see them quiver in fear and curse us. When they saw their curses only drew derisive laughter, they prayed to Vishnu, then to Shiva, and finally fell at our feet to beg for their lives. Needless to say, we butchered them and took their women.

  By the time we reached the petty kingdom of Ayodhya, on the banks of the River Sarayu, the monsoon ended. The river swirled black with rage. At a distance, we could see a few hutments and rundown buildings with a torn flag flying. It had the emblem of the rising sun, but going by its condition, it would have been more appropriate to call it the city of the setting sun. Ravana sent a messenger to Anarnya, King of Ayodhya, asking him to surrender. But six days passed and there was still no reply. Impatient, Ravana ordered us to cross the river and attack the city. But what a shock awaited us when we entered the city. Of all the places I had seen, this was surely the worst. The streets were filthy and urchins ran around naked. Flies buzzed over the rotting carcasses of street dogs. Pigs fed on refuse. People lived on the road, pissed and relieved their bowels where they lived. The streets were narrow and winding. It was a dust bowl. Had it not been on our way, it would not have been worth entering this hole. There was nothing here to plunder. There was no defending army to greet us. Instead, a swarm of beggars with outstretched arms rushed to meet us. We were confused and dug through our pockets for some change. Our army marched through the narrow streets with urchins cheering us and semi-naked women staring. When we reached the palace gates, there were only two old guards. The gate was made of rotting wood and the guard carefully pushed it open and allowed the invading army in.