Vidyutjihva was our Commander and he handed over the palm leaf reiterating Ravana’s command to King Anarnya to surrender. The geriatric who appeared to be the head of Ayodhya’s army, stared at the letter for a long time. I could see Vidyutjihva getting tense. Then I realized that the enemy captain was holding the letter upside down, staring at it and then at us, time and again.
“The fellow does not know how to read.” the soldier near me sneered derisively.
“What is this?” the old captain asked Vidyutjihva in a feeble voice.
“Just go to your king and say that the Asura army has come to his town. come totowely.
“The King is at his prayers.” The old captain blinked a few times.
“Ask the buffoon to get here right now.” Vidyutjihva sounded almost desperate.
“Yes, yes. . .sir, but the King is praying.” The old captain looked at Vidyutjihva condescendingly and spelt each word as if talking to a dim-witted child, and added for good measure, “If you have an appeal, you should come tomorrow. Today is Tuesday and the King is praying.”
The situation had become comical and we were all laughing when Ravana entered. He jumped off his horse and asked the old captain for his King. The old captain was having a bad day for sure. He had just tried to convince a dim-witted chap about the impossibility of seeing his King on a prayer day, when yet another came along asking the same thing. But Ravana was not a man for niceties. He pushed aside the captain and walked into the fort, unsheathing his sword at the same time. All of us followed.
After the luxurious palaces of Lanka and Alakapuri, it was a shock to see this dilapidated palace. Floors crumbed under our shoes, pillars were moth-eaten, curtains dusty, and there were holes in the roof. An old man sat cross-legged before an idol of Vishnu, mumbling. Ravana waited for a few moments and then tapped the old man’s shoulder. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then slowly, the old man turned and stood up falteringly. Ravana extended a supporting hand to the old king but he shook off Ravana’s hand and shouted in a voice that belied his age,“Do not pollute me, you untouchable Shudra.”
We were shocked. A mighty king, who now had suzerainty over almost half the known world, stood facing a frail, old man, who shamelessly called himself a king of a dilapidated town. Instead of cowering in fear, the old man had commanded the other not to pollute him. I stared at my King. He was taken aback for a moment and mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like my father, he is also a Brahmin.
“You untouchable, if your mother is casteless, so too are you.” The old man was almost shouting.
Anger flared in Ravana’s eyes and he got hold of the old man by his throat and pressed the blade of his sword to the nape of his neck. “I don’t want to kill an old man who cannot fight. Surrender and I shall spare your life.”
“I will not surrender to a Shudhra.”
“I am not a Shudhra, I am an Asura.” Ravana almost pleaded. The old king laughed derisively.“Then fight us, you old rascal,” Ravana bellowed.
“I will not demean myself by fighting a Shudhra.”
“Then die at the hands of a Shudhra.” Ravana roared.
“You Shudhra, I curse you in the name of Vishnu. My descendants will take revenge for polluting me. They will destroy your city, your clan, the honour of your wives, your sons, you. . .” With a clean sweep Ravana cut off the head of Anarnya, King of Ayodhya. He held the severed head of the old
king above the idol of Vishnu. Blood dripped from the head and flowed onto the head of the idol.
“Scourge Vishnu, drink the blood of your devotee.“ He kicked the head like a ball and it landed with a dull thud at the foot of the idol. The blood soaked lips of Vishnu smiled mockingly at the Emperor. With a mighty blow using the hilt of his sword, Ravana broke open the head of Vishnu.
As if on cue, the army fell on the small temple of the dead king and demolished it methodically. We found rubies hidden inside the idol and the garlands that decorated the idol, were made of pure gold, studded with diamonds. The dead King’s insult, that our mere touch would pollute his body, kept us enraged enough to plunder the de pluecorated ad Gods and their buxom consorts. But, in some corner of my heart, a monster clung tenaciously with its piercing tentacles. It was the Emperor mumbling, almost apologetically, to the Deva king, that he, Ravana, the mighty Emperor and saviour of Asuras, also had a Brahmin father.
27 Love at last
Ravana
I left the dilapidated palace for my army to plunder. There wasn’t much to plunder except the old temple in the palace. While his subjects died of hunger, their king was decorating his God with rubies and diamonds. And the rascal had the nerve to say that my touch would pollute him. But then, why did I try to seek his approval by saying that my father was a Brahmin? I wanted to kick myself for that. What did that mean? Was there a racist devil lurking inside me? Or was I uncomfortable with my Asura identity? Prahastha, in his one of those professorial moods, might have said it was because I still yearned for my father’s love. I hated my father and all that he represented. I hated the Brahmins, the Devas and their culture or the lack of it. I hoped no one had heard. I was their leader. These poor people had left their homes, their wives, children and old parents, to follow me in my quest for glory. And what did I give them in return? I ought to have been ashamed. Never again, never again would I consider myself a Brahmin. I hated my fair skin. I hated my height. I was an Asura, the proud inheritor of Mahabali, Hiranya, Hiranyaksha, and scores of mighty Emperors who had shaped Indian civilization.
People moved away from me as I passed through the market place. I thought at first that it was due to the respect accorded to a conquering Emperor, but then I realized it was because I was a Shudhra. I was polluting their grand city. Even the sight of us was polluting. I saw Brahmins in filthy clothes, thumping their walking sticks sharply on the ground to drive away any polluting castes. People conducted their business in the market place with elaborate rituals so no one would touch or pollute each other. But they also spat red pan juice all over the street and walked over it. People openly defecated but were still scrupulous about not touching each other. Had it not been so pathetic and ironical, it would have been comical. Some culture this! I thought that the burden of civilizing these people had fallen on our shoulders. If I did not stop this nonsense, this extreme form of caste practise would spread throughout India. And if it did, we could say goodbye to our freedom.
A few of my soldiers were busy looting the shops and I did not have the heart to stop them. After all, they were only taking what was originally stolen from our people. The irony was that the natives were more afraid of being touched by the Asuras than of being killed. It was truly an area of darkness. Another strange thing I noticed was that there were fewer women than men on the streets. And they were veiled and did not look the men in the eye. They walked with their eyes fixed on their dusty feet. I had never seen such submissive women in my life. This was a different culture, an exotic civilization which was centuries behind anything I had seen in any kingdoms of the Asura, Vanara, Yaksha or Nagas.
I had had enough of Ayodhya and rode back to the palace, which looked even more desolate after the looting. Some members of the royal family had escaped to the neighbouring jungles and Vajradhamstra asked for orders to follow and kill them. I ordered the army to leave this place and forget about petty kings and their pale, ghostly wives. According to Prahastha, that was bad strategy, to let the members of a conquered palace escape with their life without a proper es a their ptreaty or their accepting to be our subjects. I did not have the time nor the inclination to check the veracity of such quixotic theories so I overruled him and we continued our eastward march.
Our army marched out of Ayodhya and I promptly forgot the name along with the other north Indian dustbins our army had marched through. Later, much later, a prince from this miserable place would turn my world upside down. Perhaps, had I followed Prahastha’s advice and hunted down the royal family and finished them off,
things would have been different. Maybe, our race would have been saved; our country retrieved from the clutches of a religion which discriminated against its own people. I was quite sure this darkness from the north would spread over my beloved country, splitting people, not by language or race or affluence, but by the subjective views of a set of Brahmins who decided what was pure and impure. But who could predict such things then? I had crushed so many kingdoms, so many princes, any one from those hundreds could have been my enemy. Or perhaps, I was not a good king. I never went by the book. People who played by the rules did not commit such silly mistakes, even if they did not come as far as I had.
After a day’s journey, we came to a small village market place bordering the jungles belonging to a tiny Deva kingdom called Mithila. I was bored with the whole expedition. Unlike western and southern India, the villages in these parts were desperately poor. There were no big cities to plunder. There were no majestic Shiva temples. There were only old wrinkled Brahmins who terrorised the people and followed a rigid caste system. We wanted to go back to the balmy heat of the south. The ocean beckoned us. But I wanted to find a way back through the eastern seashore to Mahabalipuram and then to Lanka.
I was taking a well deserved nap when a scuffle outside my camp awoke me. I went out and stopped dead in my tracks. There were four or five Asuras trying to grab a woman. I was furious. Taking a girl was accepted when you had conquered a city after a bloody war, especially if she was a Deva girl. But there was a line. Where were my bodyguards? And then I saw them among the Asuras fighting for the lady.
“Leave her!” I bellowed. Three of the Asuras, including one wallowing in the mud, scrambled up and ran away. The other two vanished when they saw me unsheathe my sword. It was then that I noticed the quarry over whom they had been fighting. Her veil had fallen from her face. And what a face it was. Dark eyes burned like fire, deep curved lashes gave her an innocent look. Her lips were full and red under a small straight and sharp nose. Curly, dark hair fell onto her forehead. Her skin without blemish and a pout gave her a coy look. I stared at her. My eyes became transfixed on a small mole on the right cleft of her deep cleavage. She had full breasts and a flat stomach. I saw her blush as she recognized the passion in my roving eyes. She was the fairest woman I had ever seen. She exuded feminine charm and softness. I wanted her.
She adjusted her dress and I averted my eyes. Even though I had never stopped anyone from raping or taking any women when our army conquered a city, I myself had never done anything of the sort. It was against my upbringing and I ensured that children and old people were spared from abuse. But I wanted her. It was not like the acquired taste I had developed for my wife, Mandodari, whom I had almost forgotten now. Was it desire at first sight? This woman generated an animal passion in me. I moved towards her and grabbed her wrists. She pulled her arm back and I tried to grab her again. Then she slapped me hard. Right across my face. My cheek stung. I was shocked. When I grabbed her again, she promptly slapped me again, this time causing my nose to bleed. She was one spirited lady. I turned as though giving up, but then quickly spun round and liftound anded her off the ground. Ignoring her scratches and screams, I carried her into my tent. I was angry, but more than that, I wanted her. I threw her onto the bed and when she tried to get away, I slapped her across her face. She spat at me. I grabbed the silk sheet and tied her hands and legs and bundled her onto the bed, suffering three more bites and numerous scratches.
Then, puffing and panting, I fell into the nearest chair. She was lying with her back to me; her rounded hip again stirred waves of passion in me. Her waist was bared and I wanted to kiss the folds. Her thighs were shapely. I just wanted to run my fingers over her soft, fair skin. I imagined her naked in my arms and slapped the arm of the chair in anger and frustration. ‘Why won’t she have me? I am the Emperor of India. The mighty Asura king, Ravana.’
After a few moments silence, I tried to turn her towards me. “What is your name?” I asked her and immediately felt stupid. She slowly turned up her face, her curly, black hair making designs on her forehead. Her eyes bored through me and I was afraid. A shiver went down my spine. ‘This is a historic and fateful moment on which my fate and that of my race and my country hung.’ I shook off the idiotic thought and recalled my anger.
“Do you require a girl’s biography, before you rape her?” she asked.
I didn’t know what to say. A corner of my mind found something humorous in the statement and I wanted to laugh. But then, I foolishly stood up, lost for words, not knowing what to say. I coughed, stammered, and moved away from her.
“Once you have finished with me, please leave me alive for a few minutes. I want to see your king, Ravana, the great Asura,” with these words she spat on the ground.
“But.. I am Ravana.” my voice trailed off.
An animal cry rose from her. I was startled. How could such a lovely creature make such a hideous sound? She was struggling to free herself but finally gave up and dissolved into fits of sobbing. I stood watching from a distance. After some time, I moved near her. I wanted to touch her but my hands trembled as I hesitated and then slowly put an arm on her shoulder. She stirred and looked at me with hatred. I withdrew my hand.
“Do you know how a Deva widow lives?” she asked in a whimper. I remained silent. “Do you know the choices a Deva widow has… How should you know? You are the conqueror. Why should a few lives bother you. . .?”
I was moved beyond myself. But I was from a different culture. I had heard of the plight of Deva women but it was so horrible that I had thought they were stories spun by the Asura or Naga spin doctors to discredit the Devas.
“Your people killed my husband. He was a poor man. . . a Brahmin who did no one any wrong. . . Why did your people kill him?”
I was stung. ‘What was I doing with a Brahmin widow? Was it because she was a Brahmin that I was attracted to her? Did her fair skin trigger the lust in me?’ I felt disgusted with myself. But then, I had known she was a high-born Brahmin woman the moment I saw her. Why did I choose to be shocked when she spelt out her lineage?
“We can live a slave's life in the house of our inlaws… with our heads shaven… hands and throats unadorned… purposefully made unattractive… a living corpse… no bindis for us… no bangles… no coloured saris…
only coarse white… no life… an unpaid servant… a living corpse… ”
I was moved. I could not imagine such a life for an Asura wor an Asuman. If the husband died, she would mourn for a decent period and then find another life partner and move on with her life.
“You are a mighty King…ha…. You know I could jump into my husband’s funeral pyre and become a Goddess… the virtuous sati. Then the same people who would have treated me no better than an animal in life… would erect temples and worship me.”
“What is your name?” I asked her. I moved closer and lifted her chin. Tears swelled in the dark eyes and made them glitter. I saw my own reflection, so small that I felt my own insignificance. She stared for a long time at my face. Finally, the hint of a smile lit up her face. I dissolved.
“Vedavathi.” she said simply and I promptly fell head over heels in love with this Deva Brahmin girl.
28 An asura princess
Bhadra
When the guard shook me from sleep, I cursed him and his forefathers. He prodded me with the blunt end of his spear and told me that the Prime Minister wanted to see me, so would I please pull up my dhothi and get going? I felt heavy from the previous night’s drinking binge and was not in the mood for barrack humour. I cursed him again and tied my dhothi tightly and washed my face in the sluggish stream nearby. I smelt of country liquor so I gargled once more and dragged myself to the prime minister’s camp. Why was I being summoned? The last few months had only brought disaster on our race. Most of the camp was thoroughly disillusioned with this campaign. We had been camping in the forest across the river Narmada, eating wild berries and the occasional monkeys that were fo
olish enough to stray near our camp, drinking badly brewed liquor, and waiting endlessly for some action.
The wise men, the great men, the royals, like Prahastha and the others, were huddled together, talking in whispers. But our great King, the mighty Ravana, had it coming. He was busy wooing an adamant Brahmin girl without a thought for all the fools who had started with him on this campaign. He refused to meet his ministers, stopped his inspections of the ranks, and even his inspirational speeches. She would sit cross-legged near the river, meditating or sometimes vehemently cursing the Asura King for what he had done to her people. The King, like a love-struck teenager, would coo nonsense to her and grovel before her, pleading for her love. He had even forgotten the little daughter he was carrying along and not even the hungry cries of the little one aroused Ravana from his love stupor. The Brahmin lady was immune to all his charms and this made the King desperate. Why he did not take her forcibly, was beyond my comprehension.
The campaign drifted on aimlessly, avoiding the bigger kingdoms, mostly skirting jungles and occasionally raiding some village barns. Finally, after many months of loitering, we reached the banks of the mighty Narmada, when our King decided to impress Vedavathi with his swimming prowess. He stripped and entered the swiftly-flowing river, and got drawn into the strong current. At least that was what the woman told the Council. Our mighty Emperor had sent his bodyguards away, so no one else saw what exactly happened.
A few days later, we received a messenger from King Karthiveerarjuna, claiming that he held the Asura King as his prisoner. The entire army was held to ransom. For three days the great Asura Council was shut up inside the Prime Minister’s camp, deliberating. In the meanwhile, the camp split into two. Vidyutjihva’s followers spread rumours that Ravana was already dead. They argued that it was better to return to Lanka.
Asura- Tale of the Vanquished Page 22