King of Lanka

by David Hair

  I would never let him perpetrate this crime! The stresses on all of us, the forces we wielded, were incredible. But I was prepared when he struck. I countered his blow when he lashed out to destroy me.

  The ritual to save the kingdom became a war between he and I, with Manda caught between us.

  She tried to stop us. In her protective aspect she took the strain, struggling to hold us in place and re-channel our energies into the task. I remember her voice pleading in our minds, trying to return us to our original focus. But she may as well have been trying to reason with a pair of volcanoes. In moments we lost control of the forces we wielded.

  The battle between he and I took seconds, but those seconds felt like eternity.

  I saw our fires burn the whole Indus Valley. I saw men and woman immolate in the streets and farms like wooden torches. I saw the lands convulse like rippling pond-water. The sea rose to fight the fires I had lit. And all the while, the creator aspect of Dasraiyat turned and lurched across the magic circle, seeking to attack me, held back by Manda.

  It was worst for Manda, having split herself over three magical aspects as well as the four elemental ones. Seven Ether-forms! She had taken on too much. In the middle, the protective aspect twisted, bent and then with a howl that haunts me still, she flew apart. One second she was whole, then she screamed, the worst cry I have ever heard, and for an instant I saw her writhing body in all seven aspects, and then she was gone. The circle exploded, and Dasraiyat and I were flung apart.

  The treacherous cur! I felt him strike, but I struck back. I went mad with hatred. I felt him seizing the minds of the people, intending to turn them against me, turning them into beasts. I countered, shielding them, protecting them. I didn’t see until later how he had disfigured them, my own people. We battled, with cosmic forces, until we were blasted apart, and sent spinning out into the darkness.

  When I woke, I was alone.

  Manda was gone, without a trace.

  So was Dasraiyat.

  And together, we had destroyed the people and the land we had set out to save. Sinat was no more.

  Rasita put down the sheath of papers with shaking hands. The story moved her, but perplexed her too. It made no sense: if it was a true history, it was so different to what she thought she knew—what the world thought it knew—that she could not accept it. Yet … if it was true, what did it imply? For herself and her situation? For Vikram and the others? What did it say about the Ramayana itself?

  She thought about the source—Ravindra, someone she had always thought of as a liar and a killer. Could she believe a word of it? She hugged herself, and picked up the last page.

  Perhaps you can guess the rest. When I woke I was the only one left in that chamber. Manda and Dasraiyat had vanished without a trace. I sat with my rage—at the cruelty of the gods in letting me live, and my fury at Dasraiyat for lusting after what was mine and what that sin had caused. I despaired at our failure.

  When I emerged, it was to a world I scarcely recognized. The city of Adun still stood, in part—the richest parts, not the poorer, more flimsy structures. There were a few people, wandering dazed. Most of those that had not been torched had been drowned by tidal waves. Those that survived had been driven insane by Dasraiyat’s attempted invasion of their psyches. All that still lived had been twisted beyond recognition by his brutal infliction of bestial characteristics—perhaps he had meant it only as a metaphor for ferocity but it had instead become a literal truth—he had inflicted beast-like features on our people. Some were so warped and unnatural that they could not survive. Of maybe three hundred thousand survivors in all Sinat, about fifty thousand were these half-beasts. They held me as their protector and god—they somehow recognized that it was I who had saved them. They followed me like lost sheep. They named themselves ‘Asura’, meaning ‘those saved by Aesh’.

  The remainder of the survivors, some two hundred thousand souls, were normal humans, survivors who were perhaps ten percent of the original population. But when they beheld the Asura, they fled, not realizing that I would not have allowed these marred people to harm them. They went east, to Suryavansha lands. I learned much later that they fell under Dasraiyat’s sway.

  What could I do? I led my Asuras out of those cursed lands, and we found a new home. An island we called Lanka, hitherto a minor Sinat city, now the only Sinat city left intact. They placed me on the throne, my worshipping beastmen.

  I was a shadow of the man I had been. Not only did I bear all of the guilt for what we had wrought, I was also damaged, psychologically. Remember that I had put on the destructive aspect in the ritual. I had succumbed in that aspect to wanton fury and destruction. I was changed. I could not sit for ten minutes without giving in to a violent outburst. My poor Asuras wept at my anger, and tried desperately to placate me. They loved me, but they feared me. I felt I was going insane.

  Soon though my anger found a just outlet: Dasraiyat. My enemy had not died in the ritual. He had pulled himself out of that inferno, and he soon emerged to gather about him the surviving Sinat people, ironically those not infected by his bestial transformations. He took them east to the Suryavansha lands and made himself king. You can guess the rest: he launched a war against me. It is still remembered, in garbled terms, this unholy war. You call it the Ramayana.

  You Were Born to Play This Role

  Mumbai, Maharashtra, May 2011

  The skinny youth in the denim jacket and black sunglasses was huddled into the darkest corner of the little Barista cafe. He had on a school uniform under the jacket. He jerked at every sound. Deepika, wrapped in ‘don’t look at me’ charms, slid quietly through the crowd and sat opposite him. ‘Hi, Lalit.’

  He started. ‘Sheesh! Where did you come from!’

  She smiled to herself. ‘I just walked in, like everyone else. You were daydreaming.’

  He took off the sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘I was? I could swear I … anyway … um, hi!’

  She smiled reassuringly. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me, Lalit. It means a lot to us, and especially to Vikram.’

  He ducked his head. He was very small and skinny, and very nervous. He had a soft pampered face, almost girlish, and perfect little hands that constantly twitched. ‘I, um … hardly know Vikram. I don’t really know why I’m here. I mean, what Mum is trying to make us … well, herself … pretty rich.’

  ‘But it is wrong, Lalit. She’s lying to the courts, isn’t she? She’s breaking the law, perjuring herself. It’ll only make her rich if she gets away with it.’

  ‘Yeah, but …’ he bit his tongue. Clearly the next thing he said was something of a personal Rubicon—a crossing into dangerous territory. Deepika nodded encouragingly. Lalit swallowed, then went on. ‘I’ve heard them talk—Mum, and that Charanpreet, and the lawyer, Diltan Modi. They’ve talked about bribing officials to erase documents from the public record. About bribing people to ensure there is no paper trail of the divorce. And altering that widow’s husband’s will.’

  ‘You mean Kiran?’

  ‘Yeah—she’ll be your mother-in-law, right? When you marry that Amanjit?’

  Deepika nodded. He didn’t need to know that she and Amanjit were already married. ‘That’s very interesting, Lalit. Thank you! Vikram is innocent. They all are—Vikram, Amanjit and Rasita. The drug-lord, Shiv Bakli, killed Sunita Ashoka, not your half-brother. I was there. I know.’

  She wasn’t sure if he believed her, but he didn’t question her words. ‘I heard the lawyer say they had an insider in your camp. Modi said he was working closely with one of your team.’

  Deepika nodded, stifling her anger. She could guess who. ‘Our lawyer Meenakshi Nandita, right?’

  Lalit frowned. ‘They never said so openly, but I think it was her.’ He looked about unhappily. ‘Mum has started … um, dating … that horrible Charanpreet. I hate him. He’s a pig, and he bullies me.’

  Deepika nodded sympathetically.

  Lalit sniffed. ‘I just want everything to be
how it was. Dad—Dinesh—was good to us, though Mum was horrible to him. We don’t need to do this. We’re not poor. And I’m doing well at school—I’ll be able to look after us both when I graduate. We only had to hold on a few more years. But …’

  ‘But what?’

  Lalit looked at her helplessly. ‘I don’t want to go up against Mum. She gets scary. She screams. She shakes me. She rips out her own hair.’ His face went pale. She could see him reliving the experience.

  It was a struggle not to snap at him. She hated weakness in anyone. But another part of her, the protective part of her, reached out. She put a hand on his arm. ‘You can endure it, Lalit. I know you’ve got the courage,’ she told him.

  ‘How can you know?’ he asked her. ‘You don’t know me at all.’

  She gave him a strong smile, full of reassurance and confidence. ‘I want to tell you a story. You probably already know it, but it will help, so please hear me out.’

  He nodded slowly.

  ‘A long time ago, there was a king, and he had three wives, and four sons. The eldest was the rightful heir to the throne. They were all good sons.’

  Lalit rolled his eyes slightly as he began to recognize the Ramayana. But he didn’t interrupt.

  Deepika grinned. ‘Yeah: the eldest son was called Rama. The second son was named Bharata. He liked his brother, and was happy to be a prince. But Bharata’s mother was jealous, and wanted her own son advanced. Especially when her wicked maid started nagging at her. And as it happened, the king owed the queen some favours. So she went to him and demanded that Rama be sent into exile, and her own son be made heir.

  ‘The king, though it pained him, would not forswear his promises to the queen, and so he had no choice but to do as she said. Rama went into exile, and Bharata was named heir. The whole kingdom was sad. They knew it was wrong to deny Prince Rama his rightful place. Everyone disliked the conniving queen, and many blamed Bharata. Very soon, the king died of sorrow, and though no one wanted to, the courtiers came to Prince Bharata to make him king. But Bharata resented the injustice of what he had seen. He went to Rama in exile, and begged him to take up the throne. Rama refused, respecting his father’s promises. So Bharata instead returned to the palace with Rama’s sandals, and laid them on the throne as a token of his eventual return. Then he refused to live in the palace, and ruled only in the name of Rama.

  ‘Thus the people came to love Bharata, though they still hated his mother, who lived in sad seclusion the rest of her days. And when Rama returned after slaying the demon-king, Bharata rejoiced, and reinstated Rama to the kingship.’

  Deepika patted Lalit’s arm. ‘Lalit, you are in just the same situation. You can live a lie, and profit from another’s illegally enforced misfortune. Or you can make a stand for truth and honour, and gain love and respect. Including self-respect. If you do this, you will earn far more in spirit than you could ever gain materially from living a lie.’

  Lalit returned her gaze. At first she thought he would close his watery eyes and lower his weak chin, and tell her that he did not have the courage to do what she asked. Then he raised his face, and she saw a new steel there that she would never have suspected had she not known what she did about their lives.

  ‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘I will do it. I will be your Bharata.’

  She reached across and hugged him. ‘Thank you! Thank you!’ She thought about the power of stories to inspire. Especially this one.

  ‘Do you think I can do it?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Lalit, you were born to play this role,’ she told him sincerely.

  The Hall of the Demon-King

  Sri Lanka, May 2011

  ‘Man, this place is nuts,’ Amanjit whispered in Vikram’s ear.

  ‘Yeah, I know. Sshhh.’

  They struggled to keep their eyes forward. All about them demons were arrayed, vivid toothy faces staring at them worshipfully. The interior of King Vibhishana’s palace was as wonderfully colourful as the exterior hinted it would be. The ceilings were painted in gloriously detailed murals, the pillars were decorated with gold-leaf, and graceful marble statues lined the hall, so lifelike they looked like they moved. One, a fish-tailed girl, winked at Amanjit as he passed. Horns blew, drums rolled, and people cheered, hailing the visit of their saviours Rama and Lakshmana to Lanka. Flags waved, demon-children cavorted, and there was scarcely a dry eye in the whole court.

  The demon-king was a majestic being. Tall and big-chested, with a flowing silver beard, luminous purple eyes and bull-horns, he stood some seven-foot tall and wore reptile-skin armour beneath a silken violet robe. But he hovered about Vikram and Amanjit like an anxious child, sat them on the throne of Lanka, and then prostrated himself at their feet.

  ‘All hail our saviours!’ he thundered. ‘May you stay here a thousand years!’ The throng of demons echoed his call, over and over in thunderous rolling waves of sound. There was no point talking to them. All Vikram and Amanjit got was praise, and offers of more food and wine. Musicians played, dancers danced, and poets declaimed.

  For days, they were entertained. Vibhishana himself gave them a guided tour of the island on the back of a flying chariot. They visited battle sites. The whole epic was recited and actors re-enacted its scenes in a performance that went on for days. The boys staggered back to their rooms every night exhausted. They ate ravenously and drank like fish yet barely noticed. It felt like they hadn’t eaten for days. Only water seemed to fill them up and they drank it copiously.

  ‘You know what this is like?’ Vikram whispered one night in their rooms after the servants were gone. ‘It’s like a video game, but the part where you’ve already killed the Big Boss and won the prize. It’s the after-part! Everyone important has already given you their clues. All the monsters are dead. Everything is done, and all the people are more like scenery, with a single line of computer-generated dialogue about the weather.’

  Amanjit wrinkled his nose. ‘Yeah. I reckon I could cut Vibhishana’s head off and he’d just pick it up, put it back on his neck, and keep telling me how wonderful we are.’

  ‘Have you noticed how the meals and the drink they serve us have no effect? We’ve been here a week, and I swear the only nourishing food we get are the energy bars we brought, and the water from the streams. I feel like I am wasting away.’

  ‘Yeah. You know, I think we need to leave.’ Amanjit grimaced. ‘But we’ve learnt nothing. We don’t know where Ravindra has got Ras. We haven’t learnt anything new at all. In fact, we’ve lost ground. All we’ve found is that we know less than we thought. And if Ravindra isn’t here, then where the hell is he?’

  Vikram sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t know. I’ve tried to talk to Vibhishana about it and it’s like I’m speaking Portuguese or something. He doesn’t acknowledge the words. He doesn’t engage in the conversation. He just switches off. And we’re running out of energy bars, bhai. If we don’t leave tomorrow, we’re out of real food, unless we can find something that sustains us here.’

  ‘Then let’s go, man,’ Amanjit growled. ‘I am not gonna starve to death inside la-la-land being served illusory food.’

  ‘Let’s try one last time tomorrow to talk to Vibhishana,’ Vikram said. ‘One last time let’s try and learn if this is just one looped tape recording, or somewhere we need to be.’

  ‘But if it isn’t here, then where, Vik?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Great Ones, you summoned me?’ Vibhishana boomed. ‘I come, I serve, O Saviours of Mankind!’ He knelt in the middle of the lounge in their private quarters and waited with an enraptured expression on his face, which seemed increasingly to Vikram to resemble idiocy.

  Vikram rolled his eyes at Amanjit then turned back to the demon-king. ‘King Vibhishana, please, stand, come and talk with us. We greatly need your wise counsel,’ he said, thinking how pompous he sounded, but knowing from experience that the king only really seemed to focus if you talked to him this way. ‘Please!
’

  ‘I am much more comfortable kneeling,’ Vibhishana answered cheerily.

  ‘As you wish.’ Vikram rubbed his forehead tiredly. ‘King Vibhishana, we have come seeking clues. My wife Sita has again been abducted by Ravana. We suspect he is hiding her here.’

  ‘Oh no, that is impossible. Ravana, may his name be ever accursed, is dead. You killed him yourself, my Lord, may all of heaven praise your name. And your wife has ascended to heaven on the chariot of the Earth Goddess. All creation rejoices for her, though we are of course saddened by your loss.’

  ‘But I am telling you Ravana has stolen her!’ Vikram snapped.

  Vibhishana’s serene face contorted slightly, then went smooth again. ‘It is wonderful weather we are having, my lords. The gods bless us with your presence.’

  Amanjit punched a fist into his palm and groaned. ‘Bloody Ravana has stolen Sita!’ he shouted.

  Vibhishana cringed, then blinked and seemed to forget he’d been addressed at all. ‘It is wonderful that you are here, my lords.’

  Vikram closed his eyes and swallowed a silent scream. ‘It is wonderful to be here, King Vibhishana.’ He made up his mind. ‘But we must go, now, I fear. Ayodhya longs for our return.’

  ‘Oh my Lords! Please stay. Celebrate with us! Ravana is defeated! All Creation sings their praise of your mighty deeds.’ Tears began to roll down his suddenly stricken face. ‘Please stay with us. At least one more night!’ It was almost an hour before they could make him leave, and then only when they agreed to stay another night.