King of Lanka

by David Hair

  Vibhishana stood like a stick planted in the sand, against the oncoming tide. The Asuras washed over him, around him, pulling and touching and crying while Vikram, Amanjit and Kasun backed away, ignored and forgotten. They climbed the small knoll they had stood upon before, where they could see the old Rakshasa as he was welcomed back by his people. For a time, all seemed well, the joy on the Asura faces palpable.

  But then another Rakshasa strode through the masses, and tried to lay hands on Vibhishana. The Asuras pulled him down and tore him apart, then everything became bloody. The Rakshasas loyal to Ravindra tried to drive the Asuras at the fringes, those who did not know or believe or care that this was Vibhishana returned, into the middle, to seize the former king. Those in the middle were a mix of those loyal to Ravindra and Vibhishana. Weapons were already drawn in the charge. It was no big step to put them to use.

  Amanjit saw a Rakshasa move on Vibhishana and shot him with a fire-astra. Blades lifted and fell, and suddenly at the foot of the knoll a bloodbath ensued. Rakshasa astras flew in from the edges of the press, and Vikram could not shoot them all down. The masses below them convulsed, the bestial cries grew louder and Vibhishana visibly stumbled. But a hard core of loyal Asuras had formed about him, and they began to cut down any they perceived as enemies. Trumpets blared, but what they were signalling was lost in the confusion and the cacophony. The noise throbbed about them, deafening and terrifying.

  Vikram looked at the Citadel, where he could see the gathered leadership clustered like ants about a central figure that must be Ravindra. He wondered if Rasita was watching. He wondered what on earth he could do.

  Then someone roared above the entire battlefield. It was Vibhishana. ‘Ravindra! I am returned! You that betrayed me beware, for I have returned, to reclaim my throne!’

  The entire field fell silent for a few stunned seconds, and then all discipline and formation and control collapsed. Loyal Asuras fought other Asuras. Enemy Rakshasas were pulled down and torn to pieces. Some fled screaming, others fell to their knees in disbelief. A seething mass formed about the former king, bristling with sharp steel and bared teeth. Those trying to reach Vibhishana, whether to kill him or to simply fall before him and give their loyalty, were forced away. The fallen were everywhere in scarlet clumps.

  Bugles on the Citadel walls sounded the retreat. About one third of the Asura remaining obeyed. The rest swarmed in confusion. The trumpets brayed again, calling imperiously, demanding obedience. The Asuras, conditioned by centuries of Rakshasa rule, wavered.

  Then from the ruins of the Lower Town, a hum rose, like nothing Vikram had ever heard. It was the musical thrum of a beehive, or perhaps distantly heard cattle, or wolves calling to the rising moon. Over the low walls of Lower Town, distant figures swarmed. It was from their inhuman throats that the strange sound issued. The women and children of the Asuras, come to see for themselves if it were true that their lost and beloved King Vibhishana had returned. At first they walked. Then they ran, stampeding through the men-folk, a weird horde of half-beast and near-human that had a strangeness somewhere between beauty and hideousness to human eyes, but in this moment of wonder and joy, all had some element of loveliness.

  With their arrival, half those retreating to the Citadel deserted. Barely a few hundred of the most hardened of Ravindra’s Asura subjects, those he had favoured and given dominance, returned to him inside the fortress.

  The rest remained outside to bask in the glow of their beloved king.

  ‘This is incredible!’ Amanjit exulted. He hammered Vikram on the back. ‘You knew, didn’t you? That’s why you only used the Twashtar against them! You knew eventually they’d be on our side!’

  Vikram, who’d known no such thing, shook his head. ‘We just got very, very lucky, brother! That is all!’ But the relief he was feeling seemed as if it were sent from above. ‘Look at them!’

  It was indeed a sight to see. The Asuras, whose freedom had been sharply curtailed when the Rakshasas loyal to Ravindra overthrew Vibhishana, sensed that perhaps those past days could return. Several hours vanished as the old king, who still looked ravaged by the centuries of imprisonment in Sri Lanka, received the homage of his former subjects. This involved a lot of kneeling and kissing of the hand. Tears were streaming down most faces, and even Vikram found he had tears in his eyes.

  The Meghwal gradually crept back, staying at the fringes, cradling their own freed children to themselves as they watched with wide eyes. The two groups remained carefully apart, but no hostile movements were made.

  A vast cry erupted from the Citadel, and Vikram saw a bolt of light arc from the battlements above the gate, and stream towards the massed Asura. He reached for his bow, but beside him, Amanjit had already nocked his arrow and fired, muttering the words to a mohini, a magic-destroying astra, as if he’d been doing such things all his life. This shot blasted apart the incoming astra so that it exploded across the midday sky like a sky-rocket. For a second the whole plain fell silent, and then the Asura hooted and brayed as they realized what had happened. Their usurper king had fired on them, and they’d been protected by the humans.

  Vikram could not have asked for a more eloquent way to break down the barriers between the two groups.

  From then on the Asuras went among the humans, finding former slaves and gifting them with weapons and food. The Meghwal brought up supplies, which were deployed in a clearing in the forest. Hemant established a watch on the Citadel, while the new-found allies gathered about Vibhishana on an improvised throne. Close up the old king looked exhausted, but transcendently happy.

  ‘My people will aid you,’ he told Vikram. ‘The usurper must fall.’

  Whatever Vikram might have said was drowned by the clamour of a thousand sword hilts being hammered on shields.

  All he could do was bow, and wonder if this time, the cosmos was on his side.

  That afternoon, after hours of reorganizing and gaining some kind of understanding between Asura and human, they attacked. Asura archers sleeted arrows over the Citadel walls from cover in Lower Town. Vikram and Amanjit moved among them, swatting aside the astras sent back at them. They slew three Rakshasas each with astras that flew like sniper bullets. They struck at the Citadel with Parvata-astras, cracking the ramparts. But those walls were woven with spells and though they cracked in places they stayed strong.

  Hemant’s people were also deployed in Lower Town, in the tangle of buildings which offered thousands of vantages for archery. They were joined by hundreds of the released slaves, those strong enough and with hatred enough of their captors to fight. Creeping among the ruins, they poured arrows over the Citadel walls, until mid-afternoon they ran out of shafts, even though Vibhishana had set Asura womenfolk to making more in the forests, using branches and sharpened stones.

  The Meghwal men who fought alongside the Asura seemed impervious to the insanity about them. Their tales spoke of demons and astras, so perhaps they saw no strangeness at all: perhaps to them Asuras were just another species, and an astra no stranger than a battle-tank or a jet-fighter. In the staging camp, the women of both races made more and more tents available, and cooked more and more food. More people came to their aid through the real world via Vikram’s gate. They had thousands at their command suddenly, not just Meghwal but many tribes whose secret past was linked to the old Sinathai. Hemant was everywhere, ordering the camp, generating renewed flow of arrows and bows. Once these newcomers had looked over the Citadel, and expressed their wonder, the tribal warriors became as matter-of-fact about it all as any soldier stuck in a stand-off. They kept their heads down and invested the keep.

  The Asura and Meghwal cheered Vikram and Amanjit when they saw them. The responsibility of keeping their new army alive fell heavily onto the two youths, however. To protect them, they had to shoot down all the astras of the Rakshasas—a near impossible task. Casualties mounted. They began to feel that they must do something more soon. All through the hours before sunset the number of dead and
wounded tribesmen mounted. They had gained no foothold on the walls. This effort was not sustainable. Something had to give.

  Late afternoon brought a white flag at the main gates of the Citadel. A nervous looking Rakshasa boy with snakes for hair and colourful scaled skin brought the request for a parley at sundown. ‘Just your leader and our king,’ the young messenger said, with maturity belying his youthful appearance.

  ‘Let’s just shoot Ravindra when he comes outside the gates,’ Amanjit suggested as they prepared, with cheerful disregard for the etiquette of warfare. ‘You know he’ll try something of the sort.’

  ‘I think I’d rather talk to him,’ Vikram responded with an admonishing look. ‘We’re supposed to be the good guys, here.’

  ‘Good, bad, what’s the difference—it’s results that count, brother!’ The Sikh seemed inured to war, and to accept casualties as a hazard of conflict. Vikram was less callous of death, even among their enemies. They had argued about it that morning. Vikram had accused Amanjit of not caring about the deaths they caused. Amanjit had just agreed. ‘That’s war,’ Amanjit had replied matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll care later. For now, they’re just casualties. ENEMY casualties.’ He’d turned away, refusing to discuss the matter further.

  Vikram ignored Amanjit and Hemant’s protests, and awaited Ravindra in front of the broken north gate to the city. He wrapped himself in protective wards, but he did not think that Ravindra would try anything, despite his reputation and Amanjit’s misgivings. It would be out of character. He remembered the parley of Mehtan Ali and Chand Bardai, before Tarain II, and stiffened his spine. I will not be humbled as I was that day.

  He waited, in the cooling dust. It hadn’t rained for days. He could see inside the gates—the blackened and ruined buildings and carrion birds everywhere. No one would have been able to clear away the bodies. To the ravens, this was a feast-day.

  A man stepped from the north gate, beside the snake-haired boy who was holding a white flag, and walked towards him, displaying empty hands. Ravindra, in kingly robes, unarmed, but exuding danger. The boy stopped beside the gate but Ravindra walked on.

  ‘Stop right there, Ravindra!’ Vikram called when the demon-king was thirty paces away.

  Ravindra halted. The air about him prickled with wards and protective charms. Difficult to maintain for long, but effective in the short-term. Just like the ones Vikram wore. They would both want this talk to be brief. ‘Here, I am known as Ravan Aeshwaran,’ Ravindra answered. ‘Ravan is “king”, in my people’s tongue.’

  Vikram licked his dry lips. ‘“Ravindra” will do for me.’

  Ravindra stared levelly at Vikram. ‘Yet I am the Ravan, the king of this place. And you have murdered many of my peaceful subjects. Are you proud?’

  Vikram fought down his guilt. It’s an act … he doesn’t really care. ‘I hardly believe they were peaceful. I think those that would desire peace are currently with Vibhishana, the rightful king.’

  ‘Vibhishana the usurper. Vibhishana the ancient. I marvel he can still stand unaided.’ Ravan sneered. ‘My Rakshasas burn to take vengeance upon you, murderer.’

  ‘Then lead them out to fight us,’ Vikram retorted.

  They glared at each other, until Ravindra made a show of shaking his head wearily. ‘When did you become a killer, Aram Dhoop? Even I was moved by your verse, all those years ago in Mandore. I was so blinded by your gentleness that I did not recognize you for who you were.’

  Vikram fought a surge of anger. Seeing Ravindra playing at sadness and regret after all the evil he’d done in so many lives was nauseating. ‘I have been persecuted by you in every life I have led. I have been killed directly or indirectly by you in every life. I have seen you murder my friends and family and loved ones in every life. In this one also! Do not try out your twisted morality on me, Ravindra. I know what is at stake.’

  Ravindra’s lip curled. ‘Do you indeed, Aram Dhoop?’ He gestured derisively. ‘Tell me, what are the stakes?’

  ‘That I must live and you must die. That I must save Rasita. That the Ramayana must be fulfilled.’

  Ravindra watched him, with a slight sneer on his face. Then he nodded, as if Vikram had failed a test, and in doing so confirmed his suspicions. ‘Aram Dhoop, I did not realize you were so ignorant of what is really happening. I had thought you might understand fully, at last.’ He made a gesture towards the ruined Lower Town. ‘However, I see you will not be swayed. You have powers; hugely destructive powers. The evidence lies behind me. Another week like this and only you and I will still be alive. So let us prevent all that bloodshed. Let us settle this between us, just you and I.’

  Vikram stared, biting his lip. Why would he offer this? This obvious answer is that he is losing. He is cornered, and the Citadel is not all that defensible against a direct assault by the sort of things Amanjit and I can do. We can rain destruction down on him.

  But it is also fulfilling the Ramayana … in which he loses …

  So why?

  ‘Where is Rasita?’ he asked, buying time. ‘If you’ve harmed her, you’ll pay.’

  Ravindra’s face gradually twisted into a mild smirk. ‘Queen Rasita is well. She has care lavished upon her. She has the best of all things, and has never looked lovelier.’ He winked theatrically. ‘I rather think she is falling for me.’

  Vikram felt like he’d been punched in the throat. His mind went back to that dream, of Rasita: ‘Dasraiyat, I reject you!’ He still didn’t know what that meant. ‘She is not yours!’ he snapped, though all his fears were returning. He was suddenly sick of this parley, wishing he’d never agreed to it.

  ‘She is blossoming into a loveliness worthy of Sita herself,’ Ravindra gloated. ‘And her kiss is so very sweet.’

  ‘Save it, Ravindra!’ Vikram found himself trembling. ‘You murdered Sue Parker!’

  Ravindra shook his head slowly. ‘I have never laid eyes on your wife, Chand. Not in this life at least.’

  Vikram felt rage such as he had never felt before swell inside him, until he thought that he would belch fire when he spoke. ‘All right, let’s settle this, you scum! You can have your duel! Right here and now!’

  Ravindra chuckled, gave a half-bow. ‘Tomorrow, at midday.’

  ‘Why not now?’

  ‘I have other matters to attend to, and I am sure you have farewells to make’ Ravindra said loftily. ‘Tomorrow, here, at midday.’ He turned on his heel. ‘Sleep well, Aram Dhoop. If you can.’

  Vikram tried twice to find a caustic reply, and could not. Finally he whirled and stomped back to his camp, feeling like an utter fool, his mind a churning morass of fury and fear.

  Amanjit climbed his way through the dense foliage of the forest that only existed in this world, trying to find Vikram before the sun went down. Some of the trees here were massive, with roots climbing back up the trunks, the heat and light of the day locked outside these verdant halls, suspended from the tree-trunk pillars.

  Vikram had come back from the parley, stated the terms of the agreed duel, then simply walked into the forest, wanting to be alone. But it was getting dark now, and he needed to eat and rest. Amanjit had taken it upon himself to find Vikram. It wasn’t proving easy.

  Finally he stopped, and he mentally cursed himself. He pulled out an arrow as he’d seen Vikram do so often, spoke his name. The arrow spun, then pointed away to the right. I’ve got to get used to this weird stuff. He returned the shaft to its quiver, and trudged in the direction it had pointed. In a few minutes, he spotted a small figure in a clearing, sitting motionless.

  ‘Vik! There you are!’

  Vikram looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the ground. His face was an agony of frustration and indecision.

  ‘Vik? What’s happened?’ Amanjit hurried to his side, knelt and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘What’s happened? Is it Ras?’

  Vikram shook his head helplessly, and angrily brushed at his face, leaving dirty streaks. ‘No! She’s fine, as far as I can tell.’ He bunche
d his fists. ‘I just don’t know what’s going on! He does! He knows everything! Whereas I feel like I’m falling into a trap.’

  Amanjit gripped his friend’s shoulder. ‘Vik, it’s simple. Kill him, rescue Ras. It’s really that simple. Everything else is just mind games. Keep focused!’ He squeezed. ‘I’ll take care of the others; you get Ravindra. We’re going to win!’

  ‘There is something else happening, Amanjit! Something we’re ignorant of. Ravindra is totally confident. In fact, he knows he’ll win. Why? How can he be so confident?’

  Amanjit scowled. ‘It’s a front, man. He’s losing, he knows we’ll crack his castle open in a day or two, and he’s trying to take you on first on a 50:50 fight. If you’d declined the combat—and I’m not saying you should have—we’d win anyway.’

  Vikram shook his head. ‘It’s more than a front, bhai. He knows something! Something we’ve got wrong, that really matters! And he’s still got the strongest of the Rakshasas, and lots of Asuras in there. It could take us months to get inside. Yet he wants to settle it tomorrow! Why?’

  Amanjit bit his lip. ‘I don’t know, bhai. You’re right, it makes no sense. Unless he’s bluffing, or delusional.’

  ‘I saw the look in his eyes when he spoke. There was no doubt or fear. He already knows he’ll win.’ Vikram’s face became pained. ‘It can only be one thing—he’s seduced Rasita, and captured Deepika. He’s got them where he wants them! So he knows the Ramayana won’t be fulfilled like in the books. He knows he’ll win.’

  Amanjit shook his head violently. ‘No! You must be wrong! Ras would never choose him!’

  Vikram hung his head. ‘Amanjit, I failed her. I never included her, after what happened at the Mehrangarh. I courted Sunita Ashoka when I should have been courting her. I almost fell in love with Kamla—with Sue—all over again in Varanasi and Udaipur. I still barely know Ras, in this life. I gave her no reason to love me, and then I left her alone, so that Ravindra kidnapped her unopposed by me at Panchavati. And Aram Dhoop failed her too: he didn’t even notice Padma, he was so obsessed with Darya. Rasita has no reason to believe in me. No reason at all.’