by David Hair
Amanjit grabbed both Vikram’s shoulders. ‘Man, that is not so! She was seriously ill, man. We couldn’t include her! And the Swayamavara Live thing, that was my idea too, and it resulted in her getting healed. You made her whole again, by pursuing that. And I spent months with her in Delhi when we were hiding out—she is totally in love with you, bhai. She thought about you all the time! She knows that Sue Parker is just a past-life thing. She doesn’t hold that against you. She believes in you. And she would never fall in love with Ravindra!’
Vikram kept shaking his head.
Amanjit wanted to shake him, until his fighting spirit returned. ‘She loves you, Vikram! My sister loves you!’
Vikram hung his head. ‘It’s worse than that, Amanjit. You see, I let her down. Fidelity is a two-way street, bhai. And I betrayed her. With Sue.’
Amanjit froze. ‘You didn’t?’ he moaned. ‘When?’
Vikram hung his head. ‘The night before you arrived in Udaipur last year.’
Amanjit closed his eyes, trying to push down a rising tide of nausea. Oh no … Under the terms of the Ramayana, we’ve already lost. He balled his fists. ‘How could you, man? All you had to do was stay strong! How could you? You’ve doomed us all! HOW COULD YOU?’
Vikram hunched lower. ‘I didn’t—’
Amanjit bent over and screamed in his face. ‘I hope you had fun screwing her, because you were screwing us all when you did it!’ He couldn’t look at Vikram any longer. He spun on his heel, and stormed blindly through the trees.
Vikram knew he should have gone after Amanjit, but his legs felt too weak to move.
I’ve messed this up so badly …
He thought about Amanjit, so straightforward, so complete, with his feet on the ground, all life black and white. He thought of Deepika, her fiery temper and passionate nature. Of Rasita, enquiring and tenacious. Gradually he thought of nothing at all. Unconscious disciplines took over—relaxation techniques, meditation mantras to calm the mind, to soothe away dread and confusion. To let the mind fulfil its function, and reason things out.
I’m a fool. My understanding is too shallow. I don’t know enough. How has Ravindra got so far ahead of me? He always wins … and this time, even though I’ve got so close, I still don’t know why I’m losing, I just know that I am …
What do I even know, any more? What can I state is certainly true? Beyond doubt …
Fact: Ravindra has spent centuries killing us all, getting nowhere. In some lives, there were hints, that the Ramayana was significant, but nothing concrete. Chand and the swayamvara was as close as it came to fruition. Ravindra is always hunting the women but without the heartstones all he ends up doing is killing us. Ever since Mandore …
… Mandore … it all began in Mandore. Ravindra-Raj and his ritual. Seven heartstones, seven wives, each to die, so that Ravindra could become Ravana. Why seven? Was it any seven, or did it have to be THOSE seven?
Fact: Rasita is Padma … my destined lover, but she has rejected me … and called me Dasraiyat …
Who was Dasraiyat?
What did Ravindra say: that in Mandore he was “So blinded by your gentleness that I did not recognize you for who you were”.
Not ‘what’: who …
But he had never met me, until Mandore. Had he? And I had never met him … Or had I?
He opened his eyes. He spoke aloud into the shadowed glade. ‘There were earlier lives, before Mandore.’
‘Yes, Lord. There were.’ Hemant’s voice carried on the still air, from the fringe of the clearing. His grey-furred shadow, the langur monkey, crept forward and hunched in front of Vikram, its eyes preternaturally bright. ‘There was Lanka.’ The Meghwal chief walked towards him, gathering the big monkey in his arms and sitting. ‘I thought you already knew this.’
‘Knew what?’ Vikram stared. What does he know? ‘Who was I?’
‘Ram, the prince of Ayodhya.’
Vikram blanched. ‘No! I am not! I am no god! And that is blasphemy!’
‘No, Lord. It is so. When the evil king Ravan Aeshwaran settled in Lanka with his beastmen, Ram and Lakshmana the princes of Ayodhya came with an army of men, former Sinathai. The two sons performed miracles of war. There is no question—you and Amanjit are those sons of Dasraiyat, returned. My people see this clearly.’
Vikram rocked back on his haunches. ‘What did you say? Son of who?’
‘Dasraiyat, my Lord.’ Hemant stared at him curiously. ‘Dasraiyat of Ayodhya.’
Ram … Ravan Aeshwaran … Lakshmana … Sinathai … Dasraiyat … Names, words … the keys to unlocking the final mysteries of that past life … then darkness rose about him, he coughed once, and sprawled on to his back, as memories washed over him like a tide.
Wedding Preparations
Lanka, 31 July 2011, morning
Rasita woke, trembling with anxiety and anticipation. The night had been harrowing. So many Asuras had deserted in the afternoon. Keke was beside herself with grief and rage, more like a feral cat than a person, until Rasita soothed her as she would a child. Eventually the Rakshasa girl fell asleep in her arms, and she could not bear to wake her, so she just lay there, frightened at what her life had become.
As Rasita stirred, Keke woke, and squealed in embarrassment at having fallen asleep on her mistress’ bed. ‘I am so sorry!’ the little Rakshasa exclaimed. Ras forgave her easily—she loved the little maid, and anyway, it was her wedding day.
They bathed, and then began a morning of further ritual bathing and ‘purifications’, which seemed nonsense until she realized that Lavanasura was weaving charms and incantations into the prayers, slow, binding words, binding her soul with Ravindra. The attacks had ended after Ravindra went to parley with Vikram, Keke reported. It tore at her, to think of these two meeting. Despite Vikram having been revealed as the reincarnation of a villain, she still felt something for him, and could not wish him ill. She wished he would just go away, and end this stupid war.
I’m doing the right thing. I’m healing Evil. I’m bringing his Destructive Soul back into balance. I am Manda, healing my lord Aeshwaran, restoring myself. I am healing the wounds of the world.
In four hours she would be wed, at 10 a.m. Keke bathed her, then anointed her skin with scented oils, her mischievous face solemn and awestruck. She kept squeezing her hand. ‘Oh, my mistress, you are so beautiful! I am so happy.’
The few hours seemed to flow past like minutes. Keke and other servants washed and cleaned and beautified the king’s new bride. Jewellery was tried and discarded until a set was selected, so delicate and lovely it looked barely real. Beautiful wedding saris worth a fortune in the real world were paraded until she chose one in red silk and gold, and they wrapped her inside it, every motion seemingly significant. The wrapping of the king’s present, his to unwrap.
‘The king’s sister, Surpanakha, has gone missing,’ Keke whispered to her. ‘The soldiers are hunting her, but no one will say why. Perhaps she’s been killed.’
Rasita couldn’t be sorry if she had. Not after all the awful things the sorceress had done. ‘She hates me. She’d only try and ruin everything,’ she replied.
As the appointed hour approached, she grew more and more serene, secure in the knowledge that she was doing the right thing. Within an hour, she would be wed, and all that would flow from that ceremony. The healing of Ravindra and herself. The resolution of centuries of pain. A new beginning.
Guest after guest came as she waited. She was learning to know her new subjects, all anxious to show honour and obedience to their new queen. Lavanasura she greeted with fondness, her tutor and fellow Creator. Others made her nervous, they seemed so frightening and alien, but she took their obeisance with dignity, even from unruly Syhajeet. Some distraction caused most of the guests to leave—rumours of movements outside the walls. But they heard nothing, and she refused to look from her balcony. I am done with those people and that life.
At last all the guests were done, and Keke sat with her in he
r room, holding her hands and calming her. It all seemed so sudden, her change of heart, her realization that Ravindra was hers to heal, though it also felt like the culmination of everything that had happened to her in every life. And now it was so close …
A dark shape limped through the door frame. She thrilled to the sudden thought that this would be a messenger, come to summon her to begin the ceremony. It was time … but then she saw who it was: Surpanakha, stalking into the room, cowled and misshapen.
‘What are you doing here?’ Rasita demanded.
Keke leapt to her feet, and tried to dash for the door, opening her mouth to call the guards. ‘Surp—’
Surpanakha’s fist cracked across the girl’s jaw. She reeled and fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Rasita gasped, and opened her mouth to scream, but the demoness wrapped a hand about her mouth. A knife dug into her throat.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Rasita?’
The demoness pulled down her cowl, to reveal her face.
Rasita’s eyes bulged.
‘Deepika!’ she squeaked.
The Final Revelation
Lanka, 31 July 2011
‘You must forgive your brother,’ Hemant told Amanjit, as they shared a morning chai over a twig fire. The dawn had come, red and sullen. The impending monsoon hung heavily in the air.
Amanjit spat. ‘He’s not my brother. Not any more. The marriage that brought us together ended when his father died. He was supposed to be my sister’s guy, but he’s wrecked that. He’s not my brother.’
‘He is your brother. He is your soul’s brother. You need each other.’ Hemant stroked his monkey’s head.
Amanjit looked away, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in the man’s words.
‘He is meditating. My men are watching over him. He is safe. I am not concerned for him.’ Hemant lit a cigarette himself. ‘I am concerned for you. The sons of Dasraiyat must be whole and united, to be victorious.’
Sons of who? Amanjit looked across at him. ‘My wife is missing. I don’t even know if she’s alive. And Vikram has pretty much ensured that we’ll all be killed today. Him first. With all that’s happened, I think it’s final. All those lives spent chasing a goal, but today it will all end, forever. That bastard Ravindra will have won and who knows what he will then do with the world!’ Amanjit hung his head. ‘And I can’t even spend my last night alive with my wife.’
Hemant listened imperturbably, stroking the coat of the monkey.
‘What happens to a failed soul, do you think?’ Amanjit asked. ‘All our lives we’re told that we are reincarnated until we achieve moksha—spiritual perfection—and then we are ready to ascend to paradise. But what happens to the failures?’ He tipped out the dregs of his chai. ‘I guess I’ll find out first-hand.’
‘Faith, son of Dasraiyat,’ Hemant said. ‘Have faith.’
‘In what?’
Hemant poked a solitary finger skywards.
Amanjit grunted disconsolately. ‘Is that the best you can give me?’ He rose and slouched away.
He found a vantage, on a hillock at the forest fringe, and watched the Citadel. For some reason, it was lit up like a party was about to break out. But there was no music, yet. No sound carried. The air was utterly still.
It was as if the whole world was holding its breath.
Vikram woke.
He had no idea how much time had passed. It might have been millennia … or a few minutes … but now he knew the truth. He finally knew everything. He got up slowly, and stretched his back and his limbs. He slowly lifted one leg, then extended it, then completed a slow dance, like tai chi, to limber his body. He slowly spun about the glade, feeling life return. His mind was suddenly clear.
I’ve made mistakes. But past mistakes cannot be healed by regret. Only by right deeds. And the right words.
He felt a brief sadness, and then let it ebb away, to be replaced by urgency: the need to act. It was not too late.
Ironically after all this time, the one person I’m not is Ram. I was his earthly father, and his teacher. But not Him. Not a God. Just a man. I have strange powers and skills, but I’m just a man. I’m so relieved …
He paused, gathered his weapons, realizing that it was morning, the day of his duel. But he knew that there was much to do before then. His senses were extending in ways they never had before.
I know who I am, at last.
I am Dasraiyat.
Amanjit didn’t turn his face, but he knew who had jogged up and joined him. They stared together at the Citadel, from whence music had begun to gently carry over the still morning air. ‘Well?’ he asked gruffly.
Vikram took a few seconds to answer. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Are you still my brother?’ Amanjit asked. The words felt sticky and difficult in his mouth.
‘Always, bhai. Please forgive me. I’m not perfect. But I’m trying hard to be. I was wrong. I was weak. But I won’t be ever again. Will you let me earn your forgiveness?’
Amanjit exhaled. He had never held a grudge in his life. He wouldn’t now. He turned, took a step, and bear-hugged Vikram until his face went red. ‘You already have,’ he told him, cuffing him gently about the ear. He wiped his eyes surreptitiously, and pushed him away. It feels good, this reconciliation thing! ‘So, what’s the plan, bhai? Win the duel, rescue the girl?’
Vikram waggled his head ambiguously. ‘Sort of. I’ve remembered something, brother. Something I’ve never known before. It’s a game-changer. New data: new rules.’
‘I’m sick of all this bloody remembering stuff, man!’
Vikram smiled grimly. ‘So am I. But this was the last revelation. I know it all now.’
‘You always were a know-all,’ Amanjit exhaled, with trepidation in his voice. ‘So, what’s happening?’
‘I’ve worked out why Ravindra was so cocky about the duel last night, but still insisted on doing it today. It’s because he’s planning to marry Rasita beforehand. She’s been holding out, but now she’s cracked. She’s fallen for his story—it’s a damn good one, so no blame to her, bhai. She thinks she’s doing the right thing, that she’s healing him. She won’t realize the truth until too late. If I hadn’t reached the key memory just now, I’d have shown up at midday, seen Ras on his arm, and fallen into total despair. And lost. Forever.’
Amanjit bit his lip, trying to understand. ‘What about Deepika?’ he asked. ‘Any revelations about her?’
Vikram’s face went still. ‘I’m sorry, brother. Nothing. Except that if I’m right, Ravindra’s going to either kill her today, or she’s already dead and her ghost is his prisoner. Either way, her soul will be obliterated unless we do something.’
Amanjit felt hope and despair well inside his chest. He struggled for calmness. ‘Damned if I’ll let that happen,’ he growled. ‘What do we do?’
Vikram put his hand on his shoulder. ‘We can’t wait until the duel—it will be too late for the girls by then. We have to stop the wedding!’
Amanjit nodded grimly. ‘Good plan!’ He pointed towards the Citadel, where the music was swelling out like an overflowing fountain. ‘But if we’re about to become the stars of Wedding Crashers II, we’ve got to hurry. They’re just about to start the party!’
Vikram grinned with relief and apprehension. ‘Okay, let’s go find Vibhishana and get this battle started.’
Half an hour later, Vikram led the tribesmen through the deserted and fire-torn Lower Town, winding towards the Citadel. Every man they had, Meghwal and freed-slaves, was waiting in Lower Town, ready to open fire. The festering Asura bodies stank. Everyone’s noses and mouths were wrapped in scarves, but the stench still permeated. Vikram could not help but stare at the beastmen corpses lying twisted and burnt beneath the evening sun. Those inside, the unburnt ones, were in some ways worse—purple and discoloured, bloated by the internal gases of their decaying bodies. Horrible images you hoped to only ever see on television, but for him, all too familiar, in too many lives. We did this
. Amanjit and I … We brought fire and war. May we be forgiven …
Somewhere behind them, Vibhishana was moving the Asuras to the edge of the woods. They would start the assault from further back, being much faster than the men. Once a breach was effected, they would join the fray.
The two youths crawled behind a low wall, and into position. Around them, Hemant’s people crept into whatever cover they could find, and checked their weapons. ‘We’re gonna take a lot of hits, Vik,’ Amanjit commented in a low voice. ‘Those walls are still strong, and they’ve got protections from our astras. As soon as our guys break cover, their archers are going to mow into them.’
Vikram nodded, his face serious. ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘Hemant says his people are willing. But it’s up to us to minimise their losses. You and I have got to make a breach, and get the Asuras inside. And we’ve got to do it soon.’
‘Yeah, I keep thinking I’m going to hear wedding shehnais any minute.’
Beyond their position was seventy yards of clear ground. Hemant slid into place beside them, the langur clinging to his back. ‘My men are in position, Vikramji.’
Vikram nodded grimly. ‘No one fires until my first astra strikes,’ he reminded Hemant.
‘And no one advances until there is a breach,’ Amanjit put in.
‘No hole, no go,’ Hemant agreed in a sing-song voice.
‘Five minutes,’ Vikram said. ‘We just need to set ourselves up.’
Hemant nodded, and scurried away to pass on the five-minute deadline. All down the line the Meghwal were waiting. Vikram and Amanjit quietly sorted through their arrows, leaning a few against the wall in easy range, pre-aligning them to certain spells so that their efficacy would be improved. The rest they loosened in their shoulder quivers, ready for instant action. Amanjit removed his turban, replacing it with a steel helm.