RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  The grass gave way to a decline. She gasped as she reached the edge. It neither sloped down gently, nor gave away abruptly, as in a cliff face. It simply ended. Looking down at the rim below her feet, she could see nothing beneath the ridge of grassy land. It was as flat as a plate. She stepped back, her knees wobbly from the long run. Her mind refused to accept the evidence of her eyes. But it was there: a flat, circular plane of forest ringed by a band of grass. What was the word Supanakha had used? Level? Yes, that was what this was, a level of some structure, not a forest upon Prithvi’s blessed earth as she had thought at first. Her understanding grew … Ravana would not dare to place her upon Prithvi itself, for the earth-mother that had birthed her would embrace and keep her safe, away from his clutches, as she had done in the course of Sita’s abduction, by calling the Pushpak to her and forcing it to crash in the wildnerness. That ploy almost succeeded. Ravana would never make that mistake again. Hence this lofty prison.

  She peered down over the rim for a moment, seeing only misty opaqueness, as if looking at a large plate of glass obscured by a coating of grime. She could hear no sounds of pursuit but expected them at any moment. She considered throwing herself over the edge, to whatever fate befell her at the bottom of that opaque abyss. Even if she crushed all her bones, it would be better than remaining here, a hapless prisoner of Ravana, awaiting the last war between rakshasas and mortalkind. She took a step back, preparatory to flinging herself over. Then she remembered the unborn life within her womb and hesitated.

  Something must have sensed her intention. For even as she prepared to hurl herself off the rim of the artfully deceptive forest, the view below altered itself miraculously. Her change of heart occurred at the last instant, as she was poised to leap, but the invisible force must not have realised it, for it continued to alter the view. In moments, the misty obscurity below had altered itself, like a glass surface being wiped clean by a magical dusting cloth, and revealed a view so stunning it took her breath away.

  A great city lay below. All white and beautifully, artfully structured and shaped. Streets flowed organically through elegantly organised clusters of habitats. She could see tiny figures moving about in those tree-lined avenues and airy esplanades. It was too far to be certain, but she did not doubt that the minuscule figures she glimpsed were rakshasas all. For this was Lanka. There was no doubting that. Except that it was so beautiful! So magnificent. How could this be? A lair of rakshasas, so breathtakingly engineered? So pristine and pure and perfect?

  ‘It is my wife’s doing,’ he said from behind her, and she knew without turning that the quarry had been found, the hunter triumphed yet again. ‘During the thirteen long years that I lay in suspended animation as a result of the brahm-astra unleashed by your husband in Mithila, my island-kingdom was razed to the ground in the civil conflict that erupted between the many asura factions that survived the decimation at Mithila. When the fires died down, only the rakshasas remained in substantial enough numbers to repopulate, and my wife Mandodhari, whom you shall meet shortly, took over governance of the land. All this is her doing. As you can see, she has artistic pretensions.’

  She observed, with an emotion that was calm bordering on hysteria, that he did not seem enraged at her escape attempt. If anything, he sounded like he had been standing behind her all this while, watching her, knowing every thought that passed through her addled brain. She wondered if that was truly so; what was the extent of his sorcery?

  ‘It is beautiful,’ Sita said, speaking her mind. It seemed pointless to rant and rail—or to scurry and sprint either. It was obvious that she was dealing with forces beyond her comprehension. Best then to attempt to study her captor, hoping by that stratagem to glean some morsel of insight that could help formulate a more practical plan of escape. She turned to look at Ravana. Most of his heads seemed morose, inwardly focussed, but one head, to the left of the central one, watched her with a bright sharpness in its gaze. She expressed herself honestly and sincerely; there seemed no reason not to do so. ‘It seems a renewed land, a land of promise and hope.’

  The watching face nodded calmly. ‘It is all that. This is the new Lanka.’

  ‘And you will lose it once more,’ she said sharply, pressing home her point with intensity born of frustration and fear. If there was no escaping this place physically, then she would not yield mentally at least. ‘It will be destroyed yet again when Rama comes. His army—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he sighed. ‘You have said that before. But you still do not understand many things. I apologise again for the unfortunate display of violence. My cousin is not the most reasonable of beings, especially now. As you may recall, there is a history of passion and conflict with your husband and your brother-in-law. She lost her senses earlier. I have reprimanded her. It will not happen again. First, your needs. Then we shall talk. You have much to learn, and unlearn. Much to understand. There is much more to this situation than meets the eye. Far from escaping, you would do well to stay and attempt to bridge this rift that has grown so wide already, to apply the methods of peace and ahimsa that your father lives his life by, rather than the easy way of the arrow and the sword.’

  She stared at him in utter confusion. ‘What do you speak of? I do not understand you!’

  ‘You will, very shortly. Until then, I advise you to make your peace with your current situation. Escape is pointless. The Pushpak can anticipate your every move.’

  ‘Pushpak?’ The name was a half-mythic mention in the annals of the tales of the devas and their heavenly deeds. She remembered the golden flying vehicle in which he had abducted her and brought her to Lanka.

  He gestured at the forest around them. ‘This structure. It is an extension of the same celestial chariot. It is a device with great abilities. This entire tower is made of its own … manifestation. While a smaller portion remains as an akasa-rath, a sky-chariot, the selfsame one in which you were brought here.’

  She looked around her at the trees, the flowers, the earth, the moonlight … questioning, wondering.

  He nodded again. ‘All this is illusion. Created by the Pushpak’s fertile and flexible matter-transformative abilities. In view of your brave but regrettably unsuccessful attempt to flee, it will now rearrange itself to take new shapes and forms. Do not be alarmed. It will cause you no harm, so long as you do not attempt to exit its environs. And now, I must leave you. This time, I will not lurk in the shadows. My cousin has already been removed from the tower and will trouble you no more. Refreshment and fresh garments will arrive shortly. Use the leisure time you have to calm yourself and accept the inevitability of your situation. I am not your enemy.’

  And with those final cryptic words, he left her. This time he did not return, nor did Supanakha. A little while later, Sita felt the ground beneath her feet tremble ever so slightly, and turned to see the view of the city below growing smaller. She puzzled over it for a moment, then with a shock of recognition, she grasped that it was not the city that was growing smaller, but she who was rising higher above it. Somehow, through Ravana’s asura maya, this entire level of the … ‘Tower’, as Supanakha had called it, was rising up, up, into the sky. She did not understand how such a thing could be possible, nor had she ever encountered any such phenomenon before in her life, but she intuitively grasped that it was not unlike a tree-lift, a little wooden platform suspended from rope-harnesses. By pulling on one set of ropes, it could raise anyone standing on the tree-lift up into the region above. She looked up, almost expecting to see a harness of rough jute ropes hanging over the entire forest, but there were none, of course. Only a blurring of the sky above and a faint flickering in the false moonlight that illuminated this place of deceit.

  She watched the city below, her only point of comparison. And her heart sank as it grew so small as to be virtually invisible. With an outstretched thumb she could cover the entire city; so great was the distance now, that she had no previous experience with which to compare such a height. Yet she felt no differen
t. The air smelled the same, the light had settled once more to the same luminous, moonlike incandescence, and the place was as still and calm as before.

  Finally, the rising ceased. She knew this because the thumb-sized city below ceased its shrinking. She could glimpse the island around the city now, a lush, green land of rolling valleys and sloping hills, studded with diamantine lakes and traversed by slender, silvery streams that were not quite rivers. It seemed very beautiful, not at all like the frightful nightmare-land Lanka was believed to be in the numerous legends and myths of her people. Or in the nightmares she had suffered before the siege of Mithila. The new Lanka, Ravana had called it. It was new indeed. Pristine and perfect, a jewel in the ocean. She could scarcely believe that this was the dreaded land of asuras. And Ravana himself? He was not what she had expected or anticipated. What had he said? That she misunderstood him? Words to that effect, yes. What could he possibly mean? Was that yet another subterfuge? Possibly. But what if he was sincere? If the rakshasas had truly changed?

  Then she recalled Supanakha and the way she had lunged at her. The hate and malice in those rancorous feline eyes. And the manner in which Ravana himself had abducted her from her little hermitage in the wilderness. No. She would not be deceived so easily. She must guard against asura maya, such as this magical tower in which she found herself imprisoned. Ravana may have kidnapped her body as easily as carrying away a babe, but she must not allow him to steal away her mind and loyalties, no matter what his methods.

  She steeled her heart, preparing herself for the worst.

  And reminding herself, like a mantra to ward off the evil influence of this place of deceit and illusion, that Rama would surely come for her soon. She had only to wait and ward off Ravana’s advances, be they ever so civilised and humane, polite and charming. Surely she could do that much, could she not?

  And if he used force? How would she defend herself against that mighty monolith of a being?

  She had no answer to that. Except … she would use whatever means necessary. Somehow, she would defend herself and her honour and survive until Rama came. By any means necessary. She did not care to dwell too much upon the implications of that phrase.

  Not just for her own sake but for the sake of the unborn life growing within her. She touched her belly lightly, realising with a shiver that this was yet another thing she must conceal from Ravana—assuming that it was possible to conceal anything from his powerful sorcery. Devi alone knew how he might alter his intentions if he knew that he had not only Rama’s wife but his unborn child as well within his power. She was about to embark upon a war of her own. A war of wills.

  Maa, mujhe shakti de, she prayed. Mother, give me strength.

  The night remained still and silent around her. After a moment, the forest began to alter its appearance, changing to a new form. She waited in the midst of the shape-shifting jungle, waited for whatever destiny her karma had brought her to.

  FIVE

  ‘Rama!’

  Even above the crashing of the waves, the sly whinging of seagulls and the thrumming of the wind in his ears, he could never mistake Lakshman’s voice, faint and obscured by wind and distance though it was. He turned his head into the wind and scoured the mist-obscured landscape. He was on the highest point overlooking the shore but despite the advantage of height, he could barely see anything. He had to strain his crow-perfect sight to see what he sought.

  To his right, the rocky pile overlooking the shore undulated into the mist, parts of it alternately swallowed by and revealed by the mistbank. The incessant thunder of the ocean below, rendered completely invisible by the mist, made the rocky bulge, upon which he stood, seem detached and unanchored to the earth, a floating island in a world besieged by white darkness.

  ‘Rama!’

  Lakshman’s faint voice resounded and wavered and seemed to come from several directions at once. It was accompanied by the more reliable sound of fast-approaching footfalls crunching distantly upon the gravelly sand. He estimated that Lakshman was still a good quarter-mile away. He waited patiently. His bow and his sword were close enough at hand, should his senses prove to be deceiving him and the source of the voice turn out to be something other than what it seemed. Anything was possible, here on land’s end, within crow’s flight of Lanka.

  Overhead, the mournful shrieks of unseen seagulls mocked the fading echoes of his brother’s voice, overlapped by the relentless, grinding, crashing of the ocean, the eternal clock by which all things measured themselves; Rama had measured his own patience against that remorseless pounding rhythm these past days and found it tested to the limits. And this mist … even standing high and squinting hard, it was several moments before he could glimpse the shadowy silhouette of Lakshman sprinting towards him across the grass-topped rise. The dimly viewed figure of his brother leaped lithely to avoid the slimy barnacle-encrusted blackrock that lay like demon droppings everywhere. Rama’s heart thudded briefly: Lakshman would not be running and yelling with such vigour unless some new crisis was looming, or unless he had very good news. Either one would be better than this endless waiting in mucky weather upon the cusp of the world.

  Through the swirling eddies of mist below, he could make out something … there. An approaching shadow, moving with a peculiar gait that was neither wholly vanarlike nor mortal. His brother was loping across the sandy dunes with the speedy but measured gait they had both acquired over the past weeks of hard long-distance running. It was far more effective to maintain a steady if slightly slower pace than to sprint and endanger oneself needlessly. They had learned this from Angad and his vanars; vanars did not sprint in breath-stealing bursts, instead they bounded steadily in a four-pointed loping gait that could be maintained all day—as indeed they had maintained it for most of the days since the company had left Kiskindha. Adjusting their own stance to suit their not-so-flexible mortal spines, the two humans had been able to pace the vanars well enough, earning further admiration from their proto-simian comrades.

  As he watched, the tiny figure began to take the shape of a man running. Strips of fog clung to Lakshman as he loped, entwining themselves sinuously around his limbs before dissipating. Denser banks obscured him completely, like a thick veil pulled across, then away. This wretched ocean fog. It had rolled in overnight, blocking all sight of the ocean and coast, and by noon today, it had grown thick enough in patches to obscure one’s fingers if held outstretched. Rama thought of what it might be like to fight a battle in these conditions, then dismissed the thought. He had heard enough of Lakshman’s laments about the ill-preparedness of the vanar sena already. They were too indisciplined, too unpredictable, too superstitious, too … everything except what a formidable fighting force ought to be, by Lakshman’s standards. The mist had been just one more factor to feed his brother’s anxiety.

  For the vanars feared ocean mist greatly. They even had a term for it, Rakshasakaluka. Cloak of Rakshasas. They believed it was conjured up by the rakshasas of Lanka to steal across the ocean to the mainland. No amount of persuading by Rama or Lakshman about the fear that rakshasas themselves felt for ocean brine could convince them. As long as they could recall, vanars had regarded ocean mist to be an unnatural phenomenon created by asura maya—the powerful art of demoniac sorcery—and was literally a living thing capable of transforming into demon warriors at any moment. The fact that it came from the ocean, that vast saline desert—the vanar term for ocean literally translated as ocean of brine—certainly fed their superstitious fear.

  Cowed by the combined presence of ocean mist and the ocean itself, the entire vanar army of Kiskindha had retired to the nearest thicket a yojana or two inland, where they crouched miserably on treetops, awaiting the passing of the mist (and, hopefully, the disappearance of that vast expanse of saline water as well!). No amount of persuasion, coercing, and even outright threats from their leader Angad, could made them come down. Two whole days passed thus.

  After seeing no demons emerging from it and reluctantl
y accepting that this was not the mythic rakshasakaluka of their legends, the vanars of Kiskindha then began to claim that the mist was an evil instrument of the lord of Lanka, sent to confuse them into losing their sense of direction and drowning in the vast water-desert. At that point, early this morning, Lakshman had stormed away from them in disgust, telling Rama that at this rate, they might as well raise an army of rabbits to go fight Lanka.

  Rama took it in his stride. Before leaving Kiskindha, Hanuman had explained to him how unthinkable a concept the ocean itself was to vanarkind. It was one thing for them to be ordered by their king to go forth, cross the ocean and invade Lanka, and quite another to actually be confronted by that vast undulating desert of briny death. To most vanars, the ocean was something mythic, something they had heard about in tribe-mothers’ tales while they nursed at the breast, or at best a legend mentioned in the adventures of famous heroic vanars of long ago. To actually see it with their own bulbous vanar eyes was a shock to their system that would take some overcoming.

  Rama suspected that now that the vanars were here upon the shore at last, the enormity of the task ahead had struck them immobile, and they needed time to recover their wits and courage. He had let them skulk. They had to wait for Hanuman to join up with them anyway. The vanar was long overdue: they had expected to find him here when they arrived three days ago. But perhaps there was news of him at last, or why else would Lakshman be running and yelling at the top of his voice in this kind of weather?

  ‘Rama!’

  Lakshman’s voice was louder and clearer now, but still the illusion remained that they were in some kind of a canyon or closed-in valley. The two syllables of Rama’s name seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then were absorbed by the distant crashing of invisible waves against the monolithic blackrock. Lakshman had broached the rise and was running uphill, closing in with strong, swift strides. As his brother came closer, Rama saw sand and tiny pebbles fly up in spurts behind Lakshman’s feet, puncturing the mist.