His hand curled into a fist.
For the first time in his life, Vibhisena longed for a sword, an axe, a mace, anything to wield, to stop this torrent of psychological torture, to punish these despicable creatures for ganging up on a solitary, unarmed, unprotesting woman thus. Never before had he been so tempted to violent response.
With great effort, he reined in the savage impulse and muttered a mantra of peace beneath his breath: Om Shanti. Shanti Om.
The moment passed, slowly and reluctantly.
He stepped forward.
‘ENOUGH!’ he said, startling even himself by the loudness of his voice. It sounded like another person altogether, so unfamiliar was he with the sound of his own voice raised in anger. ‘Stop this at once,’ he said in only a slightly softer tone.
His hands trembled with barely concealed rage.
One of the rakshasis turned slowly, unafraid and uncowed. He recognised them at once: Mandodhari’s sakhis. He had never paid them much heed until today. Now, he marked their faces closely, carefully, as if marking the faces of enemies for future reference upon the battlefield. They looked at him unafraid. He realised that shouting had been a mistake: Ravana was the only one they truly feared. And Ravana would never have shouted. He would have killed them all without saying a word if he desired. Only a dog that did not wish to bite, barked instead. They looked at him indifferently, as they might look at a passerby on a street walking past.
One of them whispered something to the biggest rakshasi of the group—Vibhisena couldn’t recall her name—and she chortled. ‘So, feeble one. Are you come to have your way with your brother’s new keep?’
The other one, the one who had whispered just now, said slyly, ‘I hear you can only find arousal with mortals. Is it true, my lord?’
They all laughed uproariously at that.
‘Silence,’ he said. Then wished he hadn’t. Telling them to be silent was as effective as asking a pack of stray dogs to stop barking. ‘Leave this place at once. I wish to have words with Princess Sita.’
‘Words?’ The rakshasi leered knowingly. ‘It shall take more than words to accomplish what you have in mind, master!’
He glared angrily at them all. They threw a few more suggestive looks and lewd gestures his way, then, to his great relief, shambled off into the woods. He heard them laughing raucously as they went. He waited for their voices to grow distant, until he was certain they were not waiting and watching in secret. Then he crouched down before the Ashoka tree against which she was still leaning.
‘My lady.’
The curled figure at the base of the tree did not stir.
‘Princess Sita Janaki, wife of Rama Chandra, daughter-inlaw of Rani Kausalya. First princess of Ayodhya.’
Still, there was no response. Her face remained buried in the cloister of her knees, her hands still covering her ears. There was dirt and bits of dried leaves in her hair, and he could see welts and bruises and nicks where they had scratched and poked and nudged her.
‘Devi,’ he pleaded. ‘I mean you no harm. I come as a friend.’
Still, she did not move or respond in any way. An awful thought occurred to him. He leaned closer, to try and see if her body moved with her breath. To see if she yet lived. For all he knew …
‘’Tis no use.’
He jerked back, startled. Then realised that the voice had come from somewhere to the right. He peered through the gloom, for it was shadier in this part of the forest level than elsewhere. He could hear the sound of water falling somewhere not far away, and, in the silence, the sound of rakshasi voices and splashing water.
She was standing by a sala tree, her white tresses wild and unmanageable, her eyes drooping and sad. She looked as if she had survived a hurricane.
‘I know you,’ he said. ‘You are … ’
She did not help him out. Instead she said, ‘They have been torturing her continually for the past day and night. I fear for her sanity.’
He glanced back at the huddled woman, alarmed. Then realised who had just imparted this information, and looked back at the rakshasi. ‘You people—’ he began.
‘Not I, master. I tried to stop them. But they would not heed me. My mistress gave them licence to do with her as they pleased as long as they did not harm her bodily.’
Mandodhari? How could she have ordered such treatment, let alone condoned it? He would have words with her at once. But first …
‘And why do you feel so kindly towards her?’ he asked, his anger at the others harshening his tone. ‘Did you have your fill of verbal battering and then retire for a brief respite? To regain your strength for another round of mind-numbing brutality?’
She was not insulted by his allegations. Her sad face told him another story. ‘I saw this in a vision. The master taking her by force. Her husband and husband’s brother leading a great army here. The destruction of our land and our kind. The end of Lanka.’
He recalled her name suddenly. ‘Trijata. I remember now, you’re the one who claims to be able to see the future.’
‘And the past. And the present. I see what I am shown. Mostly, I do not know what they mean.’ She looked away suddenly, her voice turning sharp, her eyes flashing angrily. ‘I did not wish for these visions! I do not want them! Why do you plague me thus, Goddess?’
He saw an opportunity. A possible ally. ‘Trijata, we are all given roles to play. Not of our choosing. We must make the best of what we are given.’
She looked at him with a dead, ghostly light in her pupils, as if they reflected scenes from other worlds, other lifetimes. He resisted the urge to crawl closer, to look into those pupils and see the tiny reflections that lay within. He had a sense that if he did that, he might never be the same again.
‘And what is my role, master? To see nightmares of damnation and destruction? And be powerless to prevent it?’
She shook her head, her hair flying hither and thither like a curtain of ragged coarsecloth. ‘Better dead than thus.’
‘You can help her,’ he said gently. ‘Save her from the torture of your fellows. Protect her.’
She laughed. It was an ugly sound, teeth-grating. ‘Me? Vikata can pick me up and break me upon her thigh with one hand. I am old and weary from too many visions. My brain is curdled from all the terrors I have foreseen. I can do nothing except wait and watch.’
‘You must do something,’ he said. ‘Has she been fed at all? Has she been allowed to take water or nourishment? Bathe? Sleep awhile? She must be allowed to sustain herself, or she will not survive long.’
She shrugged. ‘What will be, will be. If we can do nothing to prevent it, what good does it do to act at all?’
‘Because it is our dharma,’ he said angrily. ‘Only through the karma we perform, the actions we execute in this lifetime, can we hope to break free of the endless cycle of rebirth. Do you wish to be forever chained to your role? To continue seeing visions of terrible ends and be powerless forever to stop them? You may not prevent what is inevitable, but you can change some part of it at least. And by each action you perform, you redeem yourself. Do it for your own eternal soul, if not for this blameless woman.’
She stared at him silently, her eyes glittering in the dappled shadows of the shaded grove.
The sound of splashing came clearly on the wind, the laughter of rakshasis. ‘Trijata,’ he said earnestly. ‘Your fellow sakhis are occupied for the nonce. Use this time to fetch her some food and drink. Try to persuade her to take some nourishment. And keep them away from her for as long as you can. Do this and you will earn yourself a lifetime’s worth of blessing.’ He rose, starting to turn away.
‘And where do you go, master?’ she asked.
He replied grimly: ‘To seek out your mistress and put a stop to this despicable behaviour.’
FIVE
Vibhisena was waiting on the steps of the temple when Mandodhari emerged. A chariot stood nearby, the horses foaming at the mouth. From the paleness of his face and the angry red sp
ots on his high cheekbones, she knew her brotherin-law was angry. It was rare to see Vibhisena in the throes of any strong emotion. And anger was the rarest of them all.
Yet he was silent and patient as she offered him the pooja thali to take the sacred blessings from the flickering diya flame, applied a red tikka to his forehead, and offered him prasad, the sanctified fruits of the ceremony. Performing these simple ritualistic actions seemed to alleviate some of his anger. Only when he spoke, an uncharacteristic tightness in his tone betrayed that he was not his usual serene self.
‘Sister, I always took you for a woman of dharma.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that the precept of dharma as followed by us rakshasas, or the mortal interpretation of it.’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean? Dharma is dharma. There are no two versions of it.’
‘But of course there are. It is written in the sacred texts. Dharma shall be interpreted differently by different peoples, and by the same people at different points in time. In the first age alone shall dharma be universally understood in the same manner by one and all and practised diligently by everyone in the three worlds. In each subsequent one of the four yugas, the great ages into which time is divided, the practise of dharma will progressively diminish as people descend into baser thought and action. And this, as you well know, is nearly the close of the second age.’
‘What has that to do with mortals and us? How can the mortal interpretation of dharma be different from our own? What is right is right, wrong is wrong. Nothing can alter that basic truth.’
‘Yet truth itself is always debatable. Do you know—of course you know, how could I forget that you are more learned even than I, but still, excuse me as I remind you of these trivial details—you know that the very word we use for truth, artha, in fact means wealth? Because the ancients believed that truth was wealth, knowledge the greatest possession of all. Yet with every passing age we grow more impoverished, for while we accumulate the physical trappings of superficial wealth, we lose the ultimate source of wealth itself, truth. And that great storehouse is looted by us without respect or regard for its real value. So think carefully, brother-of-my-husband. This truth you speak of. How did you come by this truth? Did you perceive the events in question yourself or were you told what happened by another party? What vested interest might that party have? Even if you saw the events unfold with your own senses, from what perspective did you witness them? Everything changes everything, dear brother-in-law. You must know that.’
He gestured impatiently. ‘I am not here to debate the laws of causality and metaphysics. I am here to ask you to do a simple thing: Your rakshasis are terrorising the mortal prisoner. You must ask them to stop at once. They will drive her insane if they continue. I beg you, go there at once and command them to cease their verbal torture.’
‘How do you know that they are the ones terrorising her and not she terrorising them?’ she asked calmly.
He stared at her. ‘What do you mean, sister? She is unarmed and defenceless, a mortal woman alone and imprisoned against her will. A gang of fierce rakshasis surround her, badgering and abusing and taunting her at all times. Terrorising her. I have seen and heard them doing this with my own eyes. There is no debate about the facts in the matter. No matter how you interpret it, this is a crime against dharma. No prisoner deserves to be treated thus, let alone a woman we claim is our guest!’
She took a few steps, gazing out at the view, pristine and splendid. The evening sunlight was gentle on her upturned face. ‘And if a soldier on a battlefield picks up a spear and flings it to a foe, is he going against dharma?’
He shook his head, unable to see her point. ‘What does that have to do with the condition of Princess Sita?’
‘Everything, Vibhisena,’ she said, turning back sharply. She was offended by his use of the mortal female’s name. ‘This is war. The mortals are at war with us. Do not mistake it for anything less. That woman betrayed her own spouse and seduced mine. She sought to become queen of Lanka and replace me. She thinks she is shrewd enough to win no matter what happens. If Ravana prevails, as I pray daily he will, then she will no doubt seek to inveigle herself into his bed and upon his throne, to secure her future. Alternately, if her husband, the conniving mortal that he is, wins the coming war, then she will no doubt turn back to him, batting those big doe eyes, and say she did all this for him, to aid him in his campaign. And he would probably believe her—why, for all we know, he is the one who thought up this whole deception! Either way, she is the enemy. And why should we show the enemy any sympathy when they will show us none? Do you think when her husband comes here with an army he will not try to terrorise us? To massacre our people? To commit genocide as he has done before?’
Vibhisena shook his head despairingly. ‘You have been deceived by my brother’s manipulations again. Do you not see? Everything he told us in his quarters was a lie? He has fabricated a whole tapestry of events designed to show himself as a hero and Rama as a villain. I did not wish to say anything before him because he would only deny it all. So I held my peace. But I went to see the princess Sita thereafter and what I saw was proof enough of his lies. He has used your rakshasis to break her down by constant terrorising and intimidation. The poor woman is under great duress, even risk of physical harm. You must intervene and tell your sakhis to stop at once. They will listen to you.’
She looked out at the view again before saying calmly, ‘It was not Ravana who ordered them to remain with Sita. It was I.’
He reared back in astonishment, his hand flying to his open mouth in a typical effeminate gesture that she had always disliked. ‘My lady! What were you thinking? Surely you were misled by Ravana or manipulated. He—’
‘He had nothing to do with it,’ she said coldly, seeking to warn him by the steel of her tone. ‘I went to see her of my own free will and I put my sakhis upon her. I wish to get the truth from her own ugly lips. Is not that what you seek as well? The truth? What else is the goal of dharma after all? To support the truth. Believe me, my sakhis will get the truth out of her, given time.’
‘But that is torture! You cannot—’ He stopped. ‘My lady, you have been severely misled. Ravana has twisted all the known facts to suit his own grotesque misinterpretation. He has recreated a version of events that only shows himself in the best light and Rama in the worst.’
She waited a beat before asking: ‘And do you not think Rama has been doing the same?’
He blinked. ‘Doing what?’
‘Narrating events to show himself in the best light and Ravana in the worst?’
He faltered. ‘Quite possibly. But that is the truth. Rama—’
‘Stop right there, Vibhisena. What do you mean? Rama’s version is the truth and my husband’s version is lies and deception? On what basis do you reach that conclusion?’
‘On the f-f-facts before us,’ he stammered. ‘Rama is a man of dharma. That is well known.’
‘Not to rakshasas, it is not. My husband is a man of dharma. Has not Ravana received great boons from the devas for his long penance and devotion?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And has not Rama been evicted by his own family because he threatened his own brother’s rightful ascension to the throne.’
Vibhisena shook his head vigorously, but said, ‘Yes, but—’
‘And Rama did indeed commit genocide at Mithila when he unleashed the forbidden weapon, did he not?’
‘My lady—’
‘And what of our cousin Supanakha’s disfigurement? You accept that surely—you saw her state yourself when she arrived here months ago. Before she was restored? You cannot deny that? Nor can you deny the destruction of fourteen thousand rakshasas, the last of their clans, whose only crime was their defence of their sister-rakshasi Supanakha and claiming of retribution for her mutilation, a crime punishable by death under our laws.’
He sighed wearily. ‘Of course I do not deny these things. But they are all misinterpreted by Rav
ana. He has altered the point of view to make it conveniently in his favour. So by his reckoning, he is the one who is following dharma. But in truth, Rama’s way—’
She laughed, the sound thin and empty beneath the open sky. He stared at her in mute bafflement. ‘So there you go at last. Admitting it yourself. Finally. You concede that dharma is interpreted differently by Rama and Ravana, depending upon the perspective from which they individually perceive events. And because all those in conflict must of necessity have conflicting viewpoints, therefore they will interpret dharma by their own standards.’ She gestured widely, as if indicating the far distant future. ‘Who knows, millennia from now, when the record of these events is retold by future scribes, there may be two versions of the story: Rama’s version. And Ravana’s version.’
He looked nonplussed. ‘This whole debate notwithstanding, my lady, you must know that Ravana has committed a great wrong. The lady Sita is a prisoner in the tower, not a visitor as he has led us all to believe. She is a prisoner against her will.’
She shrugged. ‘Indeed.’
He looked surprised, almost hopeful. ‘Then you agree that—’
‘I agree that she is a prisoner of war. And she must be treated as such. Besides, no bodily harm has been caused to her yet, has it? We are well within our dharma to demand from her that she confess the truth. War criminals and spies can be questioned, even roughly. That is not a violation of the rules of war.’
‘Not harmed?’ he asked. ‘Yes, you may be right in the most superficial of senses. She has no bones broken or blood shed, it is true, not yet, that is,’ he conceded angrily, ‘but at the rate your sakhis are bullying her—’
Wearily, for she was tiring of this argument now, of Vibhisena’s whingeing stubbornness, ‘What would you have me do, Vibhisena? Treat her like a queen, put her in my own apartments, in my husband’s bed? And turn against my husband, accuse him as a villain who, according to your interpretation, has engineered this grand scheme?’
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 20