But the Sita he had found in Lanka had been a pale shadow of that woman. A half-starved, beaten-down, spirit-battered person who was sustaining herself on faith and courage alone. A woman who understood, as he did, that the battle for dharma was more important than the battle for survival. Her last words still rang in his ears. My life is no longer the only thing at stake here. Rama’s honour is what matters most. Now, go, loyal friend of my husband. Go, fly. And take these, my last words, to Rama.
They were the words of a woman who was prepared to die for her husband’s and her own honour rather take the easy way out and save her mortal body. Despite her admonition to him to leave, despite the fact that he knew that Rama must be waiting in agony for his return, even though he knew that Ravana would sooner give up his ten heads than let his prize catch go, he had still lingered here in this kingdom of demons. Because he knew that those last words had not been a slip of her tongue. She was facing death shortly. And if there was even the slimmest chance that he could prevent that, then he would do anything and everything he could.
The dustcloud materialised into a clutch of chariots. Beautiful, burnished things they were, like all else he had seen in Lanka. Golden arched, gem-studded, and designed like masterpieces of art rather than mere horse-drawn vehicles for transportation. He counted seven and almost felt disappointed. Was that all? Well, these fellows must be good warriors, or they would not have sent only seven. He inhaled deeply, cleansing his mind of all distractions, and strode forward to give the approaching enemies more accessible routes to attack him.
***
Supanakha recognised the seven charioteers who approached. They were all renowned fighters, masters of archery and macecraft and … of all kinds of weaponry and fighting. Each of them represented one of the seven major tribes of the rakshasa race, which was to say, the seven tribes that had survived. Their chariots were adorned with satin banners decorated with the sigil and totem of their tribes. She also noted that they were the sons of Ravana’s seven ministers of governance, which meant they had inherited not only their father’s ambitions but their rivalries as well. A smile flickered on her face. Ravana must have offered a hefty reward to the one who would down the vanar. It would add an element of competitiveness that would spice up the encounter.
They had obviously been informed of the vanar’s exploits already. None made any attempt to halt and parley, or to give the vanar any opportunity to do so. Instead, all seven drove their chariots straight at Hanuman, converging on him like a pack of wolves upon a bleeding carcass. As they approached, she heard shouts and caught snatches of words in several rakshasa dialects. They were egging each other on, taunting one another with boastful claims of who would be the first to draw blood, the first to chop off a limb, and so on.
Hanuman stood impassively, facing their charge without any attempt to defend himself. He had no weapon in his hands, Supanakha noted. Not for want of them; there were any number of weapons at hand. The hundreds of slain kumbhas lying about had no need of them anymore. But the vanar stood barehanded and straight-backed, staring at the oncoming chariot charge without a flicker of emotion.
His body still bore the heads of the arrows shot into him by Jambumali. He had made no attempt to remove these either. Those wounds would be enough to down any warrior, mortal, deva, rakshasa—or vanar. But Hanuman seemed not to notice or care about them at all. Blood oozed from several places on his body, staining him further. Against the lush, green grass of the hillside, he appeared to be a statue carved out of red marble.
As the charioteers came within arrowshot, they drew their bows and began firing. They used the tactic of most chariot-archers during battle, each shooting several arrows at once. A slew of arrows flew towards Hanuman. At the same time, the vanar moved forward, starting to run towards the chariots.
The first hail of arrows fell to earth. Hanuman was already yards ahead when they landed, bristling harmlessly on the grassy soil. He picked up speed, running faster. He still had not expanded himself, she noted, and wondered why. Then she understood: fair play. These stupid mortals and their dharmic principles. It was the reason why the vanar had allowed Jambumali to shoot him full of arrows before retaliating, and it was the reason why he was restraining his use of powers now.
The charioteers loosed again, this time aiming far lower, to anticipate the target moving towards them. The arrows flew in a line parallel with the ground. Hanuman increased his pace rather than slowing, running into the hail of arrows. Supanakha watched with great interest: the vanar would resemble a hedgehog’s rear after that lot landed.
Then Hanuman increased speed so much, he literally became a blur. He vibrated at such speed that he was able to dodge the arrows, moving faster than them, and skirting each one deftly. It almost looked like he was passing through the shower of missiles and they were passing through him, but Supanakha understood at once that he was in fact dodging them but at a speed so great that the naked eye could not actually see him move.
The charioteers had grown silent. They had loosed enough arrows already to slow down a legion. And the vanar was still unharmed—unharmed by their arrows at least—and still coming directly at them.
They discarded their bows quickly, taking up a variety of weapons. They spurred their horses on with their free hands, aiming to do what every charioteer does in a battle charge: run their opponent down.
Hanuman leaped into the air. He did not fly above them, though he could. Nor did he fly past them, as he also could have done. He flew at them.
The vanar leaped directly at the closest approaching chariot, and kicked out with his bare feet. The gold-adorned cupola was torn from its stand so hard, it went flying away like a discus. Hanuman landed on the rim of the chariot’s front well, and balanced there as easily as a thin monkey on a fat branch. The charioteer, a young sarpa rakshasa named Anjunani that Supanakha had once spent a pleasant hour or two with in the palace of pleasures, swung a mace edged with curved blades at the vanar’s thigh.
Hanuman got inside the angle of the blow and grasped the rakshasa’s arm. He snapped it off like a twig, wrenching it loose from its shocked owner’s body. He backhanded the arm, mace and all, at its owner, smashing his face and torso like an overripe blood-orange. A shower of rakshasa blood exploded into the sunlit air.
Before the rakshasa’s spraying blood had touched the ground, Hanuman had already leaped into the air. He lunged directly at the next chariot. The driver of this one was holding a longspear tipped with a barbed point. Hanuman caught hold of the spear and drove it back into the owner, putting his entire weight behind it. The blunt wooden end of the spear gored into the rakshasa’s neck and spewed out the other side. Before the rakshasa could fall back into his chariot, Hanuman had already leaped again to the next one.
Supanakha watched in admiring amazement as the vanar flew and whirled through the air, crushing one charioteerrakshasa’s head with his thighs—his thighs!—as he fended off the sword thrusts of another with his bare hands, then tore the banner pole from a chariot and used it as a spear, thrust straight into the heart of the sword-wielder. Another rakshasa whirled a bladed throwing ball overhead. Before he could loose it, Hanuman lunged at his feet, grabbed his legs, picked him up bodily, then whirled him about, weapon and all. The last two attacked him together from front and rear simultaneously, displaying a rare moment of inter-tribe solidarity. Hanuman threw himself backwards feet-first at the one behind him, caught his neck between his feet, then flew forward and grasped the throat of the other one. Then he somersaulted sideways, slamming both bodies into the ground with enough force to break both in half. Somersaulting once more, he landed on his feet on soft grass in a shower of rakshasa blood.
FIFTEEN
Mandodhari frowned at her brother-in-law. Vibhisena was visibly excited, something she had not seen very often before. She was wary as she came out of her bedchamber to receive him in the parlour, assuming that he was going to press the case for Sita once again. If so, she was ready
to throw him out at once. She had no wish to hear the mortal woman’s name uttered again, in any connection. But the first words from his mouth had nothing to do with Rama’s wife.
‘An emissary from Rama is here, inside the tower,’ he said without preamble or formal greetings, another significant departure. ‘He is on a rampage.’
She gestured at her sakhis to leave them alone. Vikata scowled. The rakshasi had been ill-tempered ever since the scene in the court. Being chain-whipped by a mortal, that too an unarmed, half-starved, human female, had not done much for the sakhi’s ego. Mandodhari had no doubt that if she were not kept within constant of her mistress, Vikata would have no compunctions in stealing back upstairs to the prisoner’s level and tearing Sita to bloody shreds with her nails and her teeth. She would face Ravana’s wrath afterwards, and would be condemned to a painful and quick death, but that would not matter. Rakshasis like Vikata were accustomed to killing first and thinking later. Mandodhari cared a hang if that had happened, but even though she didn’t mind Sita being eaten alive by Vikata, she looked forward more to seeing the mortal woman publicly paraded and then executed as a criminal of the state. So, since there was a tussle between the mistress’s preferred way of seeing the mortal prisoner die and the sakhi’s, naturally the mistress had won. But only just.
Vikata left the queen’s palace apartments in bad humour. If it were possible to slam a door, she would have done so. As it was, the Pushpak’s portal slid shut behind her as silently and smoothly as ever.
Mandodhari looked at her brother-in-law. He was so excited, his hands were trembling. ‘Sit down, Vibhisena,’ she said shortly. She had not enjoyed their last conversation. If she entertained him now, it was only because she knew that she had won the battle of wills. And after all, he was still her brother-in-law. Even if he was a mortal-lover.
He sat down. His thighs twitched and he placed his hands on his lap, trying to still the twitching. ‘It is a vanar. Named Hanuman. He is empowered by some Brahman shakti given to him by Rama.’
‘A vanar,’ she repeated tonelessly. ‘That’s the species of animal that looks like and lives like monkeys and apes, isn’t it? And you say he has gone on a rampage? Here in Lanka?’ She felt a smile come to her face. ‘What kind of rampage? Smashing glass and china? Stealing sweetmeats from the kitchen?’
He did not laugh or smile. ‘No, my sister-in-law. He has destroyed the palace of pleasures, and the prayer world, and several other levels and realms that even I had not known existed. It seems he has ranged freely through the realms of the tower, destroying and demolishing everything in sight. He has caused a great deal of destruction.’
She raised her eyebrows. It sounded like the subject of a comic street performance, one of those things where feebleminded rakshasas tumbled and danced and smashed open their skulls or cut off fingers to get a few laughs from their equally feeble street audiences. ‘Are you sure your information is correct, Vibhisena?’
He nodded vigorously, wiping sweat from his neck with the end of his anga-vastra. It was practically drenched with perspiration, she noted, as were the rest of his garments. ‘Aye, milady. It is the talk of Lanka. Did your sakhis not tell you about it? But then, they deliberately keep you ill-informed and spy on you for Ravana.’ He shook his head as she opened her mouth to protest. ‘No, let us not argue now. I only came to tell you these things because I wish you to come with me to Ravana.’
‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Because he is out of control. He does not understand the vanar’s powers and he will not listen to anyone who tries to tell him. I have already tried thrice to gain access to the throne room, but he has barred me.’
‘I am not surprised,’ she said. ‘This sounds to me like a matter for the royal guard.’
He clucked his tongue impatiently. ‘The royal guard is almost completely destroyed. So are the kinkaras.’
She blinked. ‘What? Destroyed? By whom?’
‘By the vanar, my lady, did you not hear what I said earlier? He is on a rampage! Blood and destruction. He will destroy all of Lanka if he is not stopped. But Ravana thinks he can be stopped by brute force, and that is completely absurd. He does not understand the extent of this creature’s powers.’
She leaned forward, stunned. ‘Are you telling me that this vanar intruder, an emissary from Rama, has single-handedly killed the royal guard and the kinkaras?’
‘And Marshal Prahasta. His son Jambumali. One entire kumbha-rakshasa legion. The seven champions of our seven ministers. And now Ravana has ordered five more legions, led by five generals, to join the attack. And they are being slaughtered as well.’
She rose to her feet, her hands flying to her mouth in disbelief. ‘But this is impossible. A single enemy? A vanar? How?’
‘He is the son of the wind god, Vayu. But his powers were realised and activated only because of his devotion to Rama. He fights for dharma. He came here to ask that Sita be released and permitted to go back with him. But Ravana will not even listen to his petition. He thinks that by throwing armies and warriors at him, he can destroy the vanar. He does not understand that this is no mere warrior.’
She looked around, unable to process this flood of shocking news. ‘Why was I not told about this—’ She stopped herself. Perhaps there was some truth in Vibhisena’s accusations after all. All this while, she had thought she was the one keeping an eye on Vikata. What if it had been the other way around? ‘But even if I agree with you, Vibhisena, what do you expect me to do? Ravana is handling the situation, isn’t he? Even I don’t presume to match his knowledge of military matters. This is beyond me, or even you.’
He sighed, wringing his hands. ‘My lady, he knows that he cannot deal with the vanar by force alone. That is why, even after sending in the five generals and their legions, he has still sent for two more warriors.’
‘So?’
He looked at her with large, unhappy eyes. ‘He has sent for your sons, Indrajit and Akshay Kumar. He intends to send them in to battle the vanar. And if they do so, they will be killed just like the others. Only you can stop him. Not as a wife, or as a queen. But as a mother.’
***
Supanakha howled with glee at the sight of the five generals of Lanka lying on the battlefield. The entire level, once nothing more than an idyllic rustic landscape, a perfect replica of the southern part of Lanka, had been turned into one vast charnel house. She scanned the hundreds upon hundreds of corpses of foot-soldiers of various rakshasa tribes, shattered chariots, slain broken-surs and horses. It looked like the aftermath of a clash between two sizeable armies. Hard to believe that one vanar had wreaked so much death and destruction.
Hanuman was standing in the midst of the carnage, looking at the bodies of the fallen generals. He turned his head as she approached cautiously, pausing now and then to take a nip from one, a lick of another. ‘I tried to tell them. But they would not listen. Why will nobody hear my plea? Do they wish me to destroy the whole of Lanka?’
Supanakha chuckled.
He looked at her. ‘Why do you laugh? Do you find the death of your fellow rakshasas amusing?’
‘Rakshasas, mortals, devas, asuras … they all die sometime or other,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t let myself get upset over it. I was laughing at your hubris.’
‘Hubris?’
‘Do you really think this is all of Lanka?’ She gestured with a nod of her head and a grin. ‘This is all illusion, a non-place created by the Pushpak. Nothing you do here will destroy the real Lanka.’
He pointed at the field strewn with corpses. ‘Are all these illusions too? Non-rakshasas?’
She lost her smile. ‘They’re real. And yes, they were some of Ravana’s best warriors. But mark my words, I said ‘some of’. He has many more champions to replace these. You haven’t yet faced the worst yet. He’s underestimated you, that’s all.’
Hanuman regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Who are the best, then?’
She chortled. ‘Think
I would tell you that? Not in a million years! I enjoy watching you slay his incompetent goons. I’m sure sooner or later he’ll send a couple slightly less incompetent ones your way. You’ll find out for yourself.’
He shook his head. ‘I will kill them all. No rakshasa will stop me.’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘Vain for a vanar, aren’t you? You don’t know what Ravana is really capable of, my simian friend. And you haven’t even seen his real champions. Why, take just one for instance. Kumbha—’ She broke off. ‘You almost tricked me there.’ She grinned. ‘Anyway. Once Ravana’s oversized ego accepts that you’re more than the run-of-the-mill warrior, you’ll have your chance to test that assumption to the limit.’
She cocked her ears. The sound of a conch shell blowing was audible. It was coming from just over the next rise. ‘I think you may get your chance sooner than you think.’
She backed away, then stopped and looked back. He was still standing in the same place, as if rooted to the ground. ‘In case I don’t get an opportunity to exchange pleasantries with you again, let me take this time to say that you aren’t half bad at all. The last opponent I saw who could harry Ravana’s forces so skilfully was … Rama.’
He looked pleased at that. She chuckled and scampered away to find a safe perch from which to observe the next round in this conflict.
***
Ravana was pacing the throne dais when Mandodhari burst in. She came in the old-fashioned way, through the door. The surprised sentries on duty had to dance aside to avoid being struck by the doors. She strode up the carpeted aisle, her white robes billowing, face as dark with fury as a stormcloud over a black ocean. Vibhisena followed behind her, wringing his hands and muttering mantras.
The assembled ministers and generals turned to look at her with only slight curiosity. Everyone’s attention was riveted on the image depicted upon the water-screen. Few were seated. Most stood about, anxious looks on their faces. Several wore fixed snarls on their snouted faces, others expressions of shocked disbelief.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 39