Indrajit sprang to his feet. ‘My father is doing just that,’ he said. ‘He is implementing a wise and just decision. If you respect his kingship, then do not presume to question his verdict. Let the vanar be put to death.’
A chorus of resounding approval seconded his words.
Vibhisena continued to appeal to Ravana directly, ignoring everyone else. ‘My lord, my king … ’ he added forcefully, ‘my brother. I feel the pain of Akshay Kumar’s death too. He was my nephew as well. I have watched him grow and play and learn. I share my sister’s grief at his loss. But he was a warrior. And he died a warrior’s death. He will be honoured and commemorated forever. His name will come to be taken by any hero who seeks to prove that he is the epitome of beauty, grace and martial skill. But you are not only a father. You are a king first and foremost, and as a king, it is your moral duty to put righteousness before your personal ends. If you desire revenge, then go seek the persons who sent this emissary here. Fight Rama! Kill Rama if you will. Or better yet, send out emissaries of your own, tell them to go to Rama’s camp and wage a battle with his forces. But if you do this, if you kill this emissary after he has surrendered peaceably and trusted your fairness and morality, then you will be casting a slur on your name that will never be erased. You have heard how highly this vanar thinks of you, how effusive his praises. He considers you a paragon of dharma, as virtuous a personage as his own master, whom he compares to a deva. That is akin to calling you a deva too! How can you repay such veneration with vengeance? I pray to you, reconsider your judgement. Inflict any pain or penalty upon this vanar for the violence he has done, but do not put him to death and spoil your own good name.’
The court exploded in a flurry of outrage, some rakshasas spewing ichor and venom and others yelling at a hundred different pitches until the din was deafening.
Ravana raised a finger.
Silence fell as suddenly as a dropped stone.
‘I have listened to your arguments, Vibhisena. And for once, I agree with you. The vanar’s actions are deserving of punishment. But because he is an emissary and because he willingly submitted himself and allowed himself to be bound and brought here, it would be morally reprehensible to execute him. He will not be killed. Instead, we will punish him in another way, appropriate to his actions.’
The silence continued, but its quality altered to one of stunned shock. Nobody could believe what they were hearing, least of all Vibhisena himself.
He found his voice at last. ‘You are great and merciful, my lord Ravana. You will be eternally praised for your wisdom shown at this juncture of history. Your name will be recorded and remembered for all posterity as a king who upheld dharma and the laws of warcraft.’
He turned to Hanuman, beaming happily at the vanar. ‘Messenger of Rama, remember this day well. For it is the day your life was spared by a righteous king.’
Hanuman dipped his head. ‘I did not doubt it.’ He looked up at Ravana.
Indrajit stared from the vanar to Vibhisena, then at his father. The look of disbelief on his features was priceless. The prince was a fighting man, better suited to the battlefield than the parlour—or the sabha hall. He seemed not to know how to deal with this turnaround. He turned to look at his mother. Vibhisena saw his lips tremble.
Mandodhari rose and came to her son’s aid. ‘My king,’ she said in a tone that could have passed for either arctic coldness or volcanic rage. ‘If this is your judgement, then permit me to inquire, what is the punishment you desire to be implemented on the vanar, appropriate to his actions?’
She did not have to spell out the reason why she had emphasised that last phrase. Vibhisena could see the hurt in her heart, the pain of a mother who had seen her youngest, and in many ways her best, son slaughtered like any common foot-soldier in a minute’s work by the vanar. He felt a moment’s guilt at his arguments, the more so because he had won so unexpectedly, but he stayed his course, firmly resolved that he had done the right thing. This reversal of verdict, however painful it might be to his sister personally, was one small reparation for all the wrongs that had been done to Rama and his family by Ravana and his minions.
Ravana turned his rack of heads to Mandodhari. He still remained aloof, detached from the passion and fury of the arguments that had been raised. Vibhisena did not understand it, especially since Ravana was usually the most passionate of personalities. But a part of him felt glad of it. Perhaps the vanar was right after all. He had perceived a side of his brother that even he, Vibhisena, the eternal optimist and positivist, had all but forgotten existed. Perhaps Ravana was balancing his karma after all.
‘Vibhisena said earlier that the code of warfare dictates that an emissary who commits bodily harm or violence upon the people to whom he brings his missive, can be treated harshly. He can be beaten, whipped, injured, interrogated, shaven and branded, and humiliated. The vanar has already been soundly beaten by Indrajit. And as any of you who have ever faced my son in combat must know, a beating at Indrajit’s hands is less preferable than death at the hands of most other warriors.’ One of his heads smiled a very small smile as it looked at Indrajit. ‘He does not know when to stop.’
‘Is that all?’ Mandodhari asked incredulously. ‘He has been beaten and that is punishment enough?’
The smiling head lost its smile. Ravana looked at Hanuman. ‘Vanar. What is the part of your body that is most precious to you?’
Hanuman bowed his head, thinking. Vibhisena was flooded with a rush of warmth at the vanar’s sincerity. He will answer truthfully, he thought, even though the information he provides may lead to a terrible result.
‘A vanar’s tail is the most prized part of his body,’ Hanuman replied. ‘Some vanars even believe it is the repository of all their strength and virility. At the very least, a tail is a symbol of pride and beauty, and a means of gauging stature among my kind.’
Ravana received this information without any change in expression. ‘And what is the weapon that you fear the most?’
Hanuman sighed. ‘We vanars do not like to admit to our links to the monkey races, but the truth is that we are more closely linked to them than to any other race or species. And like all monkeykind, we mortally dread fire. Even today, we will prefer to eat our food uncooked than go near a flame. I have overcome that innate fear to a large extent, thanks to my self-mastery. But deep within me, it resides still. I have an abiding fear of it and I believe that whenever I die, my destruction will be brought about by the weapon of Agni, Lord of Flame.’
Ravana seemed pleased with the answer.
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘we shall set your tail on fire and burn it off. And when it is scorched to a stub, you will be sent back to your master. Let your friends and family and comrades see you with your burned stub of a tail, pathetic and miserable. It will also mark you out on the field of battle so that one of us may seek you out easily and take revenge for the slaying of our fallen mates.’
Vibhisena stared up at Ravana. For the second time in the short span of a few moments, his brother had performed a remarkable thing. He had given a perfect judgement. Not only was his chosen penalty truly fitting and sanctioned by the terms of the warrior’s code, it was shrewd as well. Among the rakshasa races, maiming or crippling was considered more humiliating than death. There were virtually no crippled rakshasas in Lanka, because none who suffered such injuries in war or accident could bear to go on living afterwards. And even those few who dared to outrage the mores of their culture by continuing to live—a right which Vibhisena and his Brahmin comrades defended vigorously against all odds—those unfortunate cripples often met sudden ends, mostly at the hands of their own family members. By ordering that the vanar’s most prized limb should be destroyed, Ravana would not only fulfil the demands of dharma and just kingship, he would earn the respect of all rakshasas.
The cheers of acceptance and approval that greeted the decision confirmed Vibhisena’s assessment.
But there was one thing that tainted
the beauty of Ravana’s judgement.
Fire rarely restricted itself to one place. Even though the royal edict called for only the vanar’s tail to be set on flame, how would they ensure that the vanar himself was not wholly consumed by the fire, or at the very least, injured in other parts of his body as well. Vibhisena looked at the vanar, covered with a liberal coating of furry hair all over, right to the tip of his long bushy tail, and thought that Ravana might well have outsmarted them all.
***
Sita was ready when they came for her. She had said her final prayers and prepared her mind and spirit for the end. She had not doubted that it would come soon. After the fracas at the Ashoka grove and the escape of the vanar, she had been escorted quickly but non-violently to a new place. It was a cold, stark place, for all that it was made of marble and lined with great white pillars and the ceiling was so endlessly high that she could actually see clouds—real clouds—drifting high above. There was no relief, no greenery around or soil beneath her feet, even though she knew everything here was only artificial, and even the pillars held nothing up. It was a museum without any displays, a prison that entrapped because it was as vast and empty as a desert, with nowhere to run to.
Even the guards who had ordered her to accompany them through the magic portal that led here kept their distance, standing in a great wide circle several hundred yards away, their backs turned to her, spears and swords held ready, as if they expected an army of vanars to attempt to rescue her at any minute. She walked the cold marble floor endlessly, then sat and prayed to calm her soul. She did not know what had happened to Hanuman. Had he left Lanka as yet? Had he been captured, killed, wounded, imprisoned? A variety of alternatives passed through her mind as the hours passed. She received no information, nobody spoke to her. Even the guards who brought her food and drink at regular intervals, neither of which she touched, simply put the vessels down on the marble floor and went back through the portal, which winked shut at once.
The portal opened now, letting in light of a different hue from the white, colourless, mindless illumination of this hellish place. But instead of the guards she had been expecting to lead her to her promised execution, Ravana himself stepped through. He was alone.
The portal shut behind him and he came forward, stopping several yards away.
‘Have you considered my offer?’
She rose to her feet. She wished to look up to him as little as possible. Even so, she still had to raise her gaze by over a yard above her normal line of sight. ‘It was not an offer worthy of consideration.’
He was silent a moment. ‘I expected you to be wiser than this.’
‘I am as you find me, neither more nor less. Perhaps you expected me to be something that I am not.’
‘I expected you to be considerate of the life of your unborn child.’
She clenched her jaw to keep from shouting. It galled her that he even knew of the life she bore in her womb. How dare he speak of it with such feigned gentleness. As if he cared what happened to her or her offspring? ‘Our child,’ she said levelly, ‘is Rama’s and my responsibility, not your concern.’
‘But it is my concern. For you are condemned to be executed. And if you are executed, then your unborn child will die as well. But that need not come to pass.’
She permitted herself a bitter smile. ‘I was not the one who condemned us to death. If I recall correctly, you were the one who had a hand in that verdict.’
‘It was my people’s choice. They were baying for the blood of the vanar too. After the havoc he wreaked in my palace, they wished him to be executed summarily as well. But my better judgement prevailed over the mob mentality. I said that it would be wrong to slay an emissary. He was allowed to deliver his message, and now he is being allowed to return to your husband.’
Her heart increased pace so suddenly, her head began to swim. Could it be true? ‘Return?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Despite your misconceptions and prejudicial bias towards rakshasas, we are an honourable race. In fact, if you like, you can view the vanar’s punishment and his return with your own eyes. I can arrange it.’
‘Punishment?’
‘The rules of war call for an emissary who has instigated violence to be punished. He himself was allowed to choose the method of his punishment. It is nothing very severe.’
She did not ask the obvious question, merely waited in silence till one of his faces smiled slyly and said, ‘His tail is to be set on fire.’
She was surprised. That really did not sound very severe. After all, she was condemned to be eaten alive. A tail-burning paled in comparison.
‘Will you watch it?’ he asked. ‘It is time.’
Without waiting for her answer, he gestured sorcerously, and the marble floor several yards before her split with a resounding crack, as if struck by invisible lightning. The crack travelled to the left and the right, until the entire area in which they stood was riven by a great crevasse. A deep rumbling came from far beneath her feet, and then the crevasse expanded itself with a methodical grinding motion, the two halves of the realm separating as neatly as a stone door being drawn open by unseen winches and gears, hauled by invisible horses. But even a million horses could hardly move such a great weight, for, she realised suddenly, the entire tower was cracking open, split into two perfect halves vertically. A railing emerged from the edge of the crevasse before her, rising to sufficient height that someone as tall as she could lean upon it and look over the edge without fear of falling.
Ravana walked with her to this balustrade, as she peered over, hardly knowing whether to be afraid or excited by what she might see.
TWENTY
Hanuman experienced a moment of pure terror as the flame was brought towards him. His hands were still bound before him, and his legs shackled loosely. They had wrapped his tail in coarsecloth rags and dipped the whole in oil. He felt more constricted by the binding of his tail than by the bindings on his wrists or the shackles on his feet. But when they lit the torch and carried it towards him, he forgot about everything else. For one heart-stopping moment, the flame was all he saw, flickering, like the hungry tongue of a primordial beast, licking the air, feeding on it greedily, seeking to consume. He reverted to the state he had been in when he first began spying on Rama in the wilds of Janasthana, a scraggly vanar only one step removed from a monkey, terrified of his own shadow at sunset and sunup.
They had brought him to the lowermost level of the tower. He recognised some signs from the time he had walked around the tower’s base with the shapeshifter, sniffing and examining its substance. Then the tower itself had cracked apart and the two halves separated. Looking up, he could see the whole length of it, all the levels visible, hundreds upon hundreds, rising up to the very clouds. It was a kingdom unto itself.
But he was about to be taken through the old city. The real Lanka. The wide boulevard before him was filled to bursting with rakshasas, citizens and soldiers alike—in Lanka, there was little difference between the two, because when war came, all fought side by side, even younguns. The windows and galleries and balconies of the mansions and houses lining the street were filled with watchers too, eager to watch the slayer of Akshay Kumar being punished. Although punished was not the word he heard repeated often, over and over again. The word he heard was ‘executed’. His suspicions had grown when his tail was bound in cloth. And when it was dipped in oil, they were confirmed. Once his tail was set on fire, there was no way he could prevent the fire from spreading to the rest of his fur. He had thought Ravana’s change of verdict a sign of the rakshasa’s fairness and just wisdom. He now thought otherwise.
But he had permitted this. It was a fair verdict in thought, if not in implementation. Even the Brahmin rakshasa who had argued his case so heatedly had said that an emissary who committed violence must be punished. He had known as much, it was why he had submitted to Indrajit’s brutal battering. All that mattered then was delivering his missive to Ravana personally, and he had
done so.
The rakshasa holding him tight and the one holding the torch were kumbha-rakshasas. Myriad reflections of the torchlight danced in their serpentine eyes.
‘This is to repay you for the slaying of Jambumali, best-born of all kumbhas. And the slaughter of our comrades.’ His companion snarled, twisting Hanuman’s arms behind his back with his powerful claws. The reek of his breath filled the vanar’s nostrils. ‘If you ask me, even this is too good for you. If it were up to us kumbhas, we would ask that our lord be awakened.’
‘Aye,’ said a third kumbha. ‘Then we could see how boldly he faces Kumbhakarna himself!’
The first kumbha made a lewd comment about vanars wetting their nether fur at the very sight of Kumbhakarna, then from somewhere on a level above, the watching war marshal Prahasta called them to attention. They shut up.
Prahasta read out a short proclamation, announcing the names of the commanding rakshasas slain by Hanuman and the legions he had slain. He ended with the name of Akshay Kumar, at which the crowd roared angrily. They were echoed by roaring for yojanas around. It sounded like every single living rakshasa in the city-state of Lanka was out to watch him being cremated alive.
Then a chant began, slowly at first, and halting, rising gradually, then building into a crescendo that filled the sky and seemed to reach up to the clouds themselves. It was a repetition of two simple words, over and over:
‘Burn him! Burn him! Burn him! Burn him!’
So intense was the wave of hatred that emanated from their screaming throats that the very flame of the torch tilted away.
Some order or gesture from up on the tower silenced them. They fell quiet, eyes gleaming and glistening eagerly.
The voice of Prahasta ordered the kumbhas to light the vanar’s tail.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 43