She leaped off the tree and onto the next. Just as the rakshasa’s kick shattered the latsyoa’s trunk, sending splinters flying. Even as the tree began to fall, creaking loudly in protest, she leaped to a third and then a fourth tree. The rakshasa who had been watching her howled to his companion, who grabbed his weapon and shot to his feet. Both trundled after her, bellowing loudly. Other rakshasas were running towards them now, thrashing noisily through the dense undergrowth, roaring to one another. So far so good, but how were the other vanars—
She heard a commotion explode to her right, then another farther away to her left, then the whole forest erupted with the sound of teasing vanars cheekaing and angry rakshasas bellowing as they gave chase. She swung from tree to tree, going as fast as she could without actually leaving her pursuers behind. She was in no danger of being caught, and she didn’t want to lose them. The whole point of this tactic was to make them follow. She wished more of the enemy had entered the forest. The plan depended on them all being within the woods, not outside it. But there was nothing to be done about that, so she raced along, and hoped that the commotion she and the other teasers were causing would bring more pursuers. She caught occasional glimpses of the others as their silver jewellery reflected a beam of sunlight, or a flash of white vanar teeth against glossy jet-black fur, and knew that all were doing their job as planned.
But theirs was the easy part.
She heard a sudden surprised grunt from one of the rakshasas chasing her, followed by a disgusting squelching sound; she paused, clinging to the branch of one tree with her tail and a branch of the next with one paw. She hung suspended momentarily, listening and scenting. The undeniable odour of freshly spilled blood filled the air, and was followed by a rakshasa howl of outrage. She grinned and turned to watch as the battle began in earnest.
***
Kambunara stepped out from behind his tree with a paw outstretched, claws extruded fully. The trundling rakshasa in the fore of the group chasing Mandara-devi was too intent on the pursuit, and on keeping sight of the fleeing vanar, to even notice him until the very last instant. The rakshasa sensed something and lowered his sights just in time to see the brown-furred Himalayan bear, as tall as himself and as wide in girth, appear from behind the trunk of the tree that had concealed him. Kambunara saw the Lankan’s foaming mouth open as he tried to bellow a warning to his fellow rakshasas, and twisted his torso with the powerful side-swiping movement that his kind were masters of. His outstretched claws caught the oncoming rakshasa right in his throat, slashing it to raw, ragged ruin, and the warning died before it had begun.
Kambunara followed through with a swipe in the opposite direction, using his left claws this time to finish off the rakshasa. The bull-headed beast collapsed to the leafy ground, heaving and thrashing in his last throes.
He heard a roar of outrage explode and looked up in time to see several more rakshasas approaching at a run. Even as he stepped forward to greet them with the appropriate bear welcome, he saw several other dark-furred shapes step out from behind their trees to deal sudden death blows to racing rakshasas as well. Across the length and breadth of the forest, the sounds and scents of bears felling rakshasas rang out like a brutal symphony. Two of the rakshasas in his path made it past the other bears and one swung an enormous bladed weapon similar to the battle axe he had seen mortals use in their wars. Bears were not limber enough to dodge like vanars, or to simply leap out of the way, so he shot out a paw and grasped the wooden shaft of the weapon in mid-air. The rakshasa grunted, startled, then died with the same startled expression on its mottled mongrel-breed snout as Kambunara twisted its own weapon to drive it home into the rakshasa’s midriff. Even before that enemy fell to its knees, its steaming guts pouring out onto the leaf-strewn forest floor, Kambunara swiped backhanded at the second oncoming foe with a snarl of effort. The rakshasa, in the process of raising his own sling-blade weapon, was too slow to dodge the unexpected move and took the full brunt of the blow on his—or her?—face, screaming in outrage as the deadly claws ripped open skin and flesh and destroyed its eyes. It turned, dropping its weapon to clutch at its blinded organs, and, still running, crashed headlong into the trunk of the tree Kambunara had been lurking behind. A sickening crunch suggested that it had cracked its skull on the hardwood trunk, and Kambunara had only to slash again at its lower back, severing the spine in at least three separate places, and it was done.
The forest was ringing with the sounds of bears killing rakshasas, but in only moments, as the pursuing Lankans became aware that they had been lured into a trap by the vanars, the oncoming rakshasas slowed, waited for their companions, and then roared to one another across the forest, organising a more efficient advance and attack. Kambunara had expected that, although he had hoped for more to fall prey to bear claws before they wised up to the ambush. He waited for the rakshasas to regroup and then advance—even as his bears closed their ranks and prepared to meet the next onslaught.
Kambunara had a brief moment to clean his claws on the bark of a tree. A sound alerted him and, glancing up, he saw Mandaradevi herself seated on a lower branch. She looked as matriarchal as ever, her white-streaked fur and her jewellery belying her willingness to risk her own life like any of her soldier vanars.
‘Is that all you could bring us today?’ he asked.
She grinned at his impudence. ‘Only about twenty thousand odd followed me and my teasers into the woods … ’
He shrugged, showing no sign that the number was either greater or smaller than what he had been expecting. ‘We’ll try to make do. Is that all of them?’
She sighed, losing her grin. ‘They have a smart general. He stationed two-thirds of the horde outside the forest.’
He nodded. They had hoped for the whole horde to come crashing in but had not truly expected that; it would have been too easy. ‘Then we shall have to go to them.’
The sound of bellowing rakshasas caused him to look down again. The rakshasas were advancing now, approaching at a slow, sensible pace as befitted the dim, close confines of forest fighting. He could see at least half a dozen advancing on his position alone.
‘After we deal with this bunch, that is,’ he said.
‘Actually,’ Mandara-devi said from the tree, clambering up to a higher branch as she spoke, ‘I thought I might do something about that. Perhaps see if they’re able to ignore an outright challenge from a vanar. That would make your job much easier, would it not, my rksa friend?’
Kambunara grunted approvingly. ‘You do that, my lady, and I shall personally kiss your furry behind in gratitude.’
She chittered in amusement at his comment. ‘Well, just for your information, that particular part of me is not furry.’ And with a flash of that same anatomical part, she leaped up and away, racing back the way she had come, to the north end of the valley.
Kambunara grinned and turned his attention to his approaching rakshasa visitors. ‘Come on then, you slow-witted, illegimate spawn of Ravana. Let me show you how we bears gut our fish before we eat them.’
That got him a satisfying roar of outrage in response, and a more reckless charge from the oncoming rakshasas. He growled in reply, his claws slashing and flashing in the bars of morning sunlight that seeped through the close-growing foliage overhead.
***
Mandara-devi raced back through the trees. At first she passed steadily increasing numbers of rakshasas going the other way, then, as she approached the northern end of the forest where she had begun her tease-run, the numbers dwindled until, reaching the place where she had waited before, she found virtually none of the enemy. Her fears were confirmed when she peered out through the branches of a diarasaqa tree.
Some forty or fifty thousand rakshasas squatted in roughly regular lines on the northern side of the valley. Kumbha lieutenants patrolled the lines, their long, barbed whips keeping the troops in check. The general of the horde stood with his back to her, peering up at the sky to the north, as if seeking out somethi
ng. She caught a glimpse of sunlight reflecting off some golden or gilded object in the distance, and assumed that was the fabled flying chariot that Ravana was rumoured to travel in. She would have been happier to see Hanuman instead, but he was probably watching over the battle of the Kiskindha vanars, as that had been his first order.
She scented Dvivida an instant before he appeared by her side. Another vanar was with him, almost as burly and well-built as he, but far less attractive. This was Mainda, the other champion lieutenant, older and past his prime, but a formidable figure among the Mandaras nevertheless. He was also notorious for his predilection for honey wine. He gave her the tribe greeting, paw touching skull, even though she had specifically ordered all her vanars to abjure formal greetings during battle. She ignored the gesture, but he did not seem to mind.
Dvivida grinned at her curiously. ‘Does my lady intend something?’
‘If those ugly beasts don’t enter the forest, the whole plan will be for naught,’ she said. ‘We must lure them in somehow before I give the order for the second wave.’
Mainda looked at her, his face twisted from an old paralysing injury that had left the right side of his face unable to respond or move. It gave him a sad, perpetually snarling expression. ‘The bears in the woods are greatly outnumbered. Can they even hold the rakshasas already in there, my lady? Perhaps you should give the second order and see how things turn out.’
She looked at the ageing champion. ‘If I give the second order, then the rest of the bears and all of our Mandaras will come pouring down the valley from all sides.’ She gestured ahead at the rakshasa horde in the valley. ‘With the bulk of the enemy still out in the open and easily able to see the attack coming, what good will that do? The point of getting them into the woods is so they believe we are all hiding in here, while in fact, we mount our main attack from outside, encircling them inside the forest. Then, the bears battle them on the ground while we Mandaras pounce on them from the trees. It is a simple yet brilliant plan devised by Rama and his advisers and it is our job to follow it through.’
Mainda glanced at her craftily—or perhaps it was only his damaged nerves that made him seem crafty. ‘True, my lady. But the plan is no longer valid, since the rakshasas failed to react as our lord Rama expected. It may be best for us to go ahead with the attack and leave the decision making to the leaders. General Nila will surely adapt to the changed circumstances.’
She looked at him. A part of her understood what he meant— and felt. Only a little while ago she had thought and felt the same thing: Leave the thinking to the leaders, a soldier’s only task was to follow orders. But by that same logic …
‘By that same logic,’ she said aloud, ‘we are only following the orders we were given. Rama’s instructions were clear. All the rakshasas must be lured into the woods, and only then will the second order be given. I intend to fulfil that order now, at any cost. Will you aid me or hang around here arguing?’
Dvivida shot Mainda a quick, stern glance. ‘Where you go, we follow, my lady,’ said the young champion.
Mainda lowered his brow, in the vanar equivalent of a nod. ‘Always.’
She breathed more easily. She had no stomach for wrestling her oldest and most experienced lieutenant into submitting to her orders, not when tens of thousands of lives hung in the balance. ‘Good. Then follow my example and do as I do.’
She leaped off the tree, rolled through the kusa grass and began loping across the open grassland, towards the rakshasa horde.
SIX
Hanuman roared with fury as the dust cloud finally began to dissipate in a new gust of oceanic wind that blew from the east. The canyon floor below was heaped with thousands upon thousands of his fallen vanar comrades, crushed beyond recognition into piles of bleeding furry flesh. Where so many brave Kiskindha warriors had stood and faced the first of the Lankan attacks, now only corpses and body parts littered the place. His anger was somewhat alleviated by the sight of some few thousand rakshasa corpses lying intermingled as well, more than he would have expected. It filled him with pride to see how many of the enemy the Kiskindhans had felled, but did not negate his great sorrow. He clenched his fists, his body expanding with anger without his even being aware of it, and vowed that every one of those vanar lives would be paid for in full, even if he had to kill that many rakshasas himself, bare-handed.
He saw King Sugreeva leading the vanars that survived back in the retreat as planned. As the last of them reached the end of the canyon, they turned and cheekaed insolently at the rakshasas behind. King Sugreeva himself, carrying what looked like a spear pole, also turned and added his own taunting cheekas to the shrieks of his warriors.
The rakshasas, milling about in confusion after the abrupt disappearance of their foe, responded to the sound of the taunting vanars with outrage. Pointing their weapons, they roared and chuffed and spewed their fury, then lurched forward clumsily, for their bulk and weight, while a great advantage in a headlong charge, was cumbersome to them when starting from a standstill. As the ones milling about behind came far enough forward into the canyon to see their fallen comrades, they howled and roared, unable to believe that so many of their own could have been felled by these puny, impudent creatures. That incensed them all the more and they began to run in their clumsy, lumbering fashion—although, to be fair, there were some sleeker, more elegantly muscled ones that moved with considerable grace as well, for like vanars or mortals or any other creatures, not all rakshasas were alike. He watched as their run grew effectively into another charge, albeit a much less thundering and swift one than their first, for by now a great many of the mounted rakshasas in the front lines lay dead or maimed.
Hanuman watched with narrowed eyes as the general he had seen before, the one with the diamantine teeth, climbed to the top of the mound of bodies piled in the middle of the canyon, avoiding the squealing maw and tusks of a horribly wounded and trapped masth elephant. The general found his footing with difficulty, and with the advantage of the high ground now, shouted something to his hordes, gesticulating with his bladed weapon in the direction of the retreating vanars, egging them on to give chase and finish the slaughter they had begun so well.
Again Hanuman longed to plunge down and smash those bestial beings into so much bloody pulp, but restrained himself. He settled for snarling viciously, loud enough that the sound carried down and echoed off the canyon walls, resounding. The diamantine-toothed general looked up at once, and peered narrowly at the vanar flying above. He raised his blade in an unmistakably threatening gesture, baring his teeth in a menacing snarl. When Hanuman refused to respond or react, he shook his head in disgust, turned away and resumed ordering his troops in the chase.
***
Vajradanta was furious at the number of the fallen. The whole point of that thundering charge had been to crush the little monkeys into the dust. How dare they presume to stand before the might of a rakshasa cavalry attack! The piled corpses of vanars gave him cause for satisfaction, although he had expected many more to be lying there lifeless. That last-minute ruse they had sprung on him unexpectedly, leaping on one another’s shoulders to fly up into the air and land on their attackers—the military mind in his head admired the sheer audacity and expertly timed execution of that tactic—had cost him the majority of his mounted troops. The few hundred broken-surs and kumbhasurs that had not broken a leg, been caught in the crush of piled corpses or been slain by the leaping vanars, were being caught and mounted again by the survivors of his cavalry unit. But he was shocked to see how few remained. Especially the elephants, who all lay dead, except for a handful that had turned and fled at the mouth of the canyon itself, perhaps sensing the carnage that lay ahead and tearing loose of their ropes, ripping out their own flesh in the process, to run wild across the valley behind. On open ground, these same masth elephants would have caused havoc among any army’s massed troops, the casualties they caused cancelling out the threat they posed to one’s own troops— for mad elephants co
uld hardly be bothered to distinguish between friends and foes. But here, in this enclosed space, with nowhere to go but straight ahead, they had been befuddled and maddened further by the stench of sudden, violent death and corpses, and their own lumbering weight had been their downfall, crushing them as well as those unfortunate enough to come in their path. Still, at least they had wreaked great damage in their dying. What he could not brook were the losses suffered by his rakshasa ranks—for those were not accidental but wholly caused by the vanars themselves. The little bundles of fur, unarmed and untrained in battle—for who had ever heard of vanars mounting an army?—had proved surprisingly resilient and resourceful antagonists.
Filled with chagrin and astonished that little monkey-like creatures could inflict such damage on heavily armoured, armed, and mounted rakshasas, he determined that in this next charge he would not only break their resolve and spirits, but shatter the backbone of their forces as well. They were already on the run, no doubt horrified by the superior power and strength, not to mention fighting skill, of the Lankans, and all his troops needed to do was run them down and finish them off. There could be no more than another ten thousand or so, and he had twice as many troops still on their feet and fighting mad. He himself had already slain several dozen vanars, the foolish beasts leaping at him from all directions at once, but none quick enough to dodge his flashing blade, and those who came too close, falling prey to his lightning-sharp teeth. His mouth was filled with the taste of vanar blood, and flesh, and fur, and he spat several times to remove it. Now, if he could only get a bite or two of mortalflesh, fresh and bloody, while the heart was still pumping, that would remove this taste. He grinned. Perhaps he would get his wish before the day was through.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 70