***
Mandara-devi waited until the rakshasa had turned his back upon her completely and was engrossed in lining himself up for the death-dealing kick. She had known he would use his hind legs to strike at her, for as a bull-rakshasa cross-breed, that was what came most naturally to him. He had no reason to fear her; she was shattered and broken and lying in her own fetid fluids and solids and with blood oozing out from a dozen different places and every orifice as well.
What he did not know was that both her upper limbs were still intact for the brunt of his weight had landed on her torso and lower limbs.
When the jagged, warbooted hoof flew towards her, she used the last of her strength, pure will really, to grasp it and swing herself up. Her arms, still functional, served to yank her up his leg, dragging the rest of her body behind her, and all the way to his exposed throat. It took an extraordinary amount of skill and strength, but she had nothing to lose now, and she accomplished it despite the screaming agony of her ruined body. And then she was at his neck, clinging on like a leech in water.
With one ferocious movement, she tore out his throat, ripping open the major blood vessels. His life blood splashed out in a torrent, splattering and blinding her. Her last glimpse was of his stunned face, unable to believe the death she had brought him to; she, a mere vanar, and a female at that.
Then she fell back and the ground claimed her. She had a moment of perfect bliss, lying in the sunlight, recalling the faces of her family, her children, their children, all those she loved and had lived for and fought for, and died for now, today, in this nameless valley in a foreign land. The sunlight felt wonderful on her upturned face, and her lips curled in a tranquil smile.
***
Hanuman shut his eyes briefly as Mandara-devi died, a smile upon her blood-spattered face. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear the death throes of the rakshasa general, could hear the shock and disbelief in the Lankan’s voice as he bled out the last of his life.
When he opened his eyes again, the two lieutenants, Mainda and Dvivida, were taunting the rakshasa horde on the hillside. The assembled troops, shocked at the death of their leader, had fallen silent in the last few moments of the fight. The combat itself had lasted barely a twitch of the sun’s passing, so sudden, brutal and ferocious had Mandara-devi’s attack been. Now, as the reality of their general’s loss crept into their dense skulls, the rakshasas finally succumbed to the frustration and battle lust that had been consuming them all this while. With their general no longer there to control them, they rose as one and stormed down the hillside, roaring and waving their weapons, their order to remain at bay forgotten with the death of their leader.
With whoops of exultation, Mainda and Dvivida raced before them, leading them across the grassy outskirt, then into the forest itself. Their kumbha lieutenants snapped their lashes and attempted unsuccessfully to stem their advance as the rakshasa horde streamed after the vanars into the forest.
Moments after the rakshasas vanished into the dim, shaded forest, the ululating call for the next phase carried across the valley. And not long after, Hanuman watched as the bulk of the bear and vanar contingents appeared on the rim of the valley on all sides, then poured down into the forest, to finish the battle whose success Mandara-devi had given her own life to ensure.
NINE
Rama and Lakshman watched from a rocky outcrop on the slope of Mount Trikuta. The highest peak on the northern side of the island-kingdom, it was dwarfed by the taller Mount Suvela, only a few miles to the north, but Suvela’s view was blocked by the hilly ranges that undulated like ocean waves, whereas the gradual incline of Trikuta’s northern face led directly down to the edge of the Palisade cliffs—bordered now by the fortress wall raised by Ravana’s sorcery—affording them a clear view of the entire lie of the land on this northern tip.
They had stationed themselves here these past hour-watches, waiting patiently for the enemy to make the first move. In that time, Surya-deva had ridden his gleaming chariot up to a sharply diagonal angle in the eastern sky, and the sunlight now shone down on them, its touch warm and bracing. The cool sea breeze that continued to blow sporadically, tinged with the salty odour of the ocean, did not allow them to break out in perspiration. Rama shifted his quiver a little, then glanced at Lakshman.
‘Should we?’ Lakshman asked.
‘No,’ Rama replied. ‘We wait.’
Lakshman shrugged. They had had this conversation twice already since stationing themselves here. Lakshman had favoured going to the rampart walls and provoking the rakshasas that were visible there, milling about in the shade of the high fortification. If the plan was for the rakshasas to attempt to attack their forces from behind, pressing them back against the armies streaming out of the Lankan capital, then they ought to have attacked long before now. Rama had already received word from the angadiyas that all the other contingents had engaged the enemy on their various fronts, and he expected Hanuman to bring word of the outcome of those battles very shortly. If these enemy forces intended to do as he expected them to, then they should have moved long before now, striking Rama’s forces from behind while they were in the thick of battle. But close to two hour-watches had passed, and still they lurked in the shade of the rampart walls.
Rama insisted that they wait. And so they remained here, watching from this vantage point, concealed behind this rock, baking under the sun. Waiting was not one of Lakshman’s strong points. After several moments more had passed, he shifted his bow and sword restlessly, checked his quiver for the umpteenth time, then finally could stand it no more and turned to brace his back against the rock, looking directly at Rama.
‘The bears as well as the Jatarupas must be in excruciating discomfort, Rama. What good is our plan if our army is in no position to fight when the time comes? I say we go down now and roust out those beasts and lure them out into the open.’
Rama kept his eyes fixed on the distant rampart walls, while replying patiently to Lakshman. ‘If we do that, and they suspect something amiss, they may not come out at all. In which case, the bears and vanars who have endured this long wait already under such suffocating circumstances will have to suffer far longer a wait, or they will have to leave their hiding places and the entire plan will be exposed.’
‘First of all, Rama, why would they suspect anything? They are rakshasas—some kind of new breed, no doubt, but still great, big, hulking idiots with bulging muscles instead of brains. I think they would simply react to the sight of us and follow us into the open. Secondly, even if the plan is exposed, we shall come up with another one.’
Rama shook his head once, tersely. ‘There will be no time for second plans. Once Ravana realises how we have made him dance this morning, he will no longer offer us the iron fist in a velvet glove. He will unleash all his dogs of war, and when that happens, it will be too late for strategy or battle tactics. Too late for shima, or war shastras.’ He paused. ‘And I think you underestimate not only those creatures, but rakshasas in general. They are not lacking in intelligence, it is only that they have been culturally raised to favour the more physical and violent arts rather than the poetic and philosophical ones. Given time, opportunity, and a leader like Vibhisena, I have no doubt that they will rival even our Arya nations in the proficiency and profuseness of their arts and culture.’
Lakshman snorted in amusement. ‘I can’t believe we’re sitting here debating the rakshasa capacity for art and culture! Rama, this is war pure and simple. We should be fighting, not talking!’
‘Not talking is what leads to fighting, my brother,’ Rama said calmly. ‘But fret not. I think you will have your wish very shortly. I believe the fighting part of the war is about to begin, for us at least.’
And he pointed with his chin.
Lakshman swung around, clapped his palm to the rock— the shaded part, for the sun-exposed part was already burning hot—and his lips moved in a rare smile. ‘Ah, at last. A time to slay rakshasas.’
‘An
d be slain by them,’ Rama added philosophically.
They watched as the ground below finally began displaying signs of activity.
***
In the shadowy depths of his hiding place, Prince Angad of Kiskindha watched as the rakshasas finally arrived at some kind of decision and began emerging into the sunlit open ground. He had been sitting here waiting for so long that his backside had turned numb. He could not understand why the rakshasas had hesitated this long before making their move. His angadiyas, the agile younguns he had trained to courier messages to and fro, had brought word of fighting on all the other three main fronts—north, east and west. He had heard of his father’s valiant prowess in battle in the face of incredible odds, of Mandaradevi’s challenging a rakshasa champion to single combat, of the brutal battle unfolding on the western front where General Susena, Pramathi, Praghasa and the twins had met stiff resistance but were fighting furiously still.
Yet he and his contingent here—mainly Jatarupas, with a small company of his own hand-picked faithfuls and the bears— had had to wait hours as the morning wore on.
He peered over the edge of his hiding place and saw that the ground below was indeed seething with the enemy. After coming up through the secret tunnels that opened in the shadowy nooks and crannies of the rampart walls, the rakshasas had not made a move all morning. Now, they emerged into the sunlight, moving in eerie silence on their hind legs. They seemed to be some breed of lizard-crossed rakshasas, for their hides were yellowish-brown in colour with a mottled dark stain-pattern, their rear ends adorned with long, thick tails that were an extension of their torso and comparable to those of a gharial or the river crocodile that vanars feared and hated so much. They seemed able to walk upon all fours, or only on their hind legs, but their front limbs were much smaller than the rear ones, and if not for the extruding talons would have seemed near useless to an enemy. Their heads were also quite similar to the reptilian species, with bright yellow, browless eyes with nictitating lids that opened and closed sideways and were set on either side of their narrow tapering heads. From time to time, some of them issued clicking sounds that he had first mistaken for exclamatory gestures, but now understood were in fact commands and communications, and that this odd ticking-clicking sound was their form of speech.
As far as he could tell, they had no leaders as such, for all moved at the same pace, exactly as land lizards would, but with a springy step that suggested the ability to move with great speed when required. Lizard-like they might be, but not the slow, waterbound crocodilian type; these were like land-lizard creatures, able to dart and swoop at will to catch their prey. They moved forward en masse now, leaving the shadowy recesses of the rampart walls to cover the vast stretch of ground leading to the foothills of Mount Trikuta. This entire part of the former plateau had been eroded by the killing stones, grass and trees and the land itself uprooted and re-formed overnight by Ravana’s sorcery. Now it was a large, barren plain, perhaps a yojana wide at this point, the narrowest tapering tip of the northern end of Lanka. It stretched for about half that distance far southwards, till it reached the grassy foothills. Angad’s sharp eyes made out the large rocky outcrop on the northern face of Mount Trikuta. He knew that that was where Rama and Lakshman would have stationed themselves. It was too far to see them clearly, but he took comfort simply in knowing they were there, watching the battle that was about to unfold, and would join in themselves shortly. It gave him great pride to fight under Rama’s command, perhaps even alongside Rama himself, if the devas willed it.
He hissed at the nearest angadiya, a bright-eyed little female with a mischievous smile on her young snouted face, and used the system of paw gestures he had devised to convey communications during such times, when silence was a necessity. She nodded, understanding, and scampered away. She would carry his order to the lieutenants Rsabha, Gavaksa, Gaja and Gavya. As for the bears, well, with Lord Jambavan himself leading that contingent, he had no reason to worry.
As he watched from his vantage point, the lizard-like rakshasas seeped out from the shadow of the ramparts like an endless flood unleashed upon the large barren field. Thousands upon thousands … nay, tens of thousands upon tens of thousands … And still they came. It seemed there was no end to their numbers. For a heart-stopping instant he wondered if perhaps Ravana had been able to summon up infinite numbers of these strange, oddly formed warriors. How would they fight them, then? It was true that Rama’s sena was enormous in its multitudes, even after the losses sustained during the bridge-building, the tsunami, and the night of the killing stones, and far outnumbered Lanka’s armies as described by Vibhisena. But Ravana’s brother, on hearing of these yellow-hide lizard-like rakshasa beings, had admitted that these were something entirely new, no doubt hatched by Ravana in the subterranean volcanic caverns where he worked his vile asura maya in secret. What if Ravana had been able to summon up the multitudes of the hell-realms, as he had done once before, and was bringing up all the asuras in the three underworlds again? Both Rama and Vibhisena had insisted that such a thing was impossible, because the brahmastra unleashed at Mithila had rendered it so, but to a vanar prince visiting this strange mythical land of demons, anything seemed possible.
Then the last of the yellow beings emerged, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. Only a small one, for the sheer size of the army gathered below was awe-inspiring. He estimated there were close to a hundred thousand of the odd beings gathered below. A lakh of rakshasas! Even given the vast numbers of the contingent he led, and the numbers of the bear warriors as well, that was still enough to instil fear and doubt in him. Then he reminded himself once more of Hanuman’s words: ‘Rama is the source of all strength. He is the key to unlock your own inner power. Believe in him completely, without question, and you believe in yourself. For he is within you, around you, and he is yourself in truth as well. Give your faith to Rama, and you shall not want for anything. Jai Shri Rama!’
And so, hefting his weapon, he rose from his hiding place, drew himself up to his full height, showing himself, and cried with all his strength: ‘Jai Siyaram!’
And an army of vanars echoed: ‘JAI SIYARAM!’
It had begun.
***
Rama and Lakshman were too far away to see individual details clearly, but the day was bright and the view excellent, and they did not have to be falcons to see the enormous numbers of the enemy streaming out from beneath the rampart walls like a pot of water spilled across the floor of a hut on washing day. Where there had been only a great expanse of empty barren ground, a dirt field some nine miles long and four miles wide, bordering the foothills that led gradually up in steps to this northern face of Mount Trikuta, there now stood a vast army of the strangest breed of rakshasas they had ever encountered.
Even at this distance, they could tell from the way the enemy moved and held themselves, that they were like no rakshasas they had ever seen. Earlier, angadiyas had brought reports of more typical rakshasas, horned and tusked beasts that were much like the rakshasas he had been expecting to fight today. But then, those initial sightings had been followed by curious dispatches, reporting that the rakshasas had withdrawn. Then, after a gap of a half-anhour-watch, during which time Rama had waited with ever-growing anxiety, fearing that their plan had somehow misfired and that Ravana had decided to concentrate all his forces upon the main vanguard to the south, while he and the substantial part of the bear contingent as well as an entire army of vanars waited here on his orders. But now that the rakshasas were out in the open, easily discerned, Rama saw that they were certainly not the kind that had been glimpsed earlier by his scouts. These were a wholly different breed altogether.
They looked almost like great … lizard men, standing on their hind legs and communicating with a peculiar clicking speech that carried as far as the outcrop on this placid morning. It was a relief when they finally ceased emerging and the brothers could glimpse the end of their number leaving the confines of the rampart. Even a quick gue
ss suggested no number less than a lakh, which was formidable enough. But what was more unpredictable was the nature of these beasts. How would they fight? How could they be defeated? What were their vulnerable points? Rama sighed inwardly, thinking that it would have been good to know all these things beforehand. Not knowing them, he had only one choice: to learn about them first-hand, the hard way. Or rather, for his troops to learn, risking their own valiant lives to glean this vital knowledge.
His heart went out to those vanars and bears who would brave the first encounter with these new-breed rakshasas.
He watched as the vanar contingent led by Prince Angad rose from their hiding places and issued the agreed signal for the start of the battle. Rama had not ordered them to speak those words; that had been entirely the army’s prerogative. But that clarion call—literally, Praised be Rama, consort of Sita— cut deeply into his heart, reminding him that all that transpired here today, upon this southern field, as well as across Lanka, all these many many deaths, were all on account of him, and Sita. What was a mortal to feel, knowing that millions fought and died today, to reunite him with his beloved? What was a mortal to do, when faced with such epic loyalty and fealty in the face of such incredible odds? What could a mortal do, except add his own weapons and life to the count, and fight alongside the brave warriors who risked all on his account.
He exchanged a glance with Lakshman, whose objections and grumbling had all died away the instant threat showed itself, as they always did, and saw that his brother shared his sentiments entirely. They nodded, agreeing silently, and started down the slope of yet another mountain, this time to enter the fray of a battle on which not only their own lives, but the lives of many others would depend.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 73