TEN
As Rama and Lakshman sprinted down the long sloping northern face of Mount Trikuta, they were afforded a clear view of the battlefield. The small, dense patches of scrub that dotted the low foothills between them and the vast barren plain were not high enough to obstruct their view, nor were the foothills themselves more than gently rolling mounds, the tallest barely a hundred yards in stature. They watched as the lizard- rakshasas gathered on the plain below turned en masse, staring up at the looming rampart walls from whose shadows they had only just emerged.
For it was atop those very rampart walls that Prince Angad and his contingent were stationed. The idea had been hatched by Rama during the long, lonely hours he spent stuck there. The stone-block walls were easy enough for vanars to climb quickly, and even allowed them to carry up a sufficient store of suitable weapons.
Running downhill at the steady, relentless pace that he and Lakshman could maintain for days on end if required, he watched as the vanars, whose little heads broke the regularity of the stone ramparts, hefted the stones of varying sizes that they had carried up to the top during the post-dawn hours after Rama outlined his plan. There had not been time enough to amass a great store of stone missiles, nor to carry up any truly large ones that would be capable of inflicting great damage. But he had counted on the height of the ramparts themselves, as well as the natural lethal aim of the vanars, to be sufficient for this phase of the attack.
Unable to make out individual vanars, he watched as a multitude of little furry paws—reduced by distance and their semi-concealment atop the ramparts—raised their fists, gripping stones, and awaited their leader’s order to start the attack.
***
‘Jai Siyaram!’ Angad roared, and launched the first missile. He picked out a brute below clicking furiously, his tongue flickering in and out of his elongated mouth, his yellow-hide pattern distinctively marked with a purplish patch on top of his flattened reptilian head. Angad flung his stone with all his strength, and had the satisfaction of seeing it strike the chosen rakshasa on the exact spot he had aimed for—the flat part of the head between the eyes. From long experience with the large lizards that lived in some climes, as well as with the vanar’s eternal enemy, snakes, he had chosen that spot as being the most effective. He was proved right: the lizard-rakshasa staggered, his tail, which he had been carrying raised a foot above the ground, flopped down, and he keeled back, tipping over to fall senseless.
Thousands of other rocks and stones, flung by the other vanars atop the ramparts, flew down. Most, if not all, were aimed just as accurately as Angad’s, and struck their mark. The vanar prince issued a whooping cry of triumph as thousands of lizard-rakshasas reeled and fell and staggered to crash into their comrades. The clicking sounds from the field below increased to a cacophony, as the beasts milled about in confusion, confronted by this unexpected assault. Ravana had sent these beings through the subterranean tunnels to outflank Rama and his armies. The last thing they would be expecting was to be outflanked themselves. And what delicious irony: to be using the very ramparts raised by their master to attack his own forces!
For the next several moments Angad gave himself over to aiming, throwing and cheering his own successes as well as those of his fellow vanars. Thousands of the yellow beasts below were fallen on the field. He grinned, cheekaing with the enthusiasm of a youngun himself. At this rate they would win this battle easily enough. There would not even be any need to call on the rest of the vanar contingent, let alone the bears.
Then he was out of missiles, and had no choice but to fling down verbal insults and rude noises. Soon the flurry of flung stones ceased all along the ramparts. For several moments, the huge horde of lizard-rakshasas continued to mill about on the field below. Angad frowned as he estimated that at least two in ten had been downed by the attack. That was not bad at all, for vanars flinging stones.
Then his heart skipped a beat.
The fallen lizard-rakshasas were rising up again. The one he had struck down was among the first to regain its feet, helped by its thick ungainly tail. It stood upright again, clicking furiously to its comrades, then raised its menacing flat head to stare up directly at the place where the missile had come from: looking right into Angad’s eyes. At the sight of him, its nictitating eyelids closed and opened several times, that forked tongue flickering in and out of its large flat mouth in evident anger.
Then it leaped.
Angad had no reason to expect the fluid, springing jump which the lizard-beast executed. Having never seen this species before, nor anything like it, he stared in stunned astonishment as the creature made a jump from a standing start that carried it all the way to the spear-like extensions that grew out of the lower part of the rampart walls, on which so many unfortunate vanars and bears had died the night before. Landing on the shaft of one of these extensions, the creature paused, clicking again, then launched itself a second time. This second leap carried it, incredibly, all the way to the top of the rampart wall itself. Angad was treated to a glimpse of a dark brownish-purplish underbody, with taloned feet outstretched and looking as deadly as any river crocodile’s, then the beast had passed over his head, and landed behind him.
He turned to see the rakshasa facing him, its long tongue flickering in and out of its reptilian mouth. Then, without any further warning, it threw itself at him. Along the rampart walls, Angad heard the sound of thousands of its comrades leaping up to attack his vanars.
***
Rama watched in grim dismay as the lizard-like rakshasas leaped up to the walls, turning the ambush into a counter-attack. Without waiting any further, he shouted a wordless instruction to the nearest angadiya —several of the little couriers were within earshot of him at all times. The order was simple enough: Start the bear attack.
As he reached the bottom of Mount Trikuta and the start of the first foothill, his view of the battlefield was obstructed briefly. For the next few moments, as he sprinted up this rise, he would not be able to see how the battle fared. He did not need to see it, though: brave as Angad’s warriors might be, they were no match for those leaping lizard-beasts. He had no illusions about who would emerge the victor in the struggle that had just begun.
He ran grimly on, and hoped that the bears would fare better than the first vanar attack.
***
Angad dodged the first leap of the lizard-rakshasa by cartwheeling sideways on the crenellations of the rampart wall. He had an impression of a deadly sharp set of talons blurring through the space where his belly had been just a fraction of an instant before, then he was out of harm’s way. He landed agilely on his hind legs, tail dangling out over the edge of the drop. Had he been facing any other creature, the chances were that his sudden sideways move would have caused his attacker to leap right over the edge, falling back down where it had come from. But the lizard-rakshasa was still on the rampart wall, eyes glowing bright greenish-yellow now and clicking angrily. Its tail swished to and fro sideways, and he saw that the appendage was not only strong enough to rest its entire body weight upon— unlike vanar tails—but also thick enough to deliver a damaging blow in a fight. The creature advanced towards him, and he feinted left, then right, seeking to dodge it. But it watched his every move so closely, he knew that it would not be fooled that easily. Like a snake with its beaded eyes fixed on its enemy, it was preternaturally able to anticipate anything he did next.
He heard and scented and sensed from the periphery of his vision that his other vanar troopers were not faring half as well as he was against their own lizard-rakshasa foes. He could tell from the screams alone that they were being slaughtered by the dozens. He had been shocked to see how powerfully these large beasts could leap, and how high and fast. Clearly, he was dealing with a foe that should not be underestimated. But he was still alive, at least. And while he lived, he could find a way to turn the tables yet again.
Right now, though, as he feinted and attempted to dodge the beast on the rampart, staying
alive was all he could manage. If those long talons so much as touched his fur, he had no doubt that the wounds they inflicted would be lethal. Angad had suffered scratches and bruises galore, but he had not yet had the misfortune of actually being gashed by such talons, and he had no desire to learn what it might feel like to have one’s skin parted and flesh destroyed by them. The only way to survive right now was to not let the creature touch him. And that was proving easier thought than done.
He scampered quickly in one direction, swung around in a half-circle, ran that same way again, then cut diagonally across the top of the rampart wall. The creature moved with him with blurring speed, and for a second he thought it would intersect his path and he would learn what it would feel like to have those talons in his body.
At the very last instant, he threw himself sideways in the opposite direction of where his momentum was taking him, feeling his muscles strain at the unnatural movement, feeling his spine contort and bend to snapping point, and he heard the creature click furiously as it felt him moving away from its lethal talons. Something sliced through the fur on his scalp and then he was rolling on the hard stone on top of the rampart, then scampering and then leaping to land atop the crenellations yet again, his back to the ground below. He saw the creature turn and seek him out, finding him almost at once, and open its mouth to issue a horrifying sound that was part clicking and part hissing, like nothing he had ever heard before in nature. At the same time, it raised its tail and released an odour of such pungent strength that he almost gagged. The stench of hate and anger was unmistakable; he had smelled odours like that on tigers when their prey escaped them.
He heard the ululating call of vanars miles away, the clarion call for the second phase of the battle as prearranged by Rama. And suddenly he knew that he could not win this bout of single combat, that as much as his princely ego demanded he stay and fight to the bitter end, his dharma lay in surviving to lead his vanars into the battle, the real battle that still lay ahead. There was a great deal more work to be done and he was needed there. Nothing would be served by his dying violently atop this rampart wall here and now.
With a cheeka and an ululating call of his own, summoning the surviving vanars to follow him, he turned tail and ran as fast as his lithe legs would carry him, down the length of the rampart, racing in a line that would carry him around and beyond the army of lizard-rakshasas gathered in the field below. He did not need to wait to see if his vanars followed, for he could hear their answering cries already. But behind him, outraged at being deprived of its easy prey, he heard too the same clicking-hissing sound of the creature that had almost ended his life, protesting. He did not know if it would pursue him, and if it did, whether it could run fast enough to catch him, and he did not wait to see. He simply ran pell-mell, heading for the far side of the open field, to where the next part of the battle was already unfolding.
***
They came over the hillock at a steady run, in time to see the vanars on the ramparts—those who had survived—racing southwards along the wall. Rama was relieved, because there was no point in sacrificing those vanars. They had done their job already, by forcing the enemy horde to turn around, breeding the first part of the confusion necessary for the successful completion of his plan.
Even so, he could see that the lizard-beasts were wreaking havoc. The vanars on the ramparts had been almost completely massacred, and a pitifully small number were escaping. He did not allow himself to dwell on that, just as he had not allowed himself to be dismayed by the initial reports from the angadiyas of the carnage in the canyon, the terrible losses in the eastern army and reports of strange developments by the gates of Lanka. The war was long and hard, he had no illusions about that, but the only way to win it was to fight it one blow at a time, one fight, one battle …
As he and Lakshman started down the hillock, he saw the scrubland ahead suddenly come alive with vanars, as the main force of the northern army—so designated by him to avoid confusion—showed themselves.
ELEVEN
Angad finally judged it safe to glance back, and was relieved to find that the lizard-beast had not given pursuit. He did not know whether the creature could have caught him—those two leaps up the rampart had been astonishing, more than most vanars could ever accomplish, and he still feared the lash of that thick, scaly tail. But the rampart behind him was empty except for other scurrying vanars who raced up to him and gathered around, looking back as well as down. He was angered at how few had survived—it made him want to leap back into the fray and make the enemy pay the price for taking so many vanar lives. But a commotion from the army of lizard-rakshasas on the field below helped distract him from thoughts of revenge.
The lizard-beasts were turning once more to face southwards, in the direction they had been heading until Angad and his distractors had turned them around. Clicking frenetically to one another—he guessed that they communicated and passed on messages and orders in this fashion, as well as expressing their emotions, if they had any—they summoned back those of their number that had leaped up to the battlements. These beasts, a tiny fraction of the larger force, leaped down to the ground again, joining their fellow reptilians as they faced the new threat.
Angad raised his vision to view the threat they had identified. Beyond the dense expanse of the lizard army, the scrubland that skirted the foothills ahead had come alive with furry vanar shapes. The scrubby plants and bushes, while too small to conceal any larger creatures, were sufficient to hide vanars, who could double up and squat easily for hours on end. Now, as they received the order, they revealed themselves. From every tiny bush, bit of scrub, rock and depression, vanars emerged into the open. They were Jatarupas all, smaller in stature than most of the other vanars, and with the distinctive colouring to their head-fur, which they tinted with vegetable dyes to an assortment of colours and shades associated with their tribe, hierarchy, sex, in a complex, arcane system of colour-coding that even Angad could not claim to understand completely. The few trees that dotted the area shook violently as literally dozens of Jatarupas detached themselves from each one and bounced down to the ground. Grinning with their customary devil-may-care attitude, a stark contrast to the Kiskindha vanars’ more steadfast attitude, or the Mandaras’ burly laconicism, they appeared to be young mischief-makers out for a jaunt rather than a small army of vanar warriors. Yet their numbers left no room for doubt on that front: there were almost twice as many Jatarupas now revealed on the field as lizard-rakshasas, forming the largest vanar army in Rama’s entire force.
The lizard beings seemed far from dismayed at the appearance of this new threat. If anything, they seemed agitated but enthusiastic. Angad eyed them doubtfully as they milled about in apparent confusion—he was already able to sense that what seemed like confusion was in fact an esoteric pattern of communication and tactical rearrangement that could only be understood in their own terms. It was useless to attempt to fathom their actions, noises or gestures, by comparing them with those of vanars, mortals—or even other rakshasa species. These were something quite different altogether, and he knew that Rama’s warriors would have to understand their fighting methods quickly in order to gain the advantage in this battle. Glancing at the sheer weight-and-height disparity, and already aware of the agility, speed and shrewdness of the lizards, he did not feel very confident that the short, thickly furred Jatarupas would be able to stand up against them, despite their superior numbers.
But Rama had another ace up his sleeve. A very devious and shrewd gamble that, if it played out, might turn the day yet.
The bears had yet to reveal themselves.
***
Rama came over the last foothill and slowed. He and Lakshman were now overlooking the field of battle itself. Only a few hundred yards before and below the peak of the foothill on which they stood, was the scrubland where the Jatarupas had now revealed themselves in full force. Farther ahead, on the barren land skirted by the curving crescent of the rampart walls that
bounded the plateau, were the lizard-like rakshasas. The beasts had turned back to face the vanar army, and if he understood their stances and odd communication even a little, they would attack soon. It was imperative to his plan that they do so, rather than wait for the vanars to come at them.
For only then could the bears emerge from their place of concealment and join the fray. And from the looks of it, the bears would be essential to winning this battle.
But long, precious moments passed and still the lizard creatures remained as they were, milling about in an odd shambling pattern, as if playing out some peculiar fireside ritual dance, moving this way and that endlessly, issuing those vexing clicking sounds all the while. It sounded like a plague of crickets!
He sent word through more angadiyas for the vanars to do as planned in such a circumstance.
As he watched, a few moments later, the Jatarupas complied.
Calling out in their cheerful childlike voices, they began rolling and tumbling to and fro, performing elaborate somersaults, then climbing atop one another’s shoulders and throwing each other high in the air, to be caught by other groups, then passed on yet again, until in a moment the air was filled with flying, tumbling, somersaulting, cartwheeling vanars with fur tinged all hues and colours. A fantastic carnival of acrobatic performers, and a sight that would make anyone, adult or child, clap their hands with glee and cheer happily. But there was no one to cheer or clap here. Only a horde of strange rakshasa enemies who stared with their bright yellow, lizard-like eyes, in apparent fascination at this exotic display of acrobatic talent.
Rama noted that the clicking had ceased.
A moment later, he noticed several of the lizard beings moving forward, shambling across the dust of the open field, dragging their tails behind them like tired crocodiles emerging from a river. More and more of their number began moving as well, until soon enough, the entire army was advancing, not in a headlong charge as rakshasas were wont to do in a battle, but in the deceptively slow, sluggish fashion of cold-blooded reptiles. He was not fooled by their apparent sluggishness, for he had seen how they had leaped to the ramparts to deal with Angad and his small force. He hoped the Jatarupas had all been able to see that and would be sensible enough not to underestimate the enemy. From what he knew of them, the jolly, colourful vanars were not foolish at all, but they did have a tendency to overconfidence that was sometimes their undoing.
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 74