Perhaps his guilty heart had conjured up a vision of his wife. But his reason told him that he was not at fault. Mandodari had erred by mistrusting him and choosing to believe a voice emanating from the deceitful gods. Did she think that she knew better than he did? Had he not assured her that he could meet any challenge when he had her beside him? He had realized soon enough that the maiden who had captivated him was not Parvati. But that knowledge had not constrained him from loving her and telling her that he was more blessed than Shiva. In the end, though, Mandodari had betrayed him. Why should he waste time thinking about her when he could be enjoying the caresses of the nagakanya? He buried his face in the maiden’s neck, losing himself in the fragrance of her body and the allure of her silken limbs.
Mandodari felt as if she was floating, watching herself as she lay on her bed, in readiness for what was to come.
‘Om Namo Narayana! Om Namo Narayana!’ Her mind filled with the resonance of the supreme mantra that awakens the divine power within. She could see a vision of Lord Vishnu, radiant in yellow silk, holding the conch, the chakra and the mace, smiling as he lifted a hand in blessing. Her body was infused with a glorious energy, uplifting her mind and soul.
In her trance, she saw Sage Gritsamada gathering durva grass, a plant that had been rendered sacred when drops of nectar had fallen on it during the churning of the eternal ocean. The sage extracted the milk from the durva and began a fierce tapasya to Lakshmi. But why was she seeing these mystic visions? How did she even know who the sage was? Mandodari then saw her ten-headed lord make his way stealthily into the ashram, carry off the milk and add it to his pot of blood. She moaned and sat up slowly in her bed, discovering that her body was strangely heavy. Her eyes opened wide when she saw that her belly was swollen as if she was with child. How was that possible? Had Ravana performed some occult rite to compel her to have his daughter? Perhaps it was too late even now to counter the prophecy. Or was all this a hallucination caused by the poison she had drunk? Mandodari shook her head to clear the cobwebs shrouding her mind.
She then heard the soft gurgling of a child and felt a touch on her midriff as if from a small hand or foot. She saw the perfectly formed child lying by her side, a beautiful girl with eyes like lotus petals and lips like rosebuds. Had she travelled to another dimension where she had delivered a child miraculously without pain? Was it due to Vishnu’s blessing or to the magic of this newborn?
Mandodari saw Kumuda staring awestruck at the child and felt a breeze swirling around them, bringing with it the fragrance of the parijata flower. The child kicked her again and she realized that this was no dream. The infant was smiling at her as if to say that everything had happened as it should.
Ravana’s queen touched the child’s petal-soft cheek while her mind wrestled with the turn of events. How had the poison not killed her but brought new life instead? Was the infant an imp from the netherworld who had come to torment her? No, this child was divine. Nothing evil could ever be part of her. Perhaps this was the effect of the milk extracted by the rishi from the durva grass. She had heard that the grass was so potent that it sprouted again after it was plucked. Perhaps its powers of fertility had dispelled the effects of the poison.
‘Who are you, wondrous child, who came so magically from my womb? The daughter I ached to hold but knew I could not . . .’ she murmured, lifting her up in her arms and clasping her close. She saw the infant opening her tender lips seeking to be fed, and helped her find her breast.
‘Is this the daughter prophesied to bring doom upon our king and our people?’ whispered Kumuda. ‘The one you swore would never be born?’
Mandodari wilted as she heard the words. Her shoulders slumped. Her joy was now swamped with fear. ‘She is so precious, Kumuda. Look upon her sweet face and tell me how she can cause harm. Maybe the fates will spare my lord, as this little one was born not from him, but from the poison I drank.’
She was torn between her love for Ravana and the gross injustice to the child if she were to kill her. Kill her? How could she even think of such a dastardly act? A child so beautiful could not embody someone’s death. She would keep her close, keep her safe. Maybe this was a chance given to her to reclaim Ravana’s love. Maybe with prayer and penance they could defeat the prophecy. Hope lighted up her face only to be quenched at once.
‘But no,’ she continued. ‘The blood of the sages was the fruit of Ravana’s cruelty. The durva milk too was snatched from a noble ascetic. So Ravana is responsible for whatever happened when I drank the brew. And the little one is indeed the daughter I swore I would never have.’ Her face twisted in anguish. ‘What will happen now? What should I do?’
Mandodari knew that Ravana would view this child as a blessing and the fruit of his prayers. He would look at the skies with a challenge in his eyes, asking the gods to defeat him if they could. He would show the world that prophecy or not, Ravana was invincible.
‘Fate directs me to get rid of my child,’ Mandodari whispered. ‘But how can I do that?’ She shuddered and saw her own horror reflected in Kumuda’s eyes. ‘Why are the gods forcing me to choose between my child’s life and my husband’s?’
‘You cannot think that the two lives are equal. He is steeped in sin and she is so pure,’ protested Kumuda. Then she clapped a hand to her mouth, afraid that she had gone too far. The queen had never permitted anyone to speak ill of her husband. But Mandodari was too distraught to pay attention to her words.
‘It is not just my husband’s life that is at stake. The prophecy predicted the ruin of our clan,’ she murmured, forcing herself to think. ‘Preserving my child’s life could result in the death of many. But how can I give her up? How can I fail her when it is a mother’s foremost duty to protect her child? I am truly cursed. Do I have any choice but to let my child go, to pay for my sins and those of my lord? Alas, my daughter, you are cursed too, for you were born from my womb!’
Mandodari clutched the chortling infant close, trying to find a way out of her dilemma. A sudden thought flashed into her mind and she began to grapple with its ramifications. Maybe this was the solution to preserve her child and also ward off the prophecy. She sprang to her feet to put her plan into action at once, before her husband should return. She had fed the child for the first and the last time and now gave her a sleeping potion so that her cries would not awaken her attendants. Around the child’s neck she fastened a gold chain with an enormous blue sapphire, the gem favoured by Saturn, the dominant planet at the time of the child’s birth. Her lips murmured obeisance to Shanideva who was the lord of life and fortune, and the teacher of the hard truths of life. She placed the little one in a jewelled casket, closed the lid and slipped out quietly. Kumuda followed her queen, racked with grief, her muffled sobs the only sound in the night.
The queen set the casket afloat on the dark sea behind her palace to be carried far from her husband and her people. Then, when she saw the swift current bear the casket away, she cried out in a frenzy of grief and ran into the water to retrieve it. But it was already beyond her reach and Kumuda dragged her back to the shore.
‘Let me go,’ sobbed Mandodari. ‘I must have been demented to think that my child could survive the thundering sea with all its dire creatures. What an evil mother I am that I cast her away in this fashion! I am as guilty of killing her as if I had throttled her myself.’
Her lips moved in a desperate plea to the gods. ‘May foam-bedecked Varuna protect you, my dearest,’ she wept. ‘May fierce Vayu be gentle and transport you to a safe harbour. May the Trimurti grant their protection to this abandoned child. May nourishing Earth guide you to someone who will love and treasure you. Little one, so tender, so helpless, so small! Forgive this cruel mother who will pay for her wickedness by spending her remaining days in pain. Still I hope that you will be sheltered by another woman who will love you as you should be loved. Your face is that of a goddess, though this ill-fated mother will never see it again. Go with Vishnu, my love!’ she sobbed, straining
her eyes for a last glimpse of the casket.
She collapsed then on the moonlit sands, until Kumuda came to her and clasped her in her strong young arms. Mandodari clutched at the girl, incoherent in grief. ‘All will be well,’ Kumuda said softly. ‘Your child will have a better life than she ever could in the palace of a sinful king. Come, my queen, let us return to the palace before the other maids discover our absence.’
The unfortunate mother took tottering steps back to her bedchamber where she collapsed, bidding Kumuda to keep everyone away. ‘My husband will return soon,’ she whispered, her eyes wide in fear. ‘If he should discover that I cast away the daughter he has been longing for . . . O Ravana, my king! How will I ever look at your face again knowing what I did?’
Ravana could sense that his wife was calling to him, for she was still the queen of his heart. He saw her in his mind, tears spilling from eyes dulled with pain. She tossed and turned on her bed and wept fitfully. He heard her cry out, ‘My love, my beloved!’ Was she calling to him or was it to someone else? He gnashed his teeth at the mere thought.
‘No, she can never be unfaithful. She loves me,’ he roared, startling the naga princess and making her draw back from him in fear. He sprang out of the velvet bed, his clothes in disarray, his eyes red. He quickly set himself in order and snatched up his moon sword. ‘I am coming to you, Mandodari!’ he shouted, as if his voice could span the world and reach her ears.
Mandodari awoke from her torpor and called out to Kumuda who had fallen asleep on the floor at her feet. ‘He is coming, he is coming!’ she gasped. ‘Remove all traces of what happened here. Help me adorn myself so that he does not suspect that there is anything amiss. Help me, dear one, or all will be lost. My life and yours are in peril!’
7
Temptation
Mandodari rushed to cleanse her face and change her raiment while Kumuda returned the pot of poison to its hiding place. The girl swiftly straightened the bed and helped her mistress remove all traces of her recent ordeal.
Soon enough, there was a flurry of activity and the sound of heavy footsteps and voices raised in praise of the emperor. Ravana strode in hurriedly, his eyes rolling as they scanned every corner of the bedchamber. His face was sombre and his manner fierce. He wanted to let his wife know that he was still angry with her. He watched impassively as Mandodari performed an aarti of welcome and sprinkled flowers and fine perfumes over him.
‘What news, my love?’ he asked her, noting that she looked wan and avoided his eyes. Was she distressed that he had been seeking the company of other women? Did she not realize that this was the consequence of her obstinacy? He had nothing to apologize for. ‘Are you hiding something, my queen?’ he asked again, his voice a low growl. Mandodari raised fearful eyes to his face, revealing that she was no longer his blithe queen who boldly expressed her feelings. Had he hurt her so much with his behaviour? His tender feelings warred with his anger and resentment. He had given her his heart, and in return he expected total obedience.
Seeing his reddened eyes and the way he clenched his fists, Mandodari hastened to answer. ‘I have done nothing except to await your return, my lord,’ she said, a tremulous smile on her lips. ‘You know well that my sole purpose in life is to adore you.’
Ravana heard the sincerity in her voice, but his suspicions were not lulled completely. He would have his spies question her maids. Where was Kumuda, who was his queen’s confidante? He spotted her, peering at him from behind the massive door of the chamber. The girl’s eyes dropped when she met his fiery gaze and then she raised them again to stare at him. He sensed now that there was something she knew that he did not. He would allow them to think that he had been fooled and confront them again when they were unprepared. No one could betray the king—not unless they wished to lose their heads. His nostrils flared as he smelled a faint fragrance that was alien to him. What could it be? Had Mandodari performed some rituals to bring him back to her? He was pleased with the thought that she was repentant. He quickly folded his queen in his arms. After all, she had no one but him and would not like the thought of him in the embrace of another woman. He heard the sob that erupted from her lips.
‘I am back, my love. Do not fear. You will never lose me,’ he murmured. Her clinging arms and tender kisses cast their spell on him again as they always had.
Ravana decided to stay awhile in Lanka and forget his wanderings. His beloved was eager to please him and he could see in her renewed ardour the young girl he had wooed and won. But some inner sense was still warning him not to let down his defences. Was there a threat to his kingdom perhaps? But who would have the audacity to confront him?
He called his spies to him the next day when he was seated in his court with Mandodari and sought a report on everything that had happened in his absence. They shook in terror as they informed him that all was well and that they had performed their duties diligently. Even as they were speaking, his restless eyes lighted upon his queen and he saw how her face had paled. At once, his suspicions flared up.
‘Leave us!’ he barked at his ministers and courtiers. When Mandodari rose to her feet, he beckoned her closer by raising an imperious finger. Does he know? she wondered. Does he suspect? But how was that possible, that too when several days had passed after his return? Perhaps one of his spies had told him something. Or one of the rakshasis standing guard around her antapura had heard an infant’s cry. She stifled the sob that rose from within at the thought of her child at the mercy of the stormy seas. Where are you, my little one? Will I ever see you again? She saw her husband’s keen eyes studying her and wondered how to distract him.
Ravana surprised her by pulling her roughly onto his lap. When she looked up at his face, startled, he said gruffly, ‘May I not show my love for my queen from whom I have been parted for so long? Do you not desire it too, my love?’
She forced a smile and lifted her hand to touch his face gently. ‘How can you even ask me this question, lord of my heart?’ she replied. ‘I was merely surprised that you chose to express your affection in open court.’ She reached up to kiss him lightly on his cheek and then fluttered tiny kisses down his tense jawline, trying to soften him.
He turned her face upward with one huge hand and directed a hard, probing stare into her eyes. ‘I hope my absence has made you think hard and deep, my wife,’ he said, his voice a sibilant whisper. Her lips trembled and she clasped her hands together to hide their trembling.
‘Yes, my love. I have spent my days praying that we are never parted from each other again.’
‘That will depend solely on your actions, my beloved!’
What does he mean by that? she wondered. No one knew what she had done. No one except Kumuda. And Kumuda would never betray her.
Mandodari lowered her eyes, seeking desperately for some way to allay Ravana’s suspicions. If he gained even an inkling of the truth, he would most likely attack her and then set out to look for his daughter. Whether the child was alive or not, calamity would certainly follow. He would never forgive his wife for what she had done. Her lips quivered. Maybe she should have braved fate and kept her daughter close. She could have at least enjoyed a few blissful days before he discovered the truth.
Ravana looked down at her bowed head, his mind in turmoil. Was he being foolish to suspect that she was hiding something? Did he not know that his chaste queen would never seek another man? Maybe her jittery manner was due to her guilt over driving him away with her obstinacy. Perhaps he himself was to blame in some measure for having stayed away so long. Whatever the cause, he could see that her usual exuberance was missing. There was a sadness in her manner that she was unable to conceal however hard she tried. But he would have to discover more before he confronted her.
‘You may go,’ he said to her then, and watched dourly as she walked away. He summoned Ketu, his bodyguard, with a quick clap of his hands. ‘Bring me the queen’s maid, Kumuda,’ he ordered.
Soon, the young girl stood before him, eyes wid
e in terror and her whole body trembling as Ravana glared at her. ‘Tell me what happened when I was away,’ he demanded. ‘Why is my queen so wan and pale?’
‘There is n . . . nothing to tell you, great king,’ she whispered. ‘You know well that your queen is purer than the Ganga, and more devoted than Arundhati, the chaste wife of Sage Vashista.’
‘Answer my questions alone!’ he roared, standing up to tower over her. ‘I do not need a maid to testify to my queen’s loyalty. I know well that it is her pure heart that shields me from harm, not my armour or my valour.’ He was silent for a moment, shocked by his own confession. Mandodari’s love had made him humble, and this was a weakness that he could not allow.
He pulled Kumuda’s head up by her hair and glared into her eyes. ‘I know that you are hiding something,’ he said. ‘Reveal the truth now or you will suffer!’
‘My queen was in agony because you left her, my king,’ she stammered then. ‘You know as well as I do that her every moment, her every thought is focused on you.’
He nodded, happy to hear her reinforce his own belief. ‘Do not fear me, Kumuda,’ he said softly, freeing her from his grip. ‘Show me your loyalty and I will reward you generously!’
Was he asking her to spy on her mistress for him? She looked at him in confusion, unable to keep pace with his moods. He smiled then and his forked tongue hissed out of his mouth, making her stumble backwards in fear.
He grabbed her shoulder, shouting, ‘Tell me what she is hiding. This is your last chance to confess, you fool!’
Kumuda cowered before him like a mouse cornered by a snake. He pulled out a dagger from his waist belt and drew a long line with it down her arm. She screamed in pain and stared at the blood spurting out in a swift stream. ‘I . . . will not betray . . . my queen,’ she said finally, unsteady on her feet as her senses began to fail.
Prem Purana Page 14