Trimurti - Trinity of Gods: Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver; and Shiva the Destroyer
Tulsi - Holy Basil; a plant revered in Hinduism, especially in the worship of Krishna or Vishnu
Upanishads - Collection of holy books; along with the commentaries (called Brahmanas), which form the basis of Indian philosophical thought
Urumi - Sinuous, belt-like sword used in Kalaripayattu, an ancient marital art form of south India
Uttariya - Shawl, worn as a shoulder cloth
Vaikunta - Abode of Lord Vishnu and the heaven reserved for his devotees
Vaishya - Merchant caste
Vana - Grove or forest
Vanara - Monkey; here they are a tribe of mixed descent, living in southern India
Vanga - Present-day Bengal, including Bangladesh
Varna - Literally 'colour'; also meaning 'social groups'; Hindu society was divided into 4 basic varnas: Brahmana or Brahmins (Priests and teachers), at the top; Kshatriyas or warriors second; Vaishya or merchants third; and Shudras (farmers, craftsmen, foot soldiers, petty traders, dancers, musicians, etc.) at the bottom of the caste hierarchy; below these were the poorest of the poor, the Untouchables
Varnashrama - In the ancient Hindu way of life, the ideal lifespan of an individual maintaining dharma, was divided into 4 stages: student, householder, retiree; and renunciation
Vatapi - Present-day Badami, a city in north-central Karnataka
Vayu - God of Winds
Vedas - The four holy books (Rig, Yajur, Sama and Atharva), of the Hindus; considered to possess all the wisdom of the world
Vijaya - Victory
Vindhyas - Mountain ranges which separate northern and southern India
Vishnu - The Preserver, second of the Hindu Trinity of Gods, who protects the rhythm of the Universe
Yadava - Tribe of cowherds
Yajna - Ritual sacrifice of herbal preparations into the fire with Vedic mantras
Yaksha - Supernatural beings; sometimes the patron gods of trees and forests in Hindu mythology; believed to guard hidden treasures; the female of the species (Yakshi), are notorious for charming unsuspecting travellers into the forest and drinking their blood or eating them; here, they are simply a tribe
Yavana Desa - Greece
Yavana - Greek
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks go to my readers, without whose support, encouragement and criticism of my debut novel, Asura, Tale of the Vanquished, I would not have toiled to write about the other great 'villain' of our epics, within the span of a year. I thank each of my readers who was kind enough to write to me with his/her feedback.
To Swarup Nanda, for being my friend and guide, both for Asura and Ajaya.
To my Editor, Chandralekha Maitra, for guiding me in making my writing better while giving me enough creative freedom, and then suffering my draft manuscripts with patience.
To my Publisher, Leadstart Publishing, for showing confidence in me by publishing my second book, Ajaya. As also to the other team members: Pretti, Iftikar, Rajesh, Ramu, Salim and many others, who have worked with dedication to make the first book a success and showing the same enthusiasm for my second.
To my father, the Late L. Neelakantan, and mother, Chellamal, for introducing me to the world of mythology.
To my Aparna, for your unstinting support in my endeavours and for the love I often wonder whether I deserve.
To my daughter Ananya and son Abhinav, for keeping the storyteller in me alive by demanding more and more stories every night and being the critics any author dreads.
To my sister Chandrika and brother-in-law Parameswaran, my brother Lokanathan, Rajendran and my sisters-in-law, Meena and Radhika. Also my nephew Dileep, and nieces Rakhi and Deepa, as well as my extended family members, for all those wonderful days.
To my pet Jacky, the blackie, who keeps me glued to my laptop by barking at the slightest show of laziness and demanding I take him for a walk as punishment the moment I lift my fingers from the keyboard.
To Santosh Prabhu, Sujith Krishnan, and Rajesh Rajan, for the evenings spent together discussing Indian philosophy and the Mahabharata, years ago, which sowed the seed of this novel in me. To Rajiv Prakash and Shevlin Sebastin, for their frequent mails that have sparked my creativity. To Premjeet, for his maverick ideas. To GMP Nayak for his insights. To (Essarpee) S.R. Prasanth Kumar, for his great support.
To my country and my people, for tolerating different points of view and for the richness of our history and mythology.
To the rich traditions of my hometown, Thripoonithura, and the history of Cochin.
To Vedavyasa, the patron of all Indian writers; the greatest writer to have walked this earth.
To the masters of writing in all our Indian languages, with sincere apologies for daring to attempt something that has already been so skilfully essayed by you over the centuries.
I owe much to all of you, as well as to many others who I may have forgotten to name here.
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AJAYA
Epic of the Kaurava Clan
BOOK II
RISE OF KALI
"Beware!" the young captain shouted and Aswathama pulled on the reins of his horse in the nick of time. A massive boulder missed him by inches and crashed onto the narrow path with a thud. It bounced down the cliff face and disappeared into the river deep below, felling a few trees on its way. When the dust cleared, Aswathama was still trying to steady his panicked horse. One misstep and he knew he would follow the path made by the boulder and splatter like an eggshell, a thousand feet below. The splash of the boulder hitting the water sounded unusually loud.
Aswathama's heart pounded in his chest. Had the boulder been an accident or was someone following them? He looked around; the place looked desolate and forlorn. Nothing stirred. Far below, the Deodar trees in the valley had turned white with snow. The eerie silence when the wind stopped howling, was frightening. The mountain crouched painfully, like a wounded beast. He had undertaken this mission thinking it would be an adventure. He had always longed to see the ivory-tipped peaks of the Himalayas. It had been so inviting and he had jumped at the opportunity.
Far away, he could see the mountain ranges dissolving into the sky. He wanted to rub his hands to get the circulation back, but was afraid to let go of the reins. It was freezing cold. The chill pierced his skin and gnawed at his bones. But more than the elements, it was the inaction and boredom that was killing him. "Where are the bastards hiding?" Aswathama asked, more of himself than the captain.
"Sir, I think we have lost our way again." He heard the pain and frustration in the captain's voice and his anger returned in a flood.
"No, we have not!" He watched the words escaping his mouth in white puffs. An argument would have been welcome, but his captain refused to oblige.
When silence crawled back, Aswathama loosened the reins and the horse started walking forward. His army of twenty men dragged themselves behind him, through the treacherous mountain path. It had started snowing again.
Boom! A scream followed the crash and Aswathama almost fell from his saddle. They had been hit. In that instant he knew, the first boulder had been no accident and that more were on the way. The second one hit the rear of the column and carried away two men, along with their horses. Aswathama knew that all his arrogance about being a great archer was futile in this battle. He was not fighting on the vast and dusty plains of India. This was Gandhara and the country had the reputation of teaching reigning superpowers and empires hard and unforgettable lessons. The next boulder crashed down just behind him, hitting the captain and his horse. He saw them topple over the cliff and vanish into the depths below. The agonized screams of the man and his beast echoed around them, making the survivors edgy. He could sense the fear of his companions. He had to do something.
What was that moving there? Rather, who was it? Aswathama peered painfull
y towards the top of the mountain, shading his red-rimmed eyes with his right hand while the left gripped the reins convulsively. He had seen someone moving. Or was the snow playing its usual games of illusion? As he kept staring at the point high above, a silent scream began rising from his belly. The warrior in him sensed it long before his eyes could see. The enemy had waited until they reached this narrow path, with the towering mountain on one side and the deep abyss on the other - the perfect ambush spot for the Gandharans.
Carefully, Aswathama's right hand went to his sword. At that moment, the entire mountain began to reverberate as mounted warriors began descending on them at great speed. "Forward!" he shouted, galloping like a mad possessed. He had to get off the narrow path. It was now or never. The mountainside began exploding behind them as the Brahmin warrior and his daredevil companions rushed across the perilously narrow mountain path. Boulders rolled down, frightening the horses and threatening to dash them all into the waters far below. Behind, men, their faces masked with their turbans, were chasing them towards their deaths.
"Either we get that bastard Durjaya today or we all perish. We owe ourselves at least a warrior's death in service of Suyodhana and our country." Aswathama shouted over the din, trying to motivate his companions. He could not be sure they heard. But his next action inspired them to follow suit. It was one of reckless courage, yet the very insanity of it made them delirious. Aswathama let go the reins and stood up in his saddle, facing the Gandharans, his back to his galloping horse. Balancing perilously, he drew his bowstring. His men did the same. His first arrow pierced the throat of the man leading the attack, while those of his companions took out others.
"Shoot to kill... shoot... shoot!" Aswathama yelled as he showered lethal arrows on his foes. They had slowed down their pursuers but Aswathama knew they could not continue holding them off. A mis-step by one of the horses or a hit by any of the boulders falling around them would finish everything.
And then he saw him and he almost slipped from his saddle. It was just for a moment, as the cloth covering the face of one of the pursuers slipped. Yet there was no mistaking that face...
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70 WEEKS ON THE BESTSELLER LIST & COUNTING...
T omorrow is my funeral. I do not know if they will bury me like a mangy dog or whether I will get a funeral fit for an Emperor - an erstwhile Emperor. But it does not really matter. I can hear the scuffing sounds made by the jackals. They are busy eating my friends and family. Something scurried over my feet. What was it? I haven't the strength to raise my head. Bandicoots. Big, dark, hairy rats. They conquer the battlefields after foolish men have finished their business of killing each other. It is a feast day for them today, just as it has been for the past eleven days. The stench is overpowering with the stink of putrefying flesh, pus, blood, urine and death. The enemy's and our's. It does not matter. Nothing matters now. I will pass out soon. The pain is excruciating. His fatal arrow struck my lower abdomen. But I am not afraid of death. I have been thinking of it for some time now. Thousands have been slain over the last few days.
Somewhere in the depths of the sea, my brother Kumbha lies dead, half-eaten by sharks. I lit my son Meghanada's funeral pyre yesterday. Or was it the day before? I've lost all sense of time. I have lost the sense of many things. A lonely star is shimmering in the depths of the universe. Like the eye of God. Very much like the third eye of Shiva, an all-consuming, all-destroying third eye. My beloved Lanka is being destroyed. I can still see the dying embers in what was once a fine city. My capital Trikota was the greatest city in the world. That was before the monkey-man came and set it on fire. Trikota burned for days. Shops, homes, palaces, men, women, and babies, everything burned. But we restored it. Almost every able man joined in rebuilding Trikota. Then the monkey-men came with their masters and destroyed everything again. Hanuman did that to us. The monkey-man brought us death, destruction and defeat.
I do not want to dwell on that. I should have killed him when my son captured him. Instead, I listened to my younger brother, who then plotted against me. But treason and betrayal is nothing new to the Asuras. I was naive. I foolishly believed I would always be loved by my brothers and my people. I never imagined I would be betrayed. I feel like laughing now. But it is not easy to laugh when one's guts lie spread around like a wreath. Sounds of joy float down to me from my city. The enemy is celebrating their victory. The monkey-men will be busy plundering Trikota. My temples will be looted; the granaries torched, and schools and hospitals burnt. That is how victory parties are. We have done the same and worse to many Deva villages, when the Goddess of victory was my consort. Some ugly monkeys must have entered my harem. I hope my Queen has the sense to jump from a cliff before anything happens. I cannot control anything now. I can feel the hot breath of death on my face.
The jackals have come. Which part of my body will they eat first? Perhaps my guts, as they are still bleeding. What if a part of my breastplate chokes a jackal? I chuckle at the thought. A jackal sinks his teeth into my cheek and rips off a chunk of flesh. That is it. I've lost that bet too. They have started on my face. Rats are nibbling my toes. I, Ravana, have come a long way. Now I do not have anything left to fight for, except this battle with the jackals. Tomorrow, there will be a procession through the streets. They will raise my head on a pole and parade it through the same roads that saw me racing by in my royal chariot. My people will throng to watch the spectacle with horror and perverse pleasure. I know my people well. It will be a big show.
I do not understand why Rama came and stood over me when I fell. He stood there as if bestowing his blessings on me. He said to his brother that I was the most learned man in the world and a great King, and one could learn the art of governance from me. I almost laughed out loud. I had governed so well that my empire lay shattered all around me. I could smell the burning corpses of my soldiers. I could feel my Meghanada's cold and lifeless body in my arms even now. The acrid air of a smouldering Trikota smothered my senses. I could not save my people from these two warriors and their monkey-men. And he was saying I was a great ruler? I could appreciate the irony of it. I wanted to laugh at my enemy; laugh at the foolish men who trusted me, who were now lying all around, headless, limbless and lifeless. I wanted to laugh at the utopian dreams of equality for all men on which I had built an empire. It was laughable indeed. But laughing was no way for an Emperor to die. I have worked hard and fought with the gods and their chosen men. I doubt if heaven has a place for people who die of laughter.
Then just as suddenly as it had started, the rats and jackals scurried away. A shadow, darker than the dark night, fell upon me. A dark head with curly hair blocked the lonely star from my view. Is it Kala, the God of Death, who has come to take me away? I struggled to open my eyes wider. But dried blood held my eyelids together. Is it one of Rama's lowly servants come to severe my head and take it back as a trophy? I want to look him in the face. I want to look into his eyes, unwavering and unflinching in my last moments. Something about that head and curly hair reminded me of my past. Do I know him? He leaned down to look at my face.
Ah! It is Bhadra. My friend, perhaps the only friend left, but I do not know if I can call him my friend. He was my servant, a foot soldier to start with. Then he got lost somewhere along the way. He strolled in and out of my life, was sometimes missing for years together. Bhadra had access to my private camp when I was the head of a troop that resembled a wayside gang of robbers rather than a revolutionary army. Then, he had had access to my private chambers when I was the King of a small island. Finally, he had access to my bedroom when I was ruling India. More than that, Bhadra had access to the dark corners of my mind, a part that I hid from my brothers, my wife, my lover, my people, and even from myself.
What is Bhadra doing here? But why am I surprised? This is just the place for people like him, who move about in the shadows. I can hear him sobbing. Bhadra getting emotional? He was never angry, sad or happy. He acted as if h
e was very emotional now. But I knew he had no emotions. And Bhadra was aware I knew. Bhadra, carry me away from here. Take me away to...My strength fails me. I do not know whether the words were spoken or died a silent death somewhere in my throat. Bhadra shakes his head. I am cold, extremely cold. My life is ebbing out of me. Then Bhadra hugs my head to his bosom. I can smell his sweat. Pain shoots through me from every angle and spreads its poisonous tentacles into my veins. I groan. Bhadra lays me back on the wet earth - wet from my blood, the blood of my people, the blood of my dreams, and the blood of my life. It is over. A sense of sadness and emptiness descends upon me.
"I will complete your work, Your Highness. Go in peace. I will do it for our race. My methods may be different, even ignoble, compared to your's. I too was once a warrior but I have grown old. Arms frighten me now. I am terrified of war. I cannot even hurt a child. Nevertheless, my methods are deadly. I will avenge you, me, and our blighted race. Rama will not go free for what he has done to us. Believe me and go in peace."
AJAYA I -- Roll of the Dice Page 49
