There was no individual independence in this world. Every living being depending on every other being to sustain its environment and by doing so, its daily sources of nutrition and survival. Like the assassins of the arab kingdoms, the predators of the deep Southwoods needed the hustle and bustle of everyday forest life in order to go about their own violent missions.
But unlike the great cities of the mortal world, the deep forest had certain codes by which it endured. One of these was the tacitly agreed-upon rule of mutual co-dependence: When an intruder or intruders entered its environs, every denizen was obligated to issue a warning and intimate its fellow animals, avians and insects of the presence of the outsider. For outsiders always spelled danger; there were no exceptions to this rule. Be it ever so miniscule a threat as the careless ass that stepped on an ant’s nest and destroyed half a summer’s toil, or the overt menace of a pack of wild dogs seeking a fresh kill, any creature that chose to enter the dangerous perpetually twilight world of the dense jungle did so only for one reason: self-preservation. Whether that meant fleeing from outside enemies or seeking prey or food here, the end result was the same: the newcomers would fight, kill, feed or otherwise commit some form of violent aggression in order to survive and sustain themselves. It was the only way they, or any living being, could possibly survive in this ruthless world. The way of the jungle, the poets called it. And so it was: the only way to survive in here was to kill or be killed.
The men who poured in from the raj-marg and entered the Southwoods that hour before dawn intended to kill. They were trained for it, equipped for it, and even bred for it: not merely kshatriyas, they were Ayodhyan kshatriyas, and Ayodhya’s war cry spoke their own motto and conviction: Ayodhya Anashya!
Ayodhya the Unconquerable and Undefeated.
For Ayodhya was the one city in all the known world that had never been besieged, attacked, or invaded, successfully or otherwise. Because it was impossible to besiege, attack or invade, no sane force in the world would dare to attempt such a suicidal feat. The only one that had tried, once, had been the asura hordes of Ravana, and they had made it only as far as the outskirts of Mithila, which was a long way from Ayodhya. That great invading force of supernatural demoniac beings had been thwarted by a brahm-astra, a sacred weapon of the devas, unleashed by an Ayodhyan, none other than the same Samrat Rama Chandra whom these kshatriyas served today. That was part of the legend of Rama, the fact that he had halted the only known attempt to attack Ayodhya over twelve yojanas away! It was not even fit to be called an attack, let alone a siege.
And now, with Ravana gone, the asura hordes extinguished from the mortal realm forever, even the severely weakened rakhsasa race of the lord of asura’s erstwhile capital, Lanka, diminishing in number with each passing year, there were no other forces, mortal, asura or otherwise, who dared or desired to challenge the might of Ayodhya by attacking the greatest Arya city on earth.
But today, the enemy was not coming to invade Ayodhya.
Ayodhya was coming to invade the enemy’s domain.
And this domain, the fabled and dreaded Southwoods of mythic lore, until only twenty four years ago the domain of the fearsome yakshi giantess Tataka and her hybrid offpsring, was unlike any battleground, field or city these brave soldiers of Ayodhya had ever visited or fought upon.
In its own way, it was as indomitable as Ayodhya herself, even if it did not boast seven great moats filled with ravenous predators, seven tall stone gates manned by awe-inspiring war machines, and all the mechanical and architectural marvels that mortalkind was capable of creating.
In its own way, the forest was a living breathing force as powerful as the great military might of Ayodhya.
In its own way—and on its own terms—the jungle was a formidable opponent unto itself, not merely a theatre of battle, but part of the enemy’s armory itself. The fact that it did not appear to be an armory, and could be assumed to be a staging ground or battlefield, was part of its sinister threat.
Ayodhya might well be inconquerable, never-besieged, indomitable.
But in its own way, so was the Southwoods.
***
The first regiment of soldiers were not unaccustomed to forests or forest warfare. After all, the world was not so old and jaded as to have completely forgotten the forests from which mortalkind sprang not long ago. Many of these kshatriyas had spent their childhood and youth roving the wild countryside of Kosala, hunting, farming, herding. They were familiar with woods and with forest environments. They moved slowly and carefully, unburdened by the heavy armor that cavalry regiments like the king’s guard wore, bearing lighter pikes and swords. There were archers among them too, with fine Gandahari longbows. And they were told to expect an ambush.
But to their surprise, they met with no resistance at all.
They went further and further into the forest, the dim grey of the sky visible above the tall tree tops turning slowly whiter as they went, and even a full hour later, when dawn broke across the eastern part of the forest, not an arrow had been loosed or a sword swung in aggression. It was puzzling but not entirely surprising. Their commanding officers assumed the obvious: the challengers had been all bluster and intent but lacked the guts to follow through. It was easy enough to filch a horse, quite another thing to face an entire army, leave alone an Ayodhyan army. They had probably retreated or were in hiding, quivering with their blankets pulled over their sweating faces. There were some sardonic grins and shaken heads as the forward regiment went a mile then two miles then three without meeting any resistance.
As dawn turned to daybreak and the first golden rays of sunlight twinkled through the trees, the men began to relax their guard, feeling that this would be an easy assignment after all. The only reason they went on at all was because the horse still had to be retrieved and the culprits put to death, their bodies brought back nailed to wooden posts to caution future challengers.
Soon, the mood lightened and the men began to chat softly among themselves, even joke and relax their guard. Due to the nature of the forest, they were spread out considerably, and their commanding officers could not see or hear every single one at all times, so it was easy for them to simply squat against a tree trunk and smoke a beedi or chew some betelnut and chat softly about the pointlessness of this mission.
The first inkling that they had of danger was when a peculiar sound came to their ears. It was a sound that was vaguely familiar yet not easily recognizable. At first, many assumed it was only insects or perhaps even the wind. But as it grew louder and closer, they became aware that it was neither of these things.
The sound was a constant hissing. A sussuration similar to the sound of the wind shirring in trees in autumn or the ocean surf rising to the shore and falling back. Yet it was neither of these either.
A man smoking a beedi was the first to grow certain he knew the source of the sound. He sat bolt upright against the trunk of the tree where he had been resting, dropping his beedi. It fell onto a damp patch of earth and was luckily extinguished at once by itself. He reached out and snatched hold of his spear which he had left standing upright against the tree trunk.
“Snakes!” he said aloud. Then even louder, so his comrades could hear as well: “SNAKES! It’s snakes, coming towards us!”
The word was repeated and past along the frontlines, moving with surprising speed. The commanding officers heard it too and frowned. Snakes? What did the man mean? Had he seen a snake or perhaps even a nest of snakes near his position? What did that have to do with the rest of the army?
They shrugged and ignored it.
But as the sound grew larger, closer, and omnipresent, seeming to come from every direction at once and all around them, they grew uneasy. Men stopped chatting or lounging about and took up their weapons. Eyes scanned left and right, seeking out something, anything that would provide a more believable explanation for the sound.
Slowly, as the hissing grew so loud and close that each man realized it could be nothing
but snakes, they began to panic. Men retreated slowly, stepping backwards, seeking to get away from the wall of approaching sound. The HISSSSSS pervaded the entire forest now, it seemed.
“Hold your positions!” ordered their officers.
“Stay your ground, you lazy ruffians,” growled sergeants gruffly, passing on the officer’s orders.
But many of the officers were sweating nervously as well. Some were old enough to have heard stories at their father’s and grandfather’s knees of the dreaded Nagas and Urugas in the Last Asura Wars. Snakes were not the most popular forest creature and every year on an allotted day, oblations and offerings were given to the snake deities to appease them and persuade them not to unleash their venom on mortals. Of course, everyone knew that the last of the asuras had been exterminated when Rama had unleashed the brahm-astra at Mithila twenty four years ago. But these were the Southwoods, dreaded site of so many fearsome fables and cautionary tales from ancient itihasa, and who knew what beings might still reside in this dense jungle?
Suddenly, one of the archers cried out. They were the ones with the sharpest eyesight and he had seen something in the alternately shadowy and sunlit forest.
He reacted by doing something no kshatriya was ever supposed to do: he threw down his bow and rig and turned around. He ran past his fellows, ignoring even his commanding officers who were to surprised to order him to stop. His face betrayed his terror at whatever he had seen.
“Flee!” he yelled. “Flee for your lives!”
The others stared after him then at each other. The officers shouted sporadically to hold the line and hold their positions and the usual claptrap that officers were expected shout but none of the men were listening. They were all thinking about how the archer, one of the finest Ayodhyan bowmen, which made him one of the finest in the world, apart from the Assyrian horse bowmen and chariot archers, whom, it was said, were the best in the world, had thrown aside his bow and rig as if it was so much useless baggage, rather than the beautifully shaped polished and resin-waxed Mithila bow, a treasure to any kshatriya of the archer varna. It was a bow worth giving up one’s life for, and if the archer had thrown it aside, it could be for only one reason: the bow, fine as it was, would be utterly useless against the HISSSing thing that was approaching them, and while running away, would be an impediment while trying to get away through the close-growing trees and shrubbery. And if a bow and arrows, which could be used to kill or wound any enemy from afar, was useless, then what good were a sword, pike or axe which required close quarters to be effective?
The officers had realized this as well. And sweating with anxiety though they were, they were still commanding officers entrusted with a mission. It was their dharma to fulfil that mission or die trying. Under Samrat Rama Chandra’s ‘Ram Rajya’ failing to do one’s dharma was itself punishable by death. So they roared instructions that nobody was to abandon their weapon, and every soldier must hold the line and engage the enemy. Failure to comply would result in the severest danda: on-site execution.
That worked. Terrible though the HISSSing sound was and the thought of what it might be caused by, the fear of facing the wrath of danda was greater. Face the unseen menace and they might yet live. Run from it as the archer had done, and they would certainly be put to death.
So they stayed, reluctantly but bravely. And raised their weapons when their officers told them to, and prepared to fight.
A moment later, the source of the HISSSing was revealed. And it was every bit as terrifying as they had feared.
The forest floor was writhing with a carpet of snakes. All racing along at considerable speed, winding their sinuous way across the ground, slithering over and under each other, intertwining, hissing at each other or at everything in general, some pausing to strike at one another, fangs lashing out angrily, milky white drops of venom flicking off their gaping pink maws. For as far as the eye could see the ground was writhing with the creatures. They were all coming as fast as they could, towards the frontlines of Ayodhya’s finest.
Too late the officers gaped in disbelief and thought that perhaps they had given the wrong orders. Perhaps it was acceptable to retreat. After all, how could they fight such an enemy? And why fight it at all? The snakes of the Southwoods were not responsible for the abduction of the sacred horse! But their own orders, received from the chief of the King’s Guard, Captain Aarohan himself, had been crystal clear: No surrender, no retreat…on pain of death.
So they stood their ground. A few soldiers were unable to stand and watch the writhing monstrosity slither towards them, like some enormous beast spread out across acres of forest ground, and they turned and ran. They were caught and despatched a mile or two back, by men of the king’s guard, deployed to ensure the obedience of the army. A few others attempted to climb trees, forgetting that many breeds of snakes live in trees. But the majority of the frontliners stayed where they were, weapons in hand and ready to use. And watched as a terrible slithering death approached them yard by twining yard.
The line of snakes and the line of soldiers came closer together, until finally, they met, converged, and overlapped.
TWO
Luv and Kush smiled grimly at each other as the sound of soldiers screaming came to them on the forest wind. Their first tactic had worked better than expected. They had known of the existence of the snake nest ever since they were very young: it was a legend in these parts of the forest. A great nest, larger than any ever known had always existed here near a grotto that led to a network of underground caverns. The nest itself only housed the few thousand snakes that still chose to remain in the open rocky basin at the mouth of the grotto. It was said there were tens of thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands inside the deep cavern. They constantly slithered up and down through the tunnels, presumably in search of food and water and sunlight, which as cold-blooded creatures, they required in order to stay alive. From the sounds of it, they had succeeded in disturbing a good number into leaving their subterranean home and traveling in search of safer climes. If those migrating serpents happened to come across several hundred armed soldiers and consider them an obstruction to their seeking of safety, well, too bad for the soldiers.
It had been the work of moments to light a fire and throw the blazing debris down the other end of the great hole that joined up with the one at the back of that same grotto. They had not known how many snakes might be disturbed by the smoke and fire into climbing up and emerging into the open but any number would be sufficient to cause trouble in the enemy ranks. But even as they glanced down at the grotto from the top of the overhang—the only place safe enough to view the nest—they had been astonished at the sheer masses of writhing snakes that were emerging from the cave mouth. Thick sinuous green-black ropes of intertwined snakes fell in a constant stream, like a waterfall of serpents, to land on the leaf-strewn ground below, then work their way out of the nest and into the forest, snaking away at the heightened speed that their species resorted to only when faced by natural disaster or fire. They knew better than to follow the fleeing snakes to view what happened when they encountered the incoming soldiers: once let loose in the open jungle, panicked out of their minds, those snakes were an army unto themselves.
As the screams of the soldiers continued, they climbed back down into the canyon through another route which avoided any caves or open holes which might be filled with more escaping snakes. Reaching the ground several moments later, they were greeted with sighs of relief by their Maatr and Nakhudi.
“That was the most dangerous thing possible,” Maatr admonished. “What if those snakes had turned on you?”
Kush grinned. “We would have ordered them not to harm us by the authority of Emperor Rama Chandra of Ayodhya!”
“Yes!” Luv agreed. Both brothers laughed.
Nakhudi glanced at Sita’s face when the boys mentioned Rama Chandra. “You boys shouldn’t speak so insolently of the King.”
“Emperor!” Luv corrected. “Why not? He’s
nothing but a kshatriya corrupted by his lust for power.”
Nakhudi started to reply but Sita raised her hand. “Enough talk. That ploy with the snakes, clever though it was, won’t keep them back for long. This time they’ll come in force and when they do, it will take more than tactics to stop them.”
“It’s all right, Maatr,” Kush said. “We have a plan.”
Sita looked at each of them in turn, her face filled with some undefinable sadness. “I’m sure you do, my sons. But you will need all the help you can get. Just two of you alone, brave soldiers though you are, can’t keep back the entire Ayodhyan army.”
“Actually, Maatr,” Luv said, “in the right circumstances, it’s easier for a very small force to elude a very large army. In this part of the jungle, with this defensible position, knowing the terrain as we do, having made arrangements for such a contingency, we stand a better chance of survival than a regiment or an akshohini of defenders.”
“Yes, Maatr,” Kush added, deadly serious now. “You know this to be true. And so do you, Nakhudi.”
Nakhudi nodded slowly. “Aye, true it is. But I did not intend for you two to make this stand alone.”
Kush shrugged. “Nobody knows this terrain as well as we do. We have the advantage of being difficult to spot and quick to move. They will be expecting a much larger force, not just two defenders.” He spread his hands. “What do I have to say to convince you?”
“I’m convinced,” Sita said, struggling to rise to her feet. “Except that there will be more than just two of us defending.” She got to her feet and stood, swaying a moment, then her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed soundlessly.
RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA Page 58
