Kumbhakarna looked at the painting of Vedavati briefly before turning back to Raavan.
‘I began that painting many months ago. I am willing to make a fresh start,’ Ravan said. ‘This invitation has made me think that maybe we can actually get along with the Sapt Sindhuans. Maybe our wealth can be used for some good too. The question is, are you with me?’
Kumbhakarna remembered M’Bakur’s words from more than eight years ago. I am sure an opportunity to save Raavan’s soul will come again… he will need you to help him when the time comes.
He stepped up to embrace Raavan. ‘Of course I am with you, Dada!’
If we can walk away from adharma, the Vishnu will have no reason to attack us.
Akampana was confused. ‘But Iraiva, I don’t understand. Mithila? They’re… they’re nobodies. They’re only respected as intellectuals and philosophers. They have no real power.’
Akampana’s true lord, Raavan, would normally have told him to shut up and do as he was told. But men of consequence, men who do big deeds, usually have a weakness: they like to speak of their big deeds. They like to hear how great they are, if not in words, then with a look of admiration in the eyes of their acolytes. Raavan was no different. He normally spoke of his plans only to Kumbhakarna. Indrajit was still too young, and Raavan had little respect for anyone else. But lately, communication between the brothers had been strained. Kumbhakarna’s constant talk of dharma had begun to weary Raavan.
‘You will swear to never speak of this to anyone,’ said Raavan.
Akampana immediately made a pathetic attempt at the standard Lankan salute. ‘Of course, Iraiva.’
‘Not even to Kumbhakarna.’
Akampana’s chest swelled with pride. At last, his true lord had realised his value. He was placing greater trust in him than in his own blood. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Iraiva. I swear. I swear on the great Lord Jagannath.’
‘So here is what I am going to do. As soon as I win the swayamvar, I will take over Mithila and have King Janak follow my commands. I will force him, and his rishi council, to acknowledge me as a living God. Mithila may be powerless in temporal matters, but when it comes to spiritual matters, it is among the most respected, perhaps even rivalling Kashi. Only the land along the Saraswati River commands greater reverence. If Mithila starts worshipping me as a God, then many other Sapt Sindhu kingdoms will follow its example. They will build temples to me while I am still alive. Then, and only then, can I be assured of immortality.’
There was another aspect to the swayamvar that excited Raavan. His marriage to Princess Sita would be the ultimate humiliation for the Sapt Sindhuans; it would show them that he was capable of taking not only their ports and wealth, but also their women. He had married Mandodari for similar reasons. But Mandodari was the daughter of a mere landlord. Sita was the daughter of a king—a true princess. The thought of snubbing the royals by marrying one of them gave Raavan immense satisfaction. But he couldn’t say this to Akampana. Loyal servant though he was, Raavan couldn’t possibly discuss his personal life with him.
The loyal servant, meanwhile, was still reeling with shock. ‘But Iraiva, do you think that they will…’
‘They will.’
‘Who am I to disagree with you, great Iraiva? But, I mean… the Sapt Sindhu people are stubborn. They are not as open-minded as we Lankans are. Even the Vishnus and the Mahadevs did not have temples built to them while they were alive.’
Raavan leaned forward, his face close to Akampana’s. ‘Are you saying that I am less than a Vishnu or a Mahadev?’
‘I wouldn’t dare suggest it, noble Iraiva! You are greater than them, of course. But I don’t know if the Sapt Sindhuans will see this obvious truth. Sometimes people refuse to acknowledge that the Sun God has risen even though it is midday!’ Akampana said with an unctuous smile.
‘You don’t need to worry about that. They will see the truth for what it is. Trust me.’
‘I am sure you are right, Iraiva. Why else would they think of inviting you?’
‘They didn’t think of it. I got them to do it.’
‘Really?’ Akampana was impressed.
‘Yes. Kushadhwaj, the king of Sankashya, is the brother of King Janak of Mithila. He is deep in debt to Lanka. His business affairs have been a mess since his prime minister, Sulochan, died suddenly of a heart attack some years ago. We forgave much of his debt and he arranged the invitation.’
‘That was very well handled, great Iraiva.’
Raavan looked pleased with Akampana’s compliment. ‘Yes, I did handle it well.’
‘By the way, we have someone in Mithila too, my lord.’
Raavan had official trade representatives in every kingdom of the Sapt Sindhu. But that was not all. He had also established a secret spy network throughout the kingdoms. These spies and loyalists worked for him undercover, quietly ensuring that his agendas were effectively pursued.
‘I didn’t think Mithila was important enough for us to have someone stationed there,’ said Raavan. ‘But I suppose it will serve us well. Who is it?’
‘Well, we haven’t been actively managing her for years. As you say, my lord, Mithila is not a very important kingdom, and we don’t do much trade with it. But our spy is quite high up in the kingdom’s administration—the chief of police and protocol in Mithila.’
‘Who is he?’
‘She, my lord. Her name is Samichi.’
Raavan froze at the mention of the girl. He had not wanted to associate with anyone, except Kumbhakarna, who had been with him when Vedavati was killed. Their presence only reminded him of that terrible day. All the Lankan soldiers who had accompanied him to Todee had been sent to nondescript posts where he would never have to see them again. Hearing Samichi’s name brought back memories and reminded him yet again of his failure to protect Vedavati.
‘You speak to her and make sure everything is arranged in my favour,’ he said.
‘Of course, Iraiva.’
‘Nothing must go wrong.’
‘Absolutely, Iraiva.’
‘And I don’t want to see or meet Samichi when I am there. Is that clear?’
Akampana was confused, but he readily agreed. ‘Whatever you say, Iraiva.’
The Pushpak Vimaan hovered in the air for some time, as its rotors decelerated slowly. Then, very gently, it descended to the ground. Raavan had excellent pilots working for him.
As the doors slid open, Raavan emerged from the innards of his legendary flying craft, followed by Kumbhakarna. Vali, the king of Kishkindha and scion of the legendary Vaanar dynasty, stood at a safe distance, his entire court in tow.
Raavan’s corps of ten thousand soldiers had already left for Mithila, sailing up the east coast of India and then up the Ganga. They would march onward to Janak’s kingdom after disembarking from their ships, and wait for Raavan to arrive. Since there were enough days in between, Raavan had decided to stop at Kishkindha on his way to Mithila.
Strewn with massive boulders and rocky hills, the terrain of Kishkindha resembled a moonscape. The mighty Tungabhadra, flowing north-east, meandered through this surreal land before merging with the Krishna River up north. In consonance with the nature- and idol-worshipping ways of most of the Vedic people, great temples had been built in many parts of the city, venerating the sacred Tungabhadra, the land around it, and the ancient Gods. Each district of Kishkindha was built around a temple, which was surrounded by markets, amphitheatres, libraries, parks and houses. Vali was a wise and strong ruler. His land was prosperous and his people happy. And his reputation for bravery, honour and dignified conduct had spread far and wide.
‘Something is wrong,’ whispered Kumbhakarna, as they walked towards their waiting hosts.
There was no sign of the traditional Vedic welcome they had expected. No bedecked elephants, no ornamented cows, and no holy men holding ceremonial prayer plates. Not only that, the welcoming party was shrouded in an uncomfortable silence—there was no music or sounds of chanting.
Vali stood quietly at the head, his hands folded in a polite namaste. The king of Kishkindha was a fair, unusually hirsute and extraordinarily muscular man of medium height. He was dressed in full ceremonial attire, but he seemed distracted.
‘I don’t see Sugreev,’ whispered Raavan to Kumbhakarna.
Sugreev was Vali’s younger half-brother, and in Raavan’s opinion, an effete moron. Most people agreed with Raavan’s low opinion of the man, seeing in Sugreev the spoilt, indolent sibling of a great king, one who could not match the accomplishments of his over-achieving elder brother and managed his insecurities by drinking and gambling. Sugreev had committed enough indiscretions to deserve being kicked out of the kingdom, but the protection of their mother, Aruni, had ensured that Vali had not expelled his younger brother.
‘Neither do I,’ said Kumbhakarna softly.
Raavan smiled, sensing an opportunity.
Kishkindha had a matrilineal society. The ascendency to the throne did not pass from father to son, but from mother to daughter. The husband of the daughter succeeded the husband of the mother as king. But Lady Aruni, headstrong and powerful, had broken with tradition and made her capable elder son the king. She hadn’t been blessed with a daughter, and rather than letting the royal line pass to her younger sister’s female descendants as tradition dictated, she had decided to keep the throne within her immediate family.
Raavan was familiar with this history, but that was not what interested him right now, as he sat beside Vali in the guest wing of the Kishkindha royal palace. No one else, except Kumbhakarna, was around, not even Vali’s bodyguards.
Raavan’s expression was carefully calibrated to show concern. ‘You look distracted, King Vali. I hope the share of Customs duties being given to you is not too low? My men can be a little greedy at times,’ he said.
Vali smiled wanly. ‘Your people know that I cannot be pushed around. I am Vali.’
Raavan laughed heartily. ‘You’re the man, my friend.’
Vali looked at Raavan, a sad expression on his face. Though he remained silent, his bereft eyes seemed to convey a message. Man? Me?
Raavan was now confident that the information he had received this morning from his spies was correct. But he had to be certain before he made his move.
‘My friend,’ he said. ‘Where is Angad? I don’t see him anywhere. I hope he is well?’
Angad was Vali’s five-year-old son and the apple of his eye. The tough, stern and distant Vali, more respected than loved, was a different man when he was with his only son. He played and laughed with him, and indulged him any chance he got. Even occasionally becoming a horse for Angad to ride around on. Since Angad’s birth, Kishkindha’s citizens, and even the royal family, had come to see a casual, fun-loving side to Vali.
‘Yes… Angad… he’s…’ Vali stopped speaking, his face a picture of agony, his voice choked.
Raavan was now certain his information was correct. He controlled his breathing. He couldn’t allow his excitement to show.
Later. I’ll take over Kishkindha later. After I’ve taken Mithila.
Kumbhakarna, on the other hand, was shocked at the distraught look on Vali’s face. He had never seen the mighty Kishkindha king like this. ‘Great king,’ said Kumbhakarna, ‘is everything all right?’
Vali suddenly got up and stood in front of them, his hands clasped together. ‘Forgive me, my friends. I… I must go. I will come back in a while.’
Raavan and Kumbhakarna also rose immediately.
‘Of course, Vali,’ said Raavan, his face a picture of concern. ‘Please let us know if there is anything we can do.’
‘Thank you. We’ll speak later.’ Saying this, Vali rushed out of the chamber.
Kumbhakarna stared at Vali’s retreating form and then turned to his elder brother in bewilderment. ‘I didn’t realise King Vali was so close to his mother.’
Vali’s mother Aruni had passed away just a month ago, after a brief illness.
‘It’s not about his mother,’ said Raavan.
Kumbhakarna looked surprised. ‘Then what is it? He looks almost frail. I’ve never known him to bow down to any misfortune. Something is worrying him.’
Raavan cast a quick glance at the doorway, making sure that they were, indeed, alone. ‘What we are speaking of will remain between us. Strictly between us.’
‘Of course,’ said Kumbhakarna immediately. ‘What is this about?’
‘It’s about Angad.’
‘Angad? Has something happened to that lovely child?’
‘Nothing has happened to him yet. What matters is what happened before he was born.’
‘Before he was born?’
‘Yes. Are you familiar with the tradition of niyoga?’
Kumbhakarna was taken aback. Niyoga was an ancient tradition by which a woman, whose husband was incapable of producing a child, could request and appoint another man to impregnate her. For various reasons, this man was usually a rishi.
For one thing, most rishis were revered for their high intellectual prowess, a quality they would hopefully pass on to their offspring. More importantly, since most rishis were wandering mendicants, it was almost certain that they would not lay claim to the child. According to the law, any child produced as a result of a union sanctioned by niyoga would be considered the legitimate child of the woman and her husband; the biological father could not claim fatherhood and would have to remain anonymous.
‘From what my spies tell me,’ continued Raavan, ‘Vali was once very seriously injured while trying to save Sugreev. This happened many years back, during a hunt. The side effect of the medicines that saved his life was that he couldn’t have children. This was, for obvious reasons, kept secret.’
‘That useless brother of his,’ said Kumbhakarna in disgust. ‘So, you mean King Vali’s wife Tara decided to…’
‘Not Tara,’ Raavan interrupted him. ‘It was apparently his mother. The Queen Mother decided that Vali’s child should rule Kishkindha after him. And turned to niyoga for a solution.’
‘So what?’ asked Kumbhakarna. ‘What difference does it make if Angad is not his biological son? The rules are clear. Since King Vali is Queen Tara’s husband, he will be considered the father of her son, even if the child was sired by someone else. And Angad is a wonderful boy. He will make a great ruler one day. I can see, even at this young age, that he has his noble father’s spirit, drive and intelligence.’
‘Well, it’s a little more complicated than that.’
‘How so?’
‘You know what Aruni was like.’
‘I have heard stories, yes, of the Queen Mother’s headstrong ways…’
‘Yes, in any case, I think when people are close to death, they start thinking about their souls. They want to repent for their sins and “speak the truth”.’
‘What truth did she tell King Vali?’
‘Apparently, when Aruni decided that a niyoga was necessary for the sake of an unbroken lineage, she didn’t want to take Vali’s wife to a rishi.’
‘So what did she do?’
‘She wanted to ensure that it was her bloodline that continued to rule. So she…’
‘Oh my God!’ Kumbhakarna exclaimed, as the truth hit home.
Sugreev.
Kumbhakarna held his head, feeling Vali’s pain. ‘I can’t even imagine how distraught he must be. Angad is his pride and joy. And now… to know the truth… that it’s Sugreev’s cowardly blood that runs in Angad’s veins…’
‘Exactly,’ said Raavan.
‘Does Angad know?’
‘As far as I know, he does not.’
‘So the Queen Mother told King Vali this?’
‘Yes. On her deathbed, apparently.’
‘Why didn’t she just remain quiet about it?’
‘Guilt? She must have known that she did not do right by Vali and wanted to confess to him before her death.’
‘How incredibly selfish! To cleanse her own soul of bad karma, she confessed to her son a
nd gifted him a lifetime of trauma.’
‘You know how selfish mothers can be…’
Kumbhakarna ignored the barb. ‘Did King Vali confront that coward, Sugreev?’
‘Yes, and he confessed to it, said he had no choice in the matter. That he had only complied with their mother’s order.’
‘Bullshit!’ said Kumbhakarna. ‘I am sure Sugreev was delighted at the prospect of his child ascending the throne someday.’
‘Vali threw Sugreev out of the kingdom when he found out the truth,’ said Raavan. ‘I would have killed him!’
‘Lord Rudra have mercy!’ said Kumbhakarna. ‘What a mess.’
Raavan sympathised with Vali, but he couldn’t help feeling pleased about the good fortune that had fallen into his lap. He could now use the fight between Sugreev and Vali to wipe out the Vaanar dynasty and bring wealthy Kishkindha under the Lankan yoke. Vali’s army would become his to command and could then be used for the defence of Lanka, if he so wished.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He might finally have found a solution to the problem he had been struggling with for so long: the depleting strength of his forces in Lanka.
But he didn’t think Kumbhakarna would approve of his plan. He would have to handle this alone.
Chapter 25
The Pushpak Vimaan flew smoothly, thousands of feet above the holy land of India, travelling from Kishkindha to Mithila. Raavan and Kumbhakarna were seated in comfortable chairs, strapped in for safety. They would land in Mithila soon, in time for Raavan to attend Princess Sita’s swayamvar.
At the moment, though, their minds were not on Mithila, or Sita.
‘Celibacy, Kumbha?’ sneered Raavan. ‘Seriously? Women were created for one purpose alone. And you would deny them that purpose by turning celibate?’
‘Seriously, Dada, why are you so disrespectful towards women?’ asked Kumbhakarna. He knew he had annoyed his elder brother by announcing that he would undertake the forty-one-day oath that would allow him to travel to Shabarimala, the sacred Lord Ayyappa temple in the deep south of India. Raavan saw this as yet another sign that his brother was moving away from him and towards a strictly dharmic way of life.
Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta Page 25
