Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta

by Amish Tripathi

  Because of its shape, this massive building that had replaced the slum was called the Bees Quarter. Many of the former slum-dwellers had punched windows through the walls of the fort, which were also now the walls of their homes. Sita had not stopped them. Considering the minor status of Mithila within the Sapt Sindhu power structure, security had never been as paramount for her as the upliftment of the poorer citizens.

  The windows in the walls had been temporarily sealed for the swayamvar, with wood-panel barricades. But now, the Mithilans had quickly broken and removed these barricades, giving them a clear view of the empty grounds between the two fort walls—and an easy outlet for shooting arrows at the Lankans who came rushing from the outer fort wall towards them. Since the Mithilans were inside the Bees Quarter, the roof protected them from any further missile attacks. Basically, a makeshift improvisation in urban engineering had turned into an immense strategic advantage during battle!

  The Lankans, unaware of the danger that awaited them, were charging forward in a frenzy. They ran towards the inner wall, carrying ladders. Ready to scale the second wall, weapons in hand, and ravage the hapless citizens of Mithila. They expected no resistance.

  ‘Kill them all!’ thundered Raavan, running shoulder-to-shoulder with his soldiers, bloodlust in his eyes. ‘No mercy! No mercy!’

  In the tremendous din that the Lankans were making, Raavan didn’t hear a loud command in the distance. From within the Bees Quarter. An order bellowed by Sita and her husband, Ram. ‘Fire!’

  To the shock of the charging Lankans, arrows suddenly came raining down on them. Raavan looked up at the inner ramparts before realising that the arrows were being shot from the windows lower down, within the wall. Windows they did not even know existed.

  The Lankans were caught off-guard as the arrows cut through their lines. The losses were heavy, with almost every missile finding a mark, since the soldiers had been hurtling forward in dense formations. In the confusion, part of the charge stalled, with some of Raavan’s men running helter-skelter to avoid the projectiles aimed at them, while others cowered behind their shields. The Mithilans shot their arrows without respite, killing as many of the enemy as they could.

  The soldiers around Raavan and Kumbhakarna pulled their shields forward, protecting the brothers.

  ‘Retreat, Dada!’ shouted Kumbhakarna. ‘We are in a death zone.’

  ‘Never!’ roared Raavan. ‘All we need to do is scale the inner wall. Our army will finish them off! A few more minutes!’

  ‘Dada! In a few more minutes, you will not have an army left!’

  Kumbhakarna could see that Raavan was seething. He also knew he could not give the order to retreat without Raavan’s permission. ‘Dada, they are shooting us down like fish in a barrel! Give the order!’

  Behind the protective barrier of shields, Raavan looked around. At his loyal soldiers falling all around him, cut down ruthlessly.

  The king of Lanka nodded, the movement barely visible in the darkness.

  Kumbhakarna turned to his herald. ‘Retreat!’

  The conch shells were sounded, and their tune was picked up by heralds across the Lankan line. But this time, they played a different strain. At the signal, the Lankans turned and ran, retreating as rapidly as they had arrived.

  A loud cheer went up from the Mithilans in the Bees Quarter.

  The first Lankan attack had been repelled.

  Chapter 27

  It was the fifth hour of the first prahar the following day.

  The sense of shock in the Lankan camp was greater than the actual devastation. They had expected an easy victory against the apparently peace-loving Mithilans. What they had not expected was a strong counter-attack.

  Raavan had initially been incensed at the previous night’s outcome, but on reflection, he realised the odds were still in their favour. The Lankans had lost a thousand men the previous night. But so had the Mithilans, according to the intelligence from Samichi. The loss of a thousand soldiers weighed a lot more on the smaller Mithilan force. While Princess Sita’s army was now made up of three thousand irregular soldiers drawn from the police force, the Lankans still had nine thousand battle-hardened veterans. Furthermore, they had received word from Samichi that the ordinary citizens of Mithila were horrified at the devastation wrought by the Lankans the previous night. Morale was at an all-time low and Princess Sita was trying hard to rally her citizens to fight, but it seemed unlikely that she would succeed.

  The more he thought about it, the more Raavan was convinced that his forces still had the strength to conquer and destroy the city of King Mithi. And now, more than ever, it was a matter of prestige.

  The Lankans had been hard at work all night. The injured were being treated inside makeshift hospital tents, while parts of the forest were being cleared at a rapid pace. By the morning, they had enough wood for their needs. Some of the soldiers worked in groups to saw and shape the hardwood into planks. Others linked these planks into giant rectangular shields with sturdy handles on the sides as well as at the base. Each shield was capable of protecting twenty men.

  Raavan, accompanied by Kumbhakarna, walked up and down the lines, supervising the work.

  ‘The tortoise shields are coming along well,’ said Kumbhakarna. Though he had not been enthused at the prospect of battle at first, Kumbhakarna knew that leaving was out of the question. If they retreated after their unsuccessful first attempt, news would spread throughout the Sapt Sindhu that a tiny, powerless kingdom had managed to beat back the mighty Lankans in battle. This would electrify Raavan’s enemies. If they had avoided battle in the first place, the effect would not have been as devastating. But it was too late now. They would have to fight and defeat Mithila to forestall other rebellions.

  ‘Yes,’ said Raavan. ‘Tonight, we will charge again. We will break the outer walls, there’s no need to scale them. In any case, no Mithilan will be out there. Once we are past the outer walls, protected by our tortoise shields, we’ll breach the inner walls. These fools are not prepared for a siege. We underestimated them earlier. We will not make the same mistake again.’

  Kumbhakarna nodded. But it continued to bother him that Guru Vishwamitra and some of his Malayaputras were still inside the fort. One never took the mighty Malayaputras lightly. Never.

  Raavan’s mind was still on the battle to come. ‘Once we breach their walls, we will destroy them all. Nobody should be left alive, not even the animals.’

  Kumbhakarna did not say anything.

  ‘You continue checking the shields,’ said Raavan. ‘I want to read the spy reports.’

  ‘Yes, Dada.’

  Kumbhakarna walked away, deep in thought. He knew they had to fight this battle, but he couldn’t shake off the sense of foreboding that gripped him.

  He was moving among the men, checking the tortoise shields, when he heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow whizzing through the air. He ducked instinctively, only to see the arrow slam into a plank of wood at his feet. He looked up in surprise.

  Who in Mithila can fire an arrow that travels this distance with such unerring accuracy?

  He stared at the walls. All he could make out were two unusually tall men standing on the inner wall ramparts, and a third, who was a trifle shorter. The third man held a bow; he seemed to be looking directly at him.

  Kumbhakarna stepped forward to examine the arrow that had buried itself in the wood. There was a piece of parchment tied to its shaft. He tugged it off, untied the note, and read it quickly.

  Lord Rudra have mercy!

  ‘You actually believe they will do this, Kumbhakarna?’ asked Raavan, snorting with disgust as he threw the note away.

  Kumbhakarna had come running to Raavan and taken him aside to show him the note. It was from Ram, the crown-prince of Ayodhya and now the husband of Sita, the princess-prime minister of Mithila. The short note warned, very clearly, that the Malayaputras had set up an Asuraastra missile on the inner fort walls of Mithila, out of reach of the Lanka
n soldiers. And that if the Lankans did not demobilise their army and retreat, Ram would fire the Asuraastra. Raavan had one hour to decide.

  ‘Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna, ‘if they fire an Asuraastra, it could be—’

  ‘They don’t have an Asuraastra,’ interrupted Raavan. ‘They’re bluffing.’

  The Asuraastra was considered by many to be a daivi astra, used as a weapon of mass destruction. Lord Rudra, the previous Mahadev, had banned the unauthorised use of daivi astras many centuries ago, and practically everyone obeyed his diktat. Anyone who broke the law, he had decreed, would be punished with exile for fourteen years. Breaking the law for the second time would be punishable by death. The tribe left behind by Lord Rudra, the Vayuputras, would enforce this punishment strictly.

  However, there were those who insisted that the Asuraastra was not, strictly speaking, a weapon of mass destruction, only of mass incapacitation. And since it could not be termed a daivi astra, it could possibly escape Lord Rudra’s ban. Raavan did not concern himself with whether the Asuraastra qualified as a daiva astra or not. He simply refused to believe that the Malayaputras had an Asuraastra at all. He knew it was extremely difficult to access the core material for building one—there was none to be got in India for sure. He did not see the point in worrying about a weapon that his enemy was unlikely to possess.

  ‘But Dada, the Malayaputras do have—’

  ‘Vishwamitra is bluffing, Kumbhakarna!’

  Shocked to hear Raavan refer to Guru Vishwamitra by his name alone, Kumbhakarna fell silent.

  Nearly three hours had passed since the Lankans had received the warning. By now, even Kumbhakarna had begun to wonder if the note had been a bluff, though the vague sense of impending doom refused to leave him.

  ‘Are you convinced now, Kumbha?’ asked Raavan. ‘You know I am never wrong.’

  Kumbhakarna wished he could share his brother’s conviction, but his own instincts said otherwise.

  ‘You are aware of the punishment for firing a daivi astra, right?’ asked Raavan. ‘Do you expect the Malayaputras to break Lord Rudra’s law? Guruji knows very well that even if we kill everyone else in Mithila, we would not dare touch them. They are safe.’

  What Raavan didn’t know was that the Malayaputras were out of options. Even though they were mindful of Lord Rudra’s laws, they had to protect Sita at any cost.

  Kumbhakarna’s instincts were right.

  ‘Can I please have your permission to step out now?’ asked Raavan sarcastically.

  On Kumbhakarna’s insistence, Raavan had grudgingly remained within the parked Pushpak Vimaan. One of the metals used to build the fuselage of the vehicle was lead, and it was well-known that lead was an inhibitor of the effects of various daivi astras, including the Asuraastra. That’s why it was sometimes called a magic metal. Kumbhakarna had been keeping an eye on the section of the Mithila fort from where the warning arrow had been fired. At the first sign of trouble, he intended to close the vimaan door, so that his brother would be safe.

  Kumbhakarna shook his head. ‘No, Dada. Please. It’s my job to protect you.’

  ‘And it’s my job to protect you from your own stupidity! Step aside now. I need to go check if the boats are ready for the weight of the tortoise shields.’

  ‘Dada, please listen to me.’

  ‘In the name of Lord Rudra, have you gone insane, Kumbhakarna?’ Raavan asked, exasperated.

  ‘Please, Dada. Your safety is most important.’

  ‘I am not a child who needs your protection!’

  ‘Please stay here, Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna. ‘I will go and check the boats.’

  ‘Dammit!’

  ‘Dada, just think you are doing it to humour me. I have a bad feeling—’

  ‘We can’t make battle plans based on your “feelings”!’

  ‘I beg of you. Stay in the vimaan. I’ll go and check on the boats.’

  Raavan sat back angrily. ‘Fine!’

  Kumbhakarna was at the lake, instructing the Lankan soldiers to load the tortoise shields on the boats. He still had one wary eye on the fort, checking for any sign of the Asuraastra being fired.

  He turned to look at the vimaan parked some distance behind him and was relieved to see a scowling Raavan standing just inside the flying craft.

  Kumbhakarna gestured for Raavan to remain where he was, then turned back to watch the work on the boats.

  All of a sudden, that sense of foreboding inside him seemed to strengthen. Painfully. Like someone had grabbed his guts and was squeezing them dry.

  He looked towards the fort. Towards the section of the inner wall that had the Bees Quarter abutting it. His eyes widened in alarm.

  What Kumbhakarna did not know was that the Malayaputras had finally found someone to trigger the Asuraastra. Someone to take the blame, and the punishment, for possibly breaking Lord Rudra’s commandment. Someone whose desire to save the woman he loved was strong enough to make him break the law, something he would not normally consider—Sita’s husband, Ram.

  A flaming arrow shot by Ram was tearing through the air at a fearsome speed.

  Lord Rudra have mercy.

  Kumbhakarna turned around instantly, screaming, ‘Dada!’

  He charged towards the Pushpak Vimaan, running as hard as his legs would allow.

  Meanwhile, at the top of the Bees Quarter, the flaming arrow slammed into a small red square on the Asuraastra missile tower, pushing it backwards. The fire from the arrow was captured in a receptacle behind the red square, and from there it spread rapidly to the fuel chamber that powered the missile. There was a flash of intense light, and a series of soft explosions. A few seconds later, heavy flames gathered near the base of the tower.

  Kumbhakarna reached the vimaan and leapt for the entrance, throwing his weight on his elder brother, who went flying backwards into the vimaan. Kumbhakarna’s momentum carried him inside as well.

  But the door of the craft was still open.

  The Asuraastra missile took off and flew in a high arc over the walls of Mithila, covering the distance in a few short seconds. The Lankan soldiers on the outer side of the moat-lake looked up in surprise and panic. The missile could mean only one thing.

  A daivi astra.

  They were doomed. They knew that.

  There was no time to react. No time to run. And where would they run and hide?

  They were out in the open. Easy prey for the Asuraastra.

  Even while devastation sped towards them, none of the Lankans could tear their eyes away from the spectacle. As the missile flew high above the moat-lake, there was a small, almost inaudible explosion, like that of a firecracker meant for a child.

  The terror in the soldiers’ hearts was quickly replaced by hope.

  Maybe the daivi astra had failed.

  But the Malayaputras and the princes of Ayodhya, who stood at the top of the Bees Quarter, knew better. They had covered their ears, as instructed by Guru Vishwamitra.

  The assault of the Asuraastra had not yet begun.

  Kumbhakarna, meanwhile, had sprung to his feet, even as Raavan lay sprawled on the floor of the vimaan. He rushed to the door and hit the metallic button on the sidewall with the full weight of his body. The door of the vimaan began to slide shut slowly. Too slowly.

  The door will not close in time.

  Without a second thought, Kumbhakarna took up position. Just inside the vimaan. Just behind the doorway. As the sliding door moved into place, closing slowly, agonisingly slowly.

  Kumbhakarna. Blocking the still open part of the doorway with his gigantic form.

  So that the effects of the explosion would not travel beyond him.

  Kumbhakarna. Ready to sacrifice himself. For the man he loved.

  For his brother.

  For his dada.

  The Asuraastra hovered above the Lankan soldiers for a moment, and then exploded with an ear-shattering sound that shook even the walls of Mithila in the distance. The Lankans felt their eardrums burst pa
infully, the air sucked out from their lungs.

  But this was only a prelude to the devastation that would follow.

  An eerie silence followed the explosion. Then spectators on the Mithila rooftops saw a bright green flash of light emerge from where the missile had splintered. It burst with furious intensity and hit the Lankans below like a flash of lightning. They stayed rooted, stunned into a temporary paralysis. Fragments of the exploded missile showered down on them.

  Kumbhakarna saw the flash of green light just as the door of the Pushpak Vimaan slid shut. Even as the door sealed and locked automatically, saving those inside the flying vehicle from any further injury, Kumbhakarna collapsed, unconscious.

  ‘Kumbhaaaaaaa!’ Raavan rushed to his younger brother, screaming.

  Outside the vimaan, the Asuraastra was still not done. The real damage was yet to come.

  A dreadful hissing sound radiated out, like the battle-cry of a gigantic snake. Simultaneously, the fragments of the missile that had fallen to the ground emitted demonic clouds of green gas, which spread like a shroud over the stupefied Lankans.

  The gas was the actual heart of the Asuraastra. The real weapon. The explosions and the paralysing green light primed the victim. The thick green gas was the slayer.

  In a few minutes, the deathly gas enveloped the Lankans, who lay paralysed in the clearing outside the Pushpak Vimaan. It would put them in a coma that would last for days, if not weeks. It would kill some of them. But at the moment, all was deceptively calm. There were no screams and no cries for mercy. No one made an attempt to escape. They simply lay on the ground, motionless, waiting for the fiendish astra to push them into oblivion. The only sound in the otherwise grim silence was the hiss of the gas spewing from the missile fragments.

  Inside the vimaan, a devastated Raavan was on his knees, holding his younger brother in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he shook the body of his paralysed brother repeatedly, trying to wake him up. ‘Kumbha! Kumbha!’