Raavan thought about it. Kumbhakarna was already looking tired and sleepy. He would have to be given his medicines soon. Then there was Indrajit—his pride and joy. His heir. If there was a way to avoid putting these two at risk…
‘Also, my lord,’ said Vibhishan, ‘many people believe that we are not close to you. So, even if we are caught out, in all likelihood, Sita’s disappearance will not be linked to you. It will be like an independent act by relatives you don’t like. Your hands will remain clean.’
Raavan narrowed his eyes. That does make some kind of sense.
‘Dada,’ Shurpanakha persisted, ‘you have nothing to lose. If we fail, you can go to Panchavati with your soldiers in any case. What’s the harm in giving us a chance?’
Yeah… What’s the harm?
‘All right,’ said Raavan.
Shurpanakha whooped in delight, clapping her hands together.
Vibhishan went down on his knees ceremoniously and brought his head down to the floor, paying obeisance to Raavan. ‘You will not regret this, my lord.’
Raavan looked at him. Pretentious moron.
Chapter 29
It had been many weeks since Vibhishan and Shurpanakha had sailed out of Lanka, to the port of Salsette, on the western coast of India. Located north of the ruined Mumbadevi port, the island was now the primary Lankan outpost in the area. It was also the port closest to Panchavati, where Ram, Sita and Lakshman were camped, along with sixteen Malayaputra soldiers.
Indrajit had accompanied his uncle and aunt to Salsette, but had been ordered to take no further part in the mission. Raavan did not want to put his son’s life at risk. The brave young man had protested vociferously, but had finally submitted to his father’s directive.
From Salsette, Vibhishan and Shurpanakha had marched with a company of soldiers to Panchavati, with the intention of kidnapping Sita.
But the mission had turned out to be a disaster.
‘I am sorry,’ Raavan said to Kumbhakarna. ‘I should have listened to you.’
Raavan and Kumbhakarna were in the Pushpak Vimaan, accompanied by a hundred soldiers, flying towards Salsette.
Not only had Shurpanakha failed to kidnap Sita, she had been caught and bound by her. Sita had dragged the bleating Lankan princess to the Panchavati camp, where the waiting Lankan soldiers had nearly come to blows with the followers of Ram and Sita. Worse, Shurpanakha had been accidentally injured on her nose by Lakshman.
Vibhishan had quickly ordered a retreat without offering a fight, thus keeping himself, his sister and their soldiers alive. They had rushed back to Salsette, and from there, led by Indrajit, had sailed back to Lanka, to appraise Raavan of their plight.
Raavan had responded by setting off from Lanka immediately, with as many soldiers as could be accommodated in the Pushpak Vimaan. While cosmetic surgeries would, over time, take away the physical marks of Shurpanakha’s injury, the metaphorical loss of face could only be avenged with blood.
Raavan couldn’t stop cursing his inept half-siblings all through the flight, but he also realised, with some prodding from Kumbhakarna, that he finally had a legitimate excuse to attack Ram’s camp. After all, any outrage against a member of the Lankan royal family had to be responded to. It was a matter of honour, and any reasonable person would agree that it could not be construed as an act of war. And that would hopefully nullify the treaty obligations which bound other kingdoms within the Sapt Sindhu to come to Ayodhya’s aid.
Kumbhakarna looked at his brother and smiled, waving the apology aside. ‘It’s all right, Dada. We’ve spoken about this already and cussed out our idiot half-siblings enough. Let’s focus on what we have to do right now. We have to kidnap the Vishnu. That’s it. Let’s keep our minds clear.’
‘True,’ said Raavan, smiling. He stretched his arms over his head. ‘You know what the most irritating part of an attack is?’
‘What?’
‘The waiting.’
‘That is true.’
‘It’s excruciating to know we will be in the heat of battle soon, but till it starts, we have to sit around doing nothing. We have to talk and behave normally, keeping our heartrate in check and bloodlust high, but not so high that we lose control.’
Kumbhakarna laughed. ‘But you will keep your bloodlust in check out there as well.’
Raavan glowered at Kumbhakarna.
‘Dada, be realistic. You are not what you used to be. You are nearly sixty years old now. Your navel outgrowth and the continuous use of medicines have weakened you. You’ve fought enough battles. Let the soldiers do the fighting now.’
‘Well, you’re not exactly fighting fit either!’ Raavan exclaimed petulantly.
Kumbhakarna glanced towards the pilots of the craft, who were within earshot.
‘Which is why I will avoid fighting as well,’ he said, keeping his voice low.
‘They attacked our family. And you want us to not react?’ Raavan spoke in an angry whisper.
‘No, Dada. I want you to react intelligently.’
‘I am not a coward!’
‘I didn’t say you are.’
‘Then I must fight.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You don’t have the right to order me around, Kumbhakarna.’
‘You are right, I don’t. But I do have the right to demand the first of the three boons you promised me.’
In a fit of guilt and remorse after the Battle of Mithila, where his mistake had caused permanent damage to Kumbhakarna’s health, Raavan had told his younger brother that he could demand three boons from him, at any time in the course of their lives. And that those three demands would be met, come what may. Kumbhakarna had not asked for anything. Until now.
Raavan grunted angrily. He knew he had no choice. ‘You are not playing fair, Kumbha!’
‘We’ll get the Vishnu, Dada. We’ll kidnap her. But there is no need for you to put your life at risk.’
Raavan looked away, fuming.
Kumbhakarna laughed softly. ‘Look at the bright side, Dada. I only have two boons left.’
Raavan looked out of the porthole at the land of Salsette below him.
They had stopped briefly at the port, to pick up Samichi and her lover, Khara, who was also a captain in the Lankan armed forces. The vimaan had taken off once again, with its course set towards the Godavari River.
Ram, Sita, Lakshman and the Malayaputras with them had abandoned Panchavati soon after the botched encounter with Shurpanakha and Vibhishan. Lankan intelligence had lost track of them. But Samichi had managed to find the exact location of the Vishnu and her companions by brutally torturing a captive Malayaputra. It turned out that they were still close to the river, though much further down from Panchavati. As soon as Kumbhakarna was informed of this, he had ordered them to join his raiding party.
Raavan looked at Samichi, and then at his younger brother. ‘Why do we need to take this woman along? I don’t like having her around!’
‘I know it troubles you, Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna calmly. ‘But she knows their exact location.’
‘So what? We have the information now. We can go by ourselves.’
‘Samichi knows Princess Sita better than any of us. She was in the service of the Vishnu for many years. Her advice may prove useful.’
‘You could have debriefed her thoroughly before we left Salsette. I still don’t see why she has to travel with us.’
‘It’s better to have her with us.’
‘She was there during the Battle of Mithila. A fat lot of good that did us. She was useless!’
‘But she is trying to make herself useful now. Let’s give her the opportunity. What do we have to lose?’
Raavan took a deep breath and did not answer.
‘Dada, trust me, please. It’s important that we get the Vishnu; that we capture her alive. Let’s put our emotions aside and focus on that.’
‘You can be really infuriating, Kumbha! I don’t know why I even painted you,’ Raavan burst out
suddenly.
‘You’ve made a painting of me?’ Kumbhakarna was genuinely surprised. He knew that every painting created by Raavan had only one constant character in it. ‘You painted me with the Kanyakumari?’
Raavan nodded in the affirmative.
‘When do I get to see it?’ asked Kumbhakarna.
Raavan picked up a cloth bag lying next to him and pulled out a rolled-up canvas.
‘What? You have it with you?’ Kumbhakarna was delighted.
Raavan handed over the canvas to his brother.
Kumbhakarna unrolled it, shifting a little to make sure nobody else in the vimaan could see it. ‘Wow!’
Raavan’s eternal muse, the Kanyakumari, was at the centre of the painting. She looked older. Her hair was almost completely grey and her face was finely lined. She had a slight stoop. She looked at least sixty years old, if not more. But her face still had that angelic splendour—of grace, beauty and kindness.
She was helping a small child who was trying to climb a wall.
Kumbhakarna smiled. ‘This child looks familiar!’
Raavan laughed softly, for the child was Kumbhakarna. Hairy, almost bear-like, with pot-like ears and two extra arms sticking out on top of his shoulders. Despite his oddities, the child looked adorable. Happy and huggable.
‘Where am I going?’ asked Kumbhakarna, his eyes fixed on the painting.
Raavan pointed to the fencing on top of the wall. A circular symbol in the shape of a wheel was repeated several times, to form a railing. Kumbhakarna recognised it only too well.
‘The wheel of dharma.’
‘Yes,’ said Raavan. ‘You will rise to achieve your dharma.’
‘I don’t see you in this painting. Where are you?’
Raavan didn’t answer.
‘Where do you see yourself, Dada?’
Raavan remained silent.
Kumbhakarna examined the painting closely. He then turned towards his elder brother, clearly unhappy. ‘Dada—’
On the wall, visible only if one looked closely, were ten faces. Nine of them exhibited the navrasas, or nine major emotions, as described in the Natyashastra: love, laughter, sorrow, anger, courage, fear, disgust, wonder and tranquillity. The tenth face, in the centre, had no expression at all. A blank slate.
Kumbhakarna could see what Raavan had attempted in the painting. The king of Lanka was sometimes addressed as Dashanan by his subjects, for they said that he had the knowledge and power of ten heads. Raavan had sought to play on this name, and the symbolism that attaches to emotions in the Indian artistic tradition, to convey a much deeper meaning. Traditional wisdom says that true spiritual awakening is possible only when one transcends the wall of emotions that keeps one imprisoned in this illusory world. In the painting, Raavan had made himself the wall that the child Kumbhakarna was trying to scale.
‘Climb over the wall of emotions you have for me, my brother,’ said Raavan. ‘Leave me, and find dharma. I am too far gone. There is no hope for me. But you are a good man. Rediscover your childhood and your innocence. Leave me and start from the beginning once again. Walk the path of dharma, for I know that is what your soul desires.’
Kumbhakarna rolled up the canvas tightly without a word, and slipped it back into Raavan’s cloth bag.
‘Kumbha… listen to me.’
‘I am carrying out my dharma, Dada,’ he said.
‘Kumbha—’
‘Enough now.’
An unseasonal storm had buffeted the Pushpak Vimaan as the Lankans approached the temporary campsite of the exiles. The pilots had somehow managed to land the craft without any damage. Dangerous as the storm was for the flying vehicle, it had inadvertently helped the Lankans. The howling winds had drowned out the sound of the vimaan’s massive rotors. They had managed to disembark without being noticed and had successfully maintained the element of surprise as they attacked the temporary camp.
The battle had been short and sharp.
The Malayaputras were heavily outnumbered, so it was no surprise that there were no Lankan casualties. All the Malayaputras, save Captain Jatayu and two of his soldiers, were dead or critically injured.
But Ram, Lakshman and Sita were missing. Kumbhakarna had organised seven teams, of two soldiers each, to spread out and search for the trio.
At the same time, Captain Khara had been tasked with extracting information from the surviving Malayaputras, especially Captain Jatayu.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna stood at a distance, where they wouldn’t have to get their hands dirty. Thirty soldiers stood close to them, ready to protect their royals at the first sign of trouble.
‘This is taking too long,’ muttered Raavan to Kumbhakarna.
‘Should we go back and wait inside the vimaan?’ asked Kumbhakarna.
Raavan shook his head. No.
Khara was still working on Jatayu, who was now on his knees, held by two Lankan soldiers. The Malayaputra’s hands were tied behind his back. Jatayu had been brutalised; he was severely injured and bleeding, but he was not broken.
‘Answer me,’ said Khara, as he slid the knife along Jatayu’s cheek, drawing some more blood. ‘Where is she?’
Jatayu spat at him. ‘Kill me quickly. Or kill me slowly. You will not get anything from me.’
Khara raised his knife in anger, about to strike at Jatayu’s throat. Suddenly, an arrow whizzed in from behind the forest line and struck his hand. The knife fell to the ground as he yelped in surprise and pain.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna whirled around, startled. The Lankan soldiers close to them rushed in and formed a protective cordon around them. Kumbhakarna grabbed Raavan’s arm to restrain his impulsive elder brother from charging into battle.
Other Lankan soldiers raised their bows in the direction that the enemy arrow had been fired from. They couldn’t see anything. Somebody had shot the arrow from deep behind the forest line, behind the visually impenetrable line of trees.
‘Don’t shoot!’ ordered Kumbhakarna loudly. He wanted the Vishnu alive.
The Lankan bows were swiftly lowered.
Khara broke the shaft, leaving the arrowhead buried in his hand. It would stem the blood for a while. He looked into the impenetrable line of trees. Into the darkness. And scoffed in disdain. ‘Who shot that? The long-suffering prince? His oversized brother? Or the Vishnu herself?’
There was no response.
‘Come out and fight like real warriors!’ Khara shouted
There was no response to that taunt either.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna remained well protected by their soldiers, their shields raised high.
‘Send the soldiers in,’ said Raavan, pointing towards the part of the forest that the arrow had been shot from.
‘No,’ said Kumbhakarna. ‘We should not thin out our force any further. There are three of them. They could have spread out. They can pick you off if our soldiers aren’t with us.’
‘Kumbha, I am not that important. Get those—’
Kumbhakarna interrupted his elder brother. ‘Dada, you are the entire reason for this raid. We are kidnapping the Vishnu to keep you alive with the Malayaputra medicines. I will not put your life at risk.’
Before Raavan could argue any more, five more arrows were shot in a rapid-fire attack. In quick succession. Right where Raavan and Kumbhakarna were. But this was from a different direction. Far from where the first arrow had been shot.
The arrows hit the soldiers surrounding the brothers. Five Lankans went down. But the others did not budge. The cordon around Raavan remained resolute. Ready to fall for their king.
The bodyguards were showing the mettle they were made of.
‘It looks like there are two of them in the forest,’ whispered Kumbhakarna. ‘I hope the Vishnu hasn’t escaped.’
Raavan didn’t say anything. He was getting suspicious. There was too much of a time lag between the first attack on Khara and the second five-arrow attack directed at himself and Kumbhakarna.
Some of the Lankan soldiers
took off in the direction that the latest attack had come from.
Then came the sound of someone stepping on a twig. From another direction. Three soldiers rushed towards the sound.
Raavan was sure now. ‘There is just one person. He is moving around quickly behind the forest line to confuse us.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Kumbhakarna.
Before Raavan could respond, Khara moved. He stepped behind Jatayu, and using his uninjured left hand, held a knife to his throat.
One can chase hidden attackers in all directions. Or, one can draw them out with a well-targeted threat. Khara was smart. He did the smart thing.
‘You could have escaped,’ he said tauntingly. ‘But you didn’t. So I’m betting you are among those hiding behind the trees, great Vishnu. And you want to protect those who worship you. So inspiring… so touching…’ Khara pretended to wipe away a tear.
Raavan, far in the distance, his view of Khara blocked by the many Lankan soldiers surrounding him, smiled. He turned to Kumbhakarna. ‘I like this Khara.’
Khara continued aloud, ‘So I have an offer. Step forward. Tell your husband and that giant brother-in-law of yours to also step forward. And we will let this captain live. We will even let the two sorry Ayodhya princes leave unharmed. All we want is your surrender.’
No response.
Khara grazed the knife slowly along Jatayu’s neck, leaving behind a thin red line. He said in a sing-song voice, ‘I don’t have all day…’
Suddenly, Jatayu struck backwards with his head, hitting Khara in the groin. As the Lankan doubled up in pain, Jatayu screamed, ‘Run! Run away, my lady! I am not worth your life!’
Three Lankan soldiers moved in and pushed Jatayu to the ground. Khara cursed loudly as he got back on his feet, still bent over to ease the pain. After a few moments, he inched towards the Malayaputra and kicked him hard. He surveyed the treeline, turning in every direction that the arrows had been fired from. All the while, he kept kicking Jatayu again and again. He bent and roughly pulled Jatayu to his feet.
Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta Page 30
