Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  I can still see the shocked expressions in my uncles’ eyes. They were shocked by the language, the tone and my expression. In their code, leaders had to be polite, use civilized language, and hear discussions out before humbly requesting everyo

  ne’s cooperation. I have, at the most conservative count, violated at least five codes of Asura honour. But I did not care. No more flowery language in chaste Tamil, no more elaborate rituals for me. I would set my own codes and those who wanted to could come with me.

  8 Maharaja

  Ravana

  I have noticed this man since the day he accompanied Sumali, though, there was nothing in him to be noticed. He was one of those low cadre soldiers who are so essential in any army, but who are usually thanklessly forgotten. He was always trying to get near me. He wanted to get something across badly. I called him and asked what he wanted. I should have done so weeks ago but had decided to impose distance between the officers of the army and the lower ranks. Earlier, we three brothers would get drunk together with all our comrades. But I had begun to feel uncomfortable with such a show of camaraderie.

  It all changed when my uncles came with th fitie

  The dark young man came up to me, bowed reverently, and placed the refreshments close by. I did not want to look at his face. I was afraid that if I looked hard enough, I would see the contempt and hatred this class of people hid behind their meaningless servility and excessive deference. He stood close to me for some time and when I did not acknowledge his presence, he left silently. Why was I so concerned about whether they respected me or not? Banishing that foul-looking man from my mind, I tried to concentrate on the organizational structure for the army.

  We had agreed on a council of ten officers, including my uncles Prahastha, Sumali, Maricha, Jambumali, the erstwhile governor of East Lanka’s Pearl Islands, and us three brothers. There was also Rudraka, an able commando from Mahabali’s elite protection wing and the only one to escape alive, by masquerading as an alms seeker, when the army of Vamana Vishnu attacked the Emperor; Dhumraksha, the man who was the supply and distribution chief of Mahabali’s army and Vajradhamstra, the commander-in-chief of Mahabali’s forces. There were other minor officers who commanded smaller units. My silence ensured that I was chosen as commander-in-chief. It was only when I felt the exhilaration and relief of being chosen as commander, that I realized how much I had wanted the post. I sensed some restlessness in Prahastha and Vajradhamsra, but they and the others, knew they were not up to the task. Six years of battles with no result does not inspire confidence in the troops. So they lost out and accepted it like gentlemen.

  The unspoken agreement was that every decision would be by vote and I would only be a token chief. We Asuras, unlike the Devas, were yet to evolve an advanced level of political administration. This was an area in which I wanted to emulate the Devas, who had a clear administrative system where the king or Raja was the supreme ruler. He is divinity in action, the living God on earth, and he decides what is good for his subjects. The advantage is that decisions are fast and implementations swift. The disadvantage is that with a bad ruler, bad decisions are also implemented quickly and the country could suffer. While we Asuras waited for our councils to reach a decision even during war, the Devas took our country from us.

  Anyhow, my assumed divinity, which I had started believing in since I was lying to myself quite often these days, stood as a barrier between me and the dark, stocky young man. I was rather confused and decided to discuss the matter with Sumali. After all, the dark man could be a spy. He was watching things with hawk’s eyes and I had seen him find chores which ensured that he was near us during our council meetings.

  I was sitting deeply immersed in my thoughts, unable to formulate any concrete plans for our forthcoming attack on Lanka. I could feel the stress and wanted to smash something, or shout at someone, to clear my mind. I had impulsively said that we should take Lanka from my step-brother. Now I realized that the move did not make much sense.

  Kubera’s palace was inside a well-guarded fort, atop Trikota, a huge rocky mountain. Whatever sparse vegetation existed earlier, had been destroyed by Kubera’s security forces seven years ago: when Varuna, a pirate who ruled the seas around the mainland, in a daring attack under cloud and forest cover, nearly kcovainland captured Lanka. He torched the city and took hordes of gold and imported horses; silks and women from the palace. The fort was made impregnable after that, with all the vegetation cut from the hill and watch posts every hundred yards. Mounted guards patrolled the streets and the beach. They were ruthless and efficient and numbered over a thousand. They had successfully repelled Varuna’s attack thrice in the last seven years and even succeeded in sinking three of his ships. It was rumoured that Varuna had moved to the eastern seas. Kubera even acquired a fleet and built a powerful navy. These heavily armed ships patrolled the seas and piloted the trade ships in and out of the island’s port.

  But more than the strength of Kubera’s army, it was another factor which sent shivers down my spine. My mother and sister were still living in that dilapidated shelter at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the sea, assuming they have not died of starvation or from the elements. If Kubera sensed that I planned such mischief, he would kill my kin in a second or worse, take them hostage. I did not have a standby plan for that. But the Council had decided that Lanka should be taken at any cost. The wealth of the island was fabulous and would help us raise a huge army and navy to take on the mainland. No other conquest would help us raise enough forces to take on the might of India.

  “Sir, may I speak?” I gazed at the stocky, young man and was rather irritated. It was the same man who had been following me with his gaze for the past few days.

  “What do you want? Don’t you have anything better to do?” I was surprised at my own harshness.

  He stood there, his eyes even with mine. I was a head taller than him but he looked at me squarely. There was no threat, neither any fear. I waited for his eyes to fall, for him to cower and stare at his own toes. But the man before me showed no nervousness. The classical sign of an Asura faced with authority was to fall on his knees and grovel. My race, in its march towards progress, had forgotten that people can be equal and there was something called the middle path. In this man, I met someone who could handle equality. I was surprised and irritated to find the man showed no fear of my authority and did not act humble. It was absurd; the very notion that he was my equal was absurd. Or was it? I had behaved just like him a few months ago, before Mahabali discovered me.

  Then I understood. I saw that he was a man who had lost everything and was living only for a purpose. There was something inside him which was taut and ready to burst. Here was a man who could control his emotions and merge with his surroundings. He could lie still like a cobra in the grass and strike with deadly venom, attack with passion, soundlessly and ruthlessly. His eyes were glassy as he stared at me. Suddenly I was afraid. My hands clenched the butt of my sword, ready to strike if this cobra made any move. Without any warning, he shocked me by falling at my feet.

  I was angry and relieved. Angry that he had shown the same Asura behaviour of submitting to authority. Relieved because I did not want to fight such a primitive force. There was something crude, raw and fresh about the man. He was the original force of nature, the very salt of the earth. The fact that he was an ordinary man made him extraordinary.

  “Trust me, your Highness, my King; I shall serve you better than anyone ever born. I shall lay down my life for you. Make me your servant. I know you are our saviour. You are our God-sent king, who has come to rescue the Asura tribe from the clutches of the Devas.” He suddenly broke into sobs and his whole body shook. I stood there embarrassed by the sudden display of emotion. He clutched my legs. I did not know what to say or how to react. This was not what I had expected. Then I saw Prahastha running towa k rud mrds us with his sword drawn. I stopped him with a flick of my fingers, amazed by how even the proud Prahastha stopped abruptly because o
f my small gesture.

  How amazing! If more people fell at my feet like this, I might not only start enjoying it but even start demanding it. The initial pity had vanished and was replaced by a love mixed with contempt for the hapless human being lying at my feet. I could feel that he was completely under my power. I could kick him, drag him, and even behead him, and no one would raise a finger. I was also terrified. What would happen to me? This kind of power came with the burden of responsibility as King, to hear the woes of one’s subjects and find solutions to their problems. I would do that. I would be the kindest king in the world.

  I raised him up with my hands and stared into his face. His eyes were red and I thought his emotions were genuine. But I could not fathom the depths of his eyes. The sleepy, glassy eyes were like those of a snake. Something sinister was lying dormant there and I was afraid to touch it lest the snake wake up. “What is it that I can do for you?” I assumed my kindest voice and wondered if the pitch was rather too shrill for a king.

  “Your Highness, we have been discussing about you becoming the King of the Asuras. We want you to be crowned as soon as possible. All the soldiers in the camp believe that you are the true successor of Mahabali and we want you to lead us. I come as a representative of the soldiers who are willing to live and die for your success.”

  “You are aware that I am your commander-in-chief and you live and die for our cause, just as I do.” My tone was severe, yet I couldn’t hide my excitement. The rank and file of the Asura army wanted me as their king. The Council could think I was too young and brash for such a responsibility but my soldiers wanted me as their leader and that was more important. I was uneasy that I had thrust myself on the Council as its chief. Now this beautiful young man was addressing me as king and not plain ‘Sir’, as the soldiers address their superiors in the Asura army. I was pleased but saw Prahastha wince and made a note of it in my mind.

  “Your Highness, we want you to be our King. We have fought enough for the Council. We lost every time because someone in the Council was not beyond treason. We want a King like that of the Devas, a king fit to rule us and all of India from Lanka to Gandhara. We want an Emperor to rival the rule of Mahabali. Nothing short of this great dream will inspire us, your Highness. We shall be happy to die for the sake of the great Asura empire you are going to build.”

  “We will have to discuss the matter in the Council. What is your name?”

  “Bhadra, your Highness. Bhadra from a village on the banks of the Poorna. We shall await your decision, your Highness. Please forgive my impropriety, but we had no other choice.” He walked backwards with all the deference due to a king, without turning his back on me. A great cheer erupted from his friends waiting a little way away.

  Prahastha came and put his hands on my shoulder. “Let’s call the Council.” His voice was steely-toned but I could not have cared less. My ears were receptive to the slogans rising from the soldiers’ camps, ‘Long live Maharaja Ravana!’

  “The Council is dismissed.” I smiled at the shocked face of Prahastha and added, “You are my Prime Minister.”

  I walked away, leaving Prahastha to ponder. Somewhere in my mind I felt I was being manipulated. I glanced over to the camps and saw Bhadra standing alone, leaving the merriment to his comrades. There was a small trace of triumph at the corners of

  his mouth. Our gaze met and the ke m Ther smile vanished. He bowed low. I walked past the camp with what I believed to be a royal gait, amidst the cheering of soldiers, to my camp. I had to get my mother and sister back before I started the campaign. That was my last thought before I slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  9 Maricha, the beloved

  Ravana

  I saw them accompanying my uncle Maricha. My sister had grown up; not exactly pretty, but one could not miss the bubbling energy in her. I was in a meeting with my council of ministers. It was no longer a democratic forum but I made sure that their voice counted. It was a charade and everyone knew my wishes would be carried out to the last. But the Asura need for a good debate and argument, was satisfied.

  The meeting stopped and everyone stood up. My old uncle Maricha was smiling and waving his hands at us. His twins were tottering behind, followed by his still-pretty wife. My mother and sister were behind them, and they were waiting for us to stop the all-important meeting to come near. Vibhishana rushed to them like a lost puppy who has just found its mother, yelping and shouting with joy. I also wanted to run and embrace my mother and sister, but was not sure that kings behaved that way. Kumbha was running behind Vibhishana and the twins ran towards him, screaming and laughing loud enough to frighten the birds perched above us in the forest canopy. I walked, in a manner I considered to be a majestic gait, with the tall and dignified figure of my uncles Prahastha, and the ever-frowning Sumali, following behind.

  “Did you have any problems on the way?” Uncle Prahastha had no time for sentimental niceties.

  “Only Varuna’s dhows, but we managed with a small gift.”

  “He gave away Sulakshana’s pearl necklace to the pirates. She worked hard for seven years in that Guild to earn it.” There was affection in my mother’s voice. Maricha shrugged his shoulders as if to say that giving the pearl necklace to pirates was an act of no significance. I touched his feet and embraced him.

  “So you have become the King eh?” My uncle back-slapped me hard. I stood there grinning like a child who has just scored well in an oral exam. “Now we have to find you a kingdom.”

  The soldiers laughed and I fought hard to keep my smile in my face. His humour could be biting, but how I loved the old rascal. We vividly remembered when as teenagers, my uncle and aunt coming to our battered shack with two babies who were not more than a few weeks old. It was one of those harsh monsoons and we fervently prayed to Shiva that the hut would withstand the storm. They looked tired and worn, my uncle in rags, with a bandaged head and his arm in a sling, and my aunt smiling despite looking like someone who was about to fall down and die. They clutched the babies, one each, and my mother, who has the knack of understanding without words, stood up and took both babies from their tired arms. We shared our sparse kanji with them and they slept the whole night through.

  The babies were too weak to cry, but I remember my mother worrying about their feed. My aunt was past the age of having babies and we were sure the children had been adopted. My uncle and aunt had always been poor after he lost his kingdom, yet these kind acts came naturally to them. We did not know anyone in the village who would be kind enough to lend us some milk. Our neighbours were too poor to own a cow and milk was a luxury.

  As usual it was Kumbha who came up with the idea. We decided to steal the milk from the only man who owned a ne m Tme up wcow, rather, hundreds of cows. It was difficult but possible. The danger element added a thrill to our adventure. Vibhishana was reluctant, but did not protest for fear of being branded a coward, which he definitely was. He agreed to stand guard and warn us as we jumped the fence and entered Kubera’s stable. It was pitch dark and we groped around the stable to find a cow to milk. None of us had any experience of milking cows. The stable was stinking of cow dung and urine and those big, buzzing mosquitoes that resemble miniature flying tigers, were happy to taste blood in the early morning hours. It was beginning to look like a bad idea and we wanted to get out. Someone coughed outside and our hearts jumped into our mouths. We heard a soft whistle and panicked. It was Vibhishana warning us that someone was coming. We ran, but lost our bearings. The cows woke up and started bellowing. Torches were lit. They were heading straight towards the stable. Somehow we got out, only to find ourselves trapped between the palace guards. We fought and knocked down a couple of them, but were soon overpowered. They tied us up and then the beating started. They beat us with clubs; they shattered Kumbha’s tooth; and burnt us with torches. We howled and cried after a few minutes of attempting a dignified silence on being tortured. The beating continued till daybreak.

  When I woke, blood had caked on my
face and every pore of my skin hurt. Kumbha had woken earlier and was staring at me through his swollen, black eyes. His face was a mess, with his nose and teeth knocked out and his lips cut. He winked at me and smiled and at that moment I loved him more than anyone in the world. I knew that one day either he or I would lay down our life for the other. I smiled back. We were tied to the stable pillars and left alone. Then I wondered what had happened to Vibhishana and in that silent communication between people who deeply love each other, I saw the same question on Kumbha’s face. We were terrified! We looked as far as our necks could stretch to see if Vibhishana had been beaten and tied to a pillar like us. But there was no trace of him and we were sure the guards had beaten him to death and buried him quietly. Or he had informed my mother or the village elder perhaps, to come and plead with Kubera to release us.

  We had not attained maturity of age and according to the Asura code of law, we could not be jailed nor could our arms be chopped off. We would be forced to work in Kubera’s oil mill or farm, as slaves for a few months. Kubera the millionaire, found that this type of punishment made economic sense and saved him a few coppers. He was half-Gandharva, half-Brahmin and not Asura, but he made sure he followed all Asura laws – non-interference in the natives’ religion and beliefs, he called it. It allowed him to concentrate on trade and commerce. I saw Kumbha staring vacantly, silently praying for Vibhishana to be alive. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he made no attempt to turn his face when he saw that I had noticed. My own eyes were brimming with tears.

  An old guard came and untied us and Kumbha collapsed onto the floor. The guard lifted him roughly and called for help. I could barely walk. Two guards carried Kumbha on a thick bamboo poll, like a wild beast which had been just hunted down. It was almost noon and the air was hot and humid at the peak of the monsoon season when the sun peeps out to bake the red muddy earth for a few hours.