“Get away!” I screamed at the top of my voice. I saw the glitter of a sword in Ravana’s hand. And then I saw hundreds of swords drawn up in the crowd. Dust swirled in different corners of the market as Ravana’s men struggled to escape. I reached the King’s horse and cried, “Take me, my Lord, take me with you.”
Vikrama was very near. At any moment I would be killed or taken prisoner.
Ravana roared, “You traitor, son of a scoundrel! Go rot in hell!” The kick I received on the bridge of my nose did not hurt half as much as those words. I nearly fell on Vikrama, but he dodged me adroitly and went for Ravana. He got hold of the horse’s rein and tried to stab the king. Another powerful kick from Ravana left Vikrama sprawled on the floor. I saw with relief that Ravana’s men had succeeded in breaking the ranks of the guards. The king was hacking and thrusting his way out of the crowd and shouting commands for a retreat. Soon he rode out of the market at full gallop with his followers behind, some on horses and others running to catch up. This small group left the market with a few guards half-heartedly following them. The blood from my broken nose had formed a pool. I tried to stand up but got a sharp kick on my face. Vikrama was red with anger. He kicked me hard, again and again. I wanted to get up and flee but Vikrama’s kicks landed like rain. I had almost lost consciousness when someone half-lifted, half-dragged me towards the palace. I was bleeding all over by the time I reached the small cell of Vikrama’s office. There he started his act all over again. I wished I had died before I had got to his jail.
Ravana
Ruined. Ruined, because of a bastard. Months of planning, struggling for arms and supplies, training and living under the sun and rain. Everything ruined because our good-for-nothing guards could not get their hands on that short, stout farmer. I could grind him with my bare hands. But I knew this kind of anger and frustration wourusour ld only make our lives more miserable. Prahastha was asleep under a tree and Sumali and Rudraka were discussing something after drawing maps in the sand. Kumbha and Vibhishana had vanished into the woods. The war was lost even before a single encounter with the enemy. I wanted to take Lanka head on and go down in a trail of glory. I wanted to lead my soldiers to Kubera’s palace and die valiantly. But Prahastha thought it was suicidal. A more efficient way to die, he thought, would be to jump off the cliff on which we were now perched. That way we would not bring misery to the civilians. So we were stuck in this hellhole. We were on top of the Subela hills, overlooking the sea on one side and Kubera’s palace on the other. In the valley between, Kubera’s army waited for us. We were besieged. They could come up and finished us off at any time. They were certain we would starve to death. The Subela Hills were bare and the woods had little game. It would not support 300 people for long. We saw our ship, modified by the Mayans, the ship to glory and the rebirth of the Asura kingdom, sunk like a leaf boat by Kubera’s navy. All our spare weapons found a good storage place at the bottom of 200 feet of water.
Only Maricha took things lightly. The old man was always cheerful. He devised games to amuse the soldiers and told them stories of olden times, when things were not modern and complicated, when thoughts were pure and men had the time to enjoy life and the world was a better place to live in. Huddled around a fire, we imagined ourselves living in those unhurried times when our forefathers lived and breathed fresh air. He always ended his tales lamenting how things now were when young men no longer respected elders, people cheated and lied all the time and hurried through life. But he maintained that things would be better in the future. Maricha, you’re such an optimistic human being, such a wonderful man. What would we have done without you?
The retreating monsoon started. We were soaked, sick and frustrated to be alive. Half the soldiers were down with fever and we were starving. I waited under the dark sky, with monsoon clouds swirling above me. Claps of thunder resounded. I had fought with Prahastha again and again about staying here and dying like flies. He was adamant that we remain where we were. We’d walk into Kubera’s trap if we moved. I could sense revolt within the ranks and see that their confidence in me had ebbed considerably. There were no cries of, “Long live the King!” whenever I moved about. Fewer men attended the morning parade and drill. I had the nagging doubt that Prahastha was counting on a rebellion in the ranks to take over as leader. I spoke about it with Kumbha. He thought it was my imagination but promised to keep an eye on Prahastha. I waited for deliverance an
d hoped for a lot to happen. That Varuna would attack the island and offer us a respectable path for retreat. I hoped the sea would swallow the island. I hoped Kubera would be killed in a palace coup and then I, his half brother, would be invited to rule the island. I knew none of these things would ever happen. What was sure was the vultures circling high in the sky, waiting for us to fall and die one by one.
Then one day, unexpectedly, my wishes came true.
15 Poisonous brews
Bhadra
I was surprised that I was still alive. They had plucked the nails from all my fingers and toes. They scalded me, poked me with spiked rods, sprinkled pepper powder on my flayed skin, hung me upside down and lashed me. I lost count of what was done to me. My wounds became infected and flies circled to settle on them. I retched and curled up naked on the mud floor. Fleas and ants came out of mother earth to eat me arusou done tolive. Vikrama came once in a while and poked me with his sword tip, sometimes thrusting it a bit too deep, all the while taunting me. Then he laughed his devilish laugh. I lay without a thought. I became numb. It might have been two weeks or two years. I did not know and I did not care. I just wanted to die.
Then one day, suddenly, I decided to live. Vikrama had either grown bored with me or was too busy. I didn’t see him too often. The guards felt sorry for me and brought a doctor to my cell. He inflicted even more pain while examining my wounds. But after a while my wounds healed and my body got stronger. A guard named Suka, became rather close to me. During his work shift, which was usually midnight, he talked about his village on the southern coast of the island, his wife and six young children, waiting for him to come back, and the debts he had pay. I listened because I wanted to escape. I heard him patiently because I wanted him to trust me. I feigned attention as I was sure that I would murder him one day. He nursed me, soothed my bruised soul, and entertained me with his stories. I was afraid that I would start loving him, so one night, when he was talking to me, I feigned weakness and leaned on him. He carried me and put me down on the torn mattress that was my bed. From the corner of my eye, I saw the prison door was ajar. This was the chance I had been waiting for. I strangled him. I still remember his face when he understood that I was killing him. His face, with its trust in humanity draining away as fast as his life ebbed, will remain etched in my mind.
I placed him on the mattress and said a silent prayer for his soul. For a moment, the thought of his faceless and tired wife with her six children, waiting in a far-away southern village for this man, flashed through my mind. It lingered for a second or two but then I remembered that there were other guards outside. It was not safe to linger, I had to get out. I peered out. It was past midnight, to judge by the absence of sounds from the street beyond. One guard dozed near the door, two others chatted by the wall lamp which cast a ghostly light on their faces. The lamp flickered in the breeze and made the shadows jump in a macabre dance. I froze near the door and thanked my stars that they had detained me in the temporary prison attached to the guard house and not in the notorious town prison with its high walls and the moat with marsh crocodiles. It would have been quite a task for Vikrama to walk every day to the town prison to torture me. Here in his office, he could torture me whenever he wanted to. There were two other cells. I prayed they would be either empty or the prisoners fast asleep. The sleeping guard stirred, murmured something and went back to sleep. I crept on all fours towards him. I wanted his sword which hung behind his stone desk. The wall lamp went out and I heard the guards near the door swear. The sleeping guard awoke and
looked for his sword. I quickly grabbed it from the hinge and unsheathed it. I tried to squeeze through the narrow gap between the table and the wall but collided with a guard.
“Take care, you fool!” he said. Then I saw him freeze and heard the scrape of his sword being unsheathed. I was sure he would not use it but I did not wait. I plunged my sword into what I thought was his throat and felt warm blood splash on my face. I pushed his weakening body down and ran towards the grey rectangle of light filtering in from the street. I could hear the guards stumbling over each other. Any moment they would ring the huge bell and the city would become one huge beast hunting me down. Mounted patrol-men would assemble at the guard house and Vikrama would arrive. I looked to left and right, deciding which way to run. The sharp pealing of the bell ended my indecision and I ran left, towards the palace.
I ran like a mad dog. It took me a few minutes to realize that I was running through the royal highway. Iyalght could come face to face with the mounted guards at any time and I could hear the sound of hoofs. Abruptly I turned right and entered an alley. It was dark and the street lamps had gone out. A rectangular window of light made patterns on the farthest corner of the alley. As I walked towards it I could hear conversation. A woman was arguing with a man who was obviously drunk. I was nervous and needed a place to hide. The door suddenly banged open and I quickly stepped back into the dark shadows. A bulky man in his undergarments was pushed out. He stumbled a few paces, hit a lamp post and fell face down into a gutter. A stream of abuse followed him. The man did not stir at all. This was surely not his home. No decent lady would swear like that. It could have been one of those dance houses or a house of pleasure. Before she could slam the door I stepped out of the darkness and put my foot in the door.
She was shocked for a second. I noticed that she was about eighteen or twenty, with hazel brown eyes and straight jet black hair. She was fair like a Deva woman or a cross breed. She had on a silk blouse that barely covered her breasts and a silk dhothi tucked inches below her naval. A diamond on a thin gold chain lay wedged in her cleavage. I entered the house before she could scream and closed the door firmly with my left hand while pointing my sword at her throat. I knew there would be guards in the house. Such places needed them and they were more brutal than the palace guards.
“Take me to your room,” I said, aware that my manhood had started rising on seeing her sensual body. A smile played on her lips. She looked at my face. I felt inadequate and ugly. She settled her eyes on my crotch. Restrained and long-forgotten emotions tried to break through the shackles. She burst out laughing and I felt like throwing the sword away and covering my shame with both hands.
A loud knock on the door broke the spell and I grabbed the knot of her dhothi and pulled her towards me. I whispered death into her ears and she understood. Her breasts brushed against my bare skin. She pushed me away firmly yet gently and said that she would take care of things. Freeing her, I moved behind the thick curtains while she opened the door. There were guards outside. I heard them but could not make out what was said. I was sure she had betrayed me and at any moment the guards would enter and drag me back to prison. I waited for the first guard to enter and felt the sharp edge of my sword. I decided not to go down without a fight. I would not be gifted back to Vikrama. But with astonishment and relief, I heard the steps moving away. She came in and closed the door.
“Come out, you coward” she taunted and then burst out laughing. I felt like grabbing her and kissing her mouth. I felt like plunging my sword between her breasts and puncturing her heart. I felt so many things as I stood there with my sword hanging limply in my right hand, my left hand twisting the drapes of the curtains and my legs shivering and unsteady. “Follow me,” she said and walked confidently towards a flight of wooden stairs. I followed her like an obedient dog.
I awoke in the morning to see her sitting in a chair near my bed. I tried to reach for the sword but it wasn’t in its place. She smiled and said that she had it in safe custody. She was wearing a pale blue blouse and a white cotton dhothi, which made her look even more beautiful. The diamond was missing; she had taken bath and applied a small sandal paste bindi to her forehead. I remembered that last night she had led me to this room and closed the door from outside. I had slept with frustrated imagesstr> of having sex with her and not rising to her expectations, of Vikrama cutting my balls off and offering them to this woman. I was not sure whether I was a prisoner or a refugee.
“So, let me hear your story.” Her lovely mouth was inviting enough for me to narrate my life story. I told her about my childhood, of the games I played, about the fast currents of the Poorna, of the huge rosewood trees I climbed to get honey. I told her my story over breakfast, over fruits and nuts we had together, over lunch, while walking in the small garden in her backyard, before we made love, when we made love, and after we made love. I took more than a week to narrate my story. As I spoke, my childhood became picture perfect, my village became heaven, the Devas who had attacked it became the worst kind of devils. My adventures became bolder, my role with Mahabali’s army important, my position with Ravana high, my culinary skills perfect. And my torment under Vikrama unbearable. I exaggerated and she realized I was exaggerating, adding frills to the humble life of a common farmer. I knew she understood and somehow it did not matter.
She was a dance girl. She did not know her name. People called her Mala and she called herself the same. She sold her body and earned a good living. But it took a long time and practice for her to establish her reputation. She had no remorse and said this unabashedly, as someone who says she is a good dancer or a doctor or an actor. Her clients were rich merchants and high officials and she lived alone with no guards or a protecting madam. She told me that Vikrama was a regular and that he was lousy in bed. Somehow this gave me a perverse satisfaction. I fell in love with her. She served her clients and I waited in my upper chamber for her to come to me. I was jealous at times, but thankful also to get her back. Slowly, I told her about my life’s mission. She was disinterested at first, but after two weeks of my conversation, she started taking some interest. Then she caught my enthusiasm and I taught her hatred. She gave me love and I gave her hatred instead. I wanted her to be on my side. I plotted with her. I corrupted her by giving her my love which was nothing but pure hatred towards anyone not like me.
One evening, she came to my room and said that Vikrama was her client for the night. I burnt with jealousy but it was time for us to put our plan into action. I hid behind the thick curtains and waited with trepidation. I saw Vikrama enter the room. Mala stood up and walked towards him and planted a kiss on his lips. I burned hidden behind the curtains. He walked to the tall bed and removed his gold brocade footwear and tucked his feet up. Mala stood a few feet away and removed her blouse. She fell on Vikrama and with her breasts rubbing his bare chest, tied both his hands to the bed pole with a shawl. Then she removed his dress and hers too. She stood there naked, elegant and beautiful. Vikrama was lying prone, his tough muscled pale body twisting in anticipation. She took off her dhothi and tied his legs too.
I walked out slowly to Vikrama. Mala withdrew and picked up her clothes and started putting them on. Then she left the room in a hurry. “What the hell. . .” Vikrama’s face flushed with anger and then it dawned on him. I was death coming. He froze. I put on my best smile and walked deliberately towards him, measuring each step. He struggled to get up but Mala had tied him nice and tight. I pulled out his nails one by one. With the clinical precision of a good butcher, I deposited then in a plate after emptying the mangoes it contained, onto the floor. He screamed and screamed. I told him he didn’t have to worry, he would not die for another four or five hours and I would continue to work on him till then, or even after he died. I broke his bones, emasculated him and then I took pepper powder and spreaddere for an it over his wounds. He screamed and screamed but he did not die. Finally, about two hours before daybreak, he died.
I was not happy or satisfied, it w
as not enough, but I had learnt the hard way that life does not satisfy you completely. So I stopped and picked up Vikrama. I dropped all the pieces into a sack and called out for Mala. She entered the room, saw the mess and vomited on the sack. ‘Serves him right,’ I thought. ‘Carry the vomit of a whore on your head to your grave, you devil.’ It took half an hour to console her, but I think she was happy to see me glow with happiness.
We carried the sack to the back garden and burnt it with sugar, which would not leave any trace of the body. We hoped no one would notice the acrid smell of flesh burning. I went out and killed two stray dogs and put them in along with the burning corpse. That would put off any nosy neighbour. Thus ended Vikrama, chief of the palace guards.
I had managed to take the keys from his pocket and I wanted to get into the fort. I had to do it before the chief was missed. As I walked towards the fort. I could see the lit palace in the distance. I was still a wanted man and it was dangerous to move about, but I did not have a choice. There was a separate entrance to the fort for security officers and I decided to use it. I was dressed in Vikrama’s clothes, which were a bit too big for me. I tried to walk like a man used to authority but was not sure if I could fool the guards. I was too tame for a guard. As I neared the palace I saw two guards stationed near the security entrance but I walked past them with an air of authority and they snapped to attention. They were looking at the distant horizon, where the sky was turning orange. I could hear my heart pounding and was afraid the guards would hear it and look at my face. My hands trembled as I turned the key. Nothing happened. Beads of sweat fell from my brows. Dawn was painting the eastern skies pale.
Asura- Tale of the Vanquished Page 11
