Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  Then one day, when all hope was dead, buried, and turned rotten deep within me, the door to the outside world opened. There was a jeering crowd of motley soldiers and the servants of Karthiveerarjuna lined up outside the dungeon to see me off. The brightness of the day hurt my eyes and I kept my eyes shut. Like a blind man I stumbled out to freedom. I should have vowed revenge at that moment, planned and plotted, with my mind in a frenzy, to get even with my enemy, but sadly, my only thought was to get hold of a razor. My beard had grown and I badly needed a shave. Even now I feel ashamed for having had no other thought at that moment.

  They ignored me when I arrived back at camp. I was a King no more, at least in their minds. I searched everywhere for my lover and baby. I was afraid to confront any of my ministers. They were all too busy supervising the packing for the journey back home – empty-handed. Desperate, I finally cornered Maricha, first demanded and then begged, for information about Vedavathi.

  “Brace yourself, son.” His words confirmed what I had feared since my ignoble return and I sank to the ground.

  “How and when?” I managed to ask.

  “Many people fell sick in these forests and there were so many deaths. She fell a victim to the sickness around and so did the little princess. They were taken to a country doctor, some distance away but both succumbed to the forest fever.” He looked away.

  I wept. I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I did not want a kingdom, or glory, let the Asura race take care of itself. Prahastha or Vidyutjihva or whoever wanted the kingship, could take it. I blabbered on and on. I felt Maricha’s tears hot tears fall on my shoulder. Then a gnawing suspicion raised its ugly head. ‘No, it cannot be true. At least Maricha was my friend and he would not have let it happen.’ I jerked myself free and confronted him.“Who took her to the doctor?”

  Maricha’s eyes were listless. He stared at a spot on the wall and mumbled, “Some soldier or the other. . . I will enquire and let you know but son, you have to put it behind you. . .”

  “No!” I shouted. ”Tell me who took them to the doctor.” I shook him and I could sense the fear in his eyes. But his lips were pressed together and he avoided my gaze. “Was it Bhadra?” I cried out aloud, dread filling my bowels as I uttered the cursed name.

  Silence. . . then he started again, “Ravana, please. . . let it go. . .”

  I almost knocked him down and ran out. I had my sword unsheathed and shouted for Bhadra. A few soldiers wew soldiho were engaged in a game of chess under a tree, turned their heads towards me. When they saw the sword in my hand, they stood up swiftly. One of them ran out and returned in a few minutes, bowed and whispered, “Your Highness, Bhadra is on the way.” His use of the honorific somehow soothed me a little. It had been a long time since someone had addressed me as a king. Perhaps the naked sword in my hand had done the trick. ‘What am I thinking? Am I so obsessed with power that the instant a lowly servant shows me respect, I stoop to forgetting my lover and my baby’s death?’

  By the time, that sly Bhadra came, I was struggling hard to regain my anger. I felt uneasy as he stared at me with the eyes of a serpent. I turned and ordered him to follow. I could feel his fear and was secretly happy to know that people still feared me. As soon as I entered my camp, I caught Bhadra by the throat and pressed the blade of my sword hard enough to draw a drop of blood. He was afraid and started rambling incoherently. “What have you done to my Vedavathi and the little one?” I shouted.

  He began to sob and beg my forgiveness. He told me what had happened to Vedavathi and my baby, as I stood there like a pillar, shocked at the ghastliness of what had transpired. I had feared they were dead, but what I heard grieved and shocked me deeply. I wanted to kick the fellow wallowing at my feet, but he held me in a python-like grip. Despite the constant ramblings and incomprehensible sounds he made, some of it filtered into my mind and I tried to make sense of it. Slowly, very slowly, it dawned on me. ‘My daughter was not dead. She had been adopted by a kind King, a Deva King, but still a King, and was now growing up as a Deva princess.’

  For a fleeting moment I was happy. My daughter was alive. But she was now a princess of the enemy. A new energy rushed through me. I would assemble my army and march to the kingdom of Janaka. I would smash his armies, plunder his kingdom, and reclaim my daughter. She was an Asura princess and no Deva king could take her away from me. She was the princess of Lanka, she had to grow up as an Asura princess. Then I grew afraid. I had to regain my strength, to get her back. ‘Was my army strong enough? Did I have an army in the first place?’ Even if I succeeded, how could I be sure of her

  safety when vipers like Prahastha or Vidyutjihva, roamed freely in my kingdom? I felt helpless and frustrated. I kicked Bhadra hard, drawing blood from his nose. ‘Despicable creature.’ Sometimes I felt there was some logic in the caste system followed by the Devas. How could he and I be equals?

  Thoughts of my little daughter came rushing into my mind. ’Did she look like me or did she resemble Mandodari?’ The thought of Mandodari brought back memories of the glowing evenings spent on the banks of the Poorna and Kaveri, the fragrance of the flowering trees, Mandodari's fair, smooth skin, the smell of jasmine, the feel of the cool breeze on our naked flesh, the buzz of hundreds of bees and the chattering of squirrels, as we lay in each other’s arms, our soft love for each other…

  I wrestled myself from the grip of the lowly Asura and dragged my feet towards the river. I wanted to be alone with my memories. My wants dissolved in the sobs of my soul.

  30 LANKA LOST

  Bhadra

  We returned from central India empty-handed. Everyone was furious with our King, the army, our ministers, and with each other. It was worse for me. Vidyutjihva, along with some of the ministers, had left long before the King was released from captivity. I was sure Vidyutjihva would have renewed his affair with Mala and I was jealous. I was stuck with a foolish King while Mala was welcoming a cad back home. Thoughts of Mala had troubled me through the campaign, but it was when Vidyutjihva finally left for Lanka, that I grew even more concerned. Added to this was the sense of failure, the taunts waiting for us from the folk in Lanka, for returning in this beggarly fashion. The frustration of being blamed solely for what had happened to Vedavathi, made me feel depressed.

  We added another humiliation to our record on the way back to Lanka. At the southern foothills of the Vindhyas, the mighty half-breed, Bali, ruled. He was disparagingly called the monkey-King and his subjects monkeys. They were a mixture of both the Asura and Deva races, but were shunned and despised by both. They led a life on the fringes of both civilizations. That was until Bali squelched their inter-racial quibbles and united the monkey race. With their capital in Kishkindha, the monkey race or Vanaras, became a threat to both the Deva kingdoms of the north and the Asura kingdoms of the south. As they restricted themselves to the forests of central India, we had not come into contact with the Vanaras during our northward campaign following the coastal route.

  The fact that Bali’s younger brother, Sugreeva, was an enemy of the monkey-King and that great and reputed warriors like Hanuman, had deserted Bali to join Sugreeva’s camp, might have spurred on our King, desperately looking for some success to redeem a modicum of respectability. It was not that Ravana had become a beggar but his position was precarious. He lived in perpetual fear that Prahastha or Vidyutjihva would take over. The fact that they had left for Lanka ahead of him, made him suspicious and jumpy and so he decided to attack Kishkindha, hoping to win back his lost prestige.

  The dispirited group attacked on a moonless night and was promptly routed. We surrendered easily. The next morning, when the monkey-King came to see his prisoners, he was surprised to learn that it was the Asura army that had attacked him. His comment that he had thought us to be country bumpkins out on a night raid, hurt us more than any wound from our numerous battles. Even more insulting was the patronizing way in which he dealt with us. He treated all of us with equal respect and even apologized for the in
convenience caused. Then he fed us like honoured guests. We gobbled down enormous quantities of food and got dead drunk. We danced till morning to the beat of wild monkey drums. By morning we had forgotten our shame and had become bosom pals. We swore eternal friendship between the Vanaras and Asuras. Later, when we left the monkey kingdom, we witnessed curious scenes. We saw Ravana hugging the monkey-King, who was seen giving advice to the Asura king. We all left the place in high spirits and I overheard that an eternal friendship treaty has been signed with the monkey-kingdom and that Bali had become our King’s friend, philosopher and guide. It was curious to say the least, but then such matters were beyond a simple-minded person like me. My main concern was my next meal.

  It took us almost a month to reach the southern shore of the mainland. We all wanted to cross the sea and reach our beloved island quickly. But Varuna’s ships, which had ferried us to the mainland, were not to be seen. We waited for a fortnight, growing more restless with each passing day, until Ravana decided to take charge. He ordered us to cut down trees, and we soon had a few boats. It was a daring plan, but Maricha was restless.

  Finally, he suinally, ggested that only a few should venture to Lanka. He had the gnawing suspicion that our king was no longer the king and that either Vidyutjihva or Prahastha had taken over Lanka. As the preparations were made, we saw a fleet of ships coming towards the port at the mouth of the river Kaveri, where we were camped.

  Ravana ordered us back into the jungle and we lay hidden, watching the ships anchor. They were the ships of the pirate-king but they did not anchor in the usual wharfs where cargo was loaded to be taken to the lands of the yellow men or white savages. These were battleships. We saw small boats lowered with men and soon they were furiously rowing towards the beach where we were camped. We waited for almost half an hour for the men to arrive. Then we saw Prahastha and a few guards, wading through the shallow water towards us. Ravana and Maricha stepped out of their hiding places with their swords unsheathed and walked towards Prahastha.

  Prahastha, with his head held high, looked at Ravana with undisguised contempt and I saw Ravana look away. Maricha recovered quickly and stood between Prahastha and Ravana. To our surprise, Prahastha stepped aside and bowed low to Ravana. A huge cheer rose from all of us. Maricha was taken aback and pleasantly surprised. He hugged Prahastha. Forgetting discipline, we rushed forward. Prahastha was uncomfortable, but Maricha reassured him and then asked what had happened.

  Reluctantly, Prahastha said, “I believe I made a mistake when I decided to go with Vidyutjihva, leaving behind Rav-, I mean, His Highness, and yourself. I had always suspected that rascal, but the depths to which he would sink were beyond my understanding. He was sweet and diplomatic till we reached Lanka, but as soon as we arrived, he began to press for a regent King until you returned. I insisted that in Asura tradition, even the concept of kingship was new.” Here he glanced at Ravana, who averted his eyes. Prahastha continued, “But you all know he is a silver-tongued orator, and he bribed, threatened and cajoled other members of the Council. Only Jambumali and I dissented. I resigned from the Council in protest and would have retired from politics altogether, had the new King Vidyutjihva, not unleashed a reign of terror. Most of Vidyutjihva’s actions were quite unnecessary. In three months, he wrecked the economy, increasing taxes and levies whenever he wanted. He gave the pirate-King a free hand to plunder and divided the loot. But now they have fallen apart. Varuna is waiting in that ship for Rav-, I mean. . .His Highness, to come and take charge of his navy. He is thirsting for revenge.”

  Ravana stepped forward and asked Prahastha, “But what happened to my brothers, my wife and my sister?” We could sense tension and concern in his voice.

  “Your Highness, your sister is safe, though unhappy. She’s still madly in love with her husband. I moved your wife to a hiding place in the hills and later sent her to her father. Our greatest concern is Prince Kumbakarna, who was the only man to raise his voice against the tyranny of his brother-in-law. He is courageous, my King, but pardon me for saying so, very impulsive. And he is gullible to a fault. He was promptly betrayed by his friends, captured, tortured, and sent to the kingdom of Yama. He isn’t dead. He was sent to the dreaded drug kingdom on the eastern slopes of the Sahyas, deep inside the forest, where a brigand named Yama, brews poisonous potions, drinks, and smoke herbs and drugs. Vidyutjihva, was a disciple of the drug-lord Yama, and he has rewarded his guru with an Asura prince for his experiments.

  Ravana was, by now, trembling with fury. Maricha put a soothing hand on the King’s shoulder, but Ravana brusquely shook it off. “Assemble for battle. We will take on this imposter,” he shouted.

  There was sudden commotion. Now we had a Now we hpurpose, it was not a meaningless war for the glory of a single man. It was to free our brothers and sisters, our wives and children, our parents, from the hands of a tyrant. I worried about Mala.

  But Prahastha raised his hand and after a few seconds, there was perfect silence. “Your Highness, first we have to free Prince Kumbakarna. We do not know his condition after being subjected to their experiments.”

  Ravana waited for a few seconds before answering. Then with a slight bow he said, ”I value your wise counsel, my Prime Minister, and I respect your wisdom. I shall be guided by you.” Turning to Maricha, who was now beaming, he said, “Uncle Maricha, please send a messenger to our friend king Bali, for assistance to finish off the drug-lord Yama. We need his help.” Maricha bowed and left, summoning our master runner.

  Then, as an afterthought, Ravana asked Prahastha, “And what about our younger brother, Vibhishna?”

  Prahastha, suppressing a smile, said, “He, your Highness, has shut himself inside a small temple he erected with his own hands. He prays to the Deva God Vishnu, for deliverance from this evil. Other than praying, he does nothing.”

  “Pshaw!” Ravana spat with contempt and many of us snickered.

  31 Den of death

  Ravana

  We had stopped for a few days at Madurai, the ancient temple town of the fish-Goddess, Meenakshi, to get our supplies, horses and weapons. Varuna sponsored the campaign after I had agreed to return the amount along enormous interest, once I regained the throne of Lanka. I didn’t like depending on the pirate but what choice did I have? Moreover, it gave me some confidence that the shrewd pirate-King thought I would regain my throne. He was not known to get his bets wrong. But I was well aware of our shortcomings. We moved from the city of the fish-eyed goddess and reached the valley of death.

  Yama’s fort stood at the top of a mountain, which almost touched the sky and three sides dropped down into near-vertical, rocky cliffs. It resembled my fort in Trikota, but was much more compact and perched higher. In the shrubs and small trees that surrounded this barren mountain on the east, and the lush green forests on the western side, Yama’s soldiers lay hidden, intoxicated on drugs and hell-bent on defending their territory. Drunk on opium-laced potions, they seemed oblivious to physical injuries and insulated from fear. Somewhere inside that dark and forbidding citadel, in a dark dungeon, my beloved oaf of a brother, Kumbakarna, lay drugged, or perhaps dead.

  We planned to attack on a moonless night. At dead of night, our army stormed the fort. It was the bitterest battle we had fought so far. Yama’s soldiers were not just fearless, they were almost inhuman. It took us till dawn to effect a breach. By that time, hundreds from our side had been slain. The campaign in north India had been a picnic in comparison. Yama’s soldiers poured molten metal onto our scampering army, catapulted huge boulders at us, and their archers rained arrows with deadly accuracy. The situation became hopeless. It was then that I heard the victory cry from Prahastha’s battalion. It came from the west side of the fort and surprised me. We had not bothered about the west side. It was surrounded by impenetrable rain forests and was dangerously steep. Moreover, it would have hampered our progress and denied us the advantage of a night attack. So when the victory cry came from the west gate of the fort, I was surpr
ised. After almost an hour’s pitched battle, the other three gates were opened and our army swarmed into Yama’s citadel from all sides. WeV hacked our way through. Our horses stamped over hundreds of mangled limbs and severed heads. It was grotesque and revolting. There was the smell of blood, flesh and excrement of both of men and beasts. I wanted to get out of this place.

  Even as I kept stabbing my way through the swarms of Yama kingaras, my mind wandered. I was disgusted by the meaninglessness of all this. ‘I want to free my brother and get him back. But do I really?’ Strangely, Prahastha’s words, spoken many years ago, came to my mind even as my life depended on my fighting skill against the scores of Yama’s soldiers who were attacking me on all sides. The words were cold, precise and unpleasant. To a twenty-four-year-old who had romantic notions about his duty to his family and fulfilling his destiny, and who was generally misty- eyed about world, the words were devastating, ‘Do not believe anyone, especially your siblings, when aspiring for success, for they are bound to be your bitterest enemies.’

  It was as usual, unsolicited advice, and one more reason to hate Prahastha. And now, strangely enough, when I was staking my life to save my brother, this advice nagged at me. ‘Could I trust my brother?’ Then, with alarming clarity, I understood. This battle was not about saving Kumbha, but saving myself, my shattered pride, confidence, ambition, and my destiny. Pulling myself up, I concentrated on driving my sword through the heart of a boy barely sixteen years old, thinking about his faceless mother, but with no feelings for either him or her.