That day was just like any other day. Hot, humid, dull and boring. It was a breezeless evening and I had almost passed out from drinking countless pitchers of palm toddy in the local toddy shack. I did not want to go home.
It was comfortable here. Forget the money lender and forget the crops. Also the King and the nobles and all the Brahmins. If I could manage could m to sit here a while, some fool would drop in and buy me a drink. So I sat there, listening to spicy tales about the princess Soorpanakha and her sexual adventures and t
he insult she had suffered from some renegade forest dwellers, who were rumoured to be Nagas or Vanaras or Devas, who had cut off her breasts and nose after raping her. People also said Ravana was going to wage a huge war to avenge the insult meted out to his sister. It was then that we heard the deafening sound of the flying machine. We all ran out. There was a huge crowd looking skywards. I jostled for a vantage point as people pushed and shoved all around. The traffic on the streets had come to a standstill. Was the mad professor Maya at his aerial acrobatics again?
Then a huge gasp went through the crowd. I could see the profile of a grim-faced Ravana, concentrating hard to control the complicated machinery, as the huge iron bird swept over us. But what made my hangover vanish, was the sight of the huddled figure of a woman, with her head bend, and evidently crying, as the iron bird swept over the howling crowd. In the red glow of the setting sun, the lovely face of the lady was clear. A shudder passed through me. It was a face from my long-forgotten past. Was it Mandodari? She looked exactly like the queen had when she was young, but possessed a much darker skin tone. She looked exactly the same all these years later. ‘What was the King up to this time?’ I did not know. I only knew the fear that crept over me from my toes. Instinctively I knew there was going to be trouble – big trouble.
40 Adieu Maricha!
Ravana
Maricha was dead. Actually, he had been brutally murdered and I was responsible for it. I had failed him. It had been a foolish scheme fraught with danger. Like an adventurous teenager, I had recklessly jumped in and lost him in the bargain. He had advised me against it. I took away my daughter from Rama, but sacrificed my beloved uncle. Thinking back, the entire mission was foolish. I had instantly reacted to the sight of a breastless, noseless and screaming Soorpanakha, at my durbar, the previous evening.
The entire assembly had been stunned. For some minutes we did not comprehend what she was blabbering about. She had been hysterical and in a state of shock, and took almost half an hour to make some sense. When I understood what she said, I burned with rage. ‘How dare that insignificant man lay hands on my sister?’ And she looked so pathetic. She had never been a beauty, even in her youth, but now, in her late thirties, with her nose cut off, she looked hideous. She rambled about how she had found a lovely woman roaming the jungle with two men and had merely asked whether the lady would be willing to be the wife of her brother, the Asura Emperor. At that, the younger man had pounced on her and done what was visible to everyone now. She howled until I lost my temper and hit her across her face. Then she stopped dead. I tried making amends by putting my hands on her shoulders, but she stormed out, cursing me and lamenting that she had such a spineless brother.
I smarted from the insult to my sister. But more shameful was the fact that I had a sister like her. I had kept a watch on her when she had moved in with our distant cousins, Khara and Dushana, who were two of my vassal kings whose petty kingdoms bordered the northern Deva lands. Initially I had been amused at the number of men she bedded but was later disgusted. It was not a crime according to Asura social law, but the times had changed. Some Dev怅a-like tenets of morality had brushed onto me as well. It had probably been while chasing a man, that she had come across the two men and the woman, who I was quite sure, were my daughter, son-in-law and his brother. Soorpanakha was, of course, unaware of the relationship, else she would have told me a different lie.
Another thought worried me. ‘How safe was my daughter with these dangerous men?’ I was in no mood to continue the durbar so I dismissed the assembly and retired to my private chambers. I called for Mandodari and told her my decision. It was not easy. She was not happy when she heard what I planned to do. But I told her that I could not leave our daughter with men who cut off a woman’s ears and nose. I was concerned about her safety. Then Mandodari advised to declare war and capture Sita. I laughed at the idea of waging a war against two insignificant men. It was too much trouble and too expensive. I knew what I was going to do and there was no turning back.
I told Maricha the plan. He didn’t think well of it and told me that I was being emotional and childish. I was livid. I could see the hurt and pain in the old man’s eyes, but he continued to argue with me. I was so furious that I decided to carry out the mission alone. Finally, he agreed to go along with my plan and we took to the skies in search of my daughter.
While we were flying north, Maricha tried to dissuade me again. I ignored him. “You could kill Rama and his brother and bring Sita back after telling her the truth about her birth.” he said. But I did not want to kill Rama. My daughter was devoted to him and I did not want to cause her any sorrow. I only planned to keep Sita in Lanka till Rama’s voluntary exile was over. She could then join him when he assumed the Kingship of his petty kingdom. Secretly, I hoped that once I had brought her to Lanka and she had seen her father’s dazzling home, she would persuade her husband to stay with us. It wasn’t that I had suddenly developed a liking for the man, but I was willing to accept him. I was even ready to give Rama a portion of my northern empire
But things started going awry right from the start. When we reached the place where Rama had camped with his brother and Sita, it was early in the morning. The forest looked idyllic. Had it been any other occasion, I would have forgotten all my worries, sat down with my brush and palm leaf and copied the lovely secrets the jungle held so close. A soft curtain of mist hung over the trees and every blade of grass glistened in the soft, radiant sunlight. A small, thatched hut sat perched on a gentle incline which led to a gurgling stream. Thousands of butterflies of all hues fluttered about. Golden sunlight drizzled through the little holes that appeared and disappeared as the tree canopies gently swayed in the cool breeze. Birds and crickets, buzzing honeybees and dragonflies, all added to the pleasant cacophony of the jungle. Antelopes grazed lazily, while hares sniffed suspiciously at the glistening edges of grass and darted here and there aimlessly. And on a rock, like a Goddess of the forest, Sita, my daughter, sat lost in some dream, her hands crossed lazily at her navel, the smooth dark skin of her legs glistening with the droplets of water that the stream had playfully thrown up.
A tap on my shoulder by Maricha broke the enchantment. Then I saw the scene for what it really was. This was enemy territory. The enemy would be near. If I encountered Rama, I would have to kill him. Contrary to what my spies reported, Sita seemed happy enough. ‘Those cowards! They told me what I wanted to hear.’ They must have guessed that I was interested in the girl. I could hear snatches of conversation nonversatiw and looked in the direction Maricha was gazing in. Two men appeared from the woods. They looked like hunters and with a start I realized they were Rama and his brother, Lakshmana. The brothers had grown darker and older since I had last seen them almost fourteen years ago. To my eyes they looked dark and ugly, though Rama’s face still had some inner radiance. ‘How could Deva princes be so dark-skinned? Even I was fairer.’
“I will distract Rama, away from the princess. I think you can handle the younger one,” Maricha whispered in my ear and vanished into the woods in a flash. I wanted to tell him that I could handle them both, but he had gone. That was the last time I saw him. As I said, it was a foolish and hasty plan, quite uncharacteristic of a thorough man like Maricha. And it wasn’t as if I lacked experience either. But that day, call it destiny, call it fate, but mistakes kept piling up. I had been waiting for almost two hours and was getting impatient. ‘Should I rush in and knock them down and
take my daughter away?’ I had almost decided to do this when I saw a sudden flash of brilliance on the other bank of the stream. I watched fascinated. It was a golden deer. Only it’s front and curved horns were visible, but it looked like a creature from paradise. It gave a soft, melodious bark and vanished into the bush.
The two men and Sita quickly turned and looked at the source of the noise. There was perfect silence in the jungle apart from the rustle of the leaves in the breeze and the chirping of birds. Then the golden deer sprung up again and vanished into the bushes. Sita let out a cry of joy. I saw that Lakshmana had drawn his bow, the arrow pointing towards the bush. For a few moments Rama and Sita watched fascinated. After what seemed to be a very long time, the deer peeped out again. An arrow sprang from Lakshmana’s bow and pierced the tree under which the deer had been a few seconds ago. The embedded arrow vibrated. I looked at him with new respect. ‘He may be uncultured, but he is a good archer and has been well trained,’ I thought. I almost laughed aloud. I knew it was Maricha who was the deer and that he was too good to be shot. Maricha must have killed a deer and skinned it and was hiding behind it. It was a brilliant and simple camouflage. I could see Sita chiding Lakshmana and then beseeching Rama to catch the deer for her. I saw him hesitate for some time and then start towards the deer’s hiding place. As he was about to reach the opposite bank, the deer darted away at great speed and Rama scrambled to the other shore. He shouted to Lakshmana to take care of Sita while he went in pursuit of the deer.
I thought of taking Lakshmana with a well aimed arrow. I was sorely tempted, but that was not how real men fought. Hiding behind a tree and shooting an unsuspecting enemy, was a eunuch’s way of fighting. I was an Asura and an Emperor. Such acts were not part of my character and went against my sense of fair play and justice. But had I known then what levels Rama and his brother were capable of stooping to, I would have surely finished them off there and then. I was a fool and should have taken the opportunity while it presented itself. So I lie here now, betrayed and cheated, bleeding and being eaten by rodents, slain by lesser men who used dubious means to kill and win. Perhaps I deserved this fate, for fate had handed me the chance to finish off these two men and I had frittered it away to feed my ego with talk of fair play and justice. I had the wrong mentors in my life and that was my failing. I had men like Bali, the epitome of justice and integrity, and Mahabali, who threw away an empire for the sake of truth, as my gurus. So I too met the same fate as them. Had I finished ofI finishf those two then, I could have saved the tears of many men and women who had put their trust in me and believed that I would protect them from evil.
When my hands trembled that day, I knew I had failed in life. But lying here, bathed in my blood and that of my kinsmen; having lit the funeral pyre of my beloved children and lost whatever I had striven for over a lifetime; I knew that if the same situation were to arise, with Rama and Lakshmana as easy targets and I stood hidden behind a tree with poisoned arrow drawn taut, I still would not shoot them, or any one else. That was the coward’s way. Perhaps that was why I was fated to die now, but I would so with my head held high. I felt nothing but sorrow for the man who had stooped so low to attain godhood. ‘Rama, was it worth it?’ The blood you have shed will haunt you and this country for years, long after after all of us have gone. You keep the godhood you gained through unfair means and I’ll keep my manhood and die a warrior’s death.
As I sat there debating with myself whether to finish off Lakshmana or not, I heard a blood chilling cry. Lakshmana and Sita heard it too and we were all shocked. I recognized that voice. But I did not know then that it was the death cry of my beloved uncle. I froze, not knowing what to do. I tried to reason that it must have been part of the plan. I heard Sita cry out and then Lakshmana’s raised voice. I saw him set off in the direction his brother had taken. Still I hesitated. ‘Should I follow him and rescue Maricha if he is in real danger?’ But Maricha was a veteran. He could take care of himself. I moved fast then. I hid my weapons as I did not want to frighten her. I removed my jewels and bundled them in a knot at my waist. With the parallel ash marks already on my forehead, like any devotee of Shiva, but without my royal ornaments, I knew I looked like a hermit seeking alms.
I was close to her when she turned and looked at me. With those lovely, dark eyes focused on me, a lump formed in my throat. I wanted to touch her and take her in my arms. 'Sita, my daughter! Sita, my little daughter.' I turned away and stood with my eyes closed. I wanted to kill myself. ‘Why had I forsaken her? Why had I forgotten her? I had lost her entire childhood. Why had I not attacked Mithila and taken her back?’ Perhaps if I had told Janaka the truth, the bloodshed could have been avoided. Janaka was one of the noblest of the Deva kings, learned and wise, he may have returned my daughter to me. But I did not trust her husband. I could not forgive what the two brothers had done to my sister. Sita was not safe with them and an Asura princess and the daughter of Ravana, could not waste her life roaming about in the forests, living the life of a beggar. All I had achieved and earned, the golden Lanka, the entire Asura empire, was hers. But what if she spurned my riches, my kingdom, my love? I was afraid of the deep devotion and love she cherished for her husband. I was afraid I would unleash the supernatural powers of that astrological prediction of long ago. I was afraid of the dying words of Vedavathi.
Then, as suddenly as they had come, the unnatural feelings vanished. With a prayer in my mind, I turned back, only to find that she had vanished. She had gone into the hut to bring me alms. She came towards me and looked for my bowl. But I pulled her towards me, circled her narrow waist with my hands, lifted her over my shoulder, and ran to where I had hidden Pushpaka. Sita was too shocked to react in the initial moments, but after a few seconds she started to cry out and fight me. She scratched my face and back with her nails. I could feel blood tricel bloodkling down. I felt a strange elation in thinking that I deserved it all for having abandoned her, for believing in some unscientific prediction and being afraid of my own daughter, and for the things I had not given her as a father.
Finally I dumped her into the flying machine and bolted the door. Then I waited for Maricha. I waited till the sun had almost travelled three fourth of the distance in the sky towards the west. Except for the sobs escaping my daughter and the wild cries of birds and animals in the distance, the forest gave out no other sound. I did not want to leave her to go in search of Maricha. Finally, with a heavy heart, and dreading facing my aunt, I got back into Pushpaka and began the journey back to Lanka
The journey back was hell. A big bird, a huge vulture, became entangled in the huge fans that propelled Pushpaka. It was a terrifying moment. The machine started losing altitude rapidly as the fan stalled and we hurtled downwards like a stone. The earth rushed up to hold us in her deathly embrace. The bird struggled for its life and got even more entangled. In stupefied fascination, I watched death rush up at us. Sita’s scream woke me from my stupor and I drew my sword and tried to hack off the bird. The Pushpaka wobbled. Then suddenly, the machine tipped and somersaulted and began to fall, upside down. Sita slid down and almost dropped to her death, but I grabbed her waist with one hand. My sword had fallen free. Another turn and it would have cut either of us on its way down. Sita hung out of the Pushpaka as the wind screamed past. I pulled her in with one mighty tug and the machine wobbled some more. All this happened within seconds. Then I fastened my hands around the my daughter’s narrow waist and pulled up my Chandrahasa with one leg. With the sword in one hand, I hacked the bird with desperate abandon and saw pieces of it falling down. The earth approached fast and I could clearly see the leaves of the trees. I hacked at the bird with all my strength, while the machine swung wildly. If the sails came lose, we would have to leave this life.
Finally, the bird, or what was left of it, fell off. We were sprayed with its blood. I stretched and desperately pulled the levers to level the machine. The fans were not rotating. I pushed and pulled, but it had stalled. The tall t
rees were so close I could see the birds fluttering away in fright of the approaching giant, iron bird. ‘This was it,’ I thought, ‘an ignoble death in the middle of nowhere, that too, when I have got my daughter back!’ my life flashed before my eyes. I watched helplessly. A sudden sob from Sita startled me. ‘No, I cannot let her die. She is young, at the prime of her life. Did I rescue her from her husband only to get her killed?’ With all my might, I jerked the lever up and down and finally the fan sputtered. I pulled and pushed once more, and with a shudder, the fan started rotating. I closed my eyes in relief only to open them again in sudden terror. ‘No, it was too late! The blades were chopping the treetops. Would we make it? Oh Shiva!’ Slowly, so slowly, the machine gained altitude. We were a few feet above the tallest tree. I kept pushing it up. Ten feet. . . twenty. . . and just when I thought we had made it, I saw a huge rock looming ahead. We were heading straight into it. ‘Would we clear it?’ I sweated profusely and my fingers ached. The boulder was only twenty feet away now, but I still had to gain thirty feet to clear the top. The fan almost touched the rock. And just as I thought we would crash into it, Pushpaka cleared the rock with inches to spare.
I kept gaining altitude and when I finally reached cruising height, I folded up the fan and set up the sails. I fell back exhausted and relieved. My daughter sat like a stone and I felt sorry for her. Then I remembered Maricha. I had lost him. It hit me like a bolt. In our own silent worlds of grief and loss, father and daughter, so near and yet so far, flew to Lanka.
Asura- Tale of the Vanquished Page 32
