Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  “Where’s Prince Meghanada?” I asked, searching for my son’s handsome face.

  “Your Highness, he is leading the search party at the western end,” Prahastha replied.

  “How on earth did such a security breach happen?” As I spoke, my anger resurfaced. There was complete silence as I banged a fist into my palm. “I want an answer now!” I screamed. I felt better as anger rapidly replaced worry.

  “He sneaked in through the west side wall while the sentries slept. He murdered them and then reached the Ashoka-vana. The bodies of the sentries were found in the drain, their throats slit,” Prahastha said slowly.

  “Excellent! That is good! Not a single Asura saw this man entering Ravana’s fort? My sentries were murdered in their sleep. I have more than 50,000 soldiers and a single monkey-man not only escaped detection but still eludes capture. So much for your vigilance and intelligence network.” I saw Prahastha and Jambumali eye each other after my tirade.

  “Your Highness, actually, a derelict drunkard had reported to the police outpost at the royal avenue that he saw a man sneaking into the fort. But...”

  “But, the officer-in-charge did not want to move from his seat. No action was taken and the matter was ignored. Isn’t that what you want to tell me?” Where was Meghanada? I was getting worried. The monkey-man could be hiding anywhere. A sly arrow shot from the top of a tree in the dark could pierce my son’s throat. This was a dangerous game. This was not war. No rules applied and worst of all, my enemies were devoid of scruples.

  An uneasy silence ruled the durbar. We could hear the noises outside, men running and shouting at each oing at ether, the clanging of swords. Suddenly I heard a huge cheer. Everyone looked up. The voices were calling “Victory to Ravana. . . Victory to Indrajith.” I stood up in my excitement and the entire durbar rose with me. I wanted to run out and see the prize my son was bringing me but I stood there, trying hard to conceal my excitement and wringing my hands in pleasure and anticipation. At the head of the procession, my tall, proud son, with his bow firmly held in his hand, entered my durbar. The entire assembly rose and cheered. Asura guards danced around. Chenda drumbeats reached the highest crescendo. I went down and embraced my son.

  Then I saw the tall, muscular, dark Vanara standing behind him. His hands and legs were tied with ropes. Muscles rippled across his body. ‘I used to have a body like that in my youth, like a chiselled statue.’ I tucked in my belly. He stood almost as tall as Meghanada. He had curly, black hair all over his body and wavy, black hair flowed on either side of his face. He looked a formidable warrior. With a start I realized that he resembled Bali, my friend, who had been murdered slyly by Rama.

  I walked back to my throne with deliberate steps. The ministers returned to their seats. Meghanada stood near the Vanara, his sword drawn. With a wave of my hand I dismissed the Chenda drummers and other unimportant persons from my durbar. Then, after a few minutes silence, I began the interrogation. The Vanara did not answer the first few questions. He stood there staring at me defiantly. His pose and self-confidence were unsettling. He was in the durbar of the mightiest king of the world, caught as a spy, and faced with nothing less than a death sentence. Still he stood there as casually as if he was watching children playing games.

  I looked at Prahastha for an answer. He stood up, but before he could speak, the Vanara spoke in a deep voice. “I am Hanuman, son of Maruti, and I have come as an envoy from my King and protector, Sri Ramachandra Prabhu. I demand the respect due to an envoy of one King to another. I am sure the Emperor of Asuras, the learned and scholarly warrior-King Ravana Prabhu, would not hesitate to extend the courtesy due to an envoy as per Raja Dharma.” He ended the speech with a smile that lit up his face.

  “Envoys do not sneak in at midnight, Sri Hanuman. We have strong reasons to believe that you are a spy and as per the ethical codes of the same Raja Dharma you evoke, the punishment for a spy is death. And as far as we know, your master is not very scrupulous about Raja Dharma. As far as my limited knowledge is concerned, murdering unsuspecting warriors who are engaged in a duel with someone else, by hiding behind a tree and slyly shooting them down, is not a part of Raja Dharma.” Prahastha spoke with deliberate firmness.

  The monkey-man looked uneasy. His attempt at establishing a psychological superiority was effectively thwarted by my Prime Minister. He tried another tactic. “I refuse to talk to you, Ravana Maharaja, when I am bound by ropes. Give me a seat and untie my bonds and I shall answer all your questions.”

  “Throw him into the dungeons. Let us see whett us seeher he talks or not once Rudraka starts his art on this monkey’s black body,” I said, looking straight into Hanuman’s eyes, searching for traces of fear. I could not find any. The man remained composed and calm. My guards approached him and grabbed him by his elbows.

  Then my brother Vibhishana rose to speak. I looked at him, trying to hide my rising irritation. “Your Highness! Once a man has declared he is an envoy and not a spy, and no deliberate crime has been committed, our ethical code says that he has to be treated as an envoy.”

  “Uncle!” Meghanada cried out, forgetting for a moment that he was in the durbar, “he murdered two of our guards and vandalized our garden. He is a spy and a criminal. He has to be treated accordingly.”

  “Is there any witness that Hanuman killed those guards? As long as his guilt is not proven, he is innocent. I am not asking that he be set free. My intention is to ensure that no one accuses the Asura Emperor of not following propriety and Raja Dharma while dealing with an uncultured Vanara.” Vibhishana looked at me as he completed the last sentence.

  “I suggest the spy be dealt with in the way the Emperor finds suitable.” Prahastha rose up from his seat.

  ‘Asuras. There’s not a single thing in the world that two Asuras will ever agree on. Always arguing and so stubborn about having things done their way.’ I decided like a wise fool to satisfy them both. “Untie him. Leave only his hands and feet bound. If he wants to say anything, let him stand and say it. Then I shall decide what is to be done with him.”

  “But father. . .” I silenced Meghanada with a glare and a guard slowly untied Hanuman’s bonds.

  As soon as the ropes were undone, Hanuman spoke. “I, Hanuman, son of Maruti, of Kishkindha, minister of the Vanara King Sugreeva, and servant of the Prince of Ayodhya, Sri Ramachandra, wish to give His Most Exalted Highness, the mighty King Lankeswara, some friendly advice from my master. You have wrongfully abducted his wedded wife and Queen of Ayodhya, and have kept her in your custody. My master requests you to return his queen to him with all due respect and to beg his forgiveness. If this advice is ignored, I am authorized to declare war on Lanka and the Asuras, on behalf of my master. We promise that, in such an event, we will crush you Asuras, grind your sinful cities into the dust, and reclaim our Queen.”

  There was an uproar. A hundred swords were drawn from their sheaths in a mighty hiss. Meghanada pressed his sword to the throat of the impudent monkey-man. These were multiple insults. How dared this monkey come and challenge me, the Asura Emperor? How dared he do so in the name of a drunkard king of semi-civilized monkey-men? How dared he challenge the mightiest king the world has ever seen, on behalf of a wandering hunter who mistreated his wife? And how dared he challenge me openly in front of everyone in my durbar?

  “Death by stoning!” I roared, and the entire durbar roared with me. He stood there unfazed, as I pronounced his sentence.

  Vibhishana stood up slowly and the pandemonium died down. Then, in a very soft voice, he said, “Your Highness, this person has earned his death and you in your wisdom have given a fair judgment. He forfeited his right to live when he ceased being a mere envoy. His language was more suited to the battlefield than the cod than turt of the most exalted Asura Emperor, who rules all of India and Lanka. But. . .” he paused.

  “Come to the point, Vibhishana.” I was getting impatient.

  “But, brother, would it not be prudent to send him back with our
own message? Let his master also know that Lanka would give a befitting reply if he attempted any misguided adventure. If we just kill him, we lose the chance to give them a suitable reply. We may perhaps avoid an unnecessary war as well. We can say that we will keep his wife hostage until he surrenders his brute of a brother, Lakshmana, to us, so that we can try him and punish him for the atrocities he has committed against our sister.”

  ‘He has a point.’ I thought, looking at Vibhishana. But I was still seething from the insult the monkey had thrown at me.

  Prahastha stood up and turned towards me and said, “Your Highness, before we hastily kill him or send him back, let us get some information from this gentleman. I request you to give me the honour of personally interrogating our esteemed envoy from Sri Ramachandra.”

  I wavered in my decision. What I wanted most at that moment was to get back at Hanuman. He could not come to my durbar, insult me, and get away with it. It was Vibhishana again who found a way out.

  “Let us brand him.” Vibhishana said simply. Branding with a red hot iron or fire, was an age-old Asura practice. It was an agonizing and humiliating punishment. The marks left were permanent and the victim would carry the humiliating symbol and pain to his grave. The symbol would proclaim to the world that he was guilty of a great crime, and that the mark of his failure and guilt has been forcefully etched on his body for the whole world to see and snicker at. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. This monkey would return to his master with Ravana’s brand. . . where should I brand him. . . in his broad chest. . . in his taut abdomen. . . or on his broad back?

  “Strip him and brand his tail.”

  “Your Highness, I suggest that we desist from such a dastardly and barbaric act. We should treat him as a spy and deal with him accordingly. Let us not stoop to such depths.” It was that irritating Prahastha again.

  “Burn his tail. Let him know pain when he sits, stands, lies down or walks. Let him know the pain of insulting an Asura Emperor.” I basked in the cheer that arouse from my durbar and ignored Prahastha, who shook his head in despair.

  My guards ran to fetch Rudraka. The chief of police came with his assistants and bowed deeply to the court. Hanuman remained unfazed. This was a tough Vanara. I was getting more furious by the minute. Rudraka’s men prepared the molten lead for branding and the fire roared. It was then that the unthinkable happened. With an ease that belied the rope’s strength, the monkey-man ripped the ropes that bound his legs and kicked the sword out of Meghanada’s hands. For a moment everyone was stunned. That was enough for the Vanara warrior. He thrust his hands into the naked flames and burned through the ropes. Then, with his hands free, he lifted the huge container that had molten lead in it and threw it at me. I ducked, but the pot hit the silk curtains behind my throne with full force and they were set ablaze. I jumped from my pedestal in the nick of time as the entire parasol above my throne caught fire and fell. Then my durbar began to burn.

  There was utter confusion. Hanuman pushed Rudraka into the fire. The burly police chief struggled ff struggor his life and by the time his men pulled him out and smothered the fire that threatened to engulf him, Hanuman had pulled out some burning logs and set fire to my palace. Guards ran like panicky hares. Some poured water on what was left of my throne. In the confusion, Hanuman escaped to the city, with burning logs held in both hands. Only Prahastha had the presence of mind to throw his dagger at the escaping arsonist, but it narrowly missed Hanuman’s ear and hit the durbar door with a twang. Meghanada ran after him in hot pursuit but falling pieces of the burning beams slowed down his chase considerably. And I, being the coward, ran for my life. I called Meghanada back from his chase. We could catch the Vanara any time, but for now, the palace was burning.

  It was a nightmare. Total confusion and panic ruled. I ran into the women’s quarters with my brother and the others who were following. Rudraka shouted, trying to bring some semblance of order among his men, but the guards fled for their lives, ignoring his orders. A huge burning beam narrowly missed us and fell a few feet away, spluttering and hissing their like a living thing. The heat was beyond imagination. A thick pall of smoke hung everywhere. I kicked open a window and jumped out and landed on the hard ground twelve feet below. Pain shot up from my ankles but I continued running. I could hear screams from my harem. The fire had almost burnt down my durbar and was swiftly moving towards the surrounding buildings. And there in front of me, my city burned. Orange flames licked thatched roofs clean. A thousand screams of panic and death echoed through the skies. People ran from their homes. A few brave ones fought the fire but were fast losing the battle. The acrid smell of burning flesh, wood, and clothes, filled the air. Horses bolted from their stables and ran madly through the streets, kicking and trampling people in their way. I ran towards my harem. My wife was there, my sons were there. I had to save them. But the flames beat me in the race. The entire roof of the palace caught fire. My throat was hoarse from shouting instructions and orders. But there was no one to listen. ‘Where were my guards? Where was my mighty army? Where were my ministers?’ I stood and watched helplessly as my palace burned down.

  It was then that I saw the huge black figure running recklessly towards the burning harem. I called out for the mad man to stop but he dived into the raging fire and disappeared. I stood dazzled by this display of courage ‘Perhaps he was raving mad.’ By this time, a few of my ministers, including Prahastha, had joined me, but I dared not to say a word to them. Rudraka had brought some sort of order and his men tried desperately to douse the fire. Part of the palace had been burnt completely, and it looked like the fire was being brought under control on east side at least. But the fire had ravaged the harem and I tried not to think about the plight of my family.

  About sixty elephants were brought in to fight the fire. Then the huge black figure which had disappeared inside the burning harem, jumped out of a first floor balcony, cleared the fire and rolled onto the lawn. It was then that I saw he was carrying my queen, Mandodari, on his back. We rushed towards the man. As we approached, I recognized him with a start. It was none other than my illegitimate son, Athikaya. He was fussing over the Queen, trying to revive her. I saw that his hands had been badly burnt. But before I could say anything, Athikaya ran back into the burning palace. This time, an entire group of guards followed him. The intensity of the fire had come down but it was still dangerous.

  The fire wa">The fis slowly controlled inside the palace, but outside, it continued to rage. Somewhere in my mind, I registered that Meghanada and Jambumali had rushed out of the palace towards the city to direct the fire-fighting activities there. Rudraka had renewed his search for the monkey-man who had wrecked such ruin. But I was beyond any thought of revenge or punishment. I was too dazed and overwhelmed by the sudden and horrific turn of events. I was worried sick about my Queen. Guards brought out bodies from the harem. Some were alive but gravely burnt, or unconscious, others charred to death beyond recognition.

  Slowly, my Queen opened her eyes. I hugged her. I could not control my tears. But she pushed me away and struggled to stand, not bothering to cover her bosom, “Akshaya, where is my Akshaya?” she muttered. I looked around. Where was my little boy, my eight-year-old Akshaya Kumara? I stood up but feared the worst. I did not have the courage to face my wife. Prahastha bowed and called the guards and whispered something. They ran towards the palace. But I noticed everyone avoided my eyes. I told myself not to lose courage. Shiva would protect my boy. I hoped against hope. I barked out orders, search here, look there. . . a lot of nonsense. I knew it was futile. But I wanted to do something.

  A wail came from behind me but I was afraid to turn. Someone put a comforting hand on my shoulder, but it failed to comfort me. I was angry. I knew the meaning of the wail and the man who had caused it. But then my anger passed and I collapsed like an old rag. The warm ash-strewn ground hit me in the face. I lay there, my face bleeding, my tears mingling with my blood. I could hear footsteps and whispers.
My men were afraid to come near me. Maybe they respected my grief. Or was it just voyeurism? Who knew and who cared? Ravana’s sorrow was his own. Why should I share my grief with this indifferent and cruel world? My boy, my little prince, had been burnt alive like a chicken. No, I did not want to see him now. Let my last memory of him be that beautiful smiling face. The innocence, the curiosity about the world, the charm, the little one wove in this serious and cruel world, and made it bearable for an arrogant brute like me, had been taken away. I staggered up. Through the hazy light, I saw my wife cruelly beating someone. Some people tried to tear her from the huge black crouching figure of Athikaya. “Why did you save me alone. . .how could you leave my little boy who was sleeping with his hands over me. . .you brute. . .”

  She pummelled the huge man with all her strength. He just stood there, his head bent in shame and guilt. Or was it anger at this cruel and undeserving treatment from someone whose life he had saved at the risk of his own? I didn’t know nor did I care. Athikaya and their anger or guilt was not important to me. I have just lost my little one. I walked towards the row of bodies neatly laid out on my once-green lawn. Grotesque shapes awaited me. I kept walking and then I found the little bundle. Guards bowed respectfully, but I w

  ould not have cared if they had spat on my face. I took the charred little body in my arms. The little face leered at me from its burned blackness. My boy mocked everything about me… my vanity, my life, my achievements, my ego. I knew it and was angry at fate and at the Gods who had done this to me. My servants came running to take over my burden, but I refused. This was my burden and I would carry it alone. Was anything worth this? Was my kingdom worth it? To save one child, I had sacrificed another. I had brought disaster on the people I was supposed to protect.