Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  But, even after a passage of twenty days, there was still no news about the Asura navy and army. Rumours flew fast and quick. The monkey-men had routed the Asura forces near the Shiva temple on the shore near Mahabalipuram. The sceptics like me, however, were sure that Vibhishana had switched sides. And then the royal announcement came. We were right. From every junction and corner of the island, it was announced that Prince Vibhishana and Admiral Varuna had switched sides. The Emperor’s brother had the audacity to send a message requesting Ravana to relinquish the throne in his favour and to hand over Sita to Rama. Varuna also wrote to say that Ravana was no longer the suzerain of the Asuras as Rama had declared Vibhishana, King of Lanka and the Asuras, in a ceremony at Mahabalipuram. There was also a joint letter signed by the two villains that a majority of the Asura army and the whole of the Asura navy, had switched their loyalties to the Devas.

  Ravana did not have a chance. To save Lanka from a second destruction and unnecessary bloodshed, Ravana had to hand over the throne peacefully to Vibhishana and retire to the Himalayas with his family, if he valued his life. But Ravana urged every citizen to rise, defend his motherland and culture from the barbarian Devas and the treacherous Asuras who want to impose Brahmanism and caste hierarchy. Not that every citizen of Lanka or on the mainland led a prosperous life and enjoyed a life of equality, without any hierarchy or caste discrimination. Though we had seethed under the slow spread of caste and colour discrimination and had rued Ravana’s rule, in our hearts we knew that the king had not been directly responsible for the rot in Asura society. In fact, he and Prahastha had checked the spread of casteism seeping in from the north, though Vibhishana and his Brahmin followers had slyly tried to introduce the discriminatory religion through the back door. Now, the same Vibhishana had allied with the Deva King and had threatened to overthrow Ravana. People shuddered to think how life would be if Vibhishana and the Brahmins were given ultimate authoritna hay. We were afraid.

  Preparations for the final battle between the Devas and the Asuras had begun – it would be the final clash of two civilizations. In this decisive battle, the Asuras were going to fight with one arm tied behind our backs. For the common man, our only interest in joining Ravana’s earlier raiding parties as mercenaries was only for sharing the loot. After a long time, an established Asura empire would face an attack similar to that faced by the ten kings when Indra invaded India. A way of life, a culture of equality and freedom, a tradition that valued material pleasure and celebrated life, braced itself to face the final assault from another culture. It had long ceased to be a personal matter between Ravana and Rama. People had hated Ravana initially for what they saw as his lust for Sita and the misfortune it brought to the Asuras. But when the people heard the rumours that Sita was an Asura princess, our own King’s daughter, they recoiled at the thought of leaving the princess in the hands of Rama. But the king could not drag us to a war over his private affairs. It was a family feud at best but we were paying the price. Nor could I forgive him for the way he had treated my adopted son, Athikaya, who was also his blood. But unlike Sita, the womb that had borne Athikaya, was that of a black housecleaner and not the aristocratic daughter of a great scientist. The Asuras braced for the final war between good and evil.

  Rudraka paraded the infantry and cavalry through the streets. People moved tensely. Soldiers and police officers were all on edge and screamed at or beat people without reason. Then the people outside the fort, and the fishermen who lived near the bay, arrived with their fowls and beasts. People began to live on footpaths. Then the Asuras who lived near the port, brought the news – the monkey-men were building a bridge across the water. It was strange, fascinating and fearsome. But the bridge inched towards our little island relentlessly. As it grew, so did its terror effect. People climbed onto temple towers and treetops or any elevated place, and talked in excited tones.

  Kalaripayattu, the traditional Asura martial arts centres, came up overnight. The streets were filled with Asuras, young and old, men and women, carrying swords, bows and arrows, spears, and assorted weapons. Ravana exhorted his subjects to take up arms and fight the invaders. Temples that had been earlier closed to us ordinary Asuras, were opened and became virtual army camps. The separation and segregation that the Brahmanised elite of the empire had imposed on society, vanished overnight, as most of them left Lanka to join Rama’s ranks. The old sense of equality among the Asuras came back. We were fighting for our culture, our race, our way of life, and our traditions. This was the last battle which would determine i

  f the poor and the downtrodden of India, stood a chance to achieve equality; it was a war against heartless Casteism and Untouchability; against degraded Brahmanism. I smiled at the irony. A war against Brahmanism was going to be fought under a king who was secretly proud of his Brahmin lineage. However, what choice did we poor, unlucky, black ones have? Of all the leaders and kings that we, the blacks of this country, had ever had, Ravana was the best. He was humane despite his faults and the alternative – the kingdom of Rama, or worse, that of Vibhishana, was too frightening even to imagine.

  Instinctively, every common Asura knew that this war would determine the future of India and its millions of poor and black people. If this war was lost and Rama won, then we would be kicked into the ditch forever. We knew that a life worse than that of a street dog awaited us then. We would fight for Ravana. We would give our blood, our lives, and everything we owned, for if we lost this war, we would lose something more pwers recious than life. A bleak and dark future awaited our children. We were terrified, hungry and thirsty, yet we eagerly awaited to fight Rama and his monkey-men. Our chances were grim. We knew it well. But we were determined to fight to the end. This was the decisive war – the war between good and evil. We were sure that Mahadev Shiva would not allow evil to triumph.

  However, in the deepest corner of my mind, I knew we were the lesser children of the Gods, and even a compassionate and all-powerful God like Shiva, would look at the colour of our skin and flinch. Perhaps we had been born with the wrong skin colour.

  46 For my people

  Ravana

  The palace was dark. Odd sounds filtered through the humid air. Not a leaf stirred. I had been sitting on this verandah overlooking the sea. Defeat and death stared me in the face. I berated myself for not having thrown Varuna into the raging waves that night, long, long ago. I felt numb. The life I had built with tears, toil and death, was crumbling. The torches and lamps the palace servants had lit hours before, had flickered to a slow death. Here and there in the palace gardens, an odd lamp still shone, fighting a final battle to survive.

  For hours my mind had been a blank page. Then, like a headache that starts with a small flash of pain at the temples, the feelings returned: I wanted to see my daughter. I tried to dismiss the thought and it subsided for a while. But before long, it seized me again. I stood up and walked towards the giant Ashoka tree where my daughter lived. It was dark. The lights that escaped through the palace windows threw huge shadows on the bushes, making them appear grotesque. As I approached the tree, a bird flew away with a loud flap of wings and rodents scurried past. A bat flew perilously close to my head, changed course, and then vanished into the darkness.

  She slept. The two dozing Asura woman soldiers did not even know of my presence. ‘So much for her protection’, I thought. I hated myself for the trembling in my hands. I wanted to touch her and go back to her childhood, which I had not seen. I wanted to feel my baby daughter’s tiny fingers, to cradle her, and see her growing up. The moon broke through the dark clouds and a reluctant beam filtered through the leaves of the Ashoka and illuminated her angelic face. The dull moonlight played hide and seek with the dark shadows of the garden. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. She stirred. A small drop of tear flowed from the edge of her eyes over the bridge of her lovely nose, balanced on the tip and fell down. My heart went out for my little precious daughter. She was pining for her husband’s love. Did I do a mistake in
taking her away from the person whom she loved? Suddenly I was angry. Why can’t she see her father’s love? What was there in Rama that could make her forget all the wealth I had earned? Then my anger oozed away and in its place a sense of helplessness arose. I had wronged her. I had forsaken her when she wanted me most. I was busy building an empire. In my insane race for success, I lost my daughter’s childhood. Now, when she was so madly in love with her husband, I had again taken her away from him. I hated myself for doing so. But why can’t she understand? Her husband would never take her back. He was standing at my city gates, roaring death and destruction to an old man, not because he loved his wife so dearly. Or did he? I don’t want to lose my child again. I do not want him to take her away from me. She is an Asura princess and she is my daughter. I had lost her once, I will not let it happen again.

  Instinctively she awoke and saw me standing there with a look of despair and confusion on my face. I wanted to persuade her to stay with us, her parents. But as I moved towards her, she screamed. The spell was broken and I staggered back, disgusted with myself. She spoke words of abuse, sobbing hysterically and calling on Rama to save her. The Asura women guards woke with a start, looking confused. But before they could see me, I withdrew into the shadows and hurried back to my palace. My heart cried in pain as I entered my bedroom and saw Mandodari sitting on the bed. I could not face her.

  “Where were you?” Was there an edge to her voice? I shrugged and lay down with my back towards her. I felt bitter and angry about everything. ‘Why did she come into my life’ I shifted in my bed but the thoughts refused to go away. Then I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and turned to hug my wife. Slowly, I began to undress her. I could not remember the last time I had loved her and waited for the rush of desire to overwhelm me. But nothing happened. I fumbled with her clothes, like a teenager minus passion. I felt her go rigid and stiff. Once again I attempted to stoke those forgotten passions and then gave up. I turned away from her and lay on my back. She put her head on my shoulder and tried to stroke passion with her hands. But nothing happened. I was tired and wished she would give up and leave me in peace. I hated her at that moment and I hated myself for being impotent. I do not know for how many hours we lay like that, but slowly sleep claimed her and she slid back to her side of the bed. But the simple mercy of peaceful sleep eluded me. Millions of thoughts, mostly meaningless, popped up. Somewhere between, a sense of weariness and defeat crept in. I wanted to end it all. Life had no meaning. Everything was worthless. I tossed from side to side and the slipped into a stupor.

  Then, when the eastern sky had turned pale, I woke with a start, drenched in sweat. I have been learning astrology and astronomy from Mayan. As I grew older, my own vulnerability had gradually made me more receptive to these abstract sciences. Any subject that interested me, I devoted long hours of study to. Life was so short and there was so much to learn. I was in the process of writing a book, a samhita, on astrology and omens. Maybe that prompted the nightmare I had of my daughter Sita being dragged away by tall and fair men and being thrown into a raging fire. Rama sat on a high pedestal, visibly distressed. Somewhere nearby, another fire was raging. More than the horrible fate of my daughter, it was the grotesque face that was hungrily being devoured by the flames that woke me, my heart thudding in my chest. It was the face of the Asura Emperor. Was it an omen, the harbinger of things to come? Astrology was such a veiled science and I did not believe in omens. I wished sleep would claim me back into her bosom, but disturbing images kept me awake and tired. Twice, my servants came to wake me, but I ignored them, feeling their dread through the covered sheet under which I nestled under like a frightened child. Finally, Mandodari came and shook me awake. It was a bleak morning. The sky was overcast and darkness loomed over the heaving ocean.

  “Your Highness, the Council awaits.” Prahastha’s voice startled me and I looked at him with bleary eyes. Council. . .what Council. . . What do they want to discuss now?’ I was weary of everything – petty politics and egos; bickering and tussles; endless meetings and sycophants trying to impress me with their unfailing patriotism; my glittering palace; my verything empire; the war I would have to inevitably wage against Rama. I was tired of life. I wanted Prahastha and his kind to go away and vanish from my world. ‘Why did I choose to be King?’ I should have chosen a simpler life on the beautiful shores of the Poorna river, dreamt small dreams, and lived and died like the insignificant millions of the world. A small hut, a faithful wife, beautiful children, some fields to till and all the time in the world to enjoy life – but I knew such dreams were just that – dreams.

  I sat there for a long time after Prahastha had left. I did not feel like doing my puja to Shiva. ‘Let him do without a puja today.’ I had prayed enough, even without being sure whether God heard me or not. When I finally reached the durbar, the Council members were huddled in circles, chatting irreverently like school kids. There was a sudden hush when I entered and they scrambled to their respective seats. I waited with growing annoyance as many fumbled with their dress and their turbans.

  Prahastha stood up but I cut him off with a flick of my hand. I could see the embarrassment and hurt on his face but I cared nothing about his fragile feelings. Once more I waited for the murmurs to die down and then said, “The enemy is breathing down our necks. We are facing betrayal after betrayal. Vibhishana, the brother I cradled in my arms and considered a son, left for the enemy camps. Varuna, the snake, whom I trusted with our navy, and whom I considered my best friend, has become a slave of that Deva upstart. Half our army and the entire navy have switched sides. So much for the Asura empire and the glory of our race, for which I have given my blood, my kin, my dreams, my life.”

  “We should move to the Subela hills. The fort there will hold against any enemy attack. We have enough provisions there to last for several months. We will wait there and wear the enemy out.” Prahastha interfered.

  I took some time to register what Prahastha was saying and then felt suddenly angry. ”No, I will not run away from two Deva men and their rag-tag army of monkey-men. I am the Emperor of the Asuras, and I will not hide in the hills. I will crush them.”

  There was visible commotion among my ministers. Then Jambumali stood up painfully and said, ”Your Highness! If we can hold out in the hills until the next monsoon, then we can trap Rama’s army between the raging sea and the city. We can resort to guerilla tactics and weaken the enemy until then.”

  “You want me to leave the city to the mercy of those barbarians? I think you fools have forgotten the lessons of history. How many magnificent Asura cities were ransacked and burnt to ashes; how many women raped and ravaged by the Devas in the past? You think the sons of Indra will spare our magnificent city?”

  “But, Your Highness! We are weak now. We have to strategize, plan and fight the war on our terms. The Subela hills are practically impenetrable. The retreating monsoon will start any time now and the steep walls of Subela Fort will form a formidable barrier for even the monkey-men. Moreover, we will be out of range of the flame throwers of Varuna’s ships.” Prahastha patiently waited for my reply.

  I could sense the tension in the room but did not say anything. My Prime Minister was right. In the Subela hills, we would be able to keep Rama at bay forever. We could then bribe Varuna’s men to come over to our side and strike at Rama later in summer. I knew my Governor Khara, who was now at the northern-most border of my kingdom, in the middle of India, was m meoving rapidly to encircle Rama from the rear. Once Rama was weak, I was sure that Varuna would switch loyalties again. But he would take a few months to cover the distance with his huge army. Could we hold on till then? Even if we did hold on, what would happen to my city and my people? What if Prahastha was plotting to get rid of me? No, Ravana would not run away like a coward. Strategy or not, I would stay here and protect my people.

  Suddenly we heard a rising uproar from the streets. It was faint initially, but slowly rose into a crescendo. The Council members apprehensi
vely rose from their seats and I could not contain my curiosity. Was it Rama’s army attacking? I rushed to the open verandah where I usually gave my morning darshan to my subjects and heard their complaints. A serpentine procession was marching towards the palace. As far as the eye could see, people, men and women, old and young, were marching towards the palace. The guards at the fort gates tried to restrain them, but the crowd pushing past relentlessly.

  “Death to the Devas!” “Har Har Mahadeva!” “Ravana Vijaya!” The angry cries tore at the sky as the crowd brandished all sorts of weapons, from 10-foot spears and swords, to garden tools and even kitchen knives. Drummers frantically beat the timeless Asura rhythms on Chendas.

  ‘How could I even think of leaving my people and hiding in the hills?’ I waved my hands and the crowd roared back in approval. I gestured to the guards to let the crowd in. ‘Who was I to restrain them?’ The crowds rushed in. They trampled the manicured gardens, upset the flower pots and some urchins jumped into the fountains. The palace opened its gates to my subjects. It felt good. I raised my hands to the sky and a sudden hush fell on the crowd. In that moment, I felt like God. I felt the charisma I had lost somewhere in the labyrinths of power, return to me. I felt that I had once again reconnected with my people. I regained my youth.