Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  It was almost half an hour before I located Meghanada and Athikaya. I kicked my son awake and he jumped up from his drunken stupor. Anybody could have come in and murdered the Asura Prince and his servant. So much for Asura security. If someone wanted one reason for the downfall of the mighty Asuras, it could be summed up in the word, liqӀumped upuor. It was the bane of my race. The Prince came to his senses quickly and by the time I had explained what had happened, he was alert. He jumped up, drew his sword and ran out. I followed the Prince, shouting what I had seen. Athikaya caught up with us when we crossed the front courtyard and Meghanada ran towards the fort bell. Meghanada took the stairs at the double. I was exhausted and did not follow him up. Athikaya darted past me, trying to catch up with the Prince. Soon the entire fort rang with the continuous peels of the huge fort bell. ‘Why hadn’t I thought of that myself?’ Within minutes, the entire courtyard was full of alert guards.

  “What is going on?” The loud voice of Ravana boomed across the courtyard as the Emperor rushed towards the bell tower. Meghanada explained what had happened and Ravana’s face went white. Then the colour rushed back. His anger was back as he slammed his fist on the bell tower wall, sending dust and plaster flying. “Catch that bastard Angada and bring him to me.”

  “Father, I will lead the search. This could be a trap and you should remain in the palace. If the Vanaras attack when the fort is left without a leader, we will be in deep trouble.”

  “You remain here Meghanada. It is my wife they have dared to kidnap. I will lead the search party and teach those bastards a lesson. And I think the time has come to wake up Kumbha. I need him desperately. I have been trying to put some sense into that oaf’s thick head the whole night.”

  Ravana mounted his favourite horse and plunged into the darkness. The search party, with hundreds of soldiers carrying flaming torches, struggled to keep pace with the galloping Asura Emperor. Soldiers ran behind the horses with their spears and clubs, making a lot of noise, but generally useless for anything other than making a nuisance of themselves. I joined them.

  By the time we reached the edge of the Subela hills, the horses had been abandoned and the search parties were almost a quarter of the way up the steep hills. The thick, dark jungle of Subela with its huge, overhanging boulders, loomed large and formidable. I was not sure my tired, old body could take the rigours of the climb. But curiosity is a great motivator and I dragged my body up, panting and puffing, to catch up with the young guards who had enthusiastically followed the path made by the official search party.

  Only the occasional flicker of torches through the thick foliage guided us. Twice I tripped and fell, but ignoring the pain, and suppressing my fear of the poisonous snakes that abounded in these forests, I tried hard to keep up with men twenty-five years younger than me. I found I was stronger than I had believed. The memories of such adventures I had been a part of, with the same man who was now the Emperor; when both of us were younger; the heady feeling of daredevilry and courage; the youthful thrill of facing danger with ease; came flooding back to me and I felt many years younger than at the start of the chase.

  We were all perspiring copiously and panting hard by the time we reached the small clearing, hundreds of feet below the peak. We could see the earlier search parties huddled together in the distance. The eastern sky had a streak of grey and the stars had grown dimmer. Many of the torches had died down. I sat down to catch my breath as the younger ones in my group rushed to their friends at the edge of the clearing. Then slowly I dragged myself uphill.

  I pushed my way through the crowd. There, lying on the bare earth, was the Queen, naked and unconscious. Ravana stood, stunned, weeping silently. I stepped forward and taking off my tattered shawl, covered the naked body of the Queen of the Asuras. My hands brushed against her breasts and she stirred.Ӏng sil Slowly she opened her eyes. Ravana caught her in his arms and hugged her. She looked at the crowd gawking at her for a moment, without comprehension. Then her nudity, her shame, the violation, dawned on her. She let out an animal cry and tried to cover herself in my stinking shawl. She scrambled up and tried to run. With a jerk, Ravana caught her arm and hugged her tightly. She buried her face in his shoulder and wept. The crowd reluctantly moved away. Some ran to fetch water, others collected some clothes for their Queen, and some put together a makeshift stretcher to carry the Queen back. I stood nearby, wondering at the twist of fate. She repeatedly said she did not wish to continue living with this shame. Angada and his boors had violated her when they realized that she was not Sita, as they had at first thought. She did not want to remain Ravana’s wife anymore; she wanted to die.

  Ravana did not speak at all except to say that she was his lawfully wedded wife and that she would remain so. It was embarrassing to witness his intensely private pain. But I felt a growing admiration for the man who thus stood by his wife in her trial. As a ruler, nothing worse could have happened to him, not even his own death. The Queen was forever tainted and the easiest thing for him would have been to fling her away like a used rag. But he chose the tough way, to live with snickering subordinates who would make lewd comments about his wife the moment his back was turned. Perhaps, in such choices lay his greatness and also his weakness. At the time, I doubt whether I completely appreciated his gesture towards his violated Queen. It was later, much later, when I witnessed the behaviour of another man towards his chosen wife, in circumstance that were much less serious, that I understood why Ravana would never be deified. He was too humane to be a God.

  I wanted to slip away silently, but Ravana saw me moving away. “Bhadra,” he called and I stopped to turn back. I could see he was both embarrassed and angry that I had witnessed what was essentially a private moment. He did not look at me but asked, ”Where is Meghanada?” I did not know, but someone answered that the Prince and Athikaya were pursuing Angada and his men.

  “I hope the bastard is caught alive.” I felt sorry for my King. He was trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered dignity. Soon, a makeshift palanquin was assembled and the King and Queen were lifted up and carried down the treacherous path towards the palace.

  “Fancy that, the King will now taste the leftovers of a dirty monkey.” one of the younger soldiers commented. Many around him snickered.

  “He should have finished her off then. Now, imagine the shame of having a queen dragged by her hair and stripped naked by a monkey. Who knows what else he would have done to her,” another joined in. There were more sniggers and whistles.

  “Have a heart, you bastards.” one of the older soldier shouted back. ”What he did was truly noble and right. How many men would accept a wife who has been shamed like this?” There was a lot of laughter until the captain of the group turned back and shouted, “You boys will not understand. Had you been born when the Devas were raiding and razing city after city, you would not have spoken this way.

  You owe your dignity to the man you are making fun of for standing by his wife at the time of her need.”

  A lot of jeering and snickering followed the old soldier’s words. Cursing them profusely, he became silent. I thought about what he had said. ‘Was it such a great thing that the King had done? I too had done the same thing. That King raped my wife and sired my son, Athikaya. Didn’t I bring him up like my own? Did I throw my wife away?’ The more I thought about it, the more I believed that wӀy son,hat had happened to the queen was sweet justice. I felt sorry for her, but he was reaping what he had sown. There was nothing noble about accepting one’s wife, even if she had been raped, and here there was doubt. If you were a man, you stood by your wife. Or you were a swine. There was nothing great about it. But, perhaps the standards expected from a common Asura and those expected from the nobility, were different. The nobles were expected to be bastards. So what Ravana had done proves he was crude and common like any other Asura. Strangely, the thought that he was like us was comforting. Maybe there was some hope if he won the war with Rama.

  As we neared the palace, I
saw that the shawl that I had covered the Queen with, was lying discarded on the path. I barely recognize it. It had become even more tattered and torn, more like a dirty rag, after having been stamped upon by so many marching feet. Initially I thought of kicking it into the open sewer, but on second thoughts, I bent and picked it up. Maybe this humble rag had served its purpose for queens and kings, but for a poor man like me, it might still be useful. I could perhaps mend it and reuse it. I did not have a spare one, so I had to make do with what I had. Maybe, if I washed it carefully, it would wash away the smell of the Angadas and Ravanas.

  54 The end of an idealist

  Ravana

  The still body of Prahastha was brought to the palace at sunset. When I came out of my personal hell where I was hiding with my wife, he lay on the cold floor of the durbar hall. His body had turned blue and he looked older than he was. He looked worn out with the worries of an empire, with the plotting and planning, thwarted ambitions, straight jacketed self righteousness, by the impossible wish to strictly adhere to dharma and a thoroughly colourless life. I suppressed a tear for my best friend and worst enemy. I leaned down towards his lifeless body. A few tears tore themselves away from my hard practiced self-restraint and made a strange pattern on the floor. ‘Who was this man?’ Once, long ago, I had been afraid of him. I had been sure that he was after my throne. He had been all that I always wanted to be, but never could be. He was all that I never wished to be, but could have been. He had been the restraint that had kept the wild beast within me leashed. He had been my conscience. He had been what kept me from becoming a Rakshasa. I had feared him more than anyone. And in my heart, I was sure that he would have been a better leader for the Asuras than me.

  He was the ideal Asura leader, the real successor to Mahabali. Brave, moral, honest, upright, incorruptible. He would not have invited the disaster that was Rama onto us, like I had done. He would not have strayed from the right path. He might not have built such a vast empire but he would not have fallen hopelessly in love with Vedavathi. He would not have thought twice about sacrificing a daughter for the Asura cause or if he had believed the prophecy to be nonsense, he would have had the courage to proclaim it to the world. Once he lost his daughter to Janaka, he would not have lacked the courage to get her back through force or diplomacy. He would have brought his daughter home long ago. Nor would he have let his wife be molested by monkey-men. But. . .perhaps, he would not have taken her back and loved her in quite the same way, because of the shame. He would not have done many of the things I had done, but then, he would not have been Prahastha or րthe shame.I Ravana.

  My courtiers remained silent. Jambumali was most distraught. Prahastha had been his friend from childhood. They belonged to the same generation in their thinking. When old friends die, they take something of your life with them. I wanted to hug the old man in his distress, but did not have the courage to face anyone. I had to be practical. Prahastha had to be cremated before sunset. I wanted to hug Prahastha’s still body and tell him that, more than anyone else, I had respected and loved him. I also wanted to tell him that he had always got on my nerves with his unwarranted advise and talk about Asura dharma. Suddenly I hated him from deep within. ‘You were after my throne. And you would have been a much better king, for you were a much better human being than me.’ If he had been King and I the Prime Minister, how would I have behaved? I couldn’t even imagine that as I could not have remained in that position for long. I would have got rid of my master and assumed my rightful position. ‘This man had so many chances to do that to me. He could have poisoned me, had me stabbed while we shared beds during our campaigns; he could have got rid of me in a hundred ways.’ But even the cynic in me did not think Prahastha would have done that. I had trusted him. He had been too deeply tied to his own principles and dharma to stoop so low to assume kingship. He prized his soul more than a blood-stained throne.

  I stood up and a junior administrative officer came and bowed. I ordered that the funeral arrangements be made quickly. Then things happened in a blur. The people who were proficient in the matters of last rites took over. My Prime Minister was covered with the red Asura flag and his bier lifted up. I too wished to put my shoulder to it, but thought it would be rather melodramatic. After all, I was still the King. So I walked behind the humble funeral procession. People had lined both sides of the road and filled the balconies and treetops. The procession snaked its way through the war-ravaged road, through the streets that had seen a thousand violent deaths. I was shocked to see what had happened to my beautiful city.

  I wanted it to end so I could go home and sleep. I was tired. Yet I had to do my duty. I owed that much to my slain friend and dearest foe. I walked amidst the weeping crowd and was surprised to see how popular he had been. He had never reached out to people and he had taken many unpopular decisions. But he stood his ground when it came to doing what was right rather than what was popular. And he was always fair. That was something new to me. People loved you not for the short-term popular things you did for them as a ruler, but because you were just. The country silently wept for a man who had been like a strict father to them.

  And suddenly, I was afraid of the past. All that had stood between Prahastha and my throne was his sense of fairness and doing the right thing. All these people who were thronging to catch a glimpse of Prahastha, could have just cremated their own loved ones just a few hours before. Still they thought it was important to be here. Had he made one call to these people, I would have been swept away like a feather in the wind. But Prahastha had never lived in the palace and would vanish to his country home a few miles away from the city whenever he could. He always said that the country air suited him better. Thinking back, he had never once mentioned his family, had never recommended a relative for a government job, or sought little favours from me like most of the others around me had. I had put it down to his bloated ego and resented it. But now, as the funeral procession wound its way ۀob, or sto his country home, I could see that he had chosen to do so because of his convictions. The neighbourhood he had lived in was neither posh nor rich, but had a rural charm and the people were rustic.

  The procession halted before what looked like a peasant’s dwelling. It was Prahastha’s home, a neat and clean hut, with a thatched roof that gave it a cozy feel. The yard was neat. There was a cowshed and a well nearby, a few fruit trees and flowering vines, and a duck pond. I now understood why my Prime Minister wished to escape from my gaudy palace to this rustic haven. It was not poverty he had chosen, but rich simplicity. I had not known this side of the man I had once hated and feared. There were many people, not the rich and social types, but poor villagers and petty officials, who stood in groups. As I moved in, a sudden hush fell and I felt I was intruding into their private grief. A man who resembled Prahastha came out and bowed. Someone whispered that he was the Prime Minister’s son. I patted his shoulder and walked in. In the darkness of the hut, I could discern the smooth forms of women, hunched over in grief. A woman slowly stood up and walked towards me. As the light fell on her face, I recognized my slain Prime Minister’s wife.

  “I am deeply sorry,” I said, but my words sounded hollow even to me. She did not move, just stood there. I grew uneasy. I had never been comfortable with ceremonies of death. They reminded me of my own mortality. I could hear the men of the family cutting down a huge mango tree to prepare the pyre. It was our Asura custom to plant a mango tree when a baby was born. The tree grew with the child and gave its fruits to all living things, making the world a better place. The child was expected to do the same when he grew up. And when it was time for the final journey, the tree gave its final sacrifice for its namesake, vanishing into the smoke of the funeral pyre, along with its companion.

  Finally it was over. Prahastha and whatever he had stood for, turned into formless smoke and slowly vanished into thin air. The grief throbbing through the people made me jealous. But they slowly dispersed to their own lives, to their own woes. It had grown
dark and the crickets were chirping. My attendants waited outside for me to make a move. I emerged from my stupor. I felt heavy hearted and wanted to say some soothing words to the widow and the son or perhaps his daughter. ‘What kind of a leader was I? I didn’t even know how many children my Prime Minister had. Where had the lofty thoughts of my youth gone? What happened to the ideas I had carried, about being a caring leader, a man of empathy and kindness? In what poor condition my Prime Minister had left his family. They were peasants now, dirt poor.’ When the lord of the house had been Prime Minister of the empire, their simplicity had charm. Maybe it had even been a political plus. But they were nothing but poor wretches now and it was my duty to help them.

  I was about to send for Prahastha’s son, when he appeared and bowed respectfully. With some hesitation he deposited a bundle of silken cloth at my feet and bowed again. One of guards looked at me. Reading my consent, he opened it in front of me. I was furious. The bundle contained a gold bracelet with the Asura insignia on it, a gold chain with its gold-tipped tiger claws’ and a few neatly folded silk dresses. They were the personnel possessions of Prahastha, the only vanity he had allowed himself when he attended my court.