Asura- Tale of the Vanquished

by Anand Neelakantan

  The old King mumbled something but I could understand what he was trying to say. I touched his forehead. It was burning hot. He had fever and wheezed heavily. He was dying and it was unbearable to watch. He mumbled something again. I could only make out that he wanted me to take him somewhere. Poor man! I began to cry despite myself. I took his head in my hands and hugged him close to my bosom. ‘I was hugging a real King.’ The exhilaration I felt then! In my excitement I told him I would seek revenge. “I will complete you work, your Highness. Do not worry and go in peace. I will do it for our race.” I could not believe what I was saying to the dying man. “My methods may be different, even ignoble, as per your standards.”

  Ravana wheezed heavily. I moved my mouth towards his half-eaten ear. The stench of putrefying flesh made me gag, but I controlled myself and whispered in his ear, “Once, I too was a warrior, but I have grown old.

  Arms frighten me now. I am terrified of war. I cannot beat even an eight-year old. Nevertheless, my methods are deadly. I will have my revenge, for you, for me and for our blighted race. Rama will not go free for what he has done to you and our race. Believe me and go in peace.”

  As I said this, I felt a purpose had come to my life. At least my thoroughly unremarkable life would be of some use. I kissed my King’s forehead and gently laid his head on the wet earth. He wheezed again agonizingly. I stood there for a long time, watching Ravana die. When silver streaks appeared in the eastern sky and the cawing of the crows heralded a new dawn, mighty Ravana laboriously and painfully breathed his last. I waited for half an hour more and then I knelt down and divested him of all the gold ornaments he wore. He would not be needing them wherever he had gone to. It was a good haul and I was happy to have stumbled upon my King.

  As I walked back towards the city, the enormity and stupidity of the words I had said to the dying man hit me. ‘I was not bound by anything, not even by my words to a dead man.’ By the time I reached the outer edge of the city, I had convinced myself that there was nothing wrong in breaking my word as given to Ravana. I was no hero to take on a revengeful mission against Rama. Soon I was caught by the Vanara soldiers and marched back to the city to watch the victory processions. By late morning I had practically forgotten about revenge.

  Many people had been hauled forcefully to the royal street and made to sit in the hot sun on either sides of the road. Vanara soldiers mercilessly beat anyone who even dared to shift their position. The Asuras watched with seething anger and a sense of helplessness, as their women were dragged through the streets. Fear hung like a nasty mist that refused to clear long after sunrise. Surprisingly, the day was clear and windy. Everything looked fresh after yesterday’s torrential rain. The trees were stunningly green and the sky a deep blue with soft, fluffy, cotton clouds floating about aimlessly. Small puddles had formed here and there and frogs jumped in and out of them in mirth. The whole world was radiant. In less than a day, it was as if Ravana and his fantastic dreams had never existed. I pushed Ravana’s ornaments that I had stolen from his corpse down my loincloth. Stolen was not the word, reclaimed was better, for whatever Ravana owned had been taken from us – from me and people like me, sitting here waiting for the next Ravana. The flag of Vishnu flew high from the tower of the palace. We waited to welcome our next master, Rama. Lest we run away from the wonderful blessings that was being promised by the new Lord, we were held forcibly in place by the brutish Vanaras.

  By afternoon, men had started to faint in the heat. The Vanaras, used to the fierce but dry summer heat of central India, were sweating profusely from the milder but sultry tropical heat. This made them more irritable and angry. Even the slightest movement was dealt with severe beatings. I sat next to a teenager who stared intently at the Vanara soldiers a few feet away. I could smell trouble a mile away. I knew what was going through the mind of the teenager. I had to get away from this place as fast as possible. But how could I slip away without attracting anyone’s attention. The teenager acted before I could formulate a plan to escape. Leaping from his place, he rushed towards the unsuspecting soldiers. Hearing the noise, they turned but caught the full force of the teenager’s blows in their faces. They staggered and fell. The teenager grabbed their spears and thrust them repeatedly into their bodies. As if in cue, many of the young men attacked the Vanara soldiers. But the vast majority of men, including me, watched the drama without any reaction. More and more Vanara soldiers ran from the fort to aid their comrades, and within a few minutes, they had managed to kill the young rebels.

  The boy who started this farce was hacked into pieces, his limbs thrown into the crowd in all directions. His arms landed near me and I kicked the dirty thing away towards my terrified neighbor, who promptly gagged and vomited. Some blood of the dead teenager had fallen on my face and shoulders and I wiped it off with my palm and then wiped my hand on my dhothi. For their slain comrades, the Vanaras exacted a terrible revenge by randomly choosing some of our men and beheading them. It was pure terror in action and succeeded in quenching any thoughts of heroism in the heart of any Asura hero wannabe.

  By late afternoon, the Vanaras had got bored of their game and were lazily walking around. Some Asuras had fainted in the fierce afternoon sun and begged for water. I had dozed off lazily when the sudden roll of Chendas woke me. At the far end, the fort gates opened and a procession entered the royal highway. The entire crowd craned to see what was happening. The procession wound its way slowly through the waves of the gasping crowd. I could only see that they had raised something on a staff and it was bobbing up and down in the crowd. An agonized wail rose from the fort end and followed the procession. As the procession neared me, I was horrified to find that it was Ravana’s head that was bobbing up and down on the staff carried by Angada. The once stately and handsome face looked grotesque in death, with its eyes missing, part of its cheeks gnawed away by rats and a bloody stub of a nose, half eaten by jackals. Behind Angada, Sugreeva, the cruel and drunken-looking King of Kishkindha, tottered by, barely able to carry his heavy club. Many ugly and hairy, noble monkey-men, walked with their crude clubs and heavy staffs behind their King. Instead of the deer skin clothing they were used to, they all wore the fine silk clothes that had been looted from the palace, in an attempt to emulate Asura noble men. They looked awkward in those clothes but they carried huge, stone clubs and no man dared to laugh. Then followed the Asura men with their Chendas and horns, trumpeting the victory of their new masters. They were followed by Rama, his brother, and a triumphant-looking Sita, glowing with happiness beside her husband in Ravana’s chariot.

  Beside the royal chariot, on either side, ran Hanuman and Vibhishana, doing odd errands as commanded by Lakshmana, competing with each other in pleasing their masters. The rivalry between these two servitors of Rama, was evident. Rama sat with Ravana’s diamond studded, golden crown on his head. He wore a wooden smile and raised his palms slightly as if he showering his blessing on us. I noticed that he placed his bow and quiver of arrows between him and his wife. I also noticed that he deliberately did not look at his wife and consciously avoided even an accidental touch from her.

  It appeared strange then, but later, as I became initiated into the Deva culture, it all made sense. The events that unfolded that evening added greatly to my knowledge. Behind Rama’s chariot came palanquins carrying the woman of the palace. In one of them, sat Mandodari, her face partially veiled and her head tonsured. She was wearing a plain white sari. More than the head of Ravana bobbing up and down on a staff, it was the sight of the Asura Queen dressed like a Deva widow that shook the crowd. She sat there with immense dignity and self-control as wave upon waves of Asura men on either side bowed down to the earth and wailed at her plight. Vanara soldiers kicked and screamed, trying to stop the Asuras from crying out in distress and prodded them to shout ‘Sri Rama jaya’. Yet the Asuras refused to be deprived of this small luxury to cry for their shattered dreams. Broken bones were nothing compared to vanished dreams. I could not control my tears an
d joined my neighbours in pounding my chest and wailing out loud.

  The frenzy of the Chendas and horns could not suppress the misery of the Asuras’ cries. It was the cry of a race facing the deep abyss of extinction. It was the death cry of a culture. Many years ago, the Asuras had seen a shining promise of renewal, but now it lay shattered. As the setting sun bloodied the turbulent sea, we buried our dreams of a world without borders, a world of equality. For many ages, the Asuras of India held up a beacon of hope to the world for a world without slavery and caste, where anyone with fire in his heart and the ambition to dream, could carve his own destiny. That dream collapsed thousands of years ago when our cities on the bank of Saraswathi and Indus fell to the barbarian attacks of the Devas. Yet it found utterance again in its heroes like Mahabali and Ravana.

  And that hero was now bobbing up and down on the tip of a staff held by a beast. The procession stopped near the sea. The crowd ran to the beach to see what was happening. The Asura soldiers, who had fought a few hours before with the Vanaras, now joined their foes to control the crowd. They now served the new regime and wanted their salaries, their promotions, and perks, to remain protected. They were public servants, ready to land heavy blows on the public at short notice from their masters. Their lathis fell with sickening whacks on the backs of the hapless common man. They formed a chain to prevent the public from getting too near the leaders. A dais had been raised for the great men to address us. We were all asked to sit down on the beach. We were pushed down, pressed down and when required, beaten down to the ground. After a delay when the sycophants of Rama, then the sycophants of the sycophants, ran around fetching this and that and grovelling before their immediate bosses and barking at their subordinates, Rama climbed onto the dais. A deep frown lined his brow. But the smile was back on his face again as he waved. A few hands waved back and again the frown returned to his face. The sycophants got their cue and runners were dispatched to various police supervisors. Soon we were all waving to Rama and cheering his every word, though we did not understand a word, as he was speaking in Sanskrit. After a while, Vibhishana stood up and whispered something to Rama. Then he translated Rama’s speech, sentence by sentence Obviously we had not been clapping at the right places in Rama’s speech.

  Rama started from the beginning and said that all of us should be happy as we had freed us from the tyranny of Ravana, an evil demon. It was his belief that good always triumphed over evil. It was logical and we clapped for these great words. Then Rama announced that we would be ruled as per Deva dharma henceforth. There would not be any councils, or even village level panchayats. The King would be supreme and he would rule as per the advice of the Brahmins. Though many in the crowd did not understand the full implications of this, there was an uneasy silence from the crowd until we were all prodded to cheer. Rama stated that all subjects would be divided into four castes and a profession would be allocated to each of them. The Brahmins, who had come from the face of the God, would be the supreme caste. They would dispense knowledge, act as representatives of God on earth, and it was imperative that everyone listen and obey them. The Kshatriyas, who had the great fortune of coming from the limbs of God, would rule over society as per the advice of the Brahmins.

  The Vaishyas, the merchants who had come from the thighs of God, would be given permission to run business and trade and would be under the other two castes. The artisans, small land owners, the ordinary soldiers, all the Shudras, who had unfortunately come from the foot of God, would serve the other three castes. It was so confusing, but we all clapped. I wondered what would happen to the unskilled or semi-skilled peasants, the blackest of black people, who eked out a living doing odd jobs like me – cleaning the streets, washing clothes, being porters. I was curious to know which bodily part of the Deva God people like me had come from. I soon got the answer. Rama announced that all others, who did not fall into the mentioned categories, would be considered pariahs or untouchables. He felt sorry for our plights but asked us to take it as a blessing from God.

  The speech went on and on, boring us with details about Deva glories and their way of life. Finally, he announced that he did not wish to be King of Lanka or the Asuras. He raised the hand of Vibhishana and proclaimed, “Behold! The King of Asuras”. A few more blows by policemen ensured a smattering of applause. Vibhishana fell at Rama’s feet. We watched what our King did with revulsion. This was a convenient arrangement for Rama. He could enjoy power without the responsibility. This was our fate, to be ruled by a spineless ruler under the advice of a foreigner. Vibhishana began his speech. He apologised to the Devas and ended with the lament that his wayward brothers, Ravana and Kumbakarna, had not recognized the divinity of Rama. As the sun set and darkness and gloom spread over Lanka, Vibhishana said that he would perform the last rites of his slain brother as per the Vedic tradition of the Devas. A wave of protest rose from the crowd and died at the sight of more policemen surrounding them with raised swords. A few Brahmins arrived on stage and Rama, Vibhishana, Lakshmana, and Sita, all scrambled up in respect. Rama, Lakshmana and Vibhishana, fell at the Brahmins’ feet and received their blessings.

  But when Sita tried to touch their feet, they jumped back in revulsion. A hush descended on the crowd. We sensed something dramatic and sensational was happening. One of the Brahmins whispered something to Rama and we saw his face grow darker. Rama spoke to Lakshmana and the colour drained from his face. For an awkward moment, no one did anything. Then Lakshmana grabbed Sita’s hands and pulled her down from the dais. She tried to wriggle away, but her brother-in-law gripped her hard. She was pushed into a corner just below the dais, where she stood burning with shame, indignation and embarrassment. One of the Brahmins came forward and spoke in Sanskrit.

  Then Vibhishana stepped forward and translated the Brahmin’s words. He sounded ecstatic when he said, “See, my countrymen, how fair the Brahmins are. Rama, my Lord, is King of the world, but even he is not above the law. His wife, Sita, as we all know, was held captive by that demon Ravana. It is our sorrow, that because of him who I once called brother, a virtuous lady like my beloved Lord’s wife, has been polluted. Please have no doubts, Sita Devi is like a mother to me. But, we should be proud of the way the learned pundits have applied their laws to all equally. In their wisdom they have ruled that Sita Devi will have to prove her purity and chastity in the time-honoured way of the Devas.” Vibhishana paused to gulp some water. It was evident that he relished this opportunity to demonstrate a new order.

  Sita had stopped weeping and stood defiant. The veil fell from her face as she stared at her husband. The resemblance was unmistakable. She might have looked like her mother, but in her posture and the fire in her eyes, she looked every inch the daughter of Ravana. She glared at the husband for whom she had waited so patiently. Rama looked away, unable to face her. His hands trembled yet that wooden smile never left his lips. He was trying hard to contain his emotions. He sat there not like a warrior who had vanquished the most powerful king in the world, but like a man stricken by fate. Mandodari, seated a few yards away, looked shocked at this new development. She tried to get up but was pushed back on the orders of the Brahmins. They barked that widows were not allowed to be seen in the sunlight. They had already sinned by allowing her to witness her husband’s last journey. This would be Mandodari’s last day in the sun. A funeral pyre was set up and the head of Ravana was taken down from the staff. A body which was supposedly Ravana’s, was carried in by four dark men, my fellow untouchables.

  The sun had set and dark clouds loomed large in the western skies. It was the season of evening showers and the earth got ready for her ritual bath. Vibhishana walked towards his brother’s funeral pyre holding a flaming torch. Vibhishana ordered for another pyre to be set up near Ravana’s. He ordered that finest of Sandal woods to be brought for this pyre was meant for a divine purpose. We waited with baited breath. Soon another pyre was lit. Specially selected Asura ladies dragged Sita towards this special pyre that would tell t
he world whether she was pure or not.. We did not understand what was happening. What was this time-honored method of the Devas to test a woman’s chastity? As the Brahmins croaked their mantras and sprinkled water on all and sundry, Vibhishana walked three times around the pyre of his slain brother. Some of the drops of water fell onto my skin and by impulse was to smell the water. It stank.

  My neighbour whispered in my ear, “It’s cow’s urine and gobar. They use it for purification.” We, the untouchables, were purified with bullshit. Small drops of rain fell. Soon the skies would open. Lightning crackled, tearing the dark skies into pieces.