Arishtanemi was equal in height to Lakshman, but unlike the young prince, was lean, almost lanky. He wore a saffron dhoti with an angvastram slung over his right shoulder, one end of which was wrapped around his right arm. He wore a janau thread; his shaven head and a knotted tuft of hair at the crown were signs of his Brahmin antecedents. Unlike most Brahmins, though, Arishtanemi’s wheat-complexioned body had a profusion of battle scars. It was rumoured that he was more than seventy years of age, although he did not look a day older than twenty. Perhaps Maharishi Vishwamitra had revealed to him the secret of the mysterious Somras, the drink of the Gods. Its anti-ageing properties could keep one healthy till the astounding age of two hundred.
‘The Asura horde is led by a woman called Tadaka, the wife of their deceased chieftain, Sumali,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘Tadaka belongs to a Rakshasa clan.’
Ram frowned. ‘I thought the Rakshasas were aligned with the Devas, and by extension, their descendants: us.’
‘The Rakshasas are warriors, Prince Ram. Do you know what the word “Rakshasa” means? It’s derived from the old Sanskrit word for protection, Raksha. It is said that the word Rakshasa emerged from their victims asking to “be protected from them”. They were the finest mercenaries of ancient times. Some had allied with the Devas, while others joined the Asuras. Raavan himself is half Rakshasa.’
‘Oh!’ Ram exclaimed, as his eyebrows rose.
Arishtanemi continued. ‘Tadaka maintains a militia of fifteen soldiers, led by her son, Subahu. Along with women, children and the old, the settlement must be made up of not more than fifty people.’
Ram frowned. Just fifteen soldiers?
Early next morning, the party left the temporary camp they’d set up the previous night.
‘The Asura camp is an hour’s ride from here,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘I have asked our soldiers to be on the lookout for scouts and possible traps.’
As they rode on, Ram steered his horse towards Arishtanemi’s, clearly intending to impose further conversation on the taciturn soldier. ‘Arishtanemiji,’ said Ram, ‘Maharishi Vishwamitra mentioned the Asuras of the old code. It can’t possibly comprise only this band of fifty. Fifty people cannot keep an ancient code alive. Where are the others?’
Arishtanemi smiled but did not proffer a response. This boy is smart. I should warn Guruji to be careful with his words.
Ram persisted with his questioning. ‘Had they been in India, the Asuras would have launched an attack on us, the descendants of the Devas. This suggests that they must not be here. Where are they?’
Arishtanemi sighed imperceptibly and looked up at the dense canopy of trees preventing light from shining through. He decided to oblige the prince with the truth. ‘Have you heard about the Vayuputras?’
‘Of course, I have,’ said Ram. ‘Who hasn’t? They are the tribe left behind by the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra, just as your people are the ones left behind by the previous Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram. The Vayuputras are tasked with protecting India from Evil whenever it arises. They believe that one among them will rise and become the next Mahadev when the time comes.’
Arishtanemi smiled enigmatically.
‘But what does this have to do with the Asuras?’ asked Ram.
Arishtanemi’s expression did not change.
‘By the great Lord Rudra, are the Vayuputras giving shelter to the Asuras, to India’s enemies?’
Arishtanemi’s smile broadened.
And then, the truth hit Ram. ‘The Asuras have joined the Vayuputras…’
‘Yes, they have.’
Ram was perplexed. ‘But, why? Our ancestors went to great lengths to destroy the Asura Empire in India. They should hate all the Devas and their descendants. And here they are, having joined a group whose sole purpose is to protect India from Evil; why are they protecting the descendants of their mortal enemies?’
‘Yes, they are, aren’t they?’
Ram was stunned. ‘But, why?’
‘Because Lord Rudra ordered them to do so.’
This made no sense anymore! Ram was shocked beyond belief, but more importantly, intellectually provoked. He looked towards the sky with a bemused expression. The people of the masculine are very strange, no doubt; but also magnificent! He was on his way now to meet some of these quixotic creatures.
But why should they be destroyed? What law have they broken? I’m sure Arishtanemiji knows. But he will not tell me. He is loyal to Maharishi Vishwamitra. I need to get some more information about the Asuras, instead of blindly attacking them.
Ram frowned as he suddenly became aware that Arishtanemi was keenly observing him, almost as if he was attempting to read his mind.
The mounted platoon had ridden for half an hour when Ram silently signalled for them to halt. Everyone immediately pulled their reins. Lakshman and Arishtanemi steered their horses gently towards Ram.
‘Up ahead,’ whispered Ram, ‘high up that tree.’
Around fifty metres ahead, an enemy soldier sat on a machan built on a fig tree, around twenty metres from the ground. Some branches had been pulled in front, in a vain attempt to conceal it.
‘The idiot is not even camouflaged properly,’ whispered Lakshman with disgust.
The Asura soldier was dressed in a red dhoti; if the intention was to serve as a spy or a lookout, the effect was disastrous, for the colour screamed his presence; like a parrot in a parade of crows.
‘Red is their holy colour,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘They wear it whenever they go into battle.’
Lakshman was incredulous. ‘But he is supposed to be a spy, not a warrior! Amateurs!’
Ram removed the bow slung over his shoulder and tested the pull of the string. He bent forward and rubbed his horse’s neck as he crooned a soft tune; the animal became completely still. Ram pulled an arrow from the quiver tied to his back, nocked it and pulled the string back, aiming quickly. He flicked his releasing thumb and fired the arrow. The missile spun ferociously as it sped to its target, hitting its mark with precision: the thick rope that held the machan in place. It immediately gave way and the Asura came crashing down, hitting the branches on his downward journey. This effectively broke his fall and he landed on the ground, reasonably uninjured.
Arishtanemi stared in wonder at Ram’s exquisite archery. This boy is talented.
‘Surrender immediately and you will not be harmed,’ Ram reassured. ‘We only need some answers from you.’
The Asura quickly rose to his feet. He was, really, a youth, no more than fifteen years of age. His face was twisted with anger and disgust. He spat loudly and tried to draw his sword. Since he had not held the scabbard with his other hand to steady it, he only succeeded in getting the sword stuck. He cursed and yanked hard and the blade finally came free. Arishtanemi jumped off his horse and casually drew his sword.
‘We don’t want to kill you,’ said Ram. ‘Please surrender.’
Lakshman noticed that the poor boy’s grip on the sword hilt was all wrong; it was vice-like, which would quickly tire him out. Also, the weight of the sword was taken by his forearm, instead of his shoulder and triceps, the way it should be. He held the weapon from the farthest edge of the hilt; it would just get knocked out of his hand!
The Asura spat again, before screaming loudly. ‘You excreta of vermin! Do you think you can defeat us? The True Lord is with us. Your false gods cannot protect you! You will all die! Die! Die!’
‘Why are we here, hunting these imbeciles?’ Lakshman threw up his hands.
Ram ignored Lakshman and spoke to the young warrior again, politely. ‘I’m requesting you. Throw down your weapon. We don’t want to kill you. Please.’
Arishtanemi began to move forward slowly, intending to intimidate the Asura. The effect, however, was quite the opposite.
The Asura screamed loudly. ‘Satyam Ekam!’
The True One!
He charged at Arishtanemi. It all happened so quickly that Ram had no time to intervene. The Asura tried to strike Arishtanemi with a s
tandard downward slice, in what was intended to be a kill-strike. But he was not close enough to his opponent. The tall Arishtanemi deftly avoided the blow by swaying back.
‘Stop!’ warned Arishtanemi.
The young soldier, however, screamed loudly, moved his sword arm, and swung from the left. He should have used both his hands for this backhand attempt. Even then, it would have been a mistake against a man of Arishtanemi’s strength. The Malayaputra swung hard, his blow so powerful that the Asura’s sword flew out of his hand. Without losing momentum, Arishtanemi sliced from a high angle and nicked the Asura’s chest. Perhaps hoping to scare him into surrendering.
Arishtanemi stepped back and drove his sword tip into the soft ground in a gesture that conveyed he meant no harm. He said loudly, ‘Just step back. I don’t want to kill you. I am a Malayaputra.’ Then, under his breath, low enough for only the Asura to hear, Arishtanemi whispered, ‘Shukracharya’s pig.’
The enraged Asura suddenly pulled out a knife from a scabbard tied to the small of his back and charged forward, screaming, ‘Malayaputra dog!’
Arishtanemi instinctively stepped back, bringing his hands up in defence. The sword, held in his right hand, came up horizontal. The Asura simply ran into Arishtanemi’s sword, the blade cutting through his abdomen cleanly.
‘Dammit!’ cursed Arishtanemi as he stepped back and pulled his sword out. He turned towards Ram, eyes filled with remorse.
The stunned Asura dropped his knife and looked down at his abdomen, at the blood that began as a trickle and, within moments, burst forth with steadily increasing intensity. The shock of the trauma had blocked out the pain, and he stared at his body as though it was another’s. He collapsed on the ground when it became too much for his brain to handle. He screamed, more with fright than in pain.
Arishtanemi threw his shield to the ground in frustration. ‘I told you to stop, Asura!’
Ram held his head. ‘Lord Rudra, be merciful…’
The Asura was bawling helplessly. There was no saving him, now. The force of the blood flow was a clear indication that the sword had pierced many vital organs and arteries. It was only a matter of time before he bled to death.
The Malayaputra turned to Ram. ‘I warned him… You warned him… He just ran into…’
Ram closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration. ‘Put this poor fool out of his misery.’
Arishtanemi looked at the Asura lying prone at his feet. He went down on one knee. He bent close, so that his expression was visible only to the Asura, and sneered slightly before he carried out Ram’s order.
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Chapter 17
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Ram signalled for the party to halt once again.
‘These people are beyond all limits of incompetence,’ said Lakshman, as he steered his horse close to his brother.
Ram, Lakshman and Arishtanemi looked into the distance, at what appeared to be the Asura camp. They had barricaded themselves for a veritable siege, but it was not exactly a sterling example of military genius. The entire camp was surrounded by high wooden palisade fencing, held together with hemp rope. Whereas this provided an adequate defence against arrows, spears and other missiles, a good fire would wreak havoc with this barricade. A stream flowing by the camp had been left unfenced. It was too deep for warriors to wade through on foot, but mounted soldiers could easily ride across.
‘I’m sure they imagine that the unguarded opening at the stream will serve as bait for the unsuspecting,’ laughed Arishtanemi.
As if expecting the enemy cavalry to attempt an attack by riding across the shallow stream, the Asuras had dug a small trench on the far side, just short of the bank, which had been crudely camouflaged. Asura archers, hidden within the trench, could rain a shower of arrows on enemy riders once they were mid-stream. In theory, it was an effective military tactic. The execution, however, was shoddy and amateurish.
A dull splash had sounded from the ground nearby alerting Ram to the possibility of the trench. Owing to its proximity to the stream, water had seeped through, making the trench slippery; it had not been adequately waterproofed. A soldier must have slipped.
In what seemed like another stroke of amateur brilliance, the Asuras had built a machan atop a tree, seemingly overlooking the trench. The machan had been built with the same idea in mind, to man it with archers who would fire at enemy soldiers crossing the stream. However, the machan was empty. This gave Ram an easy solution to the matter of the Asura soldiers hidden in the trench.
Ram crooned gently in the horse’s ear; as the animal became still, he reached for an arrow, nocked it in one fluid movement and took aim.
‘The arrow cannot curve in flight and fall into the trench with force, prince,’ objected Arishtanemi. ‘They are positioned deep in the ground. You cannot hit them this time.’
As Ram adjusted for the wind, he whispered, ‘I’m not aiming for the trench, Arishtanemiji.’
He pulled the string back and released the missile as he flicked the fletching, making the arrow spin furiously as it sped forward. The missile hit the main rope that tethered the machan, slashing it cleanly. As the rope snapped, the logs came loose and thundered down, many falling right into the trench.
‘Brilliant!’ Arishtanemi laughed.
These were logs with which a machan had been built: good enough to injure, not to kill. Frantic shouts emanated from the trench.
Lakshman looked at Ram. ‘Should we—’
‘No,’ he interrupted Lakshman. ‘We’ll wait and watch. I don’t want to trigger a battle. I hope to take them alive.’
A faint smile played on Arishtanemi’s lips.
Yells of distress and anger continued to emerge from the trench. Perhaps the Asuras were clearing the logs that had landed on them. Soon enough, an Asura popped up, followed by others who dragged themselves out. The tallest, obviously the leader, surveyed his men. He turned around defiantly and stared at his opponents.
‘That is Subahu,’ offered Arishtanemi. ‘Tadaka’s son and their military chief.’
Subahu’s left arm had been dislocated by a fallen log, but the rest of him appeared unharmed. He pulled out his sword; it took some effort to do so, for his left arm was disabled with the injury, and he was unable to hold his scabbard. He held his sword aloft and roared in defiance. His soldiers followed his cue.
Ram was thoroughly bemused now. He did not know whether to laugh at, or applaud, this foolhardy heroism that bordered on unheard-of stupidity.
‘Oh, for Lord Parshu Ram’s sake,’ groaned Lakshman. ‘Are these people mad? Can’t they see that we have fifty mounted soldiers on our side?’
‘Satyam Ekam!’ bellowed Subahu.
‘Satyam Ekam!’ shouted the other Asuras.
Ram was astonished that the Asuras still persisted with what seemed like foolishness, despite what Guru Vishwamitra had said. He turned around and was annoyed at what he saw. ‘Lakshman, where is the Ayodhya standard? Why haven’t you raised it?’
‘What?’ asked Lakshman. He quickly looked back and realised that the soldiers behind him had raised the banner of the Malayaputras. The mission had been tasked by Vishwamitra, after all.
‘Do it now!’ shouted Ram, not taking his eyes off the Asuras, who appeared to be preparing to charge.
Lakshman pulled out the flag lying folded in the bag attached to the horse saddle. He unfurled it and held high the standard under which the Ayodhyans marched to battle. It was a white cloth with a red circular sun in the centre, its rays streaming out in all directions. At the bottom of the standard, suffused in the brightness of the rays of the sun, was a magnificent tiger appearing to leap out.
‘Charge!’ shouted Subahu.
‘Satyam Ekam!’ cried the Asuras as they took off.
Ram raised a balled fist and shouted aloud, ‘Ayodhyatah Vijetaarah!’
It was the war cry of the Ayodhyans. The conquerors from the unconquerable city!
Lakshman held the standard high
and roared. ‘Ayodhyatah Vijetaarah!’
The Asuras stopped in their tracks as they gaped at the two princes and the Ayodhya flag. They had come to a halt a mere fifty feet from where Ram’s horse stood still.
Subahu edged forward slowly, holding his sword low, non-threateningly.
‘Are you from Ayodhya?’ asked Subahu, as he reached close enough to be heard.
‘I am the crown prince of Ayodhya,’ said Ram. ‘Surrender and I swear by the honour of Ayodhya, you will not be harmed.’
Subahu’s sword fell from his suddenly limp hand as he went down on his knees. As did the other Asuras. Some of them were whispering to each other. But it was loud enough to reach Ram’s ears.
‘Shukracharya…’
‘Ayodhya…’
‘The voice of Ekam…’
Ram, Lakshman and the Malayaputras were ceremoniously led into the Asura camp. The fourteen Asura soldiers were received by Tadaka; the women quickly got down to tending to the injuries of their men, who had been disarmed by the Malayaputras.
The hosts and the guests eventually settled down in the central square. After a quick round of meagre refreshments, Ram addressed the Malayaputra military chief. ‘Arishtanemiji, please leave me alone with the Asuras.’
‘Why?’ asked Arishtanemi.
‘I would like to speak with them alone.’
Lakshman objected vehemently. ‘Dada, when I said that we shouldn’t attack these people, I didn’t mean that they are good and we should talk to them. I just meant that it is beneath us to attack these morons. Now that they have surrendered, we’re done with them. Let’s leave them to the Malayaputras and return to Ayodhya.’
‘Lakshman,’ said Ram. ‘I said I would like to speak with them.’
‘What will you talk about, Dada?’ persisted Lakshman, beyond caring that he was within earshot of the Asuras. ‘These people are savages. They are animals. They are the remnants of those who survived the wrath of Lord Rudra. Don’t waste your time on them.’
Scion of Ikshvaku (Ram Chandra Series) FlyLeaf.ORG Page 17
