‘Are you calling me a liar?’ growled Sita.
What happened next was so sudden that very few had the time to react. With frightening speed, Shurpanakha reached to her side and drew her knife. Lakshman, who was standing to the left of Sita, saw the quick movement and rushed forward, screaming, ‘Bhabhi!’
Sita quickly moved in the opposite direction to avoid the strike. In that split second, Lakshman lunged forward and banged into a charging Shurpanakha, seizing both her arms and pushing her back with all his force. The elfin princess of Lanka went flying backwards, her own hand, which held the knife, striking her face as she crashed into the Lankan soldiers who stood transfixed behind her. The knife struck her face horizontally, cutting deep into her nose. It fell from her hand as she lay sprawled on the ground, the shock having numbed any sensation of pain. As blood gushed out alarmingly, her conscious mind asserted control and the horror of it all reverberated through her being. She touched her face and looked at her blood-stained hands. She knew she would be left with deep scars on her face. And that painful surgeries would be required to remove them.
She screeched with savage hate and lunged forward again, this time going for Lakshman. Vibhishan rushed to her and caught hold of his maddened sister.
‘Kill them!’ screamed Shurpanakha in agony. ‘Kill them all!’
‘Wait!’ pleaded Vibhishan, stricken with visceral fear. He knew they were outnumbered. He didn’t want to die. And he feared something even worse than death. ‘Wait!’
Ram held up his left hand, his fist closed tight, signalling his people to stop but be on guard. ‘Leave now, prince. Or there will be hell to pay.’
‘Forget what we were told!’ screeched Shurpanakha. ‘Kill them all!’
Ram spoke to a clearly stunned Vibhishan, who held on to a struggling Shurpanakha for all he was worth. ‘Leave now, Prince Vibhishan.’
‘Retreat,’ whispered Vibhishan.
His soldiers began stepping back, their swords still pointed in the direction of the forest-dwellers.
‘Kill them, you coward!’ Shurpanakha lashed out at her brother. ‘I am your sister! Avenge me!’
Vibhishan dragged a flailing Shurpanakha, his eye on Ram, mindful of any sudden movement.
‘Kill them!’ shouted Shurpanakha.
Vibhishan continued to pull his protesting sister away as the Lankans left the camp and escaped from Panchavati.
Ram, Lakshman and Sita stood rooted to their spot. What had happened was an unmitigated disaster.
‘We cannot stay here anymore,’ Jatayu stated the obvious. ‘We don’t have a choice. We need to flee, now.’
Ram looked at Jatayu.
‘We have shed Lankan royal blood, even if it is that of the royal rebels,’ said Jatayu. ‘According to their customary law, Raavan has no choice but to respond. It would be the same among many Sapt Sindhu royals as well, isn’t it? Raavan will come. Have no doubt about that. Vibhishan is a coward, but Raavan and Kumbhakarna aren’t. They will come with thousands of soldiers. This will be worse than Mithila. There it was a battle between soldiers; a part and parcel of war; they understood that. But here it is personal. His sister, a member of his family, has been attacked. Blood was shed. His honour will demand retribution.’
Lakshman stiffened. ‘But I didn’t attack her. She—’
‘That’s not how Raavan will see it,’ interrupted Jatayu. ‘He will not quibble with you over the details, Prince Lakshman. We need to run. Right now.’
Around thirty warriors sat together in a small clearing in the forest, briskly shovelling food into their mouths. They appeared to be in a tearing hurry. All of them were dressed alike: a long brownish-black cloak covered their bodies, held together across the waist by a thick cord. The cloaks could not conceal the fact that each carried a sword. The men were all unnaturally fair-skinned, an unusual sight in the hot plains of India. Their hooked noses, neatly beaded full beards, sharp foreheads, lengthy locks emerging from under square white hats, and drooping moustaches made it clear who these people were: Parihans.
Pariha was a fabled land beyond the western borders of India. It was the land that was home to the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra.
The most intriguing member of this motley group was its leader, clearly a Naga. He too was fair-skinned, just like the Parihans. But in every other respect, he stood apart from them. He was not dressed like them. He was, in fact, dressed like an Indian: in a dhoti and angvastram, both dyed saffron. An outgrowth jutted out from his lower back, almost like a tail. It flapped in constant rhythm, as though it had a mind of its own. The hirsute Naga leader of the Parihans was very tall. His massive build and sturdy musculature gave him an awe-inspiring presence and a godly aura. He could probably break an unfortunate’s back with his bare hands. Unlike most Nagas, he did not cover his face with a mask or his body with a hooded robe.
‘We have to move quickly,’ said the leader.
His nose was flat, pressed against his face. His beard and facial hair surrounded the periphery of his face, encircling it with neat precision. Strangely though, the area above and below his mouth was silken smooth and hairless; it had a puffed appearance and was light pink in colour. His lips were a thin, barely noticeable line. Thick eyebrows drew a sharp curve above captivating eyes that radiated intelligence and a meditative calm; they also held a promise of brutal violence, if required. His furrowed brow gave him a naturally intellectual air. It almost seemed like the Almighty had taken the face of a monkey and placed it on a man’s head.
‘Yes, My Lord,’ said a Parihan. ‘If you could give us a few minutes more… The men have been marching continuously and some rest will…’
‘There is no time for rest!’ growled the leader. ‘I have given my word to Guru Vashishta! Raavan cannot be allowed to reach them before we do! We need to find them now! Tell the men to hurry!’
The Parihan rushed off to carry out the orders. Another Parihan, who had finished his meal, walked up to the Naga. ‘My Lord, the men need to know: Who is the primary person?’
The leader didn’t hesitate even for a second. ‘Both. They are both vital. Princess Sita is important to the Malayaputras, and Prince Ram is to us.’
‘Yes, Lord Hanuman.’
They had been on the run for thirty days. Racing east through the Dandakaranya, they had moved a reasonable distance parallel to the Godavari, so that they couldn’t be easily spotted or tracked. But they couldn’t afford to stray too far from the tributary rivers or other water bodies, for the best chance of hunting animals would be lost.
Ram and Lakshman had just hunted a deer and were making their way back to the temporary camp through the dense jungle. They carried a long staff between them, Ram in front, carrying one end on his shoulder, and Lakshman behind, balancing the other. The deer’s body dangled from the wooden pole.
Lakshman was arguing with Ram. ‘But why do you think it’s irrational to think Bharat Dada could…’
‘Shhh,’ said Ram, holding his hand up to silence Lakshman. ‘Listen.’
Lakshman strained his ears. A chill ran down his spine. Ram turned towards Lakshman with terror writ large on his face. They had both heard it. A forceful scream! It was Sita. The distance made faint her frantic struggle. But it was clearly Sita. She was calling out to her husband.
Ram and Lakshman dropped the deer and dashed forward desperately. They were still some distance away from their temporary camp.
Sita’s voice could be heard above the din of the disturbed birds.
‘… Raaam!’
They were close enough now to hear the sounds of battle as metal clashed with metal.
Ram screamed as he ran frantically through the forest. ‘Sitaaaa!’
Lakshman drew his sword, ready for battle.
‘… Raaaam!’
‘Leave her alone!’ shouted Ram, cutting through the dense foliage, racing ahead.
‘… Raaam!’
Ram gripped his bow tight. They were just a few minutes from their cam
p. ‘Sitaaa!’
‘… Raa…’
Sita’s voice stopped mid-syllable. Trying not to imagine the worst, Ram kept running, his heart pounding desperately, his mind clouded with worry.
They heard the loud whump, whump of rotor blades. It was Raavan’s legendary Pushpak Vimaan, his flying vehicle.
‘Nooo!’ screamed Ram, wrenching his bow forward as he ran. Tears were streaming down his face.
The brothers broke through to the clearing that was their temporary camp. It stood completely destroyed. There was blood everywhere.
‘Sitaaa!’
Ram looked up and shot an arrow at the Pushpak Vimaan, which was rapidly ascending into the sky. It was a shot of impotent rage, for the flying vehicle was already soaring high above.
‘Sitaaa!’
Lakshman frantically searched the camp. Bodies of dead soldiers were strewn all over. But there was no Sita.
‘Pri… nce… Ram…’
Ram recognised that feeble voice. He rushed forward to find the bloodied and mutilated body of the Naga.
‘Jatayu!’
The badly wounded Jatayu struggled to speak. ‘He’s…’
‘What?’
‘Raavan’s… kidnapped… her.’
Ram looked up enraged at the speck moving rapidly away from them. He screamed in anger, ‘SITAAAA!’
‘Prince…’
Jatayu could feel life slipping away. Using his last reserves of will, he raised his body, reached his hand out and pulled Ram towards him.
With his dying breaths, Jatayu whispered, ‘Get … her back … I … failed… She’s important … Lady Sita … must be saved … Lady Sita … must be saved … Vishnu … Lady Sita …’
… to be continued
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ALSO BY AMISH
The Shiva Trilogy
The Shiva Trilogy is the story of a simple man whose karma recast him as our Mahadev, the God of Gods.
1900 BC. In what modern Indians mistakenly call the Indus Valley Civilization. The inhabitants of that period call it Meluha — a near perfect empire created centuries earlier by Lord Ram. Her emperor, Daksha, sends emissaries across the world to ask different tribes to immigrate to Meluha. Among these tribes are the Gunas from Tibet, and their chief Shiva, is a mighty warrior. He moves to Meluha and in a curious occurrence that sees him alone of all his tribe unaffected by a high fever, Shiva’s throat turns blue. Even more surprisingly, the highly advanced Meluhans announce him as the Neelkanth, their fabled mythic savior. One who will save the empire from her enemies, the Chandravanshis and the Nagas. And thus begins Shiva’s journey.
Drawn suddenly to his destiny, by duty as well as by love, will Shiva lead the Meluhan vengeance and destroy Evil? What will be the real cost of battling Evil? And will he accept the title given to him, that of the ‘God of Gods’?
The Shiva Trilogy — comprising The Immortals of Meluha, The Secret of the Nagas, and The Oath of the Vayuputras — has attracted a wide and devoted audience. Over two million copies of the books have been sold.
Visit www.authoramish.com to know more about the world of Amish’s books.
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Table of Contents
Author Notes
Praise for Amish
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Hymn to Shivāya
Hymn to Ram
List of Characters and Important Tribes
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
The Shiva Trilogy
Scion of Ikshvaku (Ram Chandra Series) FlyLeaf.ORG Page 31
