PRINCE IN EXILE (107 page)

The sanyasi’s feet were perfect. As unblemished and unmarked as a prince’s feet that had been couched in nothing but soft sheepskin and fur all his tender years. It had not been visible beneath the thin patina of dirt but once that dust was washed away … that dirt which was scarcely the accumulation of a hundred-yojanas long walk … the dirt that was no more than a mere dusting, what you might expect if you walked a few dozen paces … once that thin patina was washed off with a single handful of water, the feet were clearly exposed. And so was the contradiction. 

A train of thoughts ran through Sita’s mind like a caravan of carriages negotiating a bumpy road, rattling and clattering and bouncing along through the highways and byroads of her conciousness, some coming, others going, still more circling aimlessly in search of a destination. She became aware of a strange stillness in the courtyard, as if all external sounds had ceased. No birds sang, no insects cricked, even the faint bubbling of the brook was absent. It was an absence of sound, of movement, as if the forest around her held its breath, stunned. 

She raised her eyes to the old man’s face, starting to rise to her feet as she did so. ‘Swamiji …’ she began, still trying to change tracks mentally, still thinking that there must be some reason for the unblemished feet. Sita had seen her share of miracles, her father’s court at Chandravansha Palace hosting a never-ending flow of holy men, ascetics, penitents, tapasvi sadhus, exalted sages and seers, a mind-dazzling procession of Brahmins who possessed amazing gifts and abilities. A pair of unblemished feet was no great shock. She had seen sadhus walk across a bed of burning coals every year at the annual Mithilan seminary festival, the soles of their feet unburned, unmarked by the ordeal. As easy as walking on grass. She had seen ascetics who inflicted the most hideous self-deprivations, veritable torture upon their frail bodies, yet at the end of their tapas, when the devas finally answered their call and granted them their boons, all scars, markings, diseases and other frailties would vanish like magic. She had seen too many products of divine faith to be too alarmed by the inconsistency of unblemished feet in a traveller after a gruelling road journey and so her first reaction was not alarm or panic. 

That was her mistake. 

‘Swamiji …’ she began, and stopped. 

The sanyasi’s hands had shot forward and grasped her wrists in a vice-like grip. 

‘By the grace of Kamadev,’ he said, his voice no longer hoarse or frail, ‘you are blessed … with the most beautiful body and face I have beheld on any mortal woman.’ 

Sita was shocked wordless. ‘Release me,’ she tried to say, but her voice emerged as little more than a hoarse incomprehensible croak. ‘Let me go,’ she managed, only marginally louder. 

The sanyasi’s blue eyes glittered at her from his ancient face. ‘Don’t be deceived by this withered shell,’ he said. ‘Let me shed it and show you my true form. It is magnificent, though before your beauty, even my perfection of form pales.’ A pink tongue emerged between yellowed teeth and chapped, colourless lips to lick the white beard below the lower lip, as his eyes undressed her avidly. ‘You are truly blessed. And so is your husband.’ 

At the mention of Rama, she regained her voice and her senses. ‘Leave hold of me, you charlatan!’ she said sharply, tugging her wrists hard, slipping out of his grasp. ‘You are no Brahmin, to lay hands upon a married woman thus. Leave my property this instant! Go!’ 

He laughed. Sitting there on her porch, ostensibly so frail and withered, the old sanyasi threw his head back and roared a bellowing laugh that broke the stillness of the clearing and exploded like shattered glass in Sita’s mind. In that instant, she knew she was in more trouble than she could ever have imagined. And was about to plunge deeper. 

She turned and ran, around the side of the hut, away from him. His laughter echoed in her ears. 

*** 

‘Supanakha,’ he said, staring at her disapprovingly. ‘You dare to decieve me thus?’ 

She stretched her feline form, purring languorously. He averted his eyes from her naked torso, unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes. Was this rakshasi-yaksi cross-breed capable of impersonating Ravana so perfectly as to deceive his own brother? He could not doubt that she could; he had just witnessed her change back into her natural form. He found his eyes straying to her chest and nether regions involuntarily, swallowed nervously, and forced himself to keep his eyes focussed on the only truly safe spot, her eyes. He found them glinting with malicious delight and naked invitation. 

‘Does it excite you? To see the omnipotent Ravana impersonated so successfully by me? You need not act so coy, Vibhisena. I am available for your pleasure. Why, I can even oblige your fantasies. Would you like me to change back partly into Ravana’s form while partly retaining my own form as well?’ She touched her upper then her lower body, indicating which parts would be changed into which form. 

Vibhisena was shocked, yet oddly disturbed by the offer. He forced his face into a grim neutrality. ‘I will not stand here and listen to this lascivious filth! Where is Ravana? I will have words with him now. Take me to him at once.’ 

Supanakha giggled. The girlish response was even more titillating than her overt sexual invitations. She turned her head away, frisking her tail overhead to flick at Vibhisena’s left ear. He batted it away, upset that he was growing flustered. ‘You
are
with him. Or you were. Until a moment ago, he was right here, speaking to you through my flesh. How else do you think I was able to maintain the integrity of his form so effectively for so long? Playing Ravana is no mean task. Playing
with
him is much more fun!’ 

Vibhisena pursed his lips. ‘How do I speak to him now? Can you not summon him back? Ask him to continue speaking through your … flesh?’ 

She yawned, bored already by the conversation, and by Vibhisena’s obvious lack of sexual interest. ‘Can you ask the ocean to swim up to the glacier? You try it if you think it’s so easy. He’s off somewhere paying back an old debt. He owes me a favour, see, and it was time for me to collect. He’ll be back soon enough, don’t fret. Me, I’m going to play with some of our rakshasa friends on one of the upper levels. Wouldn’t you like to join me?’ 

Vibhisena exhaled in disgust. Supanakha shrugged nonchalantly, turning to go. Her long tail shot out and caressed him once, maddeningly, provocatively, before flicking away. She stalked off, her rear end sashaying, tail raised and curled enticingly at the tip. He sat down weakly, burying his face with his hands. Suddenly, he felt foolish and impotent. What was Ravana up to now? What deadly, new game was he playing at? What had Supanakha meant—paying back an old debt? He didn’t like the sound of that. Whatever Ravana was up to, he had no doubt it would not be anything good. And there was little Vibhisena, or anyone else, could do to stop it. 

SEVENTEEN 

She came around the side of the hut and ran straight into him. She could still hear him laughing behind her, back at the front of the hut, but he was here as well, somehow. She stopped just short of slamming into him. He chuckled and grabbed at her. She twisted and changed direction, skidding on the grassy ground, and his hand caught her garment instead of her arm. She felt it tighten around her neck, choking her, then give way with a sharp rip. She felt sultry air on the sweat-dampened skin of her throat and chest, and clutched the garment to her bosom as she ran for the rear garden. She leaped over the vegetable patch, crushing ripe, sundried tomatoes that she had been saving for their farewell feast before they went back home. But when she landed on the far side, he was there as well. She gasped and swerved left, but he appeared there as well, blinking into existence out of thin air. She turned right, and he appeared there too. 

She swivelled, turning a full circle. He was all around her, replicas of him so identical she couldn’t tell them apart. They were all leering at her now, showing the yellowed and blackened stumps of decayed teeth. Their laughter filled the air and maddened her. She turned round and round, trapped. There were at least ten of him, perhaps even a dozen, she couldn’t tell for certain. Her head spun, her mouth dry as cotton, her heart pierced with icy nettles of fear. 

‘Who are you?’ she shouted. ‘What is it you want of me?’ 

He smiled. They smiled. ‘Want? We want you, my devi. The most perfect, most beautiful and desirable mortal woman in all creation.’ They eyed her body lustfully. They assumed different yet similar attitudes of admiration, gazing reverentially at her body as she turned desperately, on the verge of tears and hysteria. ‘Truly magnificent. In times past, the devas would have vied for your affections. Wars would be fought over you. A thousand ships launched, a hundred civilisations razed to ashes.’ 

‘You coward,’ she shouted. ‘You gained entrance to my house through deceit and lies.’ 

‘I told you no lies, devi. You believed what you wished to believe. I assumed this bhes-bhav,’ he indicated the others standing to his right and left, ‘because it seemed most suitable for jungle touring. If this is a deception then you are deceptive as well.’ 

‘Me?’ Her hair had come loose and obscured her face. She pushed it back with one hand while the other hand kept her modestly covered with the torn anga-vastra. ‘How did I decieve you?’ 

‘You deceive yourself. Living here in this inhospitable jungle, living the pathetic life of a penniless lowcaste in exile! You deserve to reside in golden palaces, perfumed bowers, surrounded by wealth and comfort, jewelled chariots and silver thrones, precious silks and babysoft satins, maids at your beck and call night and day, a lover who pleasures you as befits such a goddess of mortal beauty.’ 

‘I am happy here,’ she said fiercely. ‘We are happy here. We choose to live here.’ 

‘Ah,’ one of them said, raising his eyebrows. Another chuckled disparagingly. ‘Of course. You
choose
to live here. Then you may perchance wish to stay on even after your term of exile is ended? After all, you are so happy and content here, why return home at all? You don’t desire those comforts and luxuries, do you? You have no use for the life of a princess, or a queen?’ 

‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Shut up.’ 

‘I shall shut up,’ said another, and yet another continued, ‘we shall all shut up. For the time for talk is past now. Time enough for poetry and love when we arrive at our destination. For now, my devi, our chariot awaits.’ 

He whistled a brief catchy melody. She felt a shadow pass overhead, then something that gleamed like solid gold descended from above. She took her eyes off the sorcerous circle of sanyasis long enough to see what looked like a golden chariot descending through the trees. It bent a branch of the old peepal that overhung the hut, snapping the thigh-thick branch like a straw, and hovered a yard over their heads. She felt a fresh wave of sweat break out on her body, and a surge of nausea churned her belly. 

A staircase descended from the bottom of the chariot, the sheer smooth silence of its motion telling her that the vahan was no ordinary vehicle designed by man. The staircase rested on the ground before her feet. 

The sanyasis indicated the stairway. 

‘Please,’ they said in unison. ‘Ladies first.’ 

She gritted her teeth and tensed her body, preparing herself to lash out when any one of them approached within striking distance. But she was hyperventilating and confused, and felt as if all energy and will to fight had been sucked out of her by an invisible mind-leech. Where were Rama and Lakshman? Why weren’t they back yet? Why, oh, why, had she sent Rama after that deer? It was obvious to her now that this whole thing was part of an elaborate plan: everything had been conducted with such icy precision, she was rendered defenceless by the sheer efficacy of it all. And who was this man, or men, or whatever this was, this being that could multiply itself tenfold? Her mind swam madly. 

Sweat was trickling down her forehead, from the hairline. A thread ran into her right eye, stinging. She dashed the back of her arm against her face, trying to rub it clear. In the fraction of an instant that it took her to swipe her arm against her eyes, the ten sanyasis had merged into one man. No, not a man. A
thing
. A thing with ten heads. 

‘Come now,’ he said in a gravelly baritone she had heard once before in reality, and a thousand times in her nightmares ever since. ‘Let us end this charade of exile and embark on a new adventure.’ 

*** 

Rama and Lakshman came over a rise at breakneck speed, bursting out of the dense jungle into an open dell with a creek flowing through it. They came to a halt abruptly, looked around, then stared at each other. Rama’s eyes were still hostile and unforgiving as he met his brother’s tortured gaze, but the communication that passed between them was direct and devoid of any disagreement. 

‘The jungle has changed,’ Rama said shortly. ‘This place was never here before.’ 

Lakshman nodded. ‘How could such a thing be done? How could any one have altered the very geography of a place?’ 

‘It doesn’t matter how it was done,’ Rama replied sharply. ‘What matters is that we have to find a way to the hut, and soon.’ 

Lakshman peered up at the sky. The sun was still in the eastern segment, nowhere near its zenith. ‘We follow the sun. I doubt anyone could alter its course as easily.’ 

Rama’s throat worked, his adam’s apple bobbing tightly. ‘Yes. That is what we must do. We will trace a route using the sun’s course and the shadows of the trees, and trust that it will lead us to the spot where the hut ought to be.’