Prince of Dharma (118 page)

“Jay” was gone. 

In his place was Ravana. 

SIX 

Rama sprang to his feet, his hand reaching for his bow. Lakshman was beside him in the same instant. Bejoo and Nakhudi were by Sita in a trice, swords drawn. The hulking Jat grabbed her mistress in one powerful arm, lifting Sita as easily as she might a child, and retreated to the rear of the dais, her sword keeping any aggressors at bay. 

But Ravana already had Maharaja Janak by the throat. The Lord of Lanka’s ten heads quivered, ranted and screamed with fury in as many different languages as they had tongues. Their eyes blazed with ten different expressions of rage, exultation, lust and triumph. The rakshasa stood over seventeen feet high, the maharaja clutched in one yellow-taloned hand. Janak’s feet were a whole yard off the ground, the veins on his neck standing out like cords. If the asura lord squeezed just once, the king of Videha would die on the spot. 

The guards saw this and kept their distance, staring fearfully at the demon lord’s many heads, unable to tell which one to look at or how to proceed. 

The spectators at the far end of the hall had screamed and begun exiting the chamber in panic when the rakshasa king appeared. One or two of the suitors had left as well, running for their lives—a portly Brahmin was one of them, an elderly merchant another. The rest stood and watched with impotent rage as this new drama unfolded on the stage. They were Kshatriyas all and would have come to the maharaja’s rescue, but by swayamvara rules none were armed, and they were too far away to be of any help in the drama taking place on the raised dais. 

Only Vishwamitra seemed calm and unruffled. The sage strode forward and picked up his staff from where it had fallen. The move brought the sage within the target area of Rama’s bow. Rama saw that the place where the rakshasa king had grasped the staff bore the imprint of his six long, inhumanly shaped fingers. The handprint stood out in sheer pitch-black against the ivory whiteness of the wild-wood staff. A glance at the rakshasa’s left hand revealed a matching scar. Where the demon lord’s hand had clutched the staff, a mark of its length and texture lay imprinted on the skin, stark white against Ravana’s night-black complexion. Wisps of smoke still trailed from the burn. For a burn was what it was, a Brahman burn. The asura had been scorched by righteous shakti. 

‘What did you hope to accomplish by coming here?’ Vishwamitra said quietly. ‘Did you believe you would be able to come into our midst and escape unscathed, demon? Did you forget the fate that befell your mother’s brother Kala-Nemi, whom you sent to infiltrate Ayodhya? He reached only as far as the palace gate before Vashishta and I despatched him to another nether destination!’ 

One of Ravana’s heads roared in fury. Another cried out a single word in an alien tongue. 

‘I have already come farther than my uncle, Brahmin! I have the life of the king of Videha in my hands.’ 

Another head chuckled. ‘In one of my hands, I should say.’ He turned around slowly to face the brahmarishi, the maharaja spinning through the air with him like a rag doll suspended from a string. ‘Should I show you how much more capable I am than my uncle now? By dispatching Janak to a nether destination as well?’ 

‘NO!’ Sita’s voice rang through the hall. ‘I beg you, please, don’t harm my father. He is a man of peace. He would not hurt a living soul.’ 

Ravana turned a head to look at her. ‘Just the princess I wanted to speak with. You do recall the terms of your test, don’t you, girl? I fulfilled your conditions and passed with flying colours. Now come with me as my bride and I will spare your father’s life.’ 

Sita stared at her father’s face with anguish. Janak’s already pale complexion had turned as white as limestone. The maharaja was starting to lose consciousness, the bloodflow to his brain suspended by the immense pressure on his neck, Rama saw. If he was not lowered to the ground, he might die in minutes. 

‘But you’re an asura!’ she screamed. ‘You had no right to come to my swayamvara. You don’t belong here. Why don’t you go back to your island-fortress and leave us alone!’ 

‘My lady,’ Nakhudi growled, restraining Sita, who would otherwise have run to her father’s aid and physically assaulted the rakshasa king. 

‘Come now,’ Ravana said. ‘I had every right to be here. Even the sage recalls days when asuras and mortals attended swayamvaras together. And as often as not, it would be a mortal who rode away with the prize even though he had failed the test. I recall those days full well. Do you not remember them, sage?’ 

‘I have nothing to say to you, rakshasa. Except to command you to release the maharaja at once, or face the consequences.’ 

Ravana’s heads snarled balefully. ‘Threats! Always threats! Can’t you be honest for once, Brahmin mortal! I played by your rules. I passed the swayamvara test fair and square. I won the rajkumari’s hand in marriage. Give her to me, and I will leave you!’ 

‘You lie,’ Vishwamitra said. ‘Your army is only yojanas away from Mithila. You came here to steal away the rajkumari and undermine the people’s confidence by showing off your superhuman strength. You wish to take Sita Janaki away not as a wife but as a prize commemorating your victory over the Videha nation.’ 

‘And the sacking of Mithila, don’t forget that, sage,’ Ravana said quietly. ‘It’s what any mortal invader would do. How do you think Janak got the Bow of Shiva in the first place? As a boon from the three-eyed deva himself? Never! Videha was invaded by a usurper, Sudhanva of Samkasya, who laid siege to its capital. Janak murdered Sudhanva and stole the bow from him. He doesn’t deserve to keep it. When I leave, I will take it with me as well. Spoils of war!’ 

‘That’s not true!’ Sita cried as she saw Janak’s eyes flutter and close. ‘My father challenged Sudhanva to single combat, to spare his people the horrors of another needless war. He won fairly and the bow was given freely by Sudhanva’s widow.’ 

Ravana laughed. ‘If you care so much for your father, Sita Janaki, then make your decision quickly. Already I feel his life ebbing. Or tell me, should I clench my fist and end it for him mercifully?’ 

Sita fell to her knees. ‘Please. I will do as you wish. You passed the test, it is true. You are my champion. I will wed you and go with you where you please. But spare my father’s life. In the name of the devi, mother of all creation, I beg of you. Spare him!’ 

Ravana grinned with pleasure, raising his heads to the ceiling and roaring his exultation. ‘FINALLY! A MORTAL WHO HONOURS HER WORD!’ 

He flicked his wrist as if he was brushing away a drop of water. Maharaja Janak flew across the dais and landed sideways on a trio of palace guards and Captain Bejoo. Bejoo had the presence of mind to grab hold of the maharaja’s arms and cradle his head against his own chest as he fell back on to the floor. 

Lakshman and Rama loosed arrows at the exact same instant. Each aimed at a different head of the rakshasa king. But when the arrows reached their targets, the demon lord was gone from that place. He had leapt into the air, landing with a deafening impact beside Sita. This put Vishwamitra between him and the rajkumars, who were now forced to stay their arrows, reluctant to shoot and risk hitting their guru, or Sita and Nakhudi should Ravana move again. 

Before anyone could react, Ravana reached out to grab Sita’s hair. Instead, he found Nakhudi’s sword at his chest. 

‘Touch her and I’ll cut you to ribbons, monster!’ the Jat said. 

Ravana’s eyes smouldered with rage. ‘Rajkumari? Is this how you honour your word? 

Sita’s hand shot out, knocking Nakhudi’s sword aside. ‘Back off, Nakhu. He kept his word. He let Father go. Now I have to keep my part of the bargain. I have to go with him.’ 

Nakhudi stared at her mistress, her friend. ‘Are you insane? He’s a monster! You owe him nothing! Let me at him. I’ll kill him with my bare hands.’ 

‘NO!’ Sita yelled. ‘We are Aryas. We keep our word. I made a pact. Pass the test and I marry the man. He passed the test! Move aside, Nakhu.’ 

‘He’s not a man!’ the Jat screamed back. But she moved aside sullenly. Her eyes never left Ravana, scouring across the demon lord’s ten heads. Ten pairs of eyes watched her suspiciously. 

Sita turned to Bejoo. ‘Captain, my father … ?’ 

Bejoo nodded shakily. ‘Alive. Unconscious but alive.’ 

Sita turned to Ravana. ‘Then I am yours.’ 

‘WAIT!’ 

Vishwamitra strode forward. 

Ravana snarled and stepped back. 

‘Sage, again you try to cheat me of my just reward. You heard the rajkumari. She comes with me of her own free will.’ 

‘Nay, asura. She comes with you because she believes you won the contest. But the contest is not yet over.’ 

Ravana growled malevolently. ‘What new sorcery is this, mage? You saw it with your own eyes. I was the last to try my skill at the bow. Nobody else could even move it!’ 

Vishwamitra shook his head. ‘Her condition was that who ever picks up the bow single-handedly, strings it, and fires an arrow shall be her groom. But she meant that the arrow should be fired at the target, not at that beam.’ 

The brahmarishi pointed at the target provided for the contest, at the far end of the hall, high up by the rafters, where a miss would not risk harming anyone. Then he pointed with his staff at the crossbeam where Ravana had shot his single arrow. It was nowhere near the target. 

‘The point is moot, sage,’ Ravana said. ‘Nobody else could lift the bow, let alone string and shoot it. Therefore I win. The princess is mine. Let me have her and leave before I change my mind and decide to kill all of you.’ 

‘The contest is not won yet, demon,’ Vishwamitra said calmly. ‘Two contestants remain. Only if they are unable to pass the test will you win by default.’ 

Ravana’s heads scanned the assembly hall. ‘Which two contestants? All these other young fools declared in my favour the minute I picked up the bow! Ask them yourself! Why do you seek to cheat me of my fairly won prize?’ 

Vishwamitra shook his head. ‘I speak of these two contestants, Ravana.’ 

He pointed his staff at Rama and Lakshman. 

SEVEN 

Lakshman stepped forward and looked at the bow. It lay mutely on the smashed planks of the wheeled platform, oblivious to the human conflict raging around it. Its cord was still strung. 

Lakshman took a deep breath and reached a decision. He stepped back, shaking his head. 

Rama stepped forward. ‘Lakshman?’ 

Lakshman looked at his brother, then at the brahmarishi. He knew what he was doing was right. Even if he won the contest, he had no desire to wed Sita. If there was anyone here who was suited for the rajkumari, it was Rama. Lakshman had seen how Rama and she looked at each other. How the air between them seemed to sparkle with magic. 

There was no point in playing if the prize wasn’t yours to covet. He could probably complete the test with the help of Brahman shakti, but what would be the point? If he stepped out now, Rama would try his hand, and he would win. Lakshman never doubted that for a moment. 

He looked at Rama, his mind made up. ‘I withdraw. Your turn, brother.’ 

Ravana laughed. ‘There goes one of your champions, sage! Your other one will fare no better, I warrant!’ 

Vishwamitra said nothing. All eyes were on Rama as he stepped past his brother. He looked at Lakshman, searching his face to make sure he was all right. Lakshman nodded reassuringly and squeezed Rama’s hand. 

Rama stepped up to the broken platform. He looked down at the Bow of Shiva for a moment, discarded as carelessly as an unwanted toy. His heart burned with anger at such foul treatment of a treasured relic. 

He bent down and picked up the bow with one hand. It came easily. On the dais, someone released a long-held breath. It sounded like Nakhudi. 

Rama looked at the cord of the bow. The terms of the contest were clear. He reached up and carefully began to unwind it. It took several moments. Finally, it was done. He loosed the cord, held it in his free hand to show all those present that it was untied, then began to wind it again. 

When it was done, he picked up an arrow and strung it. 

He took aim at the target. 

He loosed the arrow. 

It flew straight to the heart of the painted wooden target, striking the centre, and quivered there. The silence in the assembly hall was deafening. 

Then a roar of triumph rose from the throats of all assembled in the sabha hall filling the air for miles around. 

‘Satyamev Jaitey!’ Lakshman yelled punching a fist into the air. Truth always triumphs! 

Ravana roared and sprang down from the platform. 

‘GIVE ME THE BOW. GIVE IT TO ME, BOY! YOU THINK I CAN’T HIT THAT TARGET? I CAN HIT IT BLINDFOLDED IF I WISH.’ 

He strode across the hall, his powerfully muscled body thrice as tall as Rama and twice as wide. Vishwamitra’s voice stopped him in his tracks. 

‘The rajkumari called for one shot. Nothing was mentioned of a retrial. You had your chance, demon. Rama is the victor. Accept your defeat now and show how honourable you are!’ 

Ravana roared. His remaining arms, hidden until now within their sheaths of flesh, emerged and spread wide, each pair strong enough to tear a grown man in two.