PRINCE IN EXILE (122 page)

They waited for another half-hand’s-breadth of the moon, but nothing notable happened. Angad went up to the gate and began to pound on it, roaring louder than ever. ‘The coward fears to face me. He dishonours the house of my ancestors. If he will not fight me, then he does not deserve to call himself king of the tribes. Come out now, Vali, or hand over the kingdom to me, the rightful heir.’ 

Finally, Hanuman announced that one of the three messengers who had gone to Vali’s palace had returned, bloodied and grievously injured. Apparently, the officers of the gate had been wise in sending three couriers instead of one. The surviving messenger told his officer Vali’s response before collapsing. 

The furry faced officer called out to Angad. 

‘My prince, I beg your forgiveness. King Vali says that as the son of an exile you no longer have the right to demand redressal or to challenge him to single combat. He is not obliged to face you now or at any time in the future. Please note that these are Vali’s words and not my own, Angad. I only pass on his message.’ 

Angad roared in response, pounding harder than ever at the gate. The guards peered down fearfully as if afraid that the prince might actually break down the five-yard high structure. Hanuman explained briefly that vanars feared the souls of murdered vanars greatly. They believed that it was his father Sugreeva’s spirit that possessed Angad at this time, and that the wronged king’s ghost gave the prince the fury of a hundred vanars. 

The officer pleaded with Angad to hear him out further. When Angad subsided, he added mournfully: ‘However, Vali feels that you must be taught a lesson for your abuse of his good name. Therefore, he invites you into the circle of the royal tree. He awaits you there, and will face you in single combat to the death. He says, if you have the courage to accept this invitation, then come in and be satisfied by dying in his arms like the coward you are.’ The officer quickly tried to append the same clarification that these were Vali’s words, not his own, but Angad’s enraged howl drowned him out. 

Lakshman looked at Rama sharply. ‘Rama.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘He must not go inside.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘If Angad goes into the gates, then we will be unable to follow. We will not be able to shoot Vali as we planned. He will have to fight Vali alone.’ 

‘I know this,’ Rama said. He touched Hanuman’s arm, the fur damp and dewy to the touch. ‘My friend, you must stop Angad from going into the city. We cannot protect him once he—’ 

Hanuman shook his head, pointing sorrowfully. ‘Too late, Rama. Look.’ 

Rama turned to see the gates of Kiskindha opening. With a roar of rage, Prince Angad entered and the gates slowly began to swing shut behind him. 

EIGHT 

Hanuman feared for his prince. Angad and he had been playmates since they were infants, newly weaned from their mother’s teats. They were almost the same age. They had played together, fought together, and fought each other as well. He loved Angad and was proud of his exploits as a friend and as a prince. But for all Angad’s strength, courage and fierce will, even Hanuman knew that he was no match for his uncle. 

Vali was not feared without reason. His legendary pursuit and slaying of Mayavi was only one of a string of equally fabulous victories over formidable opponents. And in his own palace, on his own terms, he would not hesitate to use whatever treachery served his purpose. Angad, for all his youthful fury and self-righteous outrage, was a fair fighter and an adherent to the warrior code of vanars. He would stand no chance against Vali in his own domain. 

As Hanuman watched the gates of Kiskindha being shut and barred, an image came to him. He often thought thus, in images and pictures rather than words. It was swifter and easier than using the logical methods that the vanar elders insisted on. His instincts told him at once that there was a chance. A very slight, very dangerous way, but with some chance of success. 

He turned to his mortal friends. ‘Rama, I know a way into the city. If you will follow me, I will lead you inside. There may be danger, we may need to kill some of Vali’s soldiers to get in, but if I am right, it will lead us straight to the royal tree circle where they are taking Angad even now.’ 

Rama glanced around to make sure that Lakshman and the others had heard all. ‘Very well, my friend. Lead the way quickly.’ 

Hanuman kept to the ground, not loping but sprinting the way he had learned by watching Rama. It had felt odd at first, but he had begun to like it. He sprinted through the thicket, his night vision easily able to steer him through the trees. He heard Rama and the others following. They were not too concerned about making noise—the guards were more concerned with the goings on within the city now than a few twigs cracking in the woods outside. He led them around the exterior wall of Kiskindha, at times out of sight of the city wall itself, in a long semicircular arc. It was a fast run, covering less than a mile, and not much longer than the way that the guards would take Angad. 

He emerged from the thicket into the grassy clearing that ran along the city wall like a border. It was very narrow here, barely a few yards across. On the city side, a massive tree grew at a sharp angle, leaning drunkenly across the wall. Where its branches touched the wall, the standing logs had cracked and split. They would not stand a direct assault and in times of war or siege, this part would be manned as well as the rest of the perimeter wall. But right now, there were no sentries posted, and the few guards that patrolled the trees on the far side of the wall would be more engrossed in the exciting duel about to take place. 

Hanuman pointed to the tree on their side. ‘We must climb,’ he whispered hoarsely. His voice was not suited to whispering softly; it always came out as a hoarse croak, reminding him of a fox coughing. Rama nodded and went to the trunk of the tree. Hanuman gestured to the other vanars, instructing them to climb and go ahead to spy out any danger. They were Angad’s best warrior companions and they obeyed at once, leaping lithely onto the branches and gaining the top of the wall in a trice. With a single leap, they crossed the gulf of some five yards from this tree to the one leaning against the wall. This was the shortest leaping distance anywhere on the perimeter and the reason why Hanuman had brought them here. But, he thought now as he clambered up besides the straining humans, could Rama and Lakshman leap that distance? 

He gained the top of the tree in moments and waited impatiently for the two princes, using all his self-restraint to keep from chittering at them to hurry, hurry. Rama’s palm slipped on the dewy branch and he lost his balance. Hanuman’s tail shot out at once, gripping Rama around his waist, while his paws grasped the mortal’s wrists tightly. He hauled Rama up, helped by Rama using his feet well. 

Hanuman patted him affectionately on the shoulder. ‘It seems that mortals climb trees about as well as most vanars run!’ 

He was gratified to see Rama’s teeth flash, reflecting the moonlight. 

‘But not you, friend Hanuman,’ Rama replied. ‘You run as well as any mortal.’ 

Hanuman didn’t stop to let that compliment sink in, tucking it away to savour later at leisure. He led them across the branch, pointing to the squat distorted part of the far tree’s trunk, pressing hard against the cracked wall, where they were to land. 

Rama nodded. ‘It is possible. But you must go first, to catch us as we land.’ 

Hanuman did so gladly, taking the five yards without even thinking about it. He turned and watched Rama lean back, seeking to gain as much momentum as was possible. Then Rama leaped, and Hanuman held his breath. Rama hung suspended for a moment in the moonlight, his sweat-limned muscles rippling. In that instant, Hanuman’s mind filled inexplicably with the image of himself flying, for that was how Rama looked—as if he was flying, and then Rama was on this side and he had gripped him tightly, hugging him to his chest. Rama breathed his thanks and stepped aside to let Lakshman leap. He made the crossing as well without mishap, and they descended from the tree, running around a cluster of stones which formed the main public meeting place of the city. 

As they ran, Hanuman heard shouts and howls of anger and pain coming from ahead. That was the royal tree circle. He ran faster, unconsciously dropping into a vanar’s loping stride to gain speed. He prayed to Vayu the wind god to take him to his lord Angad before anything untoward happened to him. 

Lakshman’s heart sank as he heard the howls and shouts. They were the unmistakable sound of beings engaged in violent combat. If he needed any confirmation, it came a moment later as they burst through the rock-strewn park into an artificially cleared area around an enormous oak trunk. He saw at once why it had been called the royal tree circle, for a dozen oaks, all almost as massive and ancient as the central one, grew in a circular formation around the eldest. At various levels, going up to the tops of the trees, there was an elaborate network of hemprope riggings, dangling vines, and closed platforms. The greenish stonelights he had seen at Rishimukha were here too, lending their sickly illumination to the whole scene, but they were hardly needed as the almost-full moon was directly overhead, casting sufficient light for him to see. 

Angad was fighting bare-handed with a dozen different burly black vanars. These were unlike any vanars Lakshman had seen up to now. They seemed more simian, less civilised, powerfully built, and more bent over. Thick, ropily muscled arms hung by their sides, and their bright large teeth flashed luminously in their dark faces. Angad was fighting bravely and fiercely, but even at a glance, Lakshman could tell at once that he was waging a losing battle. It was all the vanar prince could do to keep his opponents at bay. Already, he was bleeding from several cuts and he seemed to favour his right lower limb, limping a little as he leaped and swung and bounded from one side of the circle to the other. Gasps and exclamations from the platforms made Lakshman glance up: he saw red vanar eyes gleaming from the windows of several of the closed platforms, which he presumed were rooms, and from the pitch and tone of the gasps and exclamations, he guessed that those onlookers were Vali’s wives and concubines. 

Where then was Vali himself? And where had their other vanar associates gone? They had leaped the wall moments before Rama and Hanuman and he had come over. Why— 

Then he heard the sounds of shouting and howling again. And realised suddenly that those sounds had not been made by Angad and his circle of murderous wrestlers. Angad’s supporters were clashing with soldiers on the far side of the circle, keeping Vali’s soldiers at bay. As he watched, one of the press of soldiers plunged his spear into the belly of one of Angad’s vanars. The wounded vanar caught hold of the spear, turned it around and pierced the soldier with it. Then he began using it against the other soldiers. The poor fellows were severely outnumbered: Lakshman estimated no more than a dozen of Angad’s supporters pitted against at least five times as many soldiers. They were sacrificing their lives to give Angad a fighting chance. 

Beside Lakshman, Rama dropped to his knee, putting an arrow to his bow. Lakshman was already doing the same. He glanced at Rama. 

Rama’s face was grim and dark, a granite statue in the moonlight. ‘You know what to do, brother,’ he said. ‘Kill them all.’ 

They loosed together. Two of the black-furred vanars facing Angad dropped like stones, not even making a sound. Before the others knew what was happening, Rama and he had fired again. And again. The sound of arrows whipping through the air was low and deadly. In moments, every last one of Angad’s opponents lay dead or writhing on the ground. Angad roared and wheeled about. ‘Vali! You coward! You trick me into entering your domain only to have your paid assassins ambush me? Now, you will know what it feels like to have your heart eaten out of your chest by my teeth!’ 

And he rushed to the largest oak and began climbing the rope. Lakshman began to rise to follow him, but Rama’s hand fell on his shoulder. ‘I will go with Angad. You take care of the soldiers there.’ 

Lakshman nodded and ran forward, taking up a new position from which to attack the soldiers. Seeing Rama and he take aim at Angad’s opponents, Hanuman had joined the other fight. Lakshman watched as Hanuman caught hold of a hapless soldier, wheeled him around over his head like a bag of straw and flung him directly at his fellows. A half-dozen soldiers collapsed. Hanuman roared and leaped onto them, his claws slashing and slicing. Lakshman was unnerved by the sight. The vanar was clearly stronger than he appeared. Much much stronger. Then he took aim and began to cut down the soldiers by ones and even twos—firing an arrow in such a manner that it passed through the throat of one and struck the throat of another behind him. In moments, the soldiers scattered, leaving two dozen of their number lying dead or fatally wounded. Lakshman rose, smiling grimly. Hanuman and Angad’s vanars whooped and danced up and down, showing their backsides to the fleeing soldiers. The enemy would regroup and be back soon, Lakshman guessed, but by then, he hoped, Rama would have found Vali and ended this foul conflict once and for all. 

*** 

Rama called out to Angad twice but Angad seemed not to hear him. The vanar prince was in a bloodrage and Rama had been in such states before so he knew that Angad would stop only when he was severely wounded or killed. Rama didn’t want either of those things to happen to the young vanar. He climbed as fast as he could, but the vanar sped up the rope with the natural limberness of his species. In moments, as Rama watched helplessly, Angad gained the top of that particular rope and leaped onto a platform, disappearing from sight. Rama fought his way up as fast as he could.