PRINCE IN EXILE (22 page)

Most certainly. They’d be the first to be butchered. Their very presence is an affront to any self-disrespecting asura. Why, there are times when I feel like taking a mile-long rod, skewering them all through their bellies, and roasting the whole clutch over a spit. Kumbhakarna would feast well on them! You know how he relishes roasted Brahmins! 

‘Brother,’ Vibhisena said grimly, ‘if you persist in making such talk, perhaps you should turn to Kumbhakarna for assistance. Whatever evils you may have done before, you know I cannot even brook talk of them, let alone stand by and watch the act itself committed.’ 

Vibhisena began walking down the dais steps. ‘I will order your kumbhas to go awaken our eldest brother. You and he can savour such vulgar talk to your heart’s content. I have not the stomach for such discussions.’ 

Stop, Vibhisena! 

Vibhisena paused on the third step. 

It would take months, even years, to rouse Kumbhakarna. You know that. I must be freed of this cage of stone much sooner. I have unfinished work to see to. You may have held the hounds and bitches of our allies at bay for now, but very soon they will understand that I am trapped physically within this block of Brahman-created redstone, unable to do more than cast a few feeble spells like the one I sent through your hands to kill that snivelling vetaal. By the way, thank you for allowing me a channel to rid myself of that blood-sucking scum. I hate vetaals! So, as I was saying, if I am not freed from this cage before the chiefs realise my limitations, they will revolt in force. And then there really will be Brahmins roasting on spits in Lanka, Vibhisena
. 

‘Your sons are great warriors, Jay,’ Vibhisena said, looking unmoved. ‘Meghnath isn’t called Indrajit for nothing. It was his victory over Indra, Lord of Devas, in your great campaign against Swarga-lok that earned him that title. And your younger son Akshay Kumar’s prowess on the field has never been matched by any warrior, asura or mortal, till now. They have both been most anxious about your condition and have repeatedly offered to help. I will send them to speak with you here.’ 

Vibhisena. Great warriors do not always make great leaders. My sons are brilliant in the field, but duffers at court. That is why they’re not permitted to set foot in this Hall, by my own order. Were they handling today’s council session, they would have created more chaos in the asura ranks, and worse, they would end up fighting each other, just to answer the old question of which of them is the better warrior. No, my sons cannot help me now. Only you can. You know this as well as I do, so why do you try my patience, brother
? 

Vibhisena smiled, shaking his head. ‘It’s you who is trying my patience, Jay. You know I will not stand by and hear vulgarity and abuse, especially directed at Brahmins. 

Either you control your tongue - or your mental voice, as the case may be - or I will walk away at the next insult and leave you to fend for yourself, whatever the consequences.’ 

There was a long moment of sullen silence during which time the Lord of Lanka spun slowly in his bed of redstone, his eyes glaring with equal ferocity and barely suppressed anger. Finally, the response came, reluctant and recalcitrant but unmistakably clear. 

Very well. No more Brahmin jokes. Now can we get on with it? 

Vibhisena thought for a moment, one foot still on the lower step. Was he being a fool? Surely it was asking too much to expect Ravana to change in the least degree. And yet this was such a deva-gifted opportunity to try to mellow the demonlord’s rapacious ways and bring some small measure of morality into Lanka’s evil excesses. Perhaps he couldn’t change his brother substantially, but even if he could play a small part in reducing the bloodshed and horrors in some way, it would be worth it. He had no doubt that once restored to his full strength Ravana would return at once to his brutal, murderous ways. Which was why it was essential to press home his advantage here and now, while the demonlord was still relatively helpless. 

What’s going through your mind, brother? What’s taking you so long? Do you have another appointment you’ve suddenly recalled? A Brahmin priestess you promised to bed before daybreak, perhaps? 

‘Brother,’ Vibhisena said admonishingly. 

Scratch out that last carving. I forgot, no more Brahmin
— 

‘I have a condition.’ 

So, spit it out
. 

‘No more invasions of Prithvi-lok. Ever.’ 

Another moment of silence. The block spun slowly, casting a long shadow that twisted and changed shape ominously. 

Now you’re the one making vulgar jokes, brother. You’re asking an elephant not to breathe through his trunk, an ant not to seek out honey, a gandharva not to play music
. 

‘That’s my condition. No invasions of the mortal realm. Ever again.’ 

The reply came back sullenly, if a mental voice could be said to express itself sullenly. 

You might as well ask me to slice off my manhood and eat it with butter and salt. Once made, the arrow must fly, the sword cleave, the typhoon rage. I exist to destroy and strike terror. It has been this way ever and shall continue ever more. You know this, as well as you know the history and cause of my quest for vengeance
. 

‘Even so, this is my condition. If you will not concede, then I leave you to work your own way out. I shall send for our brother, and for your sons.’ 

Ravana spoke again before Vibhisena could move another step. 

Very well! No more invasions. What about forays? Skirmishes? Minor campaigns of conquest and subjugation? You would not deprive a boy of all his toys, would you? 

‘No unprovoked acts of violence against mortalkind. You will under no circumstances attack humans singly, in groups or in larger numbers. I do not wish to play with semantics, brother. I mean that you and your asura followers should not in any way assault or attack any human in any manner henceforth.’ 

What about provoked attacks then? If the humans attack me or invade my kingdom, how can I not be expected to defend myself? As you well know, I lost almost all of my army strength to the Brahm-astra. What if the mortals decide that now is the best time to invade and cleanse the world once and for all of all asuras? Even your holy Vedas do not prescribe that a person under attack should quietly offer his other side to be stabbed and slashed! 

Vibhisena smiled. ‘In that highly unlikely event, if the mortals themselves inflict bodily harm upon you or your followers anywhere, then yes, you may defend yourselves. But you and I both know that the mortals will not invade Lanka. You may have lost your army, but once released from this Brahman cage, you will begin at once to replenish your numbers. In a decade at best, you’ll have enough to begin thinking of invasion once more.’ 

In a decade I’ll barely have a few million asuras. At best a crore. You overestimate my abilities, brother. Even the hell worlds grow empty of new reinforcements, Lord Yamraj grows more difficult to bargain with each passing century. This is no longer the prime of our glory, which is all the more reason why we must go on fighting the mortals. Otherwise they will overrun this whole plane and we will all be forgotten. Even you wouldn’t want your own race extinguished, would you, Vibhisena? 

Vibhisena shrugged. ‘We are all one in the flow of Brahman. Merely occupying different forms.’ 

I doubt you’d be as equanimous if you were occupying the form of a naga or a vetaal. But nevertheless, I won’t waste further energy arguing. It’s blasted hard enough communicating through this damn stone. I’m asking you again, please, set me free and I will agree to whatever contract you draw up
. 

‘First tell, do you agree to this bargain? No more attacks on humans? No more invasions, intrusions, assaults, or—’ 

Yes, I follow. I won’t even scratch their backs unless they scratch mine first. Get on with it. I feel my strength fading. It’s happening again like it did this morning, I’m finding it more and more difficult to reach you with every passing minute. 

‘It’s the moontides,’ Vibhisena said. ‘The flow of Brahman has ever been linked to the flow of energy from the sun and the moon. This is why the Suryavansha line and the Chandravansha line on earth have always produced the most powerful champions, for their bloodlines are most directly linked with the solar and lunar energies of—’ 

Vibhisena … enough talk. Free me … fading fast … quickly! Act … brother! 

Vibhisena nodded, even though Ravana’s back was to him at the time. The redstone block was pulsing with a blueish-tinted glow that cast a strange mixed-colour palette of rays across the Hall. This had happened twice each day since he had brought his brother home. It meant that the time was ripe for him to perform the rite he had planned. If he let this window of opportunity pass, he would have to wait till the next moontide, twelve hours hence, to act. If it had to be done, then this thing was best done sooner rather than later. 

He summoned the Pushpak from its perch by the northern end of the black fortress. It arrived in moments, entering the chamber through one of the enormous open spaces that had been especially created to allow its passage. The golden air-chariot glimmered dazzlingly in the light show cast off by the rotating slab. The slab had begun to turn faster now, its progress hastened by the rising of the tide. Vibhisena had studied its movements closely. It would turn faster and faster, reaching its peak at the height of the moontide, spinning so rapidly as to be only a red blur. 

He boarded the Pushpak and commanded it to take hold of the redstone slab. The slab continued to spin even after the chariot gripped it with its invisible shakti. Then Vibhisena instructed the celestial vehicle of his desired destination. The vehicle took flight without hesitation. If he had asked it, it would have taken him to Swarga-lok itself, realm of the devas, or conversely, to Patal-lok, the lowest netherworld of all. But his destination was nowhere near that ambitious; it was on the island of Lanka itself. He arrived within moments. 

Vibhisena peered down from the height of a thousand yards, looking down into the maw of the largest, most violent volcano on Lanka. This was no ordinary volcano. This was the portal to Narak itself, the entrance to the hell worlds. 

It was into this dread place that Vibhisena would have to take his frozen brother in order to free him of his stone cage. For only here could he summon up the heat and pressure that were required to release Ravana from the Brahman cage. And even so, it would take all his vidya and shakti to accomplish the feat. 

The Brahmin rakshasa sent up a fervent prayer to the devas that he might succeed in his mission. Not for himself: the Pushpak would ensure that its occupant was protected from the toxic dangers and heat of the volcano’s heart. It was for Ravana that he offered his prayers. He was keenly aware of the irony involved in his asking the devas’ grace to help the most terrible demon that had ever walked the earth. But Vibhisena’s faith was absolute. Moreover, he believed sincerely that if he succeeded in this task, he would achieve his larger goal: to recast Ravana in a more mellow form, leash his brother’s savagery and rein in the brutal destruction that he had wrought for millennia. Vibhisena was one of those who still remembered Ravana’s great austerities and penances of aeons past; those memories still inspired hope that he could make Ravana walk the path of Brahman once more. He took the Lord of Lanka’s present predicament, and his ironic reliance on Vibhisena and his Brahman-shakti, as a significant omen. The samay chakra had turned, bringing yet another change in the affairs of mortals and demonkind. It could, he believed, mean only one thing: that the end was near. The end of war and violence, and the birth of a new age. 

Chanting a potent mantra from the sacred secret work known as the Smriti-Upanisads, he commanded the Pushpak to descend into the volcano. The golden air-chariot descended swiftly into the heart of the simmering open-mouthed mountain, the redstone block spinning at breathtaking speed. 

As if in response, the volcano belched a gigantic gout of molten magma, emitting a roar like a sea-beast awakened. 

Lanka shuddered. 

EIGHTEEN 

The night was cool and dark when they rose from their flower-bedecked bed and stood on the veranda. 

The city still echoed faintly to sounds of revelry. The grooms’ wedding procession might have been deprived of a full seven-day feast in Mithila, but they were more than making up for it back home in Ayodhya. And with the coronation tomorrow, it seemed as if two weeks of festivity that had begun at Holi were finally coming to a climax. But the eyes of both young lovers were drawn upwards. The sky was rich with stars, and their thoughts and emotions were high above the everyday affairs of the mortal world in which they dwelt by day. The distant sounds of merriment only enhanced the cocoon of privacy in which they stood, nestled in each other’s arms on the quiet veranda. Somewhere to the northern side of the palace, unseen except for the occasional flash of white foam breaking the blackness, the Sarayu sang her eternal song. 

Sita broke the silence first, her voice soft and melodious on the still night air. ‘“Forget the singer but not the song. The lute but not the wood. The forest but not the tree. There was the place I gave you my heart, and you gave me yours in return. Then was the time, and that was the night.”’