PRINCE IN EXILE (64 page)

She growled softly at him, sleek and beautiful in her own primal way. He had a feeling she would not want for mates among her own species-or among any asura species, for that matter. Her allure was evident, alien and animalistic though it was. 

‘I thought that form pleased you,’ she said, her natural voice throaty, husky. ‘I know how much value you mortals lay on outward appearances. Why then did you spurn me? Were you not convinced by my bhes-bhav?’ 

He cleared his throat. ‘Your bhes-bhav was perfect. It was not your guise that gave you away.’ 

‘What was it then?’ She sniffed at herself. ‘I even assumed her fetid mortal odour to please you.’ 

‘There is more to being a mortal than mere physicality. The last time my wife and I sang that song was on our wedding night, months ago,’ he added. ‘It was also the first night of our exile and not one we are likely to forget.’ He did not add that that night seemed another age now. 

She cocked her head, staring at him. Her feral green eyes bored into him with a frank lustfulness. It was interesting that he could tell that she was aroused despite the gulf of difference between their species. He noted the fact in a lesser part of his mind for future reference. 

‘Tell me then,’ she purred. ‘Tell me what pleases you, and I will do it. Whatever you desire, I can become that. I have talents no mortal woman can dream of. Ways to pleasure you that you never thought possible. We will fill the forest with our cries of pleasure and be the envy of every mating couple in this wilderness. We will be lovers of legend and lore, like your Sakuntala and Dushyanta, or Nala and Damyanti … ‘ 

Taking him by surprise, she sang a line from the song of Sakuntala. ‘Light, precious light, how you draw me like a moth to a flame … ‘ 

‘Stop.’ He was shocked to find his hands trembling. Control.
Remember Sita. First find Sita. Then deal with this … creature
. 

She took a step closer, then another, her body moving with feline grace. Her lithely muscled body rippled beneath the sleek, lustrous fur. Her lambent eyes glowed with longing, phosphorescent in the shade of the thatched overhang before the hut. ‘Rama, my Rama … my beloved. I only wish to love you.’ 

‘Stop it.’ His voice was firmer now, decisive. 

She came another two steps closer, then three. Now he could smell her odour. Distinctive and overwhelming. Unlike any creature he had smelled before. A combination of wildcat and asura and, yes, mortal too. For the scent she had stolen from Sita still remained in the mix, and it was that which he found unsettling in the extreme. 

‘I will give you Lanka,’ she said. 

He was startled by the sudden change of topic. 

‘My cousin Ravana, your arch-enemy, was felled by the Brahm-astra you wielded at Mithila. He lies in a coma now, beyond recovery it seems. His wife and brother pray night and day, keeping a round-the-clock vigil at the shrine of Shiva on the mound Nikumbhila. But there has been no change in his condition for months. He is beyond salvaging, a mere husk from which the aatma has long fled.’ 

‘Why are you telling me this?’ 

She licked her chops, her tongue a deep fleshy scarlet. ‘Lanka has no lord now. It is yours for the taking.’ 

‘Mine?’ His voice sounded unnaturally loud. He forced himself to modulate it. ‘Why would I want anything to do with a place like Lanka?’ 

She shrugged her catlike shoulders, looking away coyly for a moment. ‘You are a king without a kingdom, Lanka is a kingdom without a king.’ 

‘An asura kingdom.’ 

‘Ah.’ She spoke as if he had said something she had never considered before. ‘Yes. I see. Well, Lanka was not always a kingdom of asuras. Ravana made it so when he wrested it from his half-brother Kubera. He used his sorcery to open the gateways to Narak and fetch up his asura hordes. He turned it into the hell it was until recently.’ 

‘Was?’ 

‘Riots. Civil war. The asuras have nigh decimated one another. The few survivors that remain limp through the ruins, licking their wounds, unable to even rebuild their homes without authoritative leadership. You could marshal them, bring order to chaos. Bring shiploads of mortals if you please. Turn it into an island-paradise! You could be lord of Lanka and do with it as you will. You could even make it a kingdom of … what is that word you mortals bandy about?’ 

‘Dharma,’ he said without hesitation. 

She sniffed. ‘You could make it a kingdom of dharma. Lanka lies supine, yours for the taking. Embrace it. Seed it with your own seed. With your dharma.’ 

‘And where do you fit into all this?’ 

She sidled past him, around him. He felt something sleek and furry trail across the backs of his thighs, caress his lower back. Her tail. She craned her head, looking up with those sultry, mesmerising eyes. ‘I will be your queen. Your paramour. Your wife.’ 

‘I already have a wife.’ 

She smiled slowly, a smile that took for ever. ‘Do you?’ 

His hand shot out, snatched up the sword leaning against the wall of the hut. He had been edging towards it these past several moments, distracting her with conversation. He brought it round and put the point to her neck in one lightning-swift motion. He pressed it in, drawing a bead of blood, enough to let her know he meant business. 

‘I do. And now you must take me to her.’ He added with the same immaculately polite tone: ‘If you please.’ 

Lakshman held his breath as Rama’s hand shot out, grasped the sword and brought it to bear neatly on the asura’s throat. The creature froze, outmanoeuvred.
Well done, bhai
, he applauded silently. Another moment or two and Lakshman would have made his move. The only reason he had held back until now was because the creature was dangerously close to Rama, and because he believed implicitly that Rama would regain control of the situation. He always did. 

Now he watched as Rama had more words with the strange creature. Then, with a contemptuous flick of its tail, the beast turned and began walking on all fours towards the southern woods. Rama walked beside it, keeping his sword within slashing range. 

Lakshman waited until they had passed over the grassy ridge, out of sight, then sprinted forward. He paused at the hut, peering inside. ‘Bhabhi?’ he called. ‘Sita?’ 

He hadn’t expected a response, but his heart still sank when none was received. That meant that he had read the situation correctly. The creature he had just seen with Rama had somehow lured Sita away from the hut, probably while Rama napped in the afternoon, and now Rama was forcing it to lead him to the place where it had left Sita … Bound? Unconscious? Or … 

He pushed the thought away, and loped up the ridge, reaching the top in time to see Rama and the asura disappear into the shadows of the thicket. He sprinted after them, staying low and moving as silently as a hunter tracking deadly prey. 

SEVENTEEN 

She lay by the lotus pond, curled up on the bank. At first sight he experienced one terrible heart-stopping moment when he was certain she was dead. Then he felt her pulse, and it was beating, albeit faintly. Her face was slick with sweat, her mouth slack, her breathing shallow. 

He turned to the demoness. She was seated on her haunches on the sloping bank, watching him with stark envy. 

‘I fed her black lotus. She is under its influence. She will sleep long and deep. Her dreams will be fantastic and intense. When she awakens she will be well. You need not fear for her.’ 

Rama felt rage well up within him, as thick as the dark that fell upon this very wood on a moonless night. Three lightning-swift steps and he was within striking distance of the creature again, his blade to her throat. It took a great effort of will not to cut her to bloody ribbons. If this beast … this shape-shifter … this demoness had harmed Sita, how could he spare its life? He could not. This did not fall within the purview of Anasuya’s warning, did it? How could he let an asura who had hurt Sita or worse - simply walk away untouched? Yet he maintained control of his emotions, banking his anger. Of all the difficult things he had been called upon to do in the past few months, this was the hardest. 

Not killing was harder by far than killing. 

She watched him. And waited. 

He turned and struck the sword into the nearest tree trunk. It was a neem. Bark split with a crackling sound, sap splattered. He had to pull hard to retrieve the imbedded blade. 

He heard her make a sound and turned quickly. He was alert to the point where he could hear a grasshopper cricking to his right, and if he wished, he could have swept his sword and sliced the insect in half without even seeing it with his eyes. He breathed, seeking calm and balance. 

She sat exactly as she had before, unmoving. Her eyes glistened darkly in the shadowy dimness of the thicket. She was crying, if it could be called crying. 

He tried to calm himself. ‘I can make you happy,’ she said. ‘Bear you children. Bring you—’ 

‘I do not wish to speak with you,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Nor hear any other words you have to say.’ 

She stared up at him silently, eyes glistening. Something changed in her face, and he could not read her expression any more. She was too alien. How could she ever think that she could be … what had she said? … his queen, his paramour, his
wife
? Disgust swelled up, filling the space that rage had only partially vacated. 

‘I only wish to love you,’ she said. ‘Can you not understand that?’ 

He breathed before replying. ‘Understand it, yes. Accept it, no. You are asura, of a demon race. I am mortal, a being of dharma. What you desire can never be. Not if you offer me all the kingdoms in all the planes of existence to rule over. All that I desire, I already have. And that does not include you.’ 

She was so silent, he thought she would explode with rage. Instead, she only shook her head from side to side, like a cat shaking off water. 

‘Rama, I love you, I wish to give you everything, wealth, power, glory … I will give you Lanka! Even the inert body of Ravana the ten-headed to do with as you please.’ 

He was silent, but she could read the anger in his bunched shoulder muscles as plainly as the expression on his wine-dark face. 

‘If you wish,’ she swallowed, feeling her pride stick in her gullet but forcing it down, ‘if you wish, I will accept the position of second wife. You may still keep that hairless mortal wench. But do not spurn me thus. I have followed you and watched you since before you left Ayodhya. My love for you has grown too strong to be dismissed out of hand.’ She lowered her head, tasting her own shame. ‘If I must beg, then beg I shall. But I will be your wife, and you my husband. I have willed it so.’ 

He turned to her. His voice was deathly quiet. ‘Then will it otherwise. For you will never have me. Now, heed me well. I am setting you free. Go back to your lair in Lanka, to your asura brethren. I spare you this time because I have taken a vow.’ He pointed at Sita’s prone form. ‘A vow for her sake. I will spill no more blood. Go now. And never return. For the next time you show yourself, I may not be as loath to spill your blood as I am today.’ 

He turned his back upon her, directing his attention to Sita once more. ‘Go now,’ he said. ‘Go!’ 

He bent over Sita, clearing the hair from her face, rubbing her cheeks. ‘Sita? Sita’ His voice was as gentle now as it had been harsh a moment ago. ‘My love, it is I, Rama.’ 

After a moment, he rose and went down to the edge of the pond. Dipping the end of his ang-vastra into the water, he returned to Sita and began wiping her face with the wet cloth. He let a few drops fall on to her brow, gently. 

Supanakha watched him silently. Her anger rose within her uncontrollably. So this was her fate then? This was her reward for all these months of patience and faith. This was how the dark asura gods rewarded her for her offerings and her prayers. With harsh words, the tip of a sword at her throat, and an admonition to leave and never return. A threat to spill her blood should she ever come back again. And for what? For this hollow-boned mortal female who could not stomach a wedge of black lotus. That flat-bellied furless black-eyed weakling. 

She snarled silently, her jaws opening and snapping shut in rage. 

Rama rose again and went down to the pond for more water. He used his sword to reach out and draw a lotus towards the bank. He put the sword down, and bent over to pick up the lotus, raising it up like a bowl filled with water, intending to carry it back to Sita. 

Supanakha chose that instant to act. Bunching her powerful hind muscles, she leapt across the yards that separated her from the humans. She landed with a roar, straddling Sita’s unconscious body. In an instant, she had the mortal woman in her grasp, her bared claws at Sita’s face and belly. 

Rama cried out, spinning around and flinging the lotus at her, even as he lunged for his sword. Supanakha ducked her head instinctively, and the lotus, filled with pond water, splashed on Sita’s face. Supanakha saw Rama roll over in a somersault, rising with his sword in his hand. 

He crouched before her. ‘Release her! She has no part in this. It is me you seek, is it not? Then fight me! Leave her out of this.’ 

Supanakha snarled. ‘She is the only reason you spurn me. By killing her, I remove the obstacle in my path. You must accept me as your wife then.’