PRINCE IN EXILE (67 page)

This was the first real opportunity, apart from a few minor skirmishes with bandit gangs, and the bear and ape clans that inhabited the southern plains. And what greater glory than to face and defeat the very mortal who had decimated the rest of the asura armies, and reduced the great Ravana to a slobbering, mindless whelp? The roar that their soldiers had raised when they heard the news was ear-shattering. A chance to kill Rama? Every rakshasa in existence would sign on without hesitation. By rakshasa law, the one who actually killed him would be eligible to claim lordship of all the rakshasa clans. For Rama had defeated their lord, and by doing so was himself eligible to take Ravana’s place. So by killing Rama now, any rakshasa would be able to crown himself lord of rakshasas. Every one of these fourteen thousand bloodthirsty brutes to her rear had visions of lordship filling their minuscule brains at this instant. It was a powerful motivator, more effective than the whips of kumbha-rakshasas or the commands of their leaders. Once the fray began, it would be hard to keep any of these rakshasas from rushing at Rama to stake his claim. 

Which was why Supanakha had kept her own misgivings to herself. Now, as they approached the river and Dushana sent an order rippling down the line to halt, she felt even more uneasy. She was beginning to wish that she had done as she had first been inclined; had she retreated into the forest for a while to heal from her wounds and heal her wounded heart as well, she would have arrived at a different solution. Instead, she had rushed straight to Khara’s lair and spilled out the whole sordid tale, weeping like any spurned mortal woman. She regretted that now. It had been one more humiliation to add to the list. 

But the time for second thoughts was long past. They were at the Godavari now. She caught her breath as they emerged from the canopy of trees on to the open bank of the river. It was mid-afternoon, almost the same hour as the one in which she had tricked Sita into following her into the woods. Dushana strode away, shouting orders to line up alongside the riverbank. Rakshasas did not march in particularly neat formations– neatness of any kind was antithetical to their nature–but they could stand in reasonable order on a riverbank, or against a stone wall. 

They swarmed out of the trees in their thousands, filling the Godavari’s southern bank all the way to the treeline. Their armour caught the afternoon sunlight and gleamed, sending dazzling reflections that criss-crossed the far side of the river like beams of light penetrating the shadows of the thicket. 

Supanakha stood on a high rock with Khara as Dushana gave the order to fell tree trunks. The plan was to build a pontoon bridge across the river. The Godavari was not very wide, barely twenty yards across at this point, and while it flowed fairly rapidly, it was not the roaring deluge of spring or the swollen overflow of the monsoons. There were any number of oaks and walnuts in the south woods that would span that length. Khara estimated aloud, for Supanakha’s benefit, that it would take no more than an hour or two to fell and trim the trunks and hoist them across the river. A couple of hours and a couple of dozen casualties. For rakshasas, while not terrified of the Godavari, still bore a deep-rooted aversion to all fresh flowing water. Once in that river, every one of these hulking killing machines was about as powerful as a flailing kitten. 

She raised her eyes, tilting her helmet just so to avoid getting sunlight in her eyes. It wasn’t hard. Already the sun was falling behind them. It was at most two hours to sundown, maybe less. 

She sniffed and scanned the north slope. It was too thickly wooded, but she found the promontory ridge protruding out from the top of the hill. She had watched Rama come there often, and just as often she had clung to trees and shadows on that side of the river, watching as he had performed his riverside rituals. She sighed involuntarily, remembering how hopeful she had felt then, how full of dreams and ambitions–and lust. 

Khara snarled, attracting her attention. She came out of her reverie and looked at him, scowling. ‘What?’ 

He snorted. ‘I am finding no sport in this fight. This Rama of yours. How can he possibly face a force of this size?’ He spat into the river. ‘It will be like slaughtering babes in their beds.’ 

‘Are you having second thoughts, brother?’ 

He laughed, grunting noisily. On the bank below, Khara paused and glanced up suspiciously before continuing to yell orders at the nearest men. ‘What do you take me for, sister?’ 

‘A murderer of children and an eater of their innards, usually while they’re still alive. Or is that only your hobby?’ she purred at him. 

He shrugged off her attempt at provocation. ‘Shut up, Supanakha. I am trying to think of a way to make this honourable.’ 

‘Honourable? Why does it have to be honourable?’ But she listened curiously. 

‘What achievement will I boast of afterwards? Slaying three mortals? There’s almost not a rakshasa there,’ he swept his hand across the riverbank, ‘who won’t claim to have done as much.’ 

‘They may have killed Brahmins and sadhus. Tapasvis intent on praying to their devas in their ashrams, brahmacharyas barely old enough to tie their own pigtails. These are Kshatriyas, brother. Not just any Kshatriyas. The champions of Bhayanakvan. Slayers of Tataka and her demon hordes.’ 

‘Invokers of the Brahm-astra. Challengers of Parsurama. Yes, yes, I know, I know.’ He held up a hand. ‘But that was all before, when they still possessed the shakti of the maha-mantras given by the brahmarishi-who-was-once-a-warrior. Now they are ordinary mortals again, denuded of all power, abilities, even their own mortal armies and their walled fortress-city.’ He snorted, spewing fluids. ‘Ayodhya the Unconquerable. Undefeated. Unbesieged. Uninvaded.’ He gestured at the wild overgrown hillside across the river. ‘Where is their Ayodhya now? Where are their akshohini? Their war elephants? Or even their maha-shakti? They have nothing. They are just mortals with steel in their fists. And never mind fourteen thousand; fourteen of my men are too many to bring down three mortal Kshatriyas, no matter who they are or what they may have done before.’ 

Supanakha smiled sweetly. She had glimpsed a way to appease her own flickering conscience as well as satisfy Khara’s tumescent rakshasa ego. ‘Would you care to wager on that?’ 

He turned to her, his burnished helmet flashing dazzling light into her eyes. ‘What?’ 

She purred softly, enticing and taunting at the same time. ‘A wager. I say that fourteen of your rakshasas, your finest champions even, cannot stalk and kill Rama. What say you?’ 

‘I say you must be madder than I thought, sister, or richer than I knew! What do you offer in wager?’ 

She leaned over and whispered into his ear. The light in his eyes almost matched the gleam of his helmet. ‘Sister Supanakha,’ he said, grinning wide enough to reveal even his rearmost bone-breaker teeth, ‘you have yourself a wager.’ 

He turned and shouted to Dushana to pick out fourteen of the best assassins in their ranks. 

Supanakha raised her eyes to the hilltop once more.
Now, my proud beloved, we will see if you are as good a warrior as you are a husband and a brother. 

Lakshman came sprinting from the promontory. Rama and Sita were sitting in the grassy field, feeding a doe and two infant deer leaves out of their palms. The deer looked up nonchalantly as Lakshman ran up. 

‘They are at the river, Rama. From the way they are felling trees, it’s clear they mean to breach it. I think they will be across before sundown.’ 

Rama nodded. ‘Good.’ He continued feeding the deer. The infants stumbled over each other’s feet in their eagerness to get at the leaves, which crunched in their jaws briefly before disappearing. 

Lakshman stared at him. ‘Good? Is that all you have to say? It’s an army, Rama. A very well-trained one. Supanakha was there at the fore with her brothers; they wear the boar clan sigil. If you listen you can just hear the roaring of their hordes.’ 

Sita raised her head curiously. The sound of distant roaring was audible, like a far-off waterfall. 

‘Rama, what would you have me do? Shall I choose a vantage spot in the trees across the river and start picking them off?’ 

‘How many would you kill, Lakshman? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Even two hundred? It would hardly make a difference, my brother.’ 

‘Then what is your plan? Will you take your jewelled bow and golden arrow? The gifts Anasuya gave you? If you use them, you can slay them from right up here, from the top of the hill.’ He pointed back at the promontory. ‘She said the arrow could kill any number of targets at any distance. All you have to do is will it, and the entire force will be destroyed. It will be like unleashing the Brahm-astra at Mithila.’ 

Rama shook his head. ‘Lakshman, I will not use the bow and arrow that Anasuya gave me.’ One of the little deer also shook his head, as if in imitation. 

‘But she said you were to use them to defend yourself in such an eventuality. That is why she gave them to you.’ 

‘Possibly. But she also gave us all express instructions not to invoke any violence. Not to draw first blood. Do you remember that as well?’ Rama glanced up at Lakshman as he asked the question. 

Lakshman sighed, sinking to his knees in the grass. ‘Yes, of course I remember. But I did not simply attack someone unprovoked. That she-devil meant to destroy us all. To kill Sita. To seduce you. I said she would come back if we spared her, and I was right. She has come back. With an army to destroy us!’ 

Rama shook his head. ‘The army would not have come if we hadn’t hurt her. We took a vow of non-violence. You broke it. That is what led to this pass.’ 

Lakshman held his head in his hands. ‘All right. If you wish to blame me, then blame me. I did it. Instead of releasing the demoness unharmed, I cut her nose and ears off. But it was
I
that did that, Rama. Not you, nor Sita. You are still free to do your dharma. Protect yourself, protect your wife, our home. If need be, I will defend my own self.’ 

Rama’s hands were empty of leaves. He showed his palms to the deer, who licked both eagerly. He turned to Lakshman. ‘If need be, I will defend us all, Lakshman. It’s quite likely I will have to do just that before this day is over. If so, then so be it. I am not pleased to have to take up arms again, but I cannot simply let us be slaughtered by rakshasas either.’ 

Lakshman smiled in relief, his teeth flashing white in his dark, sunburned face. ‘Then you will use the Bow of Vishnu and the Arrow of Shiva!’ 

‘No.’ 

Lakshman’s smile faded. ‘But you just said you will fight.’ 

‘With my usual weapons, yes. With all the skills at my command. Using all the knowledge and talent and strength I possess, of course. But no more celestial weapons. No more extermination from afar. That is too potent a shakti. It breeds a lust for power that is more dangerous than violence itself. No, I will fight with my own bare hands if I have to, but I will fight as a mortal man. As a Kshatriya.’ 

‘Against fourteen thousand rakshasas? Rama, it is impossible.’ 

Rama nodded. ‘Possibly. If that is my karma, then I will see it through to the end.’ 

‘And Sita? Will you let her die too? Or be taken as a rakshasa slave? You know how they treat mortal women who are taken as spoils of war. And Supanakha must have a special hell in store for her. As also for me. Will you let me die too, bhai?’ 

Rama stood up. Lakshman stood too, facing Rama head on. 

‘No, Lakshman. I do not believe that any of us will die. I cannot swear to it, for which man knows what his future truly holds, but I will only say this: that is not the future I have planned for us.’ 

Lakshman stared uncertainly. ‘Then what is it you have planned? What do you intend to do?’ 

‘Survive,’ Rama said. 

He walked away from Lakshman, in the direction of the hut. 

TWENTY 

The sun was at the western horizon when they breached the river. Khara had seethed with impatience all the while. He had asked repeatedly if there were any who could swim across the river. After the fourth or fifth time, Dushana had suggested softly that if he kept repeating that question, the men would grow insolent and ask their general whether
he
could swim. That shut Khara up. He had waited while the whole operation dragged on. Supanakha enjoyed his irritation. She knew that his impatience was to win the wager. He wanted the prize she had offered him. And he believed it was his for the taking. All he had to do was send his assassins across and they would do the job, click-click-snap, as easy as a pisaca clacking its mandibles. 

As the last log was put into place, a fresh roar went up from the assembled rakshasas. They had been quiet the past hour, waiting with as much impatience as their general. Everyone had been told by now about the special mission on which the hand-picked assassins were being sent. They were disgruntled about it. Many felt it was unfairly depriving the rest of them the opportunity to be the first to sup on the legendary Rama’s innards. But discipline and a lust for battle kept them in check. Now that the bridge was made, they were excited again, eager to have their share of the bloodletting.
Not much blood to let, though,
Supanakha thought.
And if my suspicions are right, then no mortal blood at all. 

Khara gave the order for the assassins to cross. They sprinted across the bridge, the logs shifting and rolling beneath their weight but holding quite well. It had taken about a dozen rakshasa lives to get the logs that secure. The first team had failed to tie their vines tightly enough and had had their throats torn out and been pushed backwards into the river. After that, the bridge-building had gone much better.