RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA (37 page)

Rama and Sita looked around and saw that they alone remained with Ravana. Atikaya, Valmiki, Ayodhya, all those who were frozen by the spellsong, everyone and everything else was gone. Only they remained.

They stood upon the rim of a great precipice. Below them lay a ravine, canyon, basin, crater…there were no words to describe something so vast. It was so immense, it could well have contained an ocean, or several oceans even. The bottom lay far below, several miles at least, perhaps even yojanas or dozens of yojanas, it was impossible to tell. The scale of the place was so colossal, their perceptions could not encompass the very sight.

Below, in the great abyss lay a world. It was like no place either of them had ever seen. There were great cities with enormous houses so tall that they would have dwarfed even the tallest man-made structure in all Aryavarta – the Seer’s Eye in Ayodhya and its sister tower, the Sage’s Brow in Mithila. There were countless such structures, not made of stone or brick or even wood, but of alien materials: glass? But that was impossible; how could an entire tower be built of glass? Yet that was what many of the structures seemed to be made up of. Great gleaming towers of glass and shining metal. Built with such perfection that even Vishwakarma, architect to the devas, would have envied their builders.

There were roads crisscrossing the neat, perfectly arranged rows of glass and metal towers, dissecting them into squares and blocks, rising above the ground to curve and fly like bridges, but no bridges any Arya engineer could construct – curving, interweaving margs and avenues that continued for yojanas upon yojanas in an intertwining web that was mind-boggling to behold. The cities themselves were marvels. At this height, it was impossible to see the people that inhabited them individually; but they could see great numbers of them moving in shining metal chariots or on foot in immense hordes, like armies on a battlefield.

For the time being, both Rama and Sita seemed to forget their own quarrel and were swept up in the sheer exoticism of the vision.

“Is this Swargaloka?” Sita asked, barely able to form her words clearly for wonderment and fright.

“It is certainly some city of the devas,” Rama replied thickly. “But none I have ever heard tell of in any katha.”

They raised their eyes reluctantly to look out further and reacted – Sita gasped, Rama exclaimed – as they saw that the city immediately below was only one such city upon a world covered from end to end with many others. There were forests too, and oceans, and rivers, and lakes, and all else besides. But these paled beside the sheer number of populated settlements. What world was this where so many tribes resided in such vast numbers? Surely not the mortal realm! There were not so many people in the entire world as could fit within one of those vast cities.

They felt the ground vibrate beneath their feet. And looked down to see that the rim upon which they stood was not ordinary ground. There was no mud underfoot, nor stone or brick or any other natural or man-made material they could identify. Instead, the surface was made up of some alien texture. It was similar to the petrified tile that was so dearly prized as flooring in palaces and had to be mined or quarried with great effort from certain spots, then carefully worked, cut, polished to bring out the natural beauty. Yet they could see no streaks, veins or chips. Only a uniform sameness, a greyish continuity that was physically impossible to attain, no matter how skilled the cutter or worker. But there was no time to identify the surface of the ground itself. It was shuddering and shaking, as if with the impact of immense footfalls. Like a forest floor when a great herd of elephant was stampeding.

Or a battlefield when an army of rakshasas charge to attack,
Rama thought. And glancing at Sita, he saw that the same thought had occurred to her simultaneously. Their eyes met briefly and he wondered for a moment why he had ever been so enraged at her only moments earlier. Why had he said all those cruel and terrible things? Did he truly believe those accusations?

But there was no time to dwell on that now. For the shuddering vibrations were increasing in intensity, until they felt as if they would both be shaken off their feet and tossed into the abyss below, to fall for several agonizing moments before crushing their bones upon the floor of the alien city directly below. They stepped back slowly, instinctively raising their hands to their sides to balance themselves better – and their hands touched, and Sita clutched his hand as she had so often before, and he caught her hand as well, as he had so many times, and together they stood, hand in hand, watching…

“AND NOW IT BEGINS!”
Ravana’s voice boomed from behind them. They did not turn to look. There was no need. What was happening before them demanded all their attention.

An invasion was taking place. From a great cloud in the sky above, an immense cloud that must have continued for hundreds of yojanas and risen for thousands of yojanas until it vanished in a fog uncountable miles above, an army was descending. Their target was the city immediately below, but Rama sensed that there were other forces descending as well upon the other cities of this world, and that this entire world, wherever it might be, was under siege now.

But what amazed him were the invaders.

“Devas!” he cried.

And that was indeed what they were. Gods and goddesses.

Devas. Devis. Ashwins. Yakshas. Apsaras. Gandharvas. Every manner of supernatural being, including those that were often allied with both Devas and their eternal enemy, the Asuras.

They descended in celestial vehicles of every description. Great shining vaahans as glorious as Pushpak itself. Some drove incredible chariots and while some others rode fabulous creatures.

Many flew unaided. Some simply dropped down, to land like hammers upon the ground below, causing immense cracks to ripple outwards, the ground to buckle and shatter into fragments, entire contingents of the massed mortals below to go flying chaotically, slaughtered even before they had shot an arrow or swung a sword or a mace, or deployed whatever weapon that these mortals used in their world. Some flew down like birds of prey, through the great glass and steel towers like arrows ripping through parchment, sending showers of glass and metal fragments raining down on the screaming masses below, then barrelling into those same crowds, smearing hundreds, thousands perhaps, into jellied blobs upon the roads of the city far below.

Devastras were deployed, slaughtering great numbers, destroying towers and entire swathes of the city.

The mortals fought back bravely as well using wonderful weapons of their own; great metal bows that spat fire and threw great gouts of what appeared to be blazing metal at the descending attackers. They had vaahans too, and these zoomed and buzzed through the air, doing battle with the flying gods and beings, unleashing their own fiery weapons. And as the two armies met on the ground below, great roars of rage and battle fury could be heard, though faintly, even at this great height.

They have great spirit, those poor wretched people,
Rama thought.
But how can they stand a chance against gods?

Even as he thought this thought, the entire view before them rippled, grew misty, obscure. He dabbed at his eyes, disoriented, and shook his head to clear it. His brain ached as if he had been staring at the same spot in the sky for too long – or at the sun. Beside him, he sensed Sita was also disoriented and rubbing her own eyes.

When they were able to see again, the scene before them had changed.

It was much later. The great battle between the mortals and the gods was long since over. Now the beautiful great cities of their world lay in a shambles, smoking ruins, shattered towers, upheaved ground…it was a world in ruins.

Now, another battle raged.

A battle not between mortals and gods.

A battle between the devas and devis that Rama and Sita knew well, and another race of gods.

There was no doubt that the others were gods as well. From their appearance, their movement through the air and over the ground, their sounds, the shakti they unleashed…they were no less formidable than the devas and devis, and every bit as determined to slaughter their enemy.

Gods at War,
Rama thought, numbed to the core.

Mortalkind has been destroyed, and now the gods themselves war for possession of the mortal plane – or perhaps for some other goal that I cannot fathom.

Once more the vista shimmered, obscured and he shut his eyes tightly, feeling the searing pain deep inside his skull grown fiercer now.

When he opened them again, the alien city, the warring armies of gods, all of it was gone.

He stood once more in Ayodhya, Sita beside him, Ravana before him.

“Now you have seen the future of mortalkind. And its end.”

And the Lord of Asuras threw back his heads and laughed.

Sita came to her feet, clutching her belly without being aware she was doing so. In fact, the instant the Shockwave had begun, she had held her hands to her belly protectively, not sure what effect the strange explosion of light might have on her unborn children. She had sensed their utter lack of fear, and that had given her succour, for oftentimes she had learned of late that they knew better than she how to react to what was happening. Of course, there was nothing yet that she could recall that actually scared them or agitated them. Nothing except…well, except her own distress. And so she had learned to check her own emotions and responses, not wishing to alarm them.
What would they do anyway? Fight for me? Protect me?
She almost smiled at the thought of her two unborn babies doing battle for her sake.

Her smile faded as she stared at the Vortal.

Beside her, Rama stood as well, and beyond him, Hanuman. To her left, Yamadev remained standing as before, seemingly unaffected by anything that had occurred. He gestured, and once more the Vortal turned opaque as he hid its view of the other Ayodhya, where the other Rama and Sita stood staring dumbly as Ravana threw back his heads and laughed.

She was glad not to have to see that anymore; even at a remove, Ravana was not one person she wished to see again. She thought this with clenched fists and instantly felt the lives within her kick and grow agitated. She opened her fists, calming her breathing, caressing her belly in gentle downward strokes, soothing them.
Hush, my babies, hush. He shall never trouble us again.

“What does it mean?” Hanuman asked, looking bewildered. He indicated the Vortal as he looked at Yamadev, then at Rama. “I scent that Ravana means to destroy entire worlds by precipitating some manner of war between gods and mortals, and then between gods themselves. In some distant future. But I do not understand how that can affect us here and now.”

“My friend,” Rama said gently. “We care about all living beings. Therefore their fate concerns us immensely. What Ravana showed them just now was merely the end of a great drama he has scripted. That was merely the end of the final act. The play itself has already begun and we are all unwitting players in it, whether we know it or not, choose to be or not.”

“Rama speaks truly,” Yama said, stepping forward. Yet somehow, Sita noted, the Lord of Death and Dharma managed to remain in shadow no matter where he moved or how the light fell; his features never entirely visible, his form always slightly blurred and obscure. And though she had spent a while already in his presence, she had no clear image of him in her mind, no visual means of identifying or describing him.

“Ravana is showing them such sights because he wishes to taunt Vishnu and Lakshmi. By showing them the end of humanity itself and the terrible aftermath, he wishes to gloat and to ask the great Preserver how he feels now that he knows that all the myriad species and races he has toiled so hard to protect and preserve for aeons will all be wiped out in one brief and brutal instant. A single day, no more or less. Judgement Day, as he calls it. What is worse, he is showing Vishnu that the genocide of the mortal race – and of all other living beings upon Prithviloka shall be accomplished by the devas themselves, acting in concert. And that will be followed in turn by a war between the devas and gods of other faiths.”

“Other faiths?” Hanuman asked, snout wrinkling.

Rama put a hand on the vanar’s shoulder. “In future times, mortals will not all worship the same gods. Just as our visiting traders from distant lands speak of different gods and goddesses, practise different rituals and beliefs even now, so also in the future, Sanatan Dharma shall not be the only way of life. There shall be entire races and nations of people who shall follow other laws.”

“Other than dharma?” Hanuman said doubtfully, with a distinctly disapproving tone.

“Many roads, one goal,” Sita said. “Eventually, whether they admit it or not, all righteous paths come to the same end.”

Yama nodded. “That is why the same deva is entrusted both with dharma and death. For both are ways to the same end, as Lakshmidevi rightly points out.”

Hanuman still looked doubtful, but did not say anything further about the matter.

Yama went on. “Ravana gloats now because he believes he is torturing Vishnu and Lakshmi by these sights and revelations. And by presenting them with a great dharmic dilemma.”

Sita frowned. “Which is?”