‘He said that once the asura armies came north, they would swarm across the land like a plague, laying waste to all in their path. But he and his gang would be spared, for they served the dark lord in their own small way. By slaying the vanars, rksas and kachuas which are the only enemies of Ravana among the animal species. That was why it was important for them to kill as many rksas as possible before the asuras came. Then they would be able to travel as allies with the hordes and join in the sacking and plundering of Ayodhya.
‘He spoke of a jail warder there whom he would torture to death in his own dungeon, and of things he and his gang would do to the female members of the royal family.’
Sita glanced to the right, her eyes meeting Rama’s briefly. Then she looked down, clenching her fist in exactly the same way that Nakhudi had done. ‘It was horrible hearing such things. Nakhudi and I wanted to rush them and cut them down right there and then. But there were too many of them. Then the rksas came by and the bandits attacked and began… began slaughtering them. And we could take no more. We jumped into the fray. And moments later, you appeared.’
She shrugged. ‘The rest you know already. Once again, I am grateful to you for assisting us in our attempt to save the rksas from those vile miscreants. But now that you know who I truly am, you will probably understand why I must leave you as well. It is imperative that Nakhudi and I return to the capital as soon as possible. We must return to Mithila and inform my father of these things I have heard and seen. He must be persuaded to arm the city and prepare for its defence.’
She focused her attention on Rama, her voice reflecting her urgency.
‘More importantly, Rama, Lakshman and you, with the permission of Guru-dev of course, must return to Ayodhya at once. There was no doubt in the bandit leader’s mind that Ayodhya is the primary target of the asura invasion.’
Sita turned back to the brahmarishi, folding her hands, and went on earnestly.
‘Guru-dev, I humbly request you to permit us to leave your company and proceed directly to Mithila. I shall inform my father of your imminent arrival and we shall receive you in Mithila with all due respect and hospitality. But you must allow my companion and I leave to go to the capital with all speed. We cannot afford to take the long diversion to Visala.’
Vishwamitra moved his hand a few inches down the length of his staff, the wildwood rasping against his palm.
‘Rajkumari Sita, your father has raised you well and wisely. You are a young woman of great resourcefulness, intelligence and maturity, and I assume, once you have washed the grime of the road off your face and garbed yourself in more alluring garments, great beauty as well. However, you are mistaken in your assumption. The news you seek to carry home to your father is not only inaccurate and grossly misleading, it is in fact planted in your ear by those very forces that you seek to warn Maharaja Janak against.’
Sita stared at the sage in dismay. ‘Guru-dev?’
Nakhudi swore. Then immediately apologised to the seer. Vishwamitra ignored both the curse and the apology.
He said instead, ‘My good princess, your intentions and efforts were admirable. But you only heard a small part of the full information and deduced the rest from it. It is true that the ultimate goal of the asura invasion is to take Ayodhya. But it is not their first goal!’
Sita stared up at the sage. ‘But maha-dev, if not Ayodhya, then where? What other target could the Lord of Lanka have in mind?’
Vishwamitra’s face darkened as he raised his staff and brought it down once resoundingly on the gravelly riverbed. It made a crunching sound like glass breaking underfoot. Sita glanced down and saw that the small smooth stones of the riverbed had shattered into fragments and splinters beneath the force of the apparently small blow.
‘The main asura army will attack neither Banglar nor Kosala, nor even Gandahar or Kaikeya. While there will be sorties carried out on all the Arya nations, the main thrust of Ravana’s forces will be directed at only one capital city. The asura army will pass through these very lands, across this riverbed on which we now stand.’
The sage lifted his staff and pointed in a north-eastern direction. The blazing intensity of the campfires turned the seven-foot staff into a twenty-yard-long shadow racing across the riverbed to the far bank and the edge of the woods. There it vanished into dense darkness.
The seer’s voice was so quiet, it was almost lost beneath the crackling of the logs in the fires and the renewed chanting of the Brahmins in their camp downriver. Yet every one of them heard his words clearly, and felt the chill they brought to their hearts.
‘The attack will be directed at Mithila.’
TEN
Jatayu was overcome by a great desire to spread its wings and emit the loudest, most ear-shattering screech it was capable of
producing. It was slowly going mad with impatience and frustration. How much longer was it expected to wait like a common lackey or steward-at-table?
Was it not Jatayu, king of vultures, proud descendant of the mighty Garuda himself, creator of all birdkind? Had it not led its black-winged hordes in numerous battles, often providing the decisive advantage that swung the seesaw of victory? Had it not slain over a thousand brave Kshatriyas with its own talons and beak? Had it not dispatched uncounted thousands of other mortals, Brahmins, women, children, and other castemen who dared to oppose its master, the Dark Lord of Lanka?
Even in the cosmic assault on Swarga-lok, the celestial realm of the devas, had it not led the sky attack, swooping down through a barrage of Brahman bolts that decimated more than half its fellows in a few eye-blinks? Had it not personally avenged its felled companions by setting ablaze the towers of the heavenly city, distracting the king of devas Lord Indra long enough for Ravana’s ground troops to gain a vital ingress in the city’s battlements?
Did it not father a thousand thousand fledglings each year, every one devoted from birth to the bloody cause of the king of asuras? And now, on this momentous day, did it not come bearing vital news for Ravana’s many ears? News that the Lord of Lanka himself had commissioned it to seek out? Then why was it kept waiting here in this hall of horrors like a common foot-soldier on dog duty? Not just a few moments but several days had it waited for an audience with its lord and master, precious days in which its valuable news was losing its potency as surely as water leaking from a punctured water-skin.
It started to unfold its leathery wings, sorely tempted to vent its fury in the natural way of its species. It was not the way of the Jatayus and Garudas to be treated thus. To be kept waiting in hallways for audiences. To be ignored and neglected. Creatures of wing, masters of the open sky, a Jatayu was free to roam the world, unfettered and unbound by the puny limitations of mortal limbs. Why should a Jatayu wait when it could simply leap out of a window and soar away?
But there were no windows in the Hall. And the winding corridors down which it had been led by the pair of grunting kumbha-rakshasas—imbeciles! dolts!— had been too labyrinthine. It would never find its way up again to the Roost, the large terrace where the Jatayu forces massed. The Fortress of Lanka was one of the few places that managed to physically intimidate Jatayu. It had no desire to lose its way in these endlessly winding, dark, slime-encrusted corridors and hallways. There were nagas and uragas here, hundreds of thousands of them. And nagas and uragas loved to eat birdfood. Large as he was, ferocious and fierce and renowned as he was, even Jatayu was ultimately mortal. Landlocked, within an enclosed stonewalled structure like this one, confronted by an army of nagas and uragas, even it would succumb eventually.
It shuddered, its powerful shoulder and wing muscles rippling to produce a sound like a thousand pigeons fluttering. No, it decided, its burst of temper subsiding as suddenly as it had simmered. Better to stay here and wait a while longer. No need to go wandering in those unholy places. At least here in the Hall there were others of its kind. And whatever a being’s individual size or strength, there was always more safety in numbers.
Still, it peered unhappily down the dark, pillared length of chamber. It had been kept waiting much too long. And it was hungry. If the Lord of Lanka didn’t take audience with Jatayu soon, it would do something, anything. There came a point when even the king of man-vultures lost patience.
A sound echoed in the depths of the Hall.
Jatayu opened its rheumy yellow eyes, abruptly alert, and scoured the chamber.
That was easier said than done. The Hall of the Fortress of Lanka was no mere assembly chamber. It was vast.
Even if Jatayu were to spread its enormous wings right now, the vulture-king’s twenty-yard wingspan would barely stretch across a quarter of the width of the chamber. And if it flapped its powerful wings and flew upwards, it would not achieve any opposition for well over a hundred yards above its scraggy bald head. In fact, several dozen of its own kin were flying high above even now, small, dark silhouettes as small as bats in the uppermost reaches of the vaulted ceiling. Maybe even hundreds. It was too shadowy in the Hall to see much beyond a few yards clearly.
And, like all else in Lanka, there was something about the architecture that defied close scrutiny or accurate assessment. Jatayu had heard the muttered rumour that the interiors of the Fortress of Lanka changed each night, its stones reshaping themselves to the Lord of Lanka’s wishes, even its chambers, corridors, hallways, alcoves, pillars and beams shifting and reknitting themselves into new patterns like a vast architectural kaleidoscope shaken by a monstrous child. Nobody, not even the oldest residents of Lanka—and there were few enough of those— knew for certain just how or when it happened. But there was no question that it did change. Jatayu itself found the Fortress a little different each time it returned. It was unsettling to say the least.
It had even heard tell that asuras who dared to brood or plot against their lord simply vanished in the depths of night, their entire chambers replaced by spiralling stairwells that led nowhere, or enormous bulkhead walls, as if the beasts had never existed at all. Such individuals were never spoken of again, by tacit unanimity. It made for a cautious and remarkably loyal populace: who would dare speak against the lord of a fortress whose very stones obeyed his every command - perhaps even to the point of eavesdropping on his minions?
And of all the chambers in the Fortress, the Hall was the most intimidating.
Even now, as Jatayu scanned the vast chamber for the source of the strangely unsettling sound, the Hall seemed to defy its attempt to plumb its depths. It stretched out before the vulture-king in an apparently unending succession of pillared arches that extended as far as its keen eyes could discern. A thousand yards? Two thousand? There was no telling for sure, with the far end shrouded in semi-darkness, illuminated only by an occasional flickering torch.
The sound came again, this time from right beside Jatayu. The vulture-king started, its wings starting to flap instinctively, its yard-long talons scrabbling noisily for purchase on the slippery floor that seemed to have not a single level flagstone.
Its anxiety resulted in more noise than the creature that had materialised beside it.
Jatayu screeched in alarm, rearing up to defend itself against the Arya mortal who had appeared out of thin air. The man was clad in the rich garb of a royal house. Gold bracelets adorned his muscular forearms and clasped his taut biceps. Necklaces of solid gold inlaid with precious stones encased his neck. The sound that had attracted Jatayu’s attention had come from the man’s weighty jewellery. His handsome head was adorned by a crown that glittered with fine diamonds, each worth a maharaja’s ransom. His fair skin, muscular form, striking good looks and poised stance marked him out for nobility, certainly a prince from a great house, perhaps even a maharaja.
Jatayu raised its talons, prepared to strike out at the enemy. Its leathery wings had unfurled to almost half their length, looming above the puny two-yard-tall human, dwarfing him. One slash of those black talons and the man’s head would lie severed from its body on the floor of the Hall.
Before Jatayu could strike, the man raised a hand, gold bracelets jangling again, and smiled beatifically.
‘You might not want to raise arms against your lord, Jatayu.’
The voice was that of Ravana, Lord of Lanka.
Jatayu stared, its yellow eyes glaring as fiercely as large bright lamps in the murky dimness of the Hall. Its talons, barely a yard above the human’s head, froze. There was no mistaking that voice: the gravelly, grinding sound of the king of asuras speaking was horrible to hear the first time, and once heard, it was never forgotten.
The man smiled sweetly, his handsome face as cheerful as an Arya prince at a royal feast. ‘Does my appearance surprise you?’
Jatayu lowered its talons slowly, trying to contain the sudden urge to shriek and fly screaming up to the rafters. It sheathed its talons, withdrawing them to a third of their formidable length, and its wings shuddered shut with a sound like a canvas tent collapsing. It slumped lower, reducing its height until its eyes were below the level of the human who spoke with Ravana’s voice.
‘My lord, I did not recognise you in that garb.’
The man raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. ‘Garb? This is more than a garb surely? It’s a human body. A quite real and functional one, I assure you. Not the work of maya.’