The short one’s whispered instructions seemed to pacify the taller Kshatriya slightly. His eyes continued to glare angrily at Bejoo from above the veil but he lowered his sword, deferring to his shorter companion.
The short one nodded perfunctorily at Rama and Lakshman, then at Bejoo, speaking gruffly.
‘My name is Janaki Kumar and this is my close companion Nakhu Dev. We are travelling Kshatriyas currently between employers. We heard the sounds of the bears howling and tracked the sounds. When we saw the bandits slaughtering the innocent animals, we felt compelled to help. We were in the process of dealing with them when you arrived.’
Bejoo waited for a moment, then realised that was the end of the man’s explanation. ‘Is that all you wish to say, Kshatriya? No thank you to the rajkumars for having saved your life?’
‘Saved our lives?’ said the tall one, eyes flashing again. ‘What do we look like to you? Boys in need of daiimaas to protect us? Those bandit vermin were not fit to wet our swords. I could have handled all of them alone if I’d had to!’
Bejoo was needled by the man’s tone and words. ‘You were hopelessly outnumbered, man! Those bandits would have cut you down in another eye-blink if we had not arrived when we did. At least have the humility to admit when you’re in over your head! There’s no shame in admitting you’re outmatched.’
The tall mercenary raised his sword again, shaking it threateningly at Bejoo. ‘Outmatched is a word that you must be familiar with, Vajra! It’s not a word in our speech. A single Jat Kshatriya would have been sufficient to deal with that entire band of forest scum! Look to your own sword when admitting
humility. I saw how you sat your horse and issued hand signals to your riders while the two rajkumars here did all the real work. You don’t deserve to draw your coin this month! Your masters did all your work for you!’
Bejoo leapt off his horse and strode towards the mercenary. Dismounted, he was a good two feet below the man’s eye level. He didn’t care. He raised his sword in the two-handed grip he favoured, nodding his head at the same time to order his men to stay back.
‘Put your sword where your fat mouth is. I won’t have my courage questioned by cheap hire-by-the-day mercenaries like you! You want me off my horse? Here I am now. My men will not interfere. This is between you and me. Let’s see if you can fight as well as you can boast now!’ ‘ENOUGH!’
The voice cut through the bristling tension, startling the scavenger birds that had begun to gather on the treetops above, scenting the sweet odour of dead flesh. A horse whinnied.
Rama strode forward, inserting himself directly between the towering Kshatriya and the Vajra captain before either could make another move. He had sheathed his sword and was barehanded. He held up his arms, facing the captain, leaving his back exposed and vulnerable to the tall Kshatriya, whose sword was still drawn and raised.
‘Captain Bejoo, in the name of my father Maharaja Dasaratha, your supreme commander and sovereign liege, I order you to sheathe your sword at once. I will not tolerate any more needless fighting. Instead of bartering words with your fellow warriors, you would do better to send your men after those escaping bandits. They can’t have got far and your riders might yet catch up with them. I want that leader arrested and taken back to Ayodhya to stand trial. Do you hear and understand me?’
Bejoo backed away at once, lowering his weapon and sheathing it as he bowed to his prince.
‘Yes, Rajkumar Rama.’ He gestured to Sona Chita, his acting lieutenant. ‘You heard the rajkumar! Send half your men after the escapees. The rest of you scour the woods immediately around us and make sure that the area is clear of danger. Move!’
The Vajra riders responded at once, galloping away to carry out their captain’s orders.
Bejoo turned back to Rama. ‘Forgive me, rajkumar. My sincere apologies for that unnecessary delay. I meant to give that order as soon as the fighting ended. It was this hulking dolt who distracted me with his egoistic boasts!’
Bejoo glared angrily over Rama’s shoulder at the tall Kshatriya. ‘Truth be told, I would not be surprised if he was aligned with those forest vermin and was deliberately delaying us from chasing after them!’
The tall Kshatriya raised his left fist, clenching it hard enough that the crunching knuckles sounded like an axeblade being driven into a tree trunk. ‘Vajra! Heed your words! I respect the rajkumar’s fighting prowess and lion-courage too much to raise my sword before him. But if the devas give me another chance, I shall slice you into small strips and feed you your own meat through every one of your nine orifices!’
Rama raised a hand, turning slowly to face the large Kshatriya. ‘Conserve your strength, giant-heart. Nobody questions your ability or valour. I saw you fight. And had my brother and I not arrived here, I have no doubt that your sword alone would have been sufficient to send every last bandit to the arms of Yamaraj. Accept my admiration and my hand in friendship, and let us not fight any more, either in speech or in deed. Agreed?’
The Kshatriya named Nakhu glared down at Rama’s outstretched hand. His eyes lost some of their gloss of anger and softened. He nodded slowly, and held out his own right hand, gripping Rama’s tightly. Then he leaned forward and embraced Rama with fierce strength, clapping him on the back hard enough to raise an echo from the woods.
‘Prince of Ayodhya, you fight like a legend reborn,’ he said gruffly.
‘And you like a legend waiting to be born,’ Rama replied, clapping the Kshatriya’s back just as resoundingly.
The tension broken, all of them looked around the clearing, assessing the aftermath of the short but brutally violent conflict.
The shorter Kshatriya, the one named Janaki Kumar, looked around at the fallen rksas. He shook his head sadly. ‘What did they do to deserve this? Those butchers slew them neither for need nor greed.’
Lakshman came forward and stood by him. ‘What do you mean? Surely they meant to fleece their skins and valuable parts? Why else would they kill bears?’
Janaki Kumar shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But when we came upon the lot of them, all surrounding that poor brave female and her brood, the leader, that horribly scarred man, he was ordering them to kill every last one.’
Rama joined them, looking down at the savagely gashed corpse of a large brown rksa. ‘Our new friend is right, Lakshman. If they meant to skin these beasts, they would have been more cautious about how they killed them. Look at these wounds. This fleece would not fetch half the price with these slashes and rents. No, I think the one named Bear-face has some old enmity with them. Probably something to do with his own wounds.’
Janaki Kumar nodded sadly. ‘I think Rajkumar Rama has the truth of it. This was meant to be a slaughter, not a capture. Those cubs alone would fetch good prices at any carnival or pit-fight. They would have been using nets and ropes, not weapons and violence.’
Rama turned to look at the shorter Kshatriya. The man’s eyes were a deep soft brown, betraying his intense sensitivity and intelligence. He reached out a hand of greeting.
‘Well met, Janaki Kumar. It is good to come across a fellow Kshatriya who abhors needless bloodletting as much as we do.’
Janaki Kumar took his hand, gripping it firmly. Rama clapped the man on the back as hard as he had done with Nakhu Dev. Janaki lurched forward, then recovered and returned the gesture less enthusiastically.
‘I would not take you for a believer in peace, Rajkumar Rama,’ he said sourly. ‘Not after watching how you butchered those bandits.’
Rama shrugged. ‘It was unavoidable. I made every attempt to talk them out of fighting. You saw how belligerent their leader was. He would not listen to reason—’
Bejoo interrupted. ‘If you ask me, we should have cornered and killed every last one of them. Rid the earth of that scum.’
Nakhu Dev slapped the Vajra captain on the back, using more force than was necessary for the simple gesture. ‘I second the Vajra Kshatriya on that point. Even one bandit is one too many!’
Bejoo glared angrily at the Jat. He was about to say something when the sound of returning horses distracted his attention. The Vajra riders he had sent to scour the immediate area rode up, their leader saluting his captain.
‘Bejoo,’ he said, using the totem name as was customary for all Vajra Kshatriyas, ‘the area is clear of all danger. We had sight of the bear and her cubs, heading northwards. Do you wish us to chase them down?’
‘No, you fool,’ Bejoo snapped irritably. His back still smarted from the Jat’s casual slap. ‘Let the bears wander where they will, this is their land.’
A moment later, Sona Chita came riding up as well, his face flushed and red with disappointment. ‘A thousand times shama, Bejoo. We found tracks leading to a hole in the ground not far from here. I believe it leads into a tunnel that in turn connects with a grotto of caves within the hills. The bandits seem to have escaped into there. We would have to leave our horses to follow them and if it is one of those labyrinthine mazes, we could be a long while chasing them. What are your orders?’
Bejoo cursed and turned to Rama. ‘Rajkumar, on your command, I can dispatch half my riders to pursue the bandits down the tunnels. The rest of us can continue our journey.’
Rama thought for a moment, a frown creasing his handsome face. ‘No, Captain. They must know those tunnels and caves like the back of their hand. This is their territory. Your men would probably find them eventually, but if there are other bandits in those caves, we would only lose more good Kshatriyas. Call off the search and let us all return to the procession. I must speak with Brahmarishi Vishwamitra about these events.’
Janaki Kumar exchanged an uneasy glance with his partner. Bejoo caught the glance and wondered what it meant. He still had his suspicions about these two. Rajkumar Rama had accepted their word and taken them at face value, but had Bejoo been in charge here, he would have liked to question them a while longer—at the tip of a sword preferably.
‘Rajkumar Rama,’ Janaki Kumar said, ‘in that case we shall take our leave and proceed on our way as well. The hour grows late and we have already been delayed much by this unhappy event.’
Rama nodded, looking distracted. He was still unhappy about not catching the bandit leader, Bejoo guessed.
‘Very well, Kshatriyas. Well met then. Safe journey.’
They returned his wishes and were about to go—with a distinct look of relief on the shorter one’s face, Bejoo noted— when Rama thought of something else and turned back.
‘Oh, by the way, friend,’ he called out. ‘Where exactly are you headed?’
Janaki Kumar called back, ‘Nowhere near your fine city, prince of Ayodhya. Our road takes us the other way entirely. We go to Mithila.’
Rama looked at his brother Lakshman, then at Bejoo, then back again at the Kshatriyas.
‘That is our destination too,’ he said to the black-clad warriors. ‘And if you are headed there as well, then you must accompany us.’
Bejoo had to make an effort not to curse aloud—not at Rama’s words but at the thought of enduring the arrogant tall Kshatriya’s company a moment longer. But he couldn’t protest. His prince had already extended the invitation, and from the look on the face of the shorter Kshatriya, it had been accepted.
TWENTY-TWO
Dasaratha was fighting for his life. The Vajra lieutenant’s newly grown talons were gripping his throat in a vice, slowly choking
the life out of him. Dasaratha struggled with all the meagre strength he had left. His legs kicked weakly out at his attacker, his arms flailing and beating the man’s sides and chest. It was no use. The very suddenness of the assault had robbed him off the little strength he still had. The man was clearly possessed by some supernatural force. His eyes were glowing red as rubies. His head bulged at the sides, almost seeming to expand horizontally.
As Dasaratha gazed up through rapidly blurring vision, he realised with another shock that the man’s head wasn’t expanding, it was multiplying. Out of each of his ears something was emerging. As each lump of shapeless flesh emerged, it grew instantly larger, puffing up like an obscene balloon of flesh and cartilage and bone, to become a whole head as large as the man’s original one. Now, Dasaratha saw with dazed horror, the man had three heads. Out of the ears of the two new heads, two more emerged. Now he had five heads, then seven, then nine.
And then, out of the one on the extreme left, one last head emerged, its mouth working soundlessly, like a newborn baby trying to scream its birth-pains. And to Dasaratha’s stunned surprise, the crushing hold on his throat was released and he fell back on the sunwood throne, gasping and choking and retching for breath, precious breath.
The man stepped back a yard, just enough to allow all ten of his heads a clear view of the maharaja of Kosala.
‘Aja-putra! We meet again!’
Dasaratha struggled to retain consciousness, fighting the waves of blackness and nausea that surged through his beleaguered senses. He could feel the parliament hall reeling and spinning madly, like the sky seen from one of the carousels he had ridden as a boy, astride a horse yoked to a central pole, a dozen boys and girls like himself riding round and round, clapping and laughing and singing. He could even see his father Aja standing by, watching carefully, ready to leap to the rescue if little Dasa should lose his balance. There were daiimaas and helpers all around the carousel, but it had taken Aja a lifetime to see a son born to his name, and little Dasa was more precious than a thousand thrones.