Rama wrinkled his nose and waved a hand at Lakshman. ‘Go back to Ayodhya! I disown you. You can’t be my brother.’
Lakshman pretended to gawp in amazement. ‘I’m not your brother? That explains it all! No wonder you’re always so serious and I’m always trying to make you relax and have a laugh or two. If you were maharaja, you would pass a law against jesting or laughing!’
Rama nodded. ‘Like the law against Jat babies being less than six feet tall at birth.’
Lakshman looked at him.
Rama tried to keep a straight face.
A moment later, they were both laughing hysterically again.
‘Rajkumars?’
Rama struggled to get his laughter under control and looked around. The original subject of his conversation with Lakshman stood before them. Nakhu Deva’s dark eyes scowled suspiciously above his veil, while Janaki Kumar just looked curious, even a bit amused.
The shorter man’s voice reflected his amusement. ‘Are we interrupting something?’
Lakshman managed to stop laughing long enough to say, ‘Just a little debate on the lawful size of babies.’
‘Babies?’ Janaki Kumar’s eyes looked puzzled.
Rama nudged Lakshman in the ribs to make him stop laughing. ‘You must excuse my brother. His head is addled by the sun.’
Janaki Kumar seemed to understand. His eyes twinkled. ‘I see. I do hope he recovers quickly.’
Rama smiled. ‘Was there something you desired, Janaki?’
‘Janaki Kumar, please. I prefer to be called by my full name. Janaki is a very common name. It causes confusion.’
Rama wanted to add that Janaki Kumar was just as common. Instead he said, ‘I apologise that you were unable to speak more fully to our guru. He was keen that we should reach the Shona so we could make camp well before sundown.’
He was referring to the aftermath of the fight in the hills. When they had returned to the procession and briefly outlined what had occurred, Vishwamitra had listened without comment, then had suggested that since the hills were clear of danger for the moment at least, they would take that road rather than the long way around and camp by the River Shona for the night. Rama had wanted to introduce the Kshatriyas to the brahmarishi but Vishwamitra had immediately called the order to march forward again. Rama had told the Kshatriyas he would formally introduce them when they were camped and the sage was more relaxed.
Janaki Kumar didn’t seem to mind the delay. ‘Please don’t apologise, rajkumar. A sage of Brahmarishi Vishwamitra’s stature has more important things on his mind than meeting every passing Kshatriya on the road to Mithila. We just wanted to thank you and your brother once again for aiding us in that fight against the bandits and for inviting us to join your company.’
Rama noted that Lakshman had managed to get his hysterics under control at last. ‘Truth be told, Janaki Kumar, it’s a pleasure to have you with us. My brother and I are so eager for news of Mithila. Perhaps you’ll sit with us awhile and talk with us about your fine capital city.’
Lakshman added with a painstakingly maintained straight face, ‘And your fine rajkumaris Sita and Urmila.’
Rama kicked Lakshman in the shin. Lakshman cocked an eyebrow, then kicked Rama back.
Nakhu Dev looked at them suspiciously. ‘What about Rajkumari Sita?’
Rama shook his head self-deprecatingly. ‘Just a little jest between my brother and me.’
Nakhu Dev scowled at Lakshman. ‘I don’t like jests about my rajkumari.’
‘Your rajkumari?’ Lakshman raised his eyebrows and waggled them. ‘I thought she was the whole kingdom’s rajkumari. Unless Videha has begun allotting princesses to each citizen individually!’
Rama shot Lakshman a warning glance. ‘My brother really doesn’t know when to stop. He means no disrespect by his jests.’
‘That’s all right,’ Janaki Kumar said in an odd tone of voice. Nakhu Dev continued to scowl angrily at both Rama and Lakshman. The giant looked as if he might challenge them to a fight at any second.
Rama looked about for some means to dislodge Lakshman from his childish mood and to change the track of the conversation. The Siddh-ashrama Brahmins had begun to corral their livestock nearby, and the lowing and mooing of the cattle was growing louder and more distracting. He gestured at the riverbed.
‘Shall we walk by the river a short way? We could talk more freely about Mithila and get to know one another better. I am keen to ask you many things about your beautiful city.’
Janaki Kumar’s slender shoulders twitched in a small shrug. ‘As you please, Rajkumar Rama. But I must warn you, I am a simple wandering Kshatriya with no great insight into the affairs of kings and kingdoms. I know nothing of Mithila politics apart from what is generally known.’
‘And what is that?’
They walked downriver slowly, the gravelly sand crunching noisily underfoot. Rama and Janaki Kumar were abreast, with Lakshman and Nakhu Dev behind. A gentle breeze wafted from the west, bringing scents of wildflower and honey. The riverbed wound sharply around a bend, almost turning into its own course before unwinding to the right again. The curve took at least a hundred yards to straighten out and took them out of sight of the main campsite, although the noise from behind remained clearly audible.
Rama broached the conversation with the most innocuous question he could find. ‘So, Janaki Kumar, which part of Videha do you and your companion hail from?’
Janaki Kumar glanced back at his tall companion before replying vaguely, ‘Oh, you know the life of a travelling Kshatriya, rajkumar. We belong to everywhere and nowhere.’
Rama didn’t comment on the answer. He wished they would remove their veils and headcloths. The masking added a layer of inscrutability. Although reading the shorter Kshatriya’s eyes wasn’t that hard a chore: bright, alive, and very attractive to look at, they seemed to be clear indicators of the emotions and thoughts passing through the Kshatriya’s mind.
‘Tell us about Mithila then. What business takes you there? A new assignment perhaps?’
Again that quick exchange of looks between the two, then Janaki Kumar replied, ‘Yes. An assignment.’
‘Whom will your swords serve there?’
Janaki Kumar slipped a finger between his ang-vastra’s neckline and his skin. The cloth was damp with sweat-stains and the unmistakable salt-rings that revealed that the Kshatriya hadn’t changed garb in at least a day or two. He worked the finger around from side to side as if trying to loosen the tight upper garment.
‘Nobody you would know, rajkumar. Just a client.’
‘I know many people in Mithila, Janaki Kumar. By name if not personally. At least not for a few years—it’s been a while since my brothers and I visited your fine capital.’
‘Brothers,’ Janaki Kumar said quickly. ‘Yes, you have two more brothers, do you not? How are the rajkumars Bharat and Shatrugan?’
‘They’re well, thank you. At least they were well when I saw them last nine days past. We look forward to being reunited with them once more, as well as with the rest of our family. So, as I was saying, if you will tell me your new client, it’s quite likely I might know him or her by name.’
‘I sincerely doubt it, rajkumar,’ Janaki Kumar said, deflecting the question once more.
They had reached a point where the side of the riverbed on which they were walking tilted as the river swung into the inward curve. They found themselves walking on the sloping sand-andshale incline that grew more sharply graded by the yard. Janaki Kumar rose steadily to become a head higher than Rama, while Lakshman had the unusual opportunity of equalling the Jat Kshatriya’s formidable elevation. Rama sensed another of Lakshman’s quips coming on and quickly continued before his brother said something else to offend the Kshatriyas.
‘Well, surely your new employer must be someone important if he or she has coin enough to hire two excellent Kshatriyas such as yourselves. Is he a trader or merchant? A keeper of stores perhaps? A grain transporter? A brewer? A goldsmith?’
Janaki Kumar seemed to be growing hotter by the minute. His hands now played with his headcloth’s band, as if it had suddenly grown too tight for comfort. He continued to sweat despite the pleasant breeze blowing downriver. His attention was riveted on negotiating the sloping curve of the bank and he didn’t meet Rama’s eyes, making it even more difficult to read his expression.
‘Nobody of note, rajkumar.’
Lakshman spoke up. ‘They work for the royal court of Mithila.’
Rama glanced back, as surprised as Janaki Kumar, whose eyes blinked rapidly as he looked back at Lakshman.
FOUR
‘W-w-what makes you say that, Rajkumar Lakshman?’ Janaki Kumar asked, faltering slightly.
Lakshman continued breezily, ‘The way you fight. You aren’t just any ordinary travelling Kshatriyas. You two are army-schooled. As part of our training, my brothers and I were made to study every notable fighting style in the Arya nations as well as several major ones from foreign lands. I know the Mithila martial style when I see it.’ He paused before adding with a smile, ‘And I must say, I’ve not seen it executed so well in my life.’
Nakhu Dev spoke unexpectedly. ‘The rajkumar is generous. Both you and Rajkumar Rama fought magnificently as well. I saw you use several different styles. Even some favoured by my clan.’
‘You mean the Jat clan?’ Rama said quickly, seeing his opening at last.
This time Janaki Kumar’s eyes flashed hotly at his companion. Rama actually saw the hulking Kshatriya wince and look down momentarily, as if bowing in apology.
Janaki Kumar answered for both of them. ‘My friend is of Jat origin, yes. But his sword is now in service to Videha.’
‘And Videha’s king?’ Lakshman added quickly.
Janaki Kumar stumbled. It was a steep slope and damp from the last flood-rise, and the Kshatriya was obviously distracted by the conversation. His foot gave way beneath him and he would have tumbled down the side of the bank. His legs flailed for purchase on the slippery pebbled slope. A shower of shale flew out from under his heels, pelting Lakshman’s thighs. Rama reached out quickly and caught the Kshatriya around the waist.
‘Easy, friend.’
Janaki Kumar twisted around angrily. ‘LET ME GO! RELEASE ME AT ONCE, OR I’LL HAVE YOUR HEAD OFF!’
Rama reacted, astonished. He released the man at once. Janaki Kumar, still not stable on his feet, fell promptly on his rear end and slid all the way down the slope. He landed with a splash in a puddle of thick brown river mud, where he sat, stunned.
Lakshman came up to Rama, touching his shoulder. ‘What got into him?’
Nakhu Dev rushed past them both, hurrying down the slope to aid his friend. The man’s sheer size worked against him. His right heel slipped on a mound of smooth river-polished pebbles and shot out at a right angle to his waist. He landed on his rump as well, began to slide, tried to halt himself with his hands, lost his balance and tumbled head over heels. Janaki Kumar was just trying to raise himself from the thick sucking mud when Nakhu Dev landed beside him with an enormous whump, splattering mud outwards in a radius of at least five yards. A few small drops reached Rama and Lakshman as well.
Nakhu Dev swore in guttural Jat dialect. ‘By my mother’s funeral pyre!’
They couldn’t help it. Both princes burst into another paroxysm of helpless laughter.
***
Manthara raked her nails down her own cheeks. Her skin crackled like aged parchment, peeling and hanging loose in ragged strips. There was little flesh on her bony face, but what little was there gaped wound-red. Wetness trickled down her face, dripping slowly on to the chaukat before which she sat. The flame was doused but the metal rim of the chaukat was searing hot, and as her bowed head touched it she smelled the familiar stench of singed hair and burnt skin; it mingled with the aromas of the burnt remains of the Brahmin boy that lay in the chaukat. Her latest victim, procured by Manthara herself on a late-night foray.
She tore her arms and shoulders, ripping whole shreds from her withered body. Her hunched back quivered with the ecstasy of the agony. She ripped, tore, clawed, gouged, until it was impossible to tell her own blood and gristle from that of the sacrificed child. The chaukat and the area around the yagna square was splattered with the evidence of her self-inflicted injuries.
Finally, after several minutes of this torture, the fire blazed up, black as coal and glowing at its heart with a hypnotically compelling image. It was the ten-headed visage of the Lord of Lanka, her master. Her god. Manthara exuded a squeal of ecstatic pleasure and paid obeisance to her deity.
‘Swami, I am blessed to be graced by your divine presence.’
Dispense with the formalities. I have other matters to attend to - and other devotees. Is it done?
‘Yes, my lord. I was able to create a diversion that prevented the guru from reaching the parliament hall in time this morning, thus giving the twice-lifer the time it needed to transfer its aatma to the unconscious body of the maharaja. I extinguished the torches in the hall and relit them only after the transfer was accomplished.’
Not the details, hunchbacked hag. Just the results! Was it done, I asked, not how it was done!