‘That he does. But like I said, his ego may get in the way. I hope Guru Vishwamitra can handle it.’
Arishtanemi was astonished that Sita had not uncovered the entire secret of the aid that the Malayaputras provided Raavan. Perhaps, there were some things beyond even the redoubtable Sita’s abilities. But he kept his surprise from showing on his face.
The two weddings were simple sets of rituals, concluded quickly in the afternoon of the day of the swayamvar.
Sita and Ram were alone at last. They sat on floor cushions in the dining hall, their dinner placed on a low stool. It was late in the evening, the sixth hour of the third prahar. Notwithstanding their relationship being sanctified by dharma a few hours earlier, an awkwardness underlined their ignorance of each other’s personalities.
‘Umm,’ said Ram, staring at his plate.
‘Yes, Ram?’ asked Sita. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘I’m sorry, but … the food …’
‘Is it not to your liking?’
‘No, no, it’s good. It’s very good. But …’
Sita looked into Ram’s eyes. I am your wife. You can be honest with me. I haven’t made the food in any case.
But she kept these thoughts in her head and asked, ‘Yes?’
‘It needs a bit of salt.’
Sita was irritated with the Mithila royal cook. Daya! I’d told him that the central Sapt Sindhuans eat more salt than us Easterners!
She pushed her plate aside, rose and clapped her hands. An attendant rushed in. ‘Get some salt for the prince, please.’ As the attendant turned, Sita ordered, ‘Quickly!’
The attendant broke into a run.
Ram cleaned his hand with a napkin as he waited for the salt. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you.’
Sita frowned as she took her seat. ‘I’m your wife, Ram. It’s my duty to take care of you.’
He’s so awkward … and cute …
Ram smiled. ‘Umm, may I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘Tell me something about your childhood.’
‘You mean, before I was adopted? You do know that I was adopted, right?’
‘Yes … I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if it troubles you.’
Sita smiled. ‘No, it doesn’t trouble me, but I don’t remember anything. I was too young when I was found by my adoptive parents.’
Ram nodded.
Will you also judge me by my birth?
Sita answered the question that she thought was on Ram’s mind. ‘So, if you ask me who my birth-parents are, the short answer is that I don’t know. But the one I prefer is that I am a daughter of the earth.’
‘Birth is completely unimportant. It is just a means of entry into this world of action, into this karmabhoomi. Karma is all that matters. And your karma is divine.’
Sita smiled. She was charmed by her husband’s ability to constantly surprise her. Positively surprise her. I can see what Maharishi Vashishtha sees in him. He is special …
Ram was about to say something when the attendant came rushing in with the salt. He added some to his food and resumed eating. The attendant retreated from the room.
‘You were saying something,’ said Sita.
‘Yes,’ said Ram, ‘I think that …’
Ram was interrupted again, this time by the doorkeeper announcing loudly, ‘The chief of the Malayaputras, the Saptrishi Uttradhikari, the protector of the way of the Vishnus, Maharishi Vishwamitra.’
Sita was surprised. Why is Guruji here?
She looked at Ram. He shrugged. He did not know what this visit was about. Ram and Sita rose as Vishwamitra entered the room, followed by Arishtanemi. Sita gestured to her attendant to get some washing bowls for Ram and herself.
‘We have a problem,’ said Vishwamitra, not feeling the need to exchange pleasantries.
Sita cursed under her breath. Raavan …
‘What happened, Guruji?’ asked Ram.
‘Raavan is mobilising for an attack.’
‘But he doesn’t have an army,’ said Ram. ‘What’s he going to do with ten thousand bodyguards? He can’t hold a city of even Mithila’s size with that number. All he’ll achieve is getting his men killed in battle.’
‘Raavan is not a logical man,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘His ego is hurt. He may lose his bodyguard corps, but he will wreak havoc on Mithila.’
Ram looked at his wife.
Sita shook her head with irritation and addressed Vishwamitra. ‘Who in Lord Rudra’s name invited that demon for the swayamvar? I know it was not my father.’
Vishwamitra took a deep breath as his eyes softened. ‘That’s water under the bridge, Sita. The question is, what are we going to do now?’
‘What is your plan, Guruji?’ asked Ram.
‘I have with me some important material that was mined at my ashram by the Ganga. I needed it to conduct a few science experiments at Agastyakootam. This was why I had visited my ashram.’
‘Science experiments?’ asked Ram.
‘Yes, experiments with the daivi astras.’
Sita drew a sharp breath. She knew the power and ferocity of the divine weapons. ‘Guruji, are you suggesting that we use daivi astras?’
Vishwamitra nodded in confirmation. Ram spoke up. ‘But that will destroy Mithila as well.’
‘No, it won’t,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘This is not a traditional daivi astra. What I have is the Asuraastra.’
‘Isn’t that a biological weapon?’ asked Ram. Deeply troubled now.
‘Yes. Poisonous gas and a blast wave from the Asuraastra will incapacitate the Lankans, paralysing them for days on end. We can easily imprison them in that state and end this problem.’
‘Just paralyse, Guruji?’ asked Ram. ‘I have learnt that in large quantities, the Asuraastra can kill as well.’
Vishwamitra knew that only one man could have possibly taught this to Ram. His best friend-turned-foe, Vashishtha. The Chief of the Malayaputras was immediately irritated. ‘Do you have any better ideas?’
Ram fell silent.
Sita looked at Ram and then at Vishwamitra. I know exactly what Guruji is trying to do.
‘But what about Lord Rudra’s law?’ asked Sita, a little aggressively.
It was well known that Lord Rudra, the previous Mahadev, had banned the unauthorised use of daivi astras many centuries ago. Those who broke the law would be punished with banishment for fourteen years, he had decreed. Breaking the law for the second time would be punishable by death.
The Vayuputras would be compelled to enforce the Mahadev’s law.
‘I don’t think that law applies to the use of the Asuraastra,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘It is not a weapon of mass destruction, just mass incapacitation.’
Sita narrowed her eyes. Clearly, she wasn’t convinced. ‘I disagree. A daivi astra is a daivi astra. We cannot use it without the authorisation of the Vayuputras, Lord Rudra’s tribe. I am a Lord Rudra devotee. I will not break his law.’
‘Do you want to surrender, then?’
‘Of course not! We will fight!’
Vishwamitra laughed derisively. ‘Fight, is it? And who, please explain, will fight Raavan’s hordes? The namby-pamby intellectuals of Mithila? What is the plan? Debate the Lankans to death?’
‘We have our police force,’ said Sita, annoyed at this disrespect shown to her force.
‘They’re not trained or equipped to fight the troops of Raavan.’
‘We are not fighting his troops. We are fighting his bodyguard platoons. My police force is enough for them.’
‘They are not. And you know that.’
‘We will not use the daivi astras, Guruji,’ said Sita firmly, her face hardening.
Ram spoke up. ‘Samichi’s police force is not alone. Lakshman and I are here, and so are the Malayaputras. We’re inside the fort, we have the double walls; we have the lake surrounding the city. We can hold Mithila. We can fight.’
Vishwamitra turned to Ram with a sneer. ‘Nonsense! We are vas
tly outnumbered. The double walls …’ He snorted with disgust. ‘It seems clever. But how long do you think it will take a warrior of Raavan’s calibre to figure out a strategy that works around that obstacle?’
‘We will not use the daivi astras, Guruji,’ said Sita, raising her voice. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have a battle to prepare for.’
‘Where is Samichi?’ asked Sita, surprised that the Mithila Chief of Police and Protocol was not in her office.
The sun had already set. Sita was marshalling her forces for an expected attack from Raavan. She did not think the demon king of Lanka would honour the rules of war. It was quite likely that he would attack at night. Time was of the essence.
‘My Lady,’ said an officer. ‘We don’t know where she has gone. She left immediately after your wedding ceremony.’
‘Find her. Tell her to come to the fort walls. The Bees Quarter.’
‘Yes, My Lady.’
‘Right now!’ ordered Sita, clapping her hands. As the officer hurried out, Sita turned to the others. ‘Round up all the officers in the city. Get them to the Bees Quarter. To the inner wall.’
As the policemen rushed out, Sita walked out of her office to meet her personal bodyguards — the Malayaputras embedded in the Mithila police force. She checked to see if they were out of earshot. Then, she whispered to Makrant, a guard she had come to trust. ‘Find Captain Jatayu. Tell him that I want all of you to protect the eastern secret tunnel on our inner wall. He knows where it is. Preferably, find a way to collapse that tunnel.’
‘My Lady, do you expect Raavan to …’
‘Yes, I do,’ interrupted Sita. ‘Block that tunnel. Block it within the hour.’
‘Yes, My Lady.’
‘I cannot do that!’ hissed Samichi, looking around to ascertain that nobody was near.
Akampana, unlike his usual well-groomed self, was dishevelled. The clothes, though expensive, were rumpled. Some of the rings on his fingers were missing. The knife lay precariously in the scabbard, the blood-stained blade partly exposed. Samichi was shocked. This was an Akampana she did not know. Crazed and violent.
‘You must do as ordered,’ growled Akampana softly.
Samichi glared angrily at the ground. She knew she had no choice. Because of what had happened all those years ago …
‘Princess Sita cannot be hurt.’
‘You are in no position to make demands.’
‘Princess Sita cannot be hurt!’ snarled Samichi. ‘Promise me!’
Akampana held his fists tight. His fury at breaking point.
‘Promise me!’
Despite his anger, Akampana knew they needed Samichi if they were to succeed. He nodded.
Samichi turned and hurried off.
Chapter 23
It was late at night; the fourth hour of the fourth prahar. Ram and Sita had been joined by Lakshman and Samichi on top of the Bees Quarter, close to the inner wall edge. The entire Bees Quarter complex had been evacuated as a precautionary step. The pontoon bridge that spanned the moat-lake had been destroyed.
Mithila had a force of four thousand policemen and policewomen. Enough to maintain law and order for the hundred thousand citizens of the small kingdom. But against the Lankans, they were outnumbered five to two. Would they be able to thwart an attack from the Lankan bodyguards of Raavan?
Sita believed they could. A cornered animal fights back ferociously. The Mithilans were not fighting for conquest. Or wealth. Or ego. They were fighting for their lives. Fighting to save their city from annihilation. And this was not a traditional war being fought on open ground. The Mithilans were behind defensive walls; double walls in fact; a war-battlement innovation that had rarely been tried in other forts in the recent past. The Lankan generals were unlikely to have war-gamed this scenario. A lower ratio of soldiers was not such a huge disadvantage with this factor thrown in.
Ram and Sita had abandoned efforts to secure the outer wall. They wanted Raavan and his soldiers to scale it and launch an assault on the inner wall; the Lankans would, then, be trapped between the two walls, which the Mithilan arrows would convert into a killing field. They expected a volley of arrows from the other side too. In preparation for which the police had been asked to carry their wooden shields, normally used for crowd control within Mithila. Lakshman had quickly taught them some basic manoeuvres to protect themselves from the arrows.
‘Where are the Malayaputras?’ asked Lakshman.
Sita looked around, but did not answer. She knew the Malayaputras would not abandon her. She hoped they were carrying out last-minute parleys, laced with adequate threats and bribes, to convince the Lankans to back off.
Ram whispered to Lakshman, ‘I think it’s just us.’
Lakshman shook his head and spat, saying loudly, ‘Cowards.’
Sita did not respond. She had learnt in the last few days that Lakshman was quite hot-headed. And she needed his short temper in the battle that was to follow.
‘Look!’ said Samichi.
Sita and Lakshman turned in the direction that Samichi had pointed.
Torches lined the other side of the moat-lake that surrounded the outer wall of Mithila. Raavan’s bodyguards had worked feverishly through the evening, chopping down trees from the forest and building rowboats to carry them across the lake.
Even as they watched, the Lankans began to push their boats into the moat-lake. The assault on Mithila was being launched.
‘It’s time,’ said Sita.
‘Yes,’ said Ram. ‘We have maybe another half hour before they hit our outer wall.’
Conch shells resounded through the night, by now recognised as the signature sound of Raavan and his men. As they watched in the light of the flickering flames of torches, the Lankans propped giant ladders against the outer walls of Mithila.
‘They are here,’ said Ram.
Sita turned to her messenger and nodded.
Messages were relayed quickly down the line to the Mithila police-soldiers. Sita expected a shower of arrows from Raavan’s archers. The Lankans would fire their arrows only as long as their soldiers were outside the outer wall. The shooting would stop the moment the Lankans climbed over. The archers would not risk hitting their own men.
A loud whoosh heralded the release of the arrows.
‘Shields!’ shouted Sita.
The Mithilans immediately raised their shields. Ready for the Lankan arrows that were about to rain down on them.
Sita’s instincts kicked in. Something’s wrong with the sound. It’s too strong even for thousands of arrows. Something much larger has been fired.
Hiding behind her shield, she looked at Ram. She sensed that he too was troubled.
Their instincts were right.
Huge missiles rammed through the Mithilan defences with massive force. Desperate cries of agony along with sickening thuds were heard as shields were ripped through. Many in the Mithilan ranks were brought down in a flash.
‘What is that?’ screamed Lakshman, hiding behind his shield.
Sita saw Ram’s wooden shield snap into two pieces as a missile tore through it like a hot knife through butter. It missed him by a hair’s breadth.
Spears!
Their wooden shields were a protection against arrows, not large spears.
How can spears be flung to this distance?!
The first volley was over. Sita knew they had but a few moments before the next one. She lowered her shield and looked around, just as Ram did.
She heard Ram exclaim, ‘Lord Rudra, be merciful …’
The destruction was severe. At least a quarter of the Mithilans were either dead or heavily injured, impaled on massive spears that had brutally ripped through their shields and bodies.
Ram looked at Sita. ‘Another volley will be fired any moment! Into the houses!’
‘Into the houses!’ shouted Sita.
‘Into the houses!’ repeated the lieutenants, as everybody ran towards the doors, lifted them, and jumped in. It was a most d
isorganised retreat, but it was effective. In a few minutes, practically every surviving Mithilan police soldier had jumped to safety within the houses. As the doors closed, the volley of spears resumed on the roofs of the Bees Quarter. A few stragglers were killed as the rest made it to safety; for now.
As soon as they were secure within a house, Ram pulled Sita aside. Lakshman and Samichi followed. Samichi looked ashen-faced and nervous as she stood behind her princess, helplessly rubbing her forehead.
Sita was breathing hard, her eyes flitting like that of a cornered tigress, anger bursting through every pore.
‘What now?’ Ram asked Sita. ‘Raavan’s soldiers must be scaling the outer walls. They will be upon us soon. There’s no one to stop them.’
Sita had run out of ideas. She felt helpless. And livid. Dammit!
‘Sita?’ prompted Ram.
Sita’s eyes suddenly opened wide. ‘The windows!’
‘What?’ asked Samichi, surprised by her prime minister.
Sita immediately gathered her lieutenants around her. She ordered that the wood-panel seals on the windows of the houses be broken open; the ones that shared the inner fort wall.
The Bees Quarter windows overlooked the ground between the two fort walls. Sita had found her vantage point. Arrows would be fired at the charging Lankans, after all.
‘Brilliant!’ shouted Lakshman, as he rushed to a barricaded window. He pulled back his arm, flexed his muscles, and punched hard at the wood. Smashing the barricade with one mighty blow.
All the houses in this section of the Bees Quarter were internally connected through corridors. The message travelled rapidly. Within moments, the Mithilans smashed open the sealed windows and began firing arrows. The Lankans were caught between the outer and inner wall. They had expected no resistance. Caught off guard, the arrows shredded through their lines. The losses were heavy.
The Mithilans fired arrows without respite, killing as many of the Lankans as they could. Slowing the charge dramatically. Suddenly, the conch shells sounded; this time it was a different tune. The Lankans immediately turned and ran, retreating as rapidly as they had arrived.
A loud cheer went up from the Mithilan quarters. They had beaten back the first attack.