‘Just one more year, Ram,’ said Sita, as the pair walked into the compound of their camp.
‘Yes,’ said Ram. They set down the pole. ‘That’s when our real battle begins.’
Lakshman walked up as he unsheathed a long knife from the scabbard tied horizontally across the small of his back. ‘The two of you can begin your philosophy and strategy discussions while I attend to some womanly chores!’
Sita gently tapped Lakshman on his cheek. ‘Men are also counted among the best chefs in India, so what’s so womanly about cooking? Everyone should be able to cook!’
Lakshman bowed theatrically, laughing. ‘Yeessss, Bhabhi!’
Ram and Sita laughed as well.
‘The sky is beautiful this evening, isn’t it?’ remarked Sita, admiring the handiwork of Dhyauspita, the Sky Father. Ram and Sita lay on the floor outside the main hut.
It was the fifth hour of the third prahar. The chariot of Surya, the Sun God, had left a trail of vivid colours behind as he blazed though the sky. A cool evening breeze blew in from the west, giving respite at the end of an unseasonal, oppressively hot day. The monsoon months had ended, heralding the beginning of winter.
‘Yes,’ smiled Ram, as he reached for her hand, pulled it close to his lips and kissed her fingers, gently.
Sita turned towards Ram and smiled. ‘What’s on your mind, husband?’
‘Very husbandly things, wife…’
A loud clearing of the throat was heard. Sita and Ram looked up to find an amused Lakshman standing before them. They stared at him with mock irritation.
‘What?’ shrugged Lakshman. ‘You’re blocking the entry into the hut. I need my sword. I have to go for a practice session with Atulya.’
Ram shifted to the right and made room for Lakshman. Lakshman walked in. ‘I’ll be gone soon…’
No sooner had he stepped into the hut than he stopped in his tracks. The flock of birds in the cage linked to the alarm had suddenly fluttered noisily. Lakshman whirled around as Ram and Sita sprang to their feet.
‘What was that?’ asked Lakshman.
Ram’s instincts told him that the intruders were not animals.
‘Weapons,’ ordered Ram calmly.
Sita and Lakshman tied their sword scabbards around their waist. Lakshman handed Ram his bow, before picking up his own. The brothers quickly strung their bows. Jatayu and his men rushed in, armed and ready, just as Ram and Lakshman tied quivers full of arrows to their backs. Sita picked up a long spear, as Ram tied his sword scabbard to his waist. They already wore a smaller knife scabbard, tied horizontally across the small of their backs; a weapon they kept on their person at all times.
‘Who could they be?’ asked Jatayu.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ram.
‘Lakshman’s Wall?’ asked Sita.
Lakshman’s Wall was an ingenious defensive feature designed by him to the east of the main hut. It was five feet in height; it covered three sides of a small square completely, leaving the inner side facing the main hut partially open; like a cubicle. The entire structure gave the impression that it was an enclosed kitchen. In actual fact, the cubicle was bare, providing adequate mobility to warriors — though they would have to be on their knees — unseen by enemies on the other side of the wall. A small tandoor, a cooking platform, emerged on the outside from the south-facing wall. Half the enclosure was roof-covered, completing the camouflage of a cooking area; it afforded protection from enemy arrows. The south, east and north-facing walls were drilled with well-spaced holes. These holes were narrow on the inner side and broad on the outer side, giving the impression of ventilation required for cooking. Their actual purpose was to give those on the inside a good view of the approaching enemy, while preventing those on the outside from looking in. The holes could also be used to fire arrows.
Made from mud, it was not strong enough to withstand a sustained assault by a large force. Having said that, it was good enough for defence against small bands sent on assassination bids, which is what Lakshman suspected they would face. Designed by Lakshman, it had been built by everyone in the camp; Makrant had named it ‘Lakshman’s Wall’.
‘Yes,’ said Ram.
Everyone rushed to the wall and crouched low, keeping their weapons ready; they waited.
Lakshman hunched over and peeped through a hole in the south-facing wall. As he strained his eye, he detected a small band of ten people marching into the camp premises, led by a man and a woman.
The man in the lead was of average height and unusually fair-skinned. His reed-thin physique was that of a runner; this man was no warrior. Despite his frail shoulders and thin arms, he walked as if he had boils in his armpits, pretending to accommodate impressive biceps. Like most Indian men, he had long, jet black hair that was tied in a knot at the back of his head. His full beard was neatly-trimmed, interestingly coloured a deep brown. He wore a classic brown dhoti and an angvastram that was a shade lighter. His jewellery was rich but understated: pearl ear studs and a thin, copper bracelet. He looked dishevelled right now, as though he had been on the road for too long, without a change of clothes.
The woman beside him faintly resembled the man, but was bewitching; she was possibly his sister. Almost as short as Urmila, her skin was as white as snow; it should have made her look pale and sickly, instead, she was distractingly beautiful. Her sharp, slightly upturned nose and high cheekbones made her look like a Parihan. Unlike them, though, her hair was blonde, a most unusual colour; every strand of it was in place. Her eyes were magnetic. Perhaps she was the child of Hiranyaloman Mlechchas; fair-skinned, light-eyed and light-haired foreigners who lived half a world away towards the north-west; their violent ways and incomprehensible speech had led to the Indians calling them barbarians. But this lady was no barbarian. Quite the contrary, she was elegant, slim and petite, except for breasts that were disproportionately large for her body. She wore a classic, expensively-dyed purple dhoti, which shone like the waters of the Sarayu. Perhaps it was the legendary silk cloth from the east, one that only the richest could afford. The dhoti was tied fashionably low, exposing her flat tummy and slim, curvaceous waist. Her blouse, also made of silk, was a tiny sliver of cloth, affording a generous view of her cleavage. Her angvastram had deliberately been left hanging loose from a shoulder, instead of across the body. Extravagant jewellery completed the picture of excess. The only incongruity was the knife scabbard tied to her waist. She was a vision to behold.
Ram cast a quick glance at Sita. ‘Who are they?’
Sita shrugged.
‘Lankans,’ whispered Jatayu.
Ram turned to Jatayu, crouching a few feet away. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. The man is Raavan’s younger half-brother Vibhishan, and the woman is his half-sister Shurpanakha.’
‘What are they doing here?’ asked Sita.
Atulya had been observing the approaching party through a hole in the wall. He turned towards Ram. ‘I don’t think they have come to make war. Look…’ He gestured towards the hole.
Everyone looked through the peepholes. A soldier next to Vibhishan held aloft a white flag, the colour of peace. They obviously wanted to parley. The mystery was: what did they want to talk about?
‘Why the hell would Raavan want to speak with us?’ asked Lakshman, ever suspicious.
‘According to my sources, Vibhishan and Shurpanakha don’t always see eye to eye with Raavan,’ said Jatayu. ‘We shouldn’t assume that Raavan has sent them.’
Atulya cut in. ‘Apologies for disagreeing with you, Jatayuji. But I cannot imagine Prince Vibhishan or Princess Shurpanakha having the courage to do something like this on their own. We must assume that they have been sent by Lord Raavan.’
‘Time to stop wondering and start asking some questions,’ said Lakshman. ‘Dada?’
Ram looked through the hole again, and then turned towards his people. ‘We will all step out together. It will stop them from attempting something stupid.’
‘That is wi
se,’ said Jatayu.
‘Come on,’ said Ram, as he stepped out from behind the protective wall with his right hand raised, signifying that he meant no harm. Everyone else followed Ram’s example and trooped out to meet the half-siblings of Raavan.
Vibhishan nervously stopped in his tracks the moment his eyes fell on Ram, Sita, Lakshman, and their soldiers. He looked sideways at his sister, as if uncertain as to the next course of action. But Shurpanakha had eyes only for Ram. She stared at him, unashamedly. A look of recognition flashed across a surprised Vibhishan’s face when he saw Jatayu.
Ram, Lakshman and Sita walked in the lead, with Jatayu and his soldiers following close behind. As the forest-dwellers reached the Lankans, Vibhishan straightened his back, puffed up his chest, and spoke with an air of self-importance. ‘We come in peace, King of Ayodhya.’
‘We want peace as well,’ said Ram, lowering his right hand. His people did the same. He made no comment on the ‘King of Ayodhya’ greeting. ‘What brings you here, Prince of Lanka?’
Vibhishan preened at being recognised. ‘It seems Sapt Sindhuans are not as ignorant of the world as many of us like to imagine.’
Ram smiled politely. Meanwhile, Shurpanakha pulled out a small violet kerchief and covered her nose delicately.
‘Well, even I respect and understand the ways of the Sapt Sindhuans,’ said Vibhishan.
Sita watched Shurpanakha, hawk-eyed, as the lady continued to stare at her husband unabashedly. Up close, it was clear that the magic of Shurpanakha’s eyes lay in their startling colour: bright blue. She almost certainly had some Hiranyaloman Mlechcha blood. Practically nobody, east of Egypt, had blue eyes. She was bathed in fragrant perfume that overpowered the rustic, animal smell of the Panchavati camp; at least for those in her vicinity. Not overpowering enough for her, evidently. She continued to hold the stench of her surroundings at bay, with the kerchief pressed against her nose.
‘Would you like to come inside, to our humble abode?’ asked Ram, gesturing towards the hut.
‘No, thank you, Your Highness,’ said Vibhishan. ‘I’m comfortable here.’
Jatayu’s presence had thrown him off-guard. Vibhishan was unwilling to encounter other surprises that may lay in store for them, within the closed confines of the hut, before they had come to some negotiated terms. He was the brother of the enemy of the Sapt Sindhu, after all. It was safer here, out in the open; for now.
‘All right then,’ said Ram. ‘To what do we owe the honour of a visit from the prince of golden Lanka?’
Shurpanakha spoke in a husky, alluring voice. ‘Handsome one, we come to seek refuge.’
‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Ram, momentarily flummoxed by the allusion to his good looks by a woman he did not know. ‘I don’t think we are capable of helping the relatives of…’
‘Who else can we go to, O Great One?’ asked Vibhishan. ‘We will never be accepted in the Sapt Sindhu because we are Raavan’s siblings. But we also know that there are many in the Sapt Sindhu who will not deny you. My sister and I have suffered Raavan’s brutal oppression for too long. We needed to escape.’
Ram remained silent, contemplative.
‘King of Ayodhya,’ continued Vibhishan, ‘I may be from Lanka but I am, in fact, like one of your own. I honour your ways, follow your path. I’m not like the other Lankans, blinded by Raavan’s immense wealth into following his demonic path. And Shurpanakha is just like me. Don’t you think you have a duty towards us, too?’
Sita cut in. ‘An ancient poet once remarked, “When the axe entered the forest, the trees said to each other: do not worry, the handle in that axe is one of us”.’
Shurpanakha sniggered. ‘So the great descendant of Raghu lets his wife make decisions for him, is it?’
Vibhishan touched Shurpanakha’s hand lightly and she fell silent. ‘Queen Sita,’ said Vibhishan, ‘you will notice that only the handles have come here. The axe-head is in Lanka. We are truly like you. Please help us.’
Shurpanakha turned to Jatayu. It had not escaped her notice that, as usual, every man was gaping intently at her; every man, that is, except Ram and Lakshman. ‘Great Malayaputra, don’t you think it is in your interest to give us refuge? We could tell you more about Lanka than you already know. There will be more gold in it for you.’
Jatayu stiffened. ‘We are the followers of Lord Parshu Ram! We are not interested in gold.’
‘Right…’ said Shurpanakha, sarcastically.
Vibhishan appealed to Lakshman. ‘Wise Lakshman, please convince your brother. I’m sure you will agree with me when I say that we can be of use to you in your fight when you get back.’
‘I could agree with you, Prince of Lanka,’ said Lakshman, smiling, ‘but then we would both be wrong.’
Vibhishan looked down and sighed.
‘Prince Vibhishan,’ said Ram, ‘I am truly sorry but—’
Vibhishan interrupted Ram. ‘Son of Dashrath, remember the battle of Mithila. My brother Raavan is your enemy. He is my enemy as well. Shouldn’t that make you my friend?’
Ram kept quiet.
‘Great King, we have put our lives at risk by escaping from Lanka. Can’t you let us be your guests for a while? We will leave in a few days. Remember what the Taitreya Upanishad says: “Athithi Devo Bhava”. Even the many Smritis say that the strong should protect the weak. All we are asking for is shelter for a few days. Please.’
Sita looked at Ram. A law had been invoked. She knew what was going to happen next. She knew Ram would not turn them away now.
‘Just a few days,’ pleaded Vibhishan. ‘Please.’
Ram touched Vibhishan’s shoulder. ‘You can stay here for a few days; rest for a while, and then continue on your journey.’
Vibhishan folded his hands together into a namaste and said, ‘Glory to the great clan of Raghu.’
‘I think that spoilt princess fancies you,’ said Sita.
Ram and Sita sat alone in their room in the second hour of the fourth prahar, having just finished their evening meal. Shurpanakha had complained bitterly about the food that Sita had cooked that day. Sita had told her to remain hungry if the food was not to her liking.
Ram shook his head, his eyes clearly conveying he thought this was silly. ‘How can she, Sita? She knows I’m married. Why should she find me attractive?’
Sita lay down next to her husband on the bed of hay. ‘You should know that you are more attractive than you realise.’
Ram frowned and laughed. ‘Nonsense.’
Sita laughed as well and put her arms around him.
The guests had been staying in Panchavati with the forest-dwellers for a week now. They had not been troublesome at all, except for the Lankan princess. However, Lakshman and Jatayu remained suspicious of the Lankans. They had disarmed the visitors on the first day itself, and locked up their weapons in the camp armoury. They also maintained a strict but discreet and staggered twenty-four-hour vigil, keeping a constant watch on the guests.
Having stayed awake the previous night with his sword and warning conch shell ready by his side, a tired Lakshman had slept through the morning. He awoke in the afternoon to observe unusual activity in the camp.
As he stepped out of the hut, he came upon Jatayu and the Malayaputras emerging from the armoury with the Lankan weapons. Vibhishan and his party were ready to leave. Having collected their weaponry, they waited for Shurpanakha, who had gone to the Godavari to bathe and get ready. She had requested Sita to accompany her, for help with her clothes and hair. Sita was happy to finally be rid of the troublesome diva whose demands in this simple jungle camp were never-ending. She had readily agreed to this last request.
‘Thank you for all your help, Prince Ram,’ said Vibhishan.
‘It was our pleasure.’
‘And may I request you and your followers to not reveal to anyone where we are headed?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you,’ said Vibhishan, folding his hands into a namaste.
&n
bsp; Ram looked towards the dense forest line, beyond which lay the Godavari. He expected his wife Sita and Vibhishan’s sister Shurpanakha to emerge from that direction any moment now.
Instead, a loud female scream emanated from the forest. Ram and Lakshman cast a quick glance at each other and then moved rapidly in the direction of the sound. They came to a standstill as Sita emerged from the woods, tall, regal but dripping wet and furious. She dragged a struggling Shurpanakha mercilessly by her arm. The Lankan princess’ hands had been securely tied.
Lakshman immediately drew his sword, as did everyone else present. The younger prince of Ayodhya was the first to find his voice. Looking at Vibhishan accusingly, he demanded, ‘What the hell is going on?’
Vibhishan couldn’t take his eyes off the two women. He seemed genuinely shocked for a moment, but quickly gathered his wits and replied. ‘What is your sister-in-law doing to my sister? She is the one who has clearly attacked Shurpanakha.’
‘Stop this drama!’ shouted Lakshman. ‘Bhabhi would not do this unless your sister attacked her first.’
Sita walked into the circle of people and let go of Shurpanakha. The Lankan princess was clearly livid and out of control. Vibhishan immediately rushed to his sister, drew a knife and cut the ropes that bound her. He whispered something into her ear. Lakshman couldn’t be sure what Vibhishan said, but it sounded like ‘Quiet’.
Sita turned to Ram and gestured towards Shurpanakha, as she held out some herbs in the palm of her hand. ‘That pipsqueak Lankan stuffed this in my mouth as she pushed me into the river!’
Ram recognised the herbs. It was normally used to make people unconscious before conducting surgeries. He looked at Vibhishan, his piercing eyes red with anger. ‘What is going on?’
Vibhishan stood up immediately, his manner placatory. ‘There has obviously been some misunderstanding. My sister would never do something like that.’
‘Are you suggesting that I imagined her pushing me into the water?’ asked Sita, aggressively.