Vashishta walked in with deliberate, slow-paced footsteps. ‘Bharat, Lakshman, your elder brother is right. The law must be respected and obeyed, whatever the circumstances.’
‘And what about the promise we made to Roshni, Guruji? Doesn’t that count?’ asked Bharat. ‘We gave our word that we would protect her. We had a duty towards her too, and we failed in that. Now, we must avenge her.’
‘Your word is not above the law.’
‘Guruji, the descendants of Raghu never break their word,’ said Bharat, repeating an ancient family code.
‘If your word of honour is in conflict with the law, then you must break your word and take dishonour upon your name,’ said Vashishta. ‘That is dharma.’
‘Guruji!’ shouted Lakshman, on the brink of losing all semblance of propriety and control.
‘Look at this!’ said Vashishta, as he walked up to Ram, tore his archer’s band off and raised his arm for all to see. Ram tried to pull it away but Vashishta held firm.
Bharat and Lakshman were shocked. Ram’s right inner arm was badly burnt. The skin around the wound was charred and discoloured.
‘He has been doing this again and again, every single day, ever since the judge announced that Dhenuka will escape death on a legal technicality,’ said Vashishta. ‘I have been trying to get him to stop. But this is his way of punishing himself for having broken his word to Roshni. However, he will not break the law.’
Ram did not attend the execution of the seven rapists.
The judges, in their anger at not being able to put the main accused to death, had, in an act of judicial overreach, prescribed in detail the manner of punishment to be meted out to the seven other accused. Ram’s new law on execution had laid out a quick procedure: to be hanged by the neck till the person is dead. Furthermore, he had decreed that the execution be carried out in a designated area of the prison premises, the clause ending with giving the judge discretion in matters of procedure. Using this clause, the fuming judges had pronounced a detailed, exceptional procedure for the execution: that it would be carried out in public, that they would be made to bleed to death, and that it would be as painful as can be; they justified their impropriety by asserting that it would serve as a lesson for all time to come. In private they argued that this would also allow people to adequately give vent to their righteous rage. The police had no choice but to obey the ruling.
The execution platform was constructed outside the city walls, built to a height of four feet to enable an adequate view from even a distance. Thousands gathered outside the city walls from early morning to witness the spectacle. Many were armed with eggs and rotten fruit, to be used as missiles.
An angry roar erupted from the crowds as the seven convicts were led out of the mobile prison carts that they had been transported in. It was clear from the injuries on their body that they had already been beaten mercilessly in the prison; despite his best efforts, Ram had not been able to control the moral outrage of not only the prison guards, but also the other prisoners. Without exception, they had all been the recipients, in some form or the other, of Roshni’s benevolence. The desire for retribution was strong.
The criminals walked up the steps of the platform. They were first led to wooden pillories erected on a post, with holes where the head and hands were inserted, exposed to the people for ritual public abuse. Having secured the prisoners, the guards marched off the platform.
That was the cue for the crowd. Missiles began to fly with unerring accuracy, accompanied by vehement cursing and spitting. At this distance, even eggs and fruit drew blood, causing tremendous pain. The crowd had been strictly forbidden from hurling any sharp objects or big stones. No one wanted the convicts to die too quickly. They had to suffer. They had to pay.
This lasted for almost a half hour. The executioner finally called the mass attack to an end when the people began to slow down, probably with exhaustion. He stepped onto the platform and walked up to the first convict, whose wild eyes were frantic with terror. With the help of two assistants, he stretched the convict’s legs to the maximum, making him almost choke on the pillory. Then the executioner picked up a large nail and an ironsmith’s hammer from the floor, with slow, deliberate movements. As his assistants held the splayed legs apart, the executioner calmly nailed the foot into the wooden platform, hammering with rhythmic precision. The convict screamed desperately as the crowd roared its approval. The executioner carefully examined his handiwork before giving it a few more hits. He stepped back with satisfaction. The convict had just about stopped shrieking in agony when the executioner walked up to his other leg.
He then repeated the horror, one by one, with each of the six other miserable convicts, nailing their feet to the wooden platform. The crowd was delirious and roared with each desperate cry of pain that the criminals let out. When finally finished, the executioner moved to the edge of the platform and waved at the crowd as it cheered him on.
He walked up to the first convict he had nailed. The criminal had fainted by now. Some medicine was forced down his throat and he was slapped till he was awake once again.
‘You need to be awake to enjoy this,’ hissed the executioner.
‘Kill … me,’ pleaded the convict. ‘Please … mercy…’
The executioner’s face turned to stone. Roshni had helped deliver his baby girl four months back; all she had accepted in return was a meal in his humble abode. ‘Did you have mercy on Lady Roshni, you son of a rabid dog?’
‘Sorry … sorry … please … kill me.’ The criminal burst into tears.
The executioner walked away nonchalantly.
After three hours of brutal, public torture, the executioner pulled out a small, sharp knife from a scabbard tied to his waist. He loosened the pillory hold on the first convict’s right hand and pulled the arm farther out. He examined the wrist closely; he needed to pick the right artery, one that would not bleed out too quickly. He smiled as he found one.
‘Perfect,’ said the executioner, as he brought his knife close and cut delicately, letting the blood spurt out in small bursts. The convict groaned in agony. Death was at least a painful couple of hours away. The executioner moved quickly, slitting the same artery on the wrists of the remaining criminals. The crowd roared and hurled obscenities each time the knife cut.
The executioner gestured to the crowd that he was done for the day, before stepping down from the platform. They began hurling missiles again, only to be interrupted periodically by an official who would check on the flow of blood. It took two-and-a half more hours for the last of the criminals to finally die, all having suffered a slow and painful death that would scar their soul for many rebirths.
As the criminals were declared dead, the crowd roared loudly: ‘Glory to Lady Roshni!’
Manthara sat hunched on an elevated chair, close to the platform. Her eyes still blazed with hatred and fury. She had no doubt the executioner would have tortured the monsters of his own accord; her Roshni was so well loved. Notwithstanding that, she had paid him handsomely to not hold back on the brutality of the execution. She had barely blinked throughout the long and tortuous proceeding, keenly observing each twitch of pain that they had been made to suffer. It was over now, and yet, there was no sense of release, no satisfaction. Her heart had turned to stone.
She clutched an urn close to her chest as she sat. It contained her Roshni’s ashes. She looked down as a tear slipped from one eye. It fell on the urn. ‘I promise you my child, even the last one will be made to pay for what he did to you. Dhenuka too will face the wrath of justice.’
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Chapter 14
FlyLeaf.ORG
‘This is barbaric,’ said Ram. ‘It is against everything Roshni stood for.’
Ram and Vashishta were in the prince’s private office.
‘Why is it barbaric?’ asked Vashishta. ‘Do you think the rapists should not have been killed?’
‘They should have been executed. That is the law. But the way
it was done … at least judges should not give in to anger. It was savage, violent and inhumane.’
‘Really? Is there such a thing as humane killing?’
‘Are you justifying this behaviour, Guruji?’
‘Tell me, will rapists and murderers be terrified of breaking the law now?’
Ram was forced to concede. ‘Yes…’
‘Then, the punishment has served its purpose.’
‘But Roshni wouldn’t have…’
‘There is a school of thought which states that brute force can only be met with equal brute force. One fights fire with fire, Ram.’
‘But Roshni would have said that an eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.’
‘There is virtue in non-violence, no doubt, but only when you’re not living in the Age of Kshatriya, of violence. If in the Age of Kshatriya, you are among the very few who believe that “an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind”, while everyone else believes otherwise, then you will be the one who is blinded. Universal principles too need to adjust themselves to a changing universe.’
Ram shook his head. ‘Sometimes I wonder if my people are even worth fighting for.’
‘A real leader doesn’t choose to lead only the deserving. He will, instead, inspire his people into becoming the best that they are capable of. A real leader will not defend a monster, but convert that demon into a God; tap into the God that dwells within even him. He takes upon himself the burden of dharma sankat, but he ensures that his people become better human beings.’
‘You are contradicting yourself, Guruji. Was this brutal punishment justified, in that case?’
‘According to me, no. But society is not made up of people like you and me. There are all kinds of people with all shades of opinion. A good ruler must prod his people gently in the direction of dharma, which lies in the centre, in balance. If there is too much anger in society, leading to chaos and disruptive violence, then the leader needs to move it towards stability and calm. If, on the other hand, a society is passive and uncomplaining, then the leader needs to incite active participation and outrage, even anger, among the people. Every emotion in the universe exists for a purpose; nothing is superfluous in nature’s design. Every emotion also has an opposite: like anger and calm. Society ultimately needs balance. But is this display of anger towards Roshni’s rapists and murderers the answer to injustice? Maybe, maybe not. We will know for sure in a few decades. For now, it serves as a pressure-release mechanism.’
Ram looked out of the window, deeply unsettled.
Vashishta knew he couldn’t afford any further delay. He didn’t have much time on his hands. ‘Ram, listen to me.’
‘Yes, Guruji,’ said Ram.
‘Someone is on his way here, he’s coming for you. He’s a great man, and he’s going to take you away. I cannot stop it. It is beyond me.’
‘Who is this—’
Vashishta cut in. ‘I assure you, you will not be in danger. But you may be told things about me. I want you to remember that you are like my son. I want to see you fulfil your swadharma, your true purpose. My actions have been defined by that goal.’
‘Guruji, I don’t understand what…’
‘Do not believe what you hear about me. You are like my son. That is all I will say for now.’
A confused Ram folded his hands together into a namaste. ‘Yes, Guruji.’
‘Manthara, please understand, I can do nothing,’ said Kaikeyi. ‘It is the law.’
Manthara had not wasted any time in seeking an audience with Ayodhya’s second queen. Kaikeyi had a determined visitor early the next morning. The queen continued with her breakfast, Manthara having refused the repast; all she sought was her personal brand of justice. But Kaikeyi would never admit to anyone that she had little influence over Dashrath now, much less on Ram. She resorted to blaming the law. To the proud, the pretence of noble compliance is better than admittance of failure.
But Manthara would not be denied. She was aware that Dhenuka was incarcerated in a high-security prison within the city. She also knew that only a member of the royal family could pull off what she had in mind. ‘My Lady, I have enough money to buy every nobleman in the kingdom. You know that. It will all be put at your disposal. I promise.’
Kaikeyi’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that with Manthara’s immense resources on her side, she might even be able to force Bharat onto the throne. She was careful to remain non-committal. ‘Thank you for the promise. But it is a promise for tomorrow. And, who has seen tomorrow?’
Manthara reached into the folds of her angvastram and pulled out a hundi, a document bearing her official seal. It promised to honour the debt of a stated sum of money. Kaikeyi was keenly aware that what she was receiving was, for all practical purposes, cash. Anyone in the Sapt Sindhu would give her money against a hundi signed by Manthara; her reputation in such matters was unquestionable. Kaikeyi accepted the hundi and scanned it quickly as she did so. The queen was shocked. The staggering amount that was neatly inscribed in the document was the equivalent of more than ten years of Ayodhya’s royal revenue. In a flash, she had made Kaikeyi richer than the king! The extent of this woman’s fabulous wealth was beyond even the queen’s imagination.
‘I understand that encashing a hundi of this large an amount of money might prove difficult for most merchants, My Lady,’ said Manthara. ‘Whenever you need the money, I will reimburse this hundi myself and pay the amount in gold coins.’
Kaikeyi was well aware of another exemplary law: refusal to honour a hundi led to many years of imprisonment in a debtor’s prison.
Manthara drove her advantage home. ‘I have a lot more where this came from. It is all at your disposal.’
Kaikeyi held the hundi tight. She knew that it was her ticket to realising all her dreams for her son; ones that had started looking distant due to recent events.
Manthara struggled out of her chair, hobbled to Kaikeyi, and leaned over as she hissed, ‘I want him to suffer. I want him to suffer as much as he made my daughter suffer. I am not interested in a speedy death.’
Kaikeyi gripped Manthara’s hands firmly. ‘I swear by the great Lord Indra, that monster shall know what justice means.’
Manthara stared at the queen in stony silence. Her body quivered with cold rage.
‘He will suffer,’ promised Kaikeyi. ‘Roshni will be avenged. That is the word of the queen of Ayodhya.’
‘Maa, believe me, I would love to kill that monster with my bare hands,’ said Bharat, earnestly. ‘I know I would be serving the cause of justice if I were to do so. But Ram Dada’s new law forbids it.’
Kaikeyi had left for Bharat’s quarters as soon as Manthara exited the palace. She knew exactly what she had to do, and how to go about it. Appealing to her son’s ambition would be a waste of time; he was more loyal to his half-brother than he was to his own mother. She had to appeal to his sense of justice, his righteous anger, his love for Roshni.
‘I fail to understand this new law, Bharat. What kind of justice did it serve?’ asked Kaikeyi passionately. ‘Doesn’t the Manu Smriti clearly state that the Gods abandon the land where women are not respected?’
‘Yes, Maa, but this is the law! Minors cannot be given the death sentence.’
‘Do you know that Dhenuka is not even underage anymore? He was a minor only when the crime was committed.’
‘I’m aware of that, Maa. I’ve had a massive fight with Dada over it. I agree with you, justice is far more important than the technicalities of a law. But Dada doesn’t understand that.’
‘Yes, he doesn’t,’ fumed Kaikeyi.
‘Dada lives in a world that should be, not the world as it is. He wants to enforce the values of an ideal society, but he forgets that Ayodhya is not an ideal society. We are very far from it. And monsters like Dhenuka will always exploit the loopholes in the law and escape. Others will learn from him. A leader has to first make the society worthy of enlightened laws before implementing them.’
&
nbsp; ‘Then, why don’t you…’
‘I can’t. If I break, or even question Dada’s law, I will hurt his credibility. Why will anyone else take him seriously if his own brother doesn’t?’
‘You are missing the point. Criminals who were afraid of Ram’s laws thus far, will now know that there are ways to exploit and work around them. Juveniles will be made to commit crimes planned by adults. There are enough poor, frustrated, underage youths who can easily be influenced into a life of crime for a handful of coins.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘An example must be made of Dhenuka. That will serve as a lesson to others.’
Bharat looked at Kaikeyi quizzically. ‘Why are you so interested in this, Maa?’
‘I just want justice for our Roshni.’
‘Really?’
‘She was a noblewoman, Bharat. Your rakhi-sister was raped by a bloody villager,’ Kaikeyi drove the point home.
‘I’m curious; would you be thinking differently had it been the other way round? Had a nobleman raped a village woman, would you still be clamouring for justice?’
Kaikeyi remained silent. She knew that if she said yes, Bharat would not believe her.
‘I would want a rapist-murderer from the nobility to be killed as well,’ growled Bharat. ‘Just like I want Dhenuka to be killed. That is true justice.’
‘Then why is Dhenuka still alive?’
‘The other rapists have been punished.’
‘This is a first! Partial justice! Disingenuous, isn’t it? There is no such thing as partial justice, son! You either get justice or you don’t!’
‘Maa…’
‘The most brutal among them is still alive! What’s more, he’s a guest of Ayodhya! His board and lodging are being financed by the royal treasury; from your coffers. You are personally feeding the man who brutalised your rakhi-sister.’
Bharat remained quiet.
‘Maybe Ram did not love Roshni enough,’ ventured Kaikeyi.