‘They don’t have an Asuraastra,’ interrupted Raavan. ‘They’re bluffing.’
‘But Dada, the Malayaputras do have—’
‘Vishwamitra is bluffing, Kumbhakarna!’
Kumbhakarna fell silent.
‘They haven’t retreated an inch,’ said Vishwamitra, with urgency. ‘We need to fire the weapon.’
By the end of the third hour of the second prahar, the sun had risen high enough to afford good visibility. Three hours earlier, Ram had shot the warning message to the Lankans. It had clearly made no impact.
The Malayaputras had already rolled the missile tower to the section of the rooftop that faced the main body of the Lankan troops.
‘We gave them a warning of one hour,’ continued Vishwamitra. ‘We have waited for three. They probably think we are bluffing by now.’
Lakshman looked at Vishwamitra. ‘Don’t you think we should check with Sita Bhabhi, first? She had clearly said that—’
Vishwamitra suddenly interrupted Lakshman. ‘Look!’
Lakshman and Ram immediately turned in the direction Vishwamitra had pointed.
‘Are they boarding their boats?’ asked Ram.
‘They could be testing them,’ said Lakshman, hoping against hope. ‘In which case, we still have some time.’
‘Do you think we should take that chance, Ram?’ asked Vishwamitra.
Ram did not move a muscle.
‘We need to fire now!’ said Vishwamitra, forcefully.
Ram lifted his bow from his shoulders, brought it close to his ear, and plucked the bowstring. Perfect.
‘Bravo!’ said Vishwamitra.
Lakshman glared at the maharishi. He touched his brother’s shoulder. ‘Dada…’
Ram turned around and began walking away. Everyone followed him. Most daivi astras were fired from a distance by shooting a flaming arrow into a target on the launch pad. This protected the people igniting the weapon from getting incinerated in the initial launch explosion of the missile. Only a skilled archer could fire an arrow from a great distance and hit a target that was no larger than a fruit.
Vishwamitra halted Ram when they reached a distance of over five hundred metres from the Asuraastra stand. ‘That’s enough, Prince of Ayodhya.’
Arishtanemi handed him an arrow. Ram sniffed its tip; it had been coated with a combustible paste. He examined the fletching and was momentarily surprised. Arishtanemi had, clearly, used one of Ram’s own arrows. He didn’t stop to think too deeply if Arishtanemi had learnt Ram’s secret of the spinning arrow. This was not the time. He nodded to Arishtanemi and faced the missile launch tower.
‘Dada…’ murmured Lakshman. He was visibly distressed at what he knew would take an immense toll on his law-abiding brother.
‘Step back, Lakshman,’ said Ram, as he flexed forward to stretch his back. Lakshman, Vishwamitra and Arishtanemi moved away. Ram slowed down his breathing without forcing the process; it reduced his heart rate in tandem. He stared at the missile launch tower as his mind drowned out the sounds around him. He squeezed his eyes as the rhythm of time slowed down, as if to keep pace with his heart beats; everything around him seemed to shift into slow motion. A crow flew over the Asuraastra tower, flapping its wings as it attempted to fly higher. Ram followed the movement of the crow’s wings. It seemed to require less effort for the bird to gain height; it had wind beneath its wings.
Ram’s mind processed this new information: the wind was blowing leftwards close to the tower. He flicked his thumb on the arrow tip and the flames burst through. He shifted his hand to hold the arrow by its fletching. He nocked it on the bowstring, allowing the shaft to rest between his left thumb and forefinger as his hand gripped the bow firmly. Ram tipped the bow slightly upwards, factoring in the parabolic movement that the arrow would need. Arishtanemi knew this was unorthodox; the angle of the arrow was a lot lower than he would have kept. But he was also aware of Ram’s immense talent with the bow and arrow; and, of course, of the brilliant design of the arrow fletching. He did not say a word.
Ram took aim and focused on the target; it was a pineapple-sized red square, over five hundred metres away. The waving windsock next to the target was within his concentration zone; all else faded into nothingness. The sock had been pointing left, but it suddenly drooped completely. The wind had stopped.
Ram pulled the string back in that instant, but held steady. His forearm was at a slight angle upwards from the ground, his elbow aligned with the arrow, the weight of the bow transferred to the back muscle. His forearm was rigid, the bowstring touching his lips. The bow was stretched to its maximum capacity, the flaming arrowhead now touching his left hand. The windsock remained slumped. Ram released the arrow, flicking the fletching as he did, making the arrow spin rapidly as it sped forward. The spin made it face less wind resistance. Arishtanemi savoured the archery skill on display; it was almost poetic. This was why Ram could fire the arrow at a lower height despite the distance. The parabola was sharper as the arrow moved at a faster pace, the spin maintaining its fearsome speed as it tore through the air.
Kumbhakarna saw the flaming arrow being released by the archer. His instincts kicked in as he turned around, screaming loudly. ‘Dada!’
He charged towards his brother; Raavan stood at the massive door of the Pushpak Vimaan.
The arrow slammed into the small red square on the Asuraastra tower, pushing it backwards instantly. The fire from the arrow was captured in a receptacle behind the red square, and then it spread rapidly into the fuel chamber that powered the missile. In a flash, the initial launch explosions of the Asuraastra were heard. A few seconds later, heavy flames gathered near the base of the missile and then rose, steadily picking up pace.
Kumbhakarna threw his weight on his brother, who went flying backwards into the Pushpak Vimaan.
The Asuraastra flew in a mighty arc, covering the distance across the walls of Mithila in a few short seconds. None on the roof of the Mithila Bees Quarter could tear their eyes away from the spectacle. As the missile flew high above the moat-lake, there was a small, almost inaudible explosion, like that of a fire cracker meant for a child.
Lakshman’s awe was quickly replaced by disappointment. He frowned. ‘That’s it? Is that the famed Asuraastra?’
Vishwamitra answered laconically. ‘Cover your ears.’
Kumbhakarna, meanwhile, rose from the floor of the Pushpak Vimaan even as Raavan lay sprawled inside. He rushed to the door and hit the metallic button on the sidewall with his full body weight. The door of the Pushpak Vimaan began to slide as the bear-man watched, straining his muscles as if to lend it speed.
The Asuraastra hovered above the Lankans and exploded with an ear-shattering boom that shook the very walls of Mithila. Many Lankan soldiers felt their eardrums burst, sucking the air from their mouths. But this was only a prelude to the devastation that would follow.
Even as an eerie silence followed the explosion, the spectators on the Mithila rooftop saw a bright green flash of light emerge from where the missile had splintered. It burst with furious intensity as it hit the Lankans below like a flash of lightning. They stayed rooted, stunned into a temporary paralytic immobility. Fragments of the exploded missile showered on them mercilessly.
Kumbhakarna saw the flash of green light as the door of the Pushpak Vimaan slid shut. Even as the door sealed and locked automatically, saving those inside the flying vehicle from any further damage by the Asuraastra, Kumbhakarna collapsed, unconscious. Raavan rushed to his younger brother, screaming loudly.
‘By the great Lord Rudra,’ whispered Lakshman, cold fear having gripped his heart. He looked at his brother, similarly staggered by what he was witnessing.
‘It’s not over,’ warned Vishwamitra.
A dreadful hissing sound became suddenly audible, like the battle-cry of a gigantic snake. Simultaneously, the fragments of the Asuraastra missile that had fallen to the ground emitted demonic clouds of green gas, which spread like a shroud over the stupefied
Lankans.
‘What is that?’ asked Ram.
‘That gas,’ said Vishwamitra, ‘is the Asuraastra.’
The deathly, thick gas gently enveloped the Lankans. It would put them in a coma that would last for days, if not weeks. It would possibly kill some of them. But there were no screams, no cries for mercy. None made an attempt to escape. They simply lay on the ground, motionless, waiting for the fiendish Asuraastra to push them into oblivion. The only sound in the otherwise grim silence was the hiss…
Ram touched his Rudraaksh pendant, his heart benumbed.
An agonising fifteen minutes later, Vishwamitra turned to Ram. ‘It’s done.’
Sita bounded up the stairway of the Bees Quarter, three steps at a time. She had been passionately conversing with the citizens of Mithila in the market square when she heard the explosion and saw the sudden flash in the sky. She had immediately known that the Asuraastra had been fired. She knew she had to rush back.
She first encountered Arishtanemi and the Malayaputras, standing in a huddle, away from Vishwamitra, Ram and Lakshman. A grim-faced Samichi followed Sita.
‘Who shot it?’ demanded Sita.
Arishtanemi just stepped aside, and Ram came into Sita’s view, the only one holding a bow.
Sita cursed loudly as she ran towards her husband; she knew that he must be shattered. Ram, with his moral clarity and obsession with the law, would have been hurting inside at the sin he had been forced to commit. Forced by his sense of duty towards his wife and her people.
Vishwamitra smiled as he saw her approach. ‘Sita, it is all taken care of! Raavan’s forces are destroyed. Mithila is safe.’
Sita glared at Vishwamitra, too furious to say anything. She ran right up to her husband and embraced him. A shocked Ram dropped his bow. He had never been embraced by Sita. He knew that she was trying to comfort him. Yet, as he held his hands to the side, his heartbeat started picking up. The emotional overload drained him of energy as he felt a solitary tear trickle down his face.
Sita pulled her head back as she held Ram and looked deep into his empty eyes. Her face was creased with concern. ‘I am with you, Ram.’
Ram remained silent. Strangely, a long-forgotten image entered his mind: of the arya concept of Emperor Prithu; Prithvi, the earth, had been named after him. Prithu had spoken of the ideal human archetype of the aryaputra, a ‘gentleman’, and the aryaputri, a ‘lady’, a prototypical human partnership of two strong individuals, who didn’t compete for exact equality but were complementary, completing each other. Two souls that were dependent on each other, giving each other purpose; two halves of a whole.
Ram felt like an aryaputra, being held, being supported, by his lady.
Sita continued to hold Ram in a tight embrace. ‘I am with you, Ram. We will handle this together.’
Ram closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his wife. He rested his head on her shoulder. Paradise.
Sita looked over her husband’s shoulder and glared at Vishwamitra. It was a fearsome look, like the wrathful fury of the Mother Goddess.
Vishwamitra glared right back, unrepentant.
A loud sound disturbed them all. They looked beyond the walls of Mithila. Raavan’s Pushpak Vimaan was sputtering to life. Its giant rotor blades had begun to spin. Within moments they picked up speed and the flying vehicle rose from the earth, hovering just a few feet above the ground. Then, with a great burst of sound and energy, it soared into the sky; away from Mithila, and the devastation of the Asuraastra.
FlyLeaf.ORG
Chapter 26
FlyLeaf.ORG
Sita cast an eye over her husband as he rode beside her. Lakshman and Urmila rode behind them. Lakshman was talking non-stop with his wife as she gazed at him earnestly. Urmila’s thumb kept playing with the massive diamond ring on her left forefinger; an expensive gift from her husband. Behind them were a hundred Mithilan soldiers. Another hundred soldiers rode ahead of Ram and Sita. The convoy was on its way to Sankashya, from where it would sail to Ayodhya.
Ram, Sita, Lakshman and Urmila had set off from Mithila two weeks after the Asuraastra laid waste the Lankan camp. King Janak and his brother, King Kushadhwaj, had authorised the imprisonment of the Lankan prisoners-of-war left behind by Raavan. Vishwamitra and his Malayaputras left for their own capital, Agastyakootam, taking the Lankan prisoners with them. The sage intended to negotiate with Raavan on Mithila’s behalf, guaranteeing the kingdom’s safety in return for the release of the prisoners-of-war. It was a difficult decision for Sita to leave her friend Samichi behind, but the police force of Mithila could not afford a change in leadership at this vulnerable moment of time.
‘Ram…’
Ram turned to his wife with a smile as he pulled his horse close to hers. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure about this?’
Ram nodded. There was no doubt in his mind.
‘But you are the first in a generation to defeat Raavan. And, it wasn’t really a daivi astra. If you—’
Ram frowned. ‘That’s a technicality. And you know it.’
Sita took a deep breath and continued. ‘Sometimes, to create a perfect world, a leader has to do what is necessary at the time; even if it may not appear to be the “right” thing to do in the short term. In the long run, a leader who has the capacity to uplift the masses must not deny himself that opportunity. He has a duty to not make himself unavailable. A true leader will even take a sin upon his soul for the good of his people.’
Ram looked at Sita. He seemed disappointed. ‘I have done that already, haven’t I? The question is, should I be punished for it or not? Should I do penance for it? If I expect my people to follow the law, so must I. A leader is not just one who leads. He must also be a role model. He must practise what he preaches, Sita.’
Sita smiled. ‘Well, Lord Rudra had said: “A leader is not just one who gives his people what they want. He must also be the one who teaches his people to be better than they imagined themselves to be”.’
Ram smiled too. ‘And I’m sure you will tell me Lady Mohini’s response to this as well.’
Sita laughed. ‘Yes. Lady Mohini said that people have their limitations. A leader should not expect more from them than what they are capable of. If you stretch them beyond their capacity, they will break.’
Ram shook his head. He did not really agree with the great Lady Mohini, respected by many as a Vishnu; though many others believed that she should not be called a Vishnu. Ram expected people to rise above their limitations and better themselves; for only then is an ideal society possible. But he didn’t voice his disagreement aloud.
‘Are you sure? Fourteen years outside the boundaries of the Sapt Sindhu?’ Sita looked at Ram seriously, returning to the original discussion.
Ram nodded. He had already made his decision. He would go to Ayodhya and seek permission from his father to go on his self-imposed exile. ‘I broke Lord Rudra’s law. And this is his stated punishment. It doesn’t matter whether the Vayuputras pass the order to punish me or not. It doesn’t matter whether my people support me or not. I must serve my sentence.’
Sita leaned towards him and whispered, ‘We … not I.’
Ram frowned.
Sita reached out and placed her palm on Ram’s hand. ‘You share my fate and I share yours. That is what a true marriage is.’ She entwined her fingers through his. ‘Ram, I am your wife. We will always be together; in good times and bad; through thick and thin.’
Ram squeezed her hand as he straightened his back. His horse snorted and quickened its pace. Ram pulled back the reins gently, keeping his horse in step with his wife’s steed.
‘I’m not sure this will work,’ said Ram.
The newly-wed couples, Ram-Sita and Lakshman-Urmila, were on the royal ship of Ayodhya, sailing up the Sarayu, on their way home. They would probably reach Ayodhya within a week.
Ram and Sita sat on the deck discussing what an ideal society meant, and the manner in which a perfect empire must be governed. Fo
r Ram, an ideal state was one which treated everyone as equal before the law.
Sita had thought long and hard about the meaning of equality. She felt that just promoting equality before the law would not solve society’s problems. She believed that true equality existed only at the level of the soul. But in this material world, everyone was, in fact, not equal. No two created entities were exactly the same. Among humans, some were better at knowledge, others at warfare, some at trading and others offered their manual skills and hard work. However, the problem, according to Sita, was that in the present society, a person’s path in life was determined by his birth, not by his karma. She believed that a society would be perfect only if people were free to do what they actually wanted to, based on their karma, rather than following the diktats of the caste they were born into.
And where did these diktats come from? They came from parents, who forced their values and ways on their children. Brahmin parents would encourage and push their child towards the pursuit of knowledge. The child, on the other hand, may have a passion for trade. These mismatches led to unhappiness and chaos within society. Furthermore, the society itself suffered as its people were forced to work at jobs they didn’t want to do. The worst end of this stick was reserved for the poor Shudras. Many of them could have been capable Brahmins, Kshatriyas or Vaishyas, but the rigid and unfair birth-based caste system forced them to remain skill-workers. In an earlier era, the caste system had been flexible. The best example of that was from many centuries ago: Maharishi Shakti, now known as Ved Vyas, a title used through successive ages for those who compiled, edited or differentiated the Vedas. He was born a Shudra, but his karma turned him into not just a Brahmin, but a rishi. A rishi was the highest status, below Godhood, that any person could achieve. However, today, due to the rigid birth-based caste system, a Maharishi Shakti emerging from among the Shudras was almost impossible.
‘You may think this is unworkable; you may even consider it harsh. I concede your point that all should be equal before the law and equally deserving of respect. But just that is not enough. We need to be harsh to destroy this birth-based caste system,’ said Sita. ‘It has weakened our dharma and our country. It must be destroyed for the good of India. If we don’t destroy the caste system as it exists today, we will open ourselves to attacks from foreigners. They will use our divisions to conquer us.’