‘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 disorganised 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.
Ram, Sita, and Lakshman stood on the roof of the Bees Quarter as dawn broke through. The gentle rays of the sun fell on the harsh devastation of Lankan spears. The damage was heart-rending.
Sita stared at the mutilated Mithilan corpses strewn all around her; heads hanging by sinew to bodies, some with their guts spilled out. Many simply impaled on spears, having bled to death.
‘At least a thousand of my soldiers …’
‘We too have hit them hard, Bhabhi,’ said Lakshman to his sister-in-law. ‘There are at least a thousand dead Lankans lying between the inner and outer wall.’
Sita looked at Lakshman, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Yes, but they have nine thousand left. We have only three thousand.’
Ram surveyed the Lankan camp on the other side of the moat-lake. Sita’s gaze followed his eyes. Hospital-tents had been set up to tend to the injured. Many Lankans, though, were furiously at work; hacking trees and pushing the forest line farther with mathematical precision.
Clearly, they did not intend to retreat to Lanka.
‘They will be better prepared next time,’ said Ram. ‘If they manage to scale the inner wall … it’s over.’
Sita placed her hand on Ram’s shoulder and sighed as she stared at the ground. She seemed to gather strength from the simple touch. It was like she had a dependable ally now.
Sita turned around and looked towards her city. Her eyes rested on the steeple of the massive temple dedicated to Lord Rudra, which loomed beyond the garden of the Bees Quarter. Fierce determination blazed from her eyes, resolve pouring steel into her veins.
‘It’s not over yet. I’ll call upon the citizens to join me. Even if my people stand here with kitchen knives, we will outnumber the Lankan scum ten to one. We can fight them.’
Sita could feel Ram’s shoulder muscles tensing under her touch. She looked at his eyes. She saw only confidence and trust.
He believes in me. He trusts me to handle this. I will handle this. I will not fail.
Sita nodded, like she had made up her mind. And rushed away, signalling some of her lieutenants to follow her.
Ram and Lakshman followed her too, trying to keep pace. She turned around. ‘No. Please stay here. I need someone I can trust, someone who understands war, to stay here and rally the forces in case the Lankans launch a surprise attack.’
Lakshman tried to argue, but fell silent at a signal from Ram.
‘We will stay here, Sita,’ said Ram. ‘No Lankan will enter the city as long as we are standing here. Rally the others quickly.’
Sita smiled and touched Ram’s hand.
Then she turned and ran.
The third hour of the second prahar was almost ending. It was three hours before noon, in clear daylight. But this light had not blessed the city’s residents with more wisdom. The news of the death of over one thousand courageous Mithilan policemen, and the devastation of the battle at the Bees Quarter, had not stirred the citizens to anger. Tales of the outnumbered and under-equipped Mithilan police, led by Prime Minister Sita, heroically fighting back the Lankans, had not inspired them. In fact, talks of surrender, compromise and negotiations were in the air.
Sita had gathered the local leaders in the market square in an effort to rally a citizen army to fight back the Lankans. This had been a few hours ago. That the rich would not think of risking their lives or property for their motherland wasn’t surprising. It was shocking, though, that even the poor, who had benefited greatly from Sunaina’s and then Sita’s reforms, did not feel the need to fight for their kingdom.
Sita thought she would burst a capillary in utter fury, listening to the arguments being put forth by her fellow Mithilans; excuses to give a moral veneer to their cowardice.
‘We must be pragmatic …’
‘We haven’t emerged from poverty, earned all this money, ensured good education for our children, built property, to just lose it all in one war …’
‘Seriously, has violence ever solved any problem? We should practise love, not war …’
‘War is just a patriarchal, upper-class conspiracy …’
‘The Lankans are also human beings like us. I am sure they will listen, if we talk to them …’
‘Really, is our conscience clean? We can say all we want about the Lankans, but didn’t we insult Emperor Raavan at the swayamvar …’