The Lankan soldiers stood stunned. Not knowing how to react. They looked at their commander for instructions.
Prahast bellowed loudly. ‘King Indran, think well before you act. Lord Raavan is the King of all three Worlds. Even the Gods fear him. Your soul will be cursed. Take your gold and leave. Surrender and you shall be shown mercy!’
Indran smiled kindly. ‘We will never surrender our dharma.’
Then the king of the Devendrars looked at the Lankan soldiers. ‘Save your souls. You alone carry the fruit of your karma. No one else. You cannot escape your karma by claiming that you were only following orders. Save your souls. Choose well.’
Some Lankan soldiers seemed to be wavering. The weapons in their hands shaking.
‘Hold your weapons!’ shouted Prahast. ‘This is a trick!’
Indran nodded to his head priest. The priest stepped up to the pile of wood and stuck a burning torch deep into it. It caught fire immediately. The pyre was ready.
Indran pulled out his small bottle and took a deep swig. Possibly a pain reliever.
‘All I ask is that you not insult our Gods. That you not defile our temples.’ Indran then stared at Prahast with pity. ‘The rest is for you to do as you will.’
Prahast ordered his soldiers again. ‘Steady. Nobody move!’
Indran pulled his hands together into a Namaste and looked up at the sky. ‘Jai Rudra! Jai Parshu Ram!’
Saying this, Indran jumped into the pyre.
Jatayu screamed in agony. ‘Noooo!’
The Lankan soldiers were too shocked to react.
‘Don’t move!’ screamed Prahast at his soldiers again.
All the other Devendrars took their potions and started running up the walkway. Jumping into the mass pyre. Rapidly. In groups. Every single one. Men, women, children. Following their leader. Following their king.
There were one thousand Devendrars. It took some time for all of them to jump in.
No Lankan stepped up to stop them. A few officers close to Prahast, to the disgust of many, started picking through the gold jewellery thrown by the Devendrars. Selecting the best for themselves. Discussing the value of their loot with each other. Even as the Devendrars were committing mass suicide. But the majority of the Lankan soldiers just stood there. Too stunned to do anything.
As the last of the Devendrars fell to his fiery end, Prahast looked around. He could see the shocked expressions of many of his soldiers. He burst out laughing. ‘Don’t be sad, my soldiers. All the gold will be divided up equally among you. You will all make more money today than you have made in your entire lives! Smile! You are rich now!’
The words did not have the desired impact. Many had been jolted to their souls. Sickened by what they had witnessed. Within less than a week, more than half of Prahast’s army had deserted. Jatayu was one of them.
They couldn’t fight for Raavan anymore.
The loud sound of the waves crashing against hard rocks brought Jatayu back from that painful memory.
His body was shaking. Tears pouring from his eyes. He held his hands together in supplication, his head bowed. He gathered the courage to look across the straits at Mumbadevi. At the hills of Walkeshwar.
‘Forgive me, King Indran … Forgive me …’
But there was no respite from the guilt.
It had been a few months since Jatayu’s return from Mumbadevi.
The medicine from Walkeshwar had done wonders for Makrant. The limp had reduced dramatically. He could walk almost normally again. The atrophied muscles were slowly regaining strength. It was obvious that within a matter of months Makrant would regain the full use of his legs. Some Malayaputras were even planning hunts with him.
Sita had tried a few times to ask Jatayu why the mention of Mumbadevi caused him such distress. But had given up over time.
Early today, she had stolen away from the group to meet Hanuman at a secret location.
‘Prince Ram and you need to settle down at one place, princess,’ said Hanuman. ‘Your constant movement makes it difficult for me to keep track of you.’
‘I know,’ said Sita. ‘But we haven’t found a secure place yet.’
‘I have a place in mind for you. It’s close to water. It’s defendable. You will be able to forage food easily. There is enough hunt available. And, it’s close enough for me to track you.’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s near the source of the holy Godavari.’
‘All right. I’ll take the details from you. And, how’s …’
‘Radhika?’
Sita nodded.
Hanuman smiled apologetically. ‘She’s … She’s moved on.’
‘Moved on?’
‘She’s married now.’
Sita was shocked. ‘Married?’
‘Yes.’
Sita held her breath. ‘Poor Bharat …’
‘I have heard that Bharat still loves her.’
‘I don’t think he’ll ever get over her …’
‘I’d heard something once: Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’
Sita looked at Hanuman. ‘Forgive me, Hanu bhaiya, I don’t mean to be rude. But only someone who has never loved at all can say something like that.’
Hanuman shrugged his shoulders. ‘Point taken. In any case, the location for the camp …’
Chapter 30
Six years had lapsed since Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had gone into exile.
The band of nineteen had finally settled along the western banks of the early course of the mighty Godavari, at Panchavati. Or the place of the five banyan trees. The site suggested by Hanuman. The river provided natural protection to the small, rustic, yet comfortable camp. The main mud hut at the centre of the camp had two rooms — one for Ram and Sita, and the other for Lakshman — and an open clearing for exercise and assembly.
Another cluster of huts to the east housed Jatayu and his band.
The perimeter of this camp had two circular fences. The one on the outside was covered with poisonous creepers to keep animals out. The fence on the inside comprised nagavalli creepers, rigged with an alarm system. It consisted of a continuous rope that ran all the way to a very large wooden cage, filled with birds. The birds were well looked after and replaced every month with new ones. If anyone made it past the outer fence and attempted to enter the nagavalli hedge, the alarm system would trigger the opening of the birdcage roof. The noisy flutter of escaping birds would offer precious minutes of warning to the inmates at the camp.
Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had faced dangers in these six years, but not due to any human intervention. The occasional scars served as reminders of their adventures in the jungle, but the Somras had ensured that they looked and felt as young as the day they had left Ayodhya. Exposure to the harsh sun had darkened their skin. Ram had always been dark-skinned, but even the fair-skinned Sita and Lakshman had acquired a bronze tone. Ram and Lakshman had grown beards and moustaches, making them look like warrior-sages.