Breaking the Bow: Speculative Fiction Inspired by the Ramayana (11 page)

A laugh caught his ear. His footsteps slowed as he looked up.

Aruna watched the bare arms of the women intertwining
among the branches of the trees overhead as they picked mangoes. Eveywhere he looked, there was a naked shoulder, a tilted neck, a lock of black hair clinging with sweat to a graceful forehead. The trees rang with the sound of women’s voices. And always the arms, slender, glinting with a bangle or a string of golden beads, flowing together as if all of the women were one glorious, perfect creature.

Aruna stopped.

He could feel himself sweating and breathing hard. He tried to calm his rising pulse by inhaling and exhaling slowly, as he had learned to do while meditating in his hut. The effort only filled his lungs with the strange perfume of the women, as if from a
thousand flowers, that blended with the scent of ripe mangoes and made the humid air even more intoxicating.

There was
a mantra he had known once. He had begun every meditation with it.

Aruna fumbled through his memory, grasping for the word.

As he did, one of the women in the tree above jumped down and landed lightly on bare feet in front of him. Her smile found Aruna’s eyes.

He took a slow, reluctant step backward.

Then a new voice spoke inside Aruna’s head. He had never heard it before. He thought
at first that it was the woman before him. The voice was young, and female, but it sounded nothing like the twittering that filled the mango grove.

No!
the voice shouted.

Aruna’s body jerked as if he had stepped on a snake.

I
won’t love him! Not like this! Asura, I’ll kill myself first!

Aruna murmured, “Jalanili.”

A crow whispered:

But you could be a thousand women and love him.
Why be a human? Why be old and ugly and sick? You could be young forever. Look at him down there, my blue-winged beauty. Look at that mango grove. Look at how he’s looking at her. Do you think he remembers you now?

The woman who had leaped out of the tree tilted her head and laughed. “Who is this woman, Jalanili?” she said.

But her voice cracked in a harsh caw as she spoke Jalanili’s name.

Inside Aruna’s mind the crow whispered:

He’s human. His life is long and his memory is short. He hasn’t seen you since you planted those trees. How could he still love you, you little fool?

“Jalanili,” Aruna said again.

In an instant the sun disappeared and the sky grew dark.

The women’s voices abruptly ceased laughing. It was as if an unseen hand had swept them together into a
single force that, to Aruna’s ears, now sounded like a clap of thunder. Or a gathering deluge of water.

Above the noise pressing against his ears, Aruna could hear the young woman’s voice cry inside his head:

I
will not become an asura like you! I will not love him this way! Make me a human! Let me go!

“Jalanili,” Aruna said for the third time.

He collapsed.

Another woman’s
scream made Aruna’s eyes fly open.

He was lying on a silk rug in the shade of a mango tree. Sita was turning her face away to hide her eyes against Rama’s shoulder.

Rama’s bow was in his left hand, but it was down at his side, his eyes on Lakshmana.

Lakshmana’s sword was raised above his head. His eyes flashed.

The curved blade of the sword flashed as it came down, faster than lightning.
Aruna felt the grass beneath him shudder as Lakshmana’s sword struck the earth.

A hand, its bones thin and birdlike under wrinkled skin, was gripped in Aruna’s own hand. It twitched at his side on the silk rug. He tightened his fingers around it, but couldn’t turn his head to look.

No one moved or spoke.

At last Sita lifted her face from Rama’s shoulder. She said, “It
was
an asura. Wasn’t
it?”

Lakshmana tugged his sword free. When he lifted it, Aruna saw the blade stained with blood and black feathers.

Lakshmana looked down at Aruna. “What about these two?” he said.

Aruna lifted his head.

The hand he held was that of an old woman in a blue sari. Strands of white hair crowned her wrinkled forehead beneath her veil. She was blinking at him in shock.

The eyes were
Jalanili’s.

“I think-” Rama began.

He was interrupted by Sita, who had lifted one hand to her mouth as she began to laugh-slowly at first, and then with greater and greater delight.

“Love?” Rama asked.

“It’s the
butterflies!”

A smile crept across Rama’s face as he looked down at Aruna and Jalanili.

“And, so,” Rama said, “the ones who invited in our first asura.”

“We didn’t
invite her,” Jalanili gasped.

Aruna squeezed her hand as hard as he could. Even Rama and Lakshmana looked surprised at her bold words. Sita, however, was still laughing. The sound, like silver bells, quieted as she looked with gentle amusement at Jalanili.

“But you wished to be human,” Rama said quietly. “Your desire invited her.”

Aruna and Jalanili lowered their eyes in shame.

Sita
shook her head. “I think what they wished for,” she said, her eyes still sparkling, “was to love as we do. Isn’t that right?”

Jalanili nodded, her eyes still down.

“Which is both the same, and not the same.” Sita’s smile became wistful. “You have wished for more than you know. But I think you have suffered more too. Look.” She turned to Rama. “Our brown. His hair is gray now. And look at
her, our pretty blue, old enough to be a grandmother. Does it seem to you, love, that this asura has played these two a wretched trick?”

Rama nodded. “You may choose fairly, then,” he said to Aruna and Jalanili. “Human lives together, but from a young age. Long,
and rich, with much care and sorrow and some happiness. Or a few days together-perhaps more-as butterflies, here in our garden, without
anything to trouble your hearts.”

Aruna looked at Jalanili.

“Butterfly,” he said.

At the same moment Jalanili looked at him and said, “Human.”

Rama sighed.

Sita closed her eyes and bit her lip to stop her laughter.

Lakshmana rolled his eyes.

“You have spoken truly,” Rama said. “You cannot make up your minds, but you are obstinate even in that.”

Rama smiled at Sita, then
at Aruna and Jalanili.

“You are human, both of you. You have found your true nature. Cherish it, and your many days together, with our blessings.”

Game of Asylum Seekers
K. Srilata

It is a game not meant for bright summer afternoons when, irrespective of how hard you try, the shadows will fall long and sharp. But Zero likes playing around with the impossible and it is only a matter of time before she discovers a way to make the shadows cease. The
rules are easy enough to master, the instructions clear as window panes freshly washed and dry. But like with all zero-sum games, it is a case of two steps forward, two steps back.

They call it the Game of Asylum Seekers and the ones who are marketing it worldwide are probably laughing all the way to their banks. There are separate versions for men and women. The one Zero is currently playing
is the women’s game. She happens to think it is brilliant.

It hadn’t taken a genius to think it up. A simple theft of ideas and a bit of smart re-packaging—that was all there was to this enormously absorbing game. Every now and then, an upgraded version would be advertised, there would be a stampede to get hold of it, and the older version whisked clean from public memory.

The stone age
version used to be called the Uttara Kanda and for some reason its players were called Sitas. Every one of them. The Uttara Kanda came in a quaint, old-fashioned box with a syrupy-sweet picture of a woman in a saree and a revealing
blouse. The woman had her glance fondly trained on two young boys who seemed to be amusing themselves with bows and arrows. For “setting”, there was a disorderly bunch
of trees.

The Game of Asylum Seekers (Women) 2010, in which Zero is currently absorbed, is absolutely the latest version. It is played solo in Imax Wilderness, under absurdly difficult circumstances which, of course, is part of the fun. The point of the game is to get to Earth Mother Square so that you could cease making shadows once and for all. All players got there, eventually. Some just
took a little longer. But that was okay. Everyone was a winner. You could have as much time as you wanted. More or less, that is.

The game is advertised, somewhat vacuously, as being an “unbeat-ably sexy, roller-coaster ride of a game”. The roller-coaster bit is true enough. As for the game’s famous Imax wilderness setting, it is some thing even Disney would have been hard-pressed to match.
It has an upbeat, kitschy, garbage-bin feel to it and players are pampered silly by empty cans of beer and moldy bread from a fortnight ago that not even the birds will eat. It is not exactly cheap but once you had paid for it—with your blood and all that stuffing inside your original head—you could look forward to a trouble-free run and access to all kinds of happiness. Not surprising therefore
that the game is as popular as it is. Though of course, if you were old-fashioned and a little intolerant of fads and gizmos, you would probably suspect that it was that same old Uttara Kanda all over again. A game that had been played since the very beginning of time. Even by some of our goddesses.

The bread tastes—Zero doesn’t seek after the word which seems to have dropped away from her.
The wilderness is like a bouncer when it comes to words. It is especially intolerant of adjectives and players are advised to use them with restraint. Once spoken, adjectives create a voice and the impression of an opinion and that is against the rules.

The Use of Adjectives Rule is tied quite closely to the Invisibility Rule. Players are expected to cultivate invisibility. The really experienced
players never cast so much as a shadow. If you made a mistake and someone saw you, you could loose up to fifteen points for being a criminal or an illegal immigrant out to mug decent, respectable folk.

So you reserved adjectives and visibility for emergencies and for occasional use in food voucher queues. Talking of food vouchers, you had to be careful about how you spent those. Which meant
you had to watch how much you ate. It was a little like being on a fancy diet. Over-eating and wastefulness could set you back twenty points.

Surpanakha isn’t here today. Yesterday, she had been in the same line as Zero to claim her voucher.
Claim
is not an adjective but it feels suspiciously like the wrong sort of verb. A verb with a too-loud voice. Zero has another go. Yesterday, Surpanakha
had been in the same line as her for the voucher. She had never spoken to Surpanakha of course. One mustn’t speak to other players. That too was a rule. But even though Surpanakha could never be a friend, nothing had stopped Zero from observing her out of the corners of her eyes. It is the way women observe each other and others all the time. And Surpanakha had struck her as one of those intuitively
competent players with a golden touch. For one thing, she had got herself to Gender-Shedding Square quite early in the game. Which must have made it easy. And she was really good with shadows too. Knew how to keep them in check. No wonder she had finished so soon. (Though she hadn’t been half as lucky that other time—with Him, had she?)

Strange how Zero had never heard Surpanakha calling out
to Earth Mother. You had to remember to say “Earth Mother! Please take me in!” the moment you landed on this last of all the squares. If you forgot, it all got cancelled out and you found yourself back to square one. (This ridiculous calling out idea was
stolen, as you might have guessed, from Uno). Zero concluded that she must have been asleep at the time when Surpanakha had called out. Unless
of course it was Detention Square or Drugs Square that the woman had vanished into. No point wondering really. No point hurling questions at the wilderness. It never felt up to answering.

Zero cuts the Morrisons’ baguette into three small sections so it would last for three days. This means, of course, that she owns a knife. A small kitchen knife. She owns other things too—after all, she is
a queen. Or used to be. Before she became a player. What had she left behind in that empire of hers?

They had got her the game so she could keep herself amused. She had stepped out with a rucksack and wiped her brow clean of memory. Ever since that bright summer afternoon with its dangerous shadows, she had been inching her way towards the Earth mother’s embrace. Taking mindful little
steps. Two steps forward, two steps back, a wee snail with her rucksack. Playing a zero-sum game.

The wilderness is not a place for women, but this version of the game is. That said, you were at a tremendous advantage if you got to Gender-Shedding Square. It was not essential for the dice to roll that way. But it did make things easier, as it must have for Surpanakha. Clinging on to gender
while playing the game was a bit like jumping into a pool with a six-yard saree on. Zero sees that. Zero is smart. One thing she has going for her is the fact that she has made it to Desire-Shedding Square. But greater hope lay in androgyny. Once you had achieved that, you would not, for instance, be stuck in Rape Square. (This was one square that the men’s version did not have—though they must have
made up for the lack in other ways.)

In her rucksack, Zero carries a kitchen knife whose use we have already noted, a ragged man’s jacket rescued from the
garbage bin, a file with papers, an empty water bottle and a rope she is not sure of never needing. If something goes wrong with the game and the dice fails to oblige. If she never gets to Earth mother Square. Not that such a thing is likely
to happen. But it is best to be prepared for all the what-ifs.

Someone has scratched the words
You are dead
on the flattened card board box Zero uses to sleep on. She remembers, just in time, to laugh at the joke. To play along.

Rain is falling through the canopies of drainpipes and steel frames. You don’t cast shadows in the falling rain. It is great for the game. Zero is worried about
her invisibility skills. There is some way to go before she attains perfection. As yet, the tendency to cast shadows and to step out of them, persists.

There are other aspects of the game that Zero has more or less mastered, certain squares, for instance, she can handle like a pro. Like Finding a Sleeping Place for the Night Square. The women’s version is harder when it comes to this one. Zero
has her three favourite places and she rotates them depending on the weather. When she had just started on the game, she would sleep on the floor of a friend’s house or in the garage. But such cocooning is a luxury allowed only to novices and Zero is well past that stage.

She had found Place One—a mosque—fairly quickly. Very useful when there was heavy snow. Dressed in the man’s jacket (we
know where that came from), Zero would join the worshippers for the last prayers, slipping away quietly to shut herself up in a toilet cubicle. Once the lights were off and the building was locked up, it was like being back in her palace. But of course she can’t do that too often. Cross-dressing is risky and so is locking oneself up in a toilet used by those of a sex the opposite of yours. Not the
sort of thing for a former queen to be doing. But that is part of the fun.

Place two was a stairway in a block of flats. That “You are dead” cardboard box is stashed away there.

Place three was somewhat outdoorsy, located as it is by the outer hedge of a park where Zero keeps a sleeping bag marked “Please don’t take this. Homeless”. In the evenings, the park fills up with teenagers on drugs.
Which means that respectable folks give it a wide berth. That is good for Zero.

The Living Without Money Square is unbeatable as a logistical challenge. And Zero enjoys a logistical challenge just as much as anybody else. Tomorrow she will have to take a bus for her monthly registration with the Home Office. (Or she is out of the game.) But for this, she will need three pounds fifty—the cost
of the bus fare. She will have to spend half the value of the voucher before the cashiers at Morrisons’ will give her the change. There is no other way she can lay her hands on cash. Unless Zero chooses to beg, steal or work—but that is against the rules.

And then there are over a dozen Loneliness Squares. She copes by creating another being inside the cave of her mind, a being with whom she
can chatter non-stop. Sometimes the being is a woman. At other times, it is a man. Sometimes it is someone Zero had assumed she had left behind in her empire… Sometimes, it is Surpanakha, her old rival turned co-player. Most often, it is Him—the man who had said those terrible, cold words.

The square Zero is absolutely terrified of is Dog Square. The dogs in the park are used to her. They leave
her alone. It is the other ones -the domestic pets of respectable folks—that she fears. Those ones can sniff out an asylum seeker from miles away.

Suicide Square is not exactly pleasant either. When you got there, a great urge came over you to do away with yourself. As urges went, it was best to resist this one. If you succumbed, you got thrown out right away. Debarred from the game for life.
(It must be emphasized that Suicide Square is altogether different from Earth Mother Square, the few striking similarities notwithstanding.)

About Toilet Square, the less said the better. This was one
thing each player figured for herself. The women’s version
was
uncompromisingly tough.

If you had to rank squares in order of difficulty, the Disbelief and Contempt Square would be up there
on top. You said
persecution.
You said
rape.
You said
abuse.
The Home office said
Tell us about it. And show us: Where are the scars, the wounds, the semen? Or we will just assume you are here to make money or trouble.
And of course you no longer had the adjectives and the verbs to tell them about any of that. And may be there were no scars, no wounds, no semen.

If the Home Office turned you
down, you were back to square one.

Not that Zero was a stranger to Disbelief and Contempt Square. There was the time He had said those terrible, cold words to her:

“So I have won you back by defeating my enemy; I have acted as a man should, wiped out the insult to my honour, revealed my prowess… Go then with my permission, wherever you may wish. The world is open before you; but I will have
nothing to do with you, nor have I any attachment to you any more. How could I take you back, straight from Ravana’s lap?”

There was the time He had spat the words in her face:

“
You took pleasure in food,

You didn’t die,

for all your disgrace

in the great palace of the devious demon.

You stayed there, submissive,

wholly without fear.

What thought has brought you here?

Did you imagine that I

could want you?”

But that of course had been an older version, pre-dating the Uttara Kanda. Yuddhakanda—that was the name of that game.
Its Disbelief and Contempt Square had involved the nuisance of an agnipariksha.

Back then, the players or the Sitas were expected to walk straight into the flames and emerge unharmed. The best of the Sitas had later claimed
that the flames had felt as cool as water. It was a game with no dull moments.

The good thing about landing in Disbelief and Contempt Square was that you were just two tantalizing squares away from Earth Mother Square. Sooner or later, the dice was bound to roll out the right numbers. And that was you—all safe and dry and taken care of.