Breaking the Bow: Speculative Fiction Inspired by the Ramayana (19 page)

Why do I do this? Think hard, Sita.

I come out of love.

I come too to assure you that no harm will befall you. Behold my retinue. Each one is a refugee who fled from planets strewn in velvet skies; each one of them my Lord of Lanka protects. The large headed creatures
are evolved Jupiter Brains who sought shelter from persecution in barbaric starworlds. I leave them here so their meditative auras shed stability on you.

The ghostly tiger-borne Pishachas are survivors of a nuclear winter they caused on their planet. They represent the future of
your race for you humans love not your children. The Pishachas I bring as a warning of the grief of war your husband
is bent on wrecking on our world. Already he prays to the Gods to help him retake you and our old enemies hear him.

I ask: what is your chastity worth, Sita? Accept Ravana’s prayer and I shall send word to Rama that you have remarried. Heed my words, soft-skinned stranger, and you can avert our shared tragedy. Or are you beautiful without but a monster of vanity within, feasting on fallen blood?

Regard reason, Sita. Need women be trophies of war, fought over for honour? Do you need to be rescued? Can’t you rescue yourself?

The flaming figures that float around me are Zepetibs who decided for themselves who and what they should be despite all odds. Befriend these wise ones. Be inspired by their argentine compassion.

Suddenly Mandodari mushrooms. Her head rakes treetops; her bejeweled
hair snakes over branches. Her perfume turns acrid, her honeyed voice thunders.
Should my arguments have moral import I demand Sita’s replicants disappear.
Immediately a single sleep deprived figure stands before her.
Now I see you for what you are, stubborn wife of Rama!
Mandodari gazes long, her amber eyes like embers beneath black lashes.

Gradually Mandodari shrinks to her former size.
Do not be af Sita. In Lanka, Paradisiacal Abode in the Relic Field, emotions translate as space, substance. We enlarge with happiness, shrink with sorrow; we engorge with rage and dissolve in love. Compassion makes us transparent, a fate I have often experienced.

Unlike your duplicitous species which shows no outward sign of cunning, we Rakshasas hide nothing. And we pay the price!

Mandodari
throws back her head, laughing terribly, her small fangs showing, her jeweled hair rising like a halo.
Like my sister-in-law Soorpanaka The Brave. In our custom women approach men they desire like waves rush to the shore. Though
they transgressed her territory Soorpanaka wished happiness with your husband and his brother. She offered them joy; your heroes mutilated her and mangled her future.

Mandodari wafts closer to the pavilion, her perfume pungent, her golden body darkening like mounting dusk dense with bats.
Ravana abducted you to punish them, but before the voyage was over he fell in love with you. But what does he see in you except unavailable docility?

This is your lure.
The hem of her lengthening robe combusts as it grazes the crystal base. She freezes. Gradually her
sharp scent gives way to lotus fragrance. Gradually she shrinks to her previous form.

Gradually her ultraviolet hem flows over crystal like a gentle wave, iridescent.
Lucky mortal, you are protected by a Ravana Rekha, a spell he cast around this pavilion that no creature wishing you ill can cross.

You see I bear none now against you.

Mandodari glides into the hovering pavilion; translucent.
Sita, do not think you are alone. I am with you in your suffering, fellow lifeform!

She pales further like dawn light, her hair sun-shot mist.
Sister Mine, do not distrust me!
Mandodari is shimmering transparency.
Sita, I beseech you, hear me. I know your experience; know I was meditating when Ravana carried me here; I fought him but then fell in love with him. He is beguiling, tender, my life!

Mandodari rapidly reduces in size. She flies outside, shrinking, growing turgid.
My husband loves you, Sita. Imagine my plight. For centuries I was queen of his heart. Now you, you usurp my place!
She spins and spins, growing smaller with each spiral until flowers tower above her.

Wicked woman, I cause you no harm but you ruin me.
Mandodari booms, expanding over the pavilion, hunching over
it, her eyes like gigantic fighting carps peering between crystal
pillars.
Know this: we Rakshasas bar not those we love from experiencing ecstasy elsewhere.

But we make a sacred bond with one, only one. You have broken this bond between my love and me. Give yourself to him, captive. Release him from desire. Thus return my love to me. In this lies your salvation.

And his, mine and Lanka’s
too!

Gradually Mandodari returns to her previous proportions, her voice entrancing. Flowers of light blossom on her robe.
Listen Sita, you cannot escape. Know my husband, Ravana whose Voice makes the Three Times Tremble never takes a woman against her will. Our palaces brims with female species from distant galaxies who recklessly risk sub space travel to be with him. Octopus women from far,
giant Posidus whose hundred tentacles shudder with pleasure; single breasted Amazitz of the Xerksus Constellation whose legs are of titanium and sex of sponge, the frail, fainting Epilabies of course, and the newest generation of replicants from the Cervantius Quadrant who have heard from Pod Mothers of Ravana’s skill; even the gender-bending Yaawes of Rrepos slough off sleep to make the journey
though only one in a ziket survive the trip. I could go on. Know too human, my pleasure quarters are full, yet a line of applicants spill into time.

Yet I, Ravana’s confidant, his wife, his queen, his one time love know he was prepared to break his vow and ravish you except you are human and he Rakshasa. Pleasure engorges him; you would rip. The circulatory systems of those who come willingly
adapt to Lanka’s emotional laws: like us, their bodies gain the ability to expand and shrink with pleasure and pain, lust and longing. You resist. You will die should he make love to you. So my husband desists. He suffers.

Mandodari shrivels into a small squirming shape.

She revives, more resplendent than when she arrived. Her aura suffuses the garden. On her robe of light firecrackers spew
celebration; her voice is mesmerizing.
Sita, listen, I will make a sacrifice, a sharing. I shall send my favourite handmaiden to painlessly suck your blood and replace it with ours. I shall add droplets of my own essence from the Labia-Nymphae so you know how to give and receive joy as never before. Now agree!

Flowing water stops murmuring, trees silence their leaves, pilbi crickets and li-birds
hush. The garden silent and waiting is Mandodari’s extension and stilled heartbeat.

Speak Sita.
Mandodari becomes shorter and shorter.
Speak speak speak speak speak speak, I beg you speak!

Mandodari caves in, contracting small as an insect’s cocoon. She writhes, worm like, on jewel emblazoned dust, her robe twitches like a butterfly’s tattered wing. Yet her whisper winds like perfume wafted
by a zephyr,
Heartless One, you will have me transport you to my bedchamber and the auricles of my eight valved heart. So be it.

So despairing is my husband of attaining you that he shrank in sorrow.

The Mighty Ravana shrank smaller and smaller than I have ever witnessed. He shrunk to pebble size, then even smaller. He was weeping for you, Sita. I feared heartbreak would reduce him to nothingness.
I scooped him up in the palm of my hand, held him on my finger tip and fed him venomous words against my will. I stoked his anger, stoked his arrogance until enraged, he expanded bursting through the dome of our palace. I left him, large as a cloud, thundering for war, and sought you out.

Mandodari’s tattered wing-dress convulses.

I
cannot see my love go through such torture. Nor can I go
against my spirit which is to harmonize, to heal. Save us, Sita. Succumb!

Again nothing moves, speaks or breaths. Duration pauses in the garden; a wrinkle in time that will not exist. Suddenly Mandodari swells into her habitual beauty and the garden begins
to live again. Her billowing robe of ultraviolet darkens as clouds appear streaming infrared rain.
So we shall have blood, we shall have
war.
As she laughs the jewels on her body dim, her hair singes to soot.
Alas, Sita! My husband thought you had a woman’s heart, Ravana had his Psychic Emotechs calculate the maximum weight of grief the human heart can bear and loaded the other 999 decoy satellites with this burden to fool Rama’s spies should they dare venture here. But you know no sorrow, nor compassion. It was unnecessary.
Mandodari
turns, effulgence swarms around her, retreating.
All of this is unnecessary.

A bud of radiance opens, star-like, in the hovering crystal pavilion. “Compassionate Mandodari, Philosopher and Friend, Great Queen of Lanka, Wife of Ravana Most Mighty of Rakshasas, I, shy Sita, speak. I am unworthy of your wisdom and your confidence. So magnificent is your presence and so profound your revelations
that I tremble at your words, tongue tied. Yet my heart brims with hope like a lotus drowning in dew. Noble Queen know just as you are wedded to your husband through bonds of love sacred, I am to mine.

You have dominion over me through all time and space for your husband knows who he is: king, conqueror, lover -and you love him in every manifestation. My Rama knows not himself. Unaware is he
of his own essence even as he lives. Though incomparably valorous, so fast is Rama bound to the path of righteousness, such a slave to it is he that he is blind.

My Rama does not know when right becomes wrong.

To you, Magnanimousness Incarnate, I confess lesser mortals than my husband risk their name in the gamble of life; they accept others’ ways as equally honorable. Not my husband. Rama
is perpetually right, whether in domestic disagreement or matters of state.

This is my misfortune, and his.

But I speak too as Queen-in-Exile. One day my Rama will
return to rule Ayodhya, of this I am certain. Though I am young, I think he, as virtuous ruler, must not merely impose his rules of uprightness on his subjects as he is bound to; rather he must seek in himself compassion. My
husband must learn to trust himself above rules; and so yield to variance just as several flowers are fragrant and many birds sing sweetly. This, Elder Sister, is my endeavor, and I pray life will not disappoint me.

I, Daughter of Earth, through my captivity am offering Rama just this chance to trust, to flourish. Will he accept me as his loving wife after I have been your husband’s prisoner?
Or will Rama fail us both and love itself? Will it all go up in flames? I shudder.

Yet I wish Rama to face my test of fire, my Agni Pariksha. For I know his manner of treating me will tell on his rule on Earth and echo for ages to come. I am trying to change the course of our world, no less. And I am filled with faith.

Know too Earth my Mother suffers with every injustice done to those who
dwell on her. I am an Earthling first.

Benevolent Being, understand I cannot accede to your wishes for the sake of my husband, for the sake of my mother and for my own sake too. I must keep my faith!

This is our story as is being written by Sage Valmiki.

Mandodari’s effulgence continues to retreat. Her voice soughs through the trees.
Tell then your friend Valmiki to be silent on the chapter
of our meeting for he will write it wrong. He is bound by laws of men, not those of eternity.

From this moment on my life will be one of sorrow. Know too Sita you will bring sorrow to yourself and all who follow your conduct. However, continue, Daughter of Earth, in your vain pursuit to improve your husband’s vision and forestall your mother’s suffering. I see you can do no better.

Our species
will die; yours and mine as a consequence of your tender blindness.
Mandodari flares into transparency and vanishes.

Sita sinks on the sparkling pavilion’s floating floor, into the pool of her reflection. “Mother Earth, Last Solace, I am gambling all. But am I wrong in my belief? If so, release me from possible regret! Rise now and receive me in your womb! Take me back.

Mother, hear me!

But I am caught in a time before you are born. Is there no help for me?” Sita’s tears shatter, prismatic, against the crystal’s clarity.

Hanuman’s consciousness that swathes the satellite like an unseen cloud stirs. Agitated he prays for grace funneling his thoughts on Sri Rama, his All. Hanuman’s concentration compresses his consciousness, contracts it; with supreme effort he compacts it
unheeding of the pain caused by abandoning vastness. Smaller, smaller until his consciousness is contained in the tiny curl of his mother’s DNA. Hanuman gambles with the unknown laws of The Relic Field. Here perhaps mind may yield matter. Vowing his love for his master even should it mean death, Hanuman vouchsafes his mind: make Sri Rama’s sign appear!

From coded information Rama’s signet ring
materializes. It clatters on to crystal.

Irrevocably the story continues as Valmiki wrote it.

Kalyug Amended
Molshree Ambastha

After completing my lecture, I entered the staff room. A hot discussion on politics was going on between two teachers.

“Jahanvi, do you have a free period now?” one teacher asked.

“Yeah.” I took my seat and searched for the newspaper. I turned the page; it had Raam’s
picture, our current Chief Minister, with the headline ‘Youth Chief Minister inaugurating…’

Who cares? I stared at Raam’s snapshot.
Fifteen years can change a person a lot.

“Youth Chief Minister! Usually people above forty years of age are branded middle aged. They describe
himas
a youth leader,” said the teacher sitting next to me.

Both the teachers laughed out aloud. I smiled irresolutely,
not seeing the joke.

When I’d joined this school I’d been homeless and a two-months pregnant divorcee; today, I am a single parent of doppelganger sons, a Lecturer in a well-known school of the town, and owned a flat in a posh apartment, on loan.

As the last bell rang, I strode out to car parking area, as soon as possible. My lads were already standing near the car, discussing some thing.
I started the car and both boys jumped in, helter-skelter. Kush managed to grab the front seat, and I convinced Luv to sit at the back. We were on our way home but the fight
between then continued. When we reached, I opened the door. Boys flung their schoolbags on the sofa.

“Mom, what’s our father’s name?” Kush asked. He picked a water bottle from the fridge and gave the fridge’s door a kick;
it closed with a thud.

“Don’t drink directly from the bottle. Go get glasses for all of us.” I acted as if didn’t hear anything.

“Vaibhav’s mother is also a single parent but at least he knows his father’s name.” I’d forgotten Luv was still in the room.

“And he has his father’s snaps too.” Kush completed Luv’s sentence.

“We will talk about Vaibhav later. Now you guys go change your
uniforms and arrange the table for lunch.”

Thankfully, both left the room with their schoolbags. But their questions were not over yet. Next section of firing questions began at the dining table.

“Mom, are we love-children?” asked Luv, with a huge grin. Both raised their hands for a hi-five. As if being a love-child was a cool thing.

I sipped some water. “Every mother loves her child,”
I replied.

Where is this generation going?…
all an adverse effect of movies. It is pointless to yell at striplings; after all, they are trying to figure out this complicated world in their own way.

“I told you, I got a divorce when you were in my belly. I can’t get a divorce without marriage. Can I?”

“Was yours a love marriage or was it arranged?” Luv inquired.

“Both.” I left my seat
and began cleaning the table. Both the boys helped me. Our lunch was over, but my young investigators still wanted to unravel the mystery of their origin.

“How is it that possible? How can you do both?” Kush followed me to my room.

“Where did you meet him, first time?” asked Luv..

“We were in the same college.” I replied, making myself
comfortable on bed. This enquiry was going to take
a long time. I was used to it. This is not the first time they had asked about their father.

“You were in the same class?” Kush asked.

“No, your father was doing M.A. and I was a M.Sc. student.”

“M.A., so L.S.!” Kush said, as both exchanged amused expressions.

Being a mother of two teenage boys, I’d learnt their lingo. L.S. meant ‘Low Standard.’

“Twenty years back, it wasn’t that
L.S.,” I said.

“Your father was from an influential political family and your grandpa was an M.L.A. in those days. Right?”

Kush lay down on my left side, Luv on my right.
Today, they weren’t going to leave me easily.

“Tell us more,” Luv pleaded.

“Your father was the most handsome guy in college. Many girls had a crush on him, but your father always created a reason to talk to me. Gradually
we became friends and later we decided to marry.”

“So, were both families ready for this marriage or was there a twist?” Kush asked.

“Your grandpa was not in favour, at the beginning. The reason being, he wanted your father to take politics as priority. And I was an adopted child. But my father was affluent and a renowned businessman of the town who could help them in the elections, so he
agreed.”

“So, your in-laws troubled you for dowry?” Kush sat up on the bed with a bounce.

When you feel you’ve answered all the queries of your children, you are mistaken. They’ll have a dozen more difficult queries for you to answer.

“No. There were some issues; you are too young to understand”

“At least you can tell us our father’s name.” Kush pleaded.

“Let’s make a deal.” I
tried to postpone their question.

“What deal?” They shouted, simultaneously.

“As both of you know, there is a science fair next month in our school. If any one of you gets a first prize, I will tell you your father’s name.”

Both my youngsters took my words as a challenge and immediately ran off to their room.

Two weeks later, our school Principal announced in assembly that the
Chief Guest for the Science Fair would be our Honourable Chief Minister Mr. Raam. I didn’t join in the applause. My heart was pumping wildly, reflecting my agitation inside.

I was not able to concentrate on teaching the rest of the day. Nor did I notice Luv and Kush’s fight in the car while driving home.

My life had been beautiful after marriage. Raam and I had shifted to a flat in a newly
built apartment complex. I was in fantasy land, lost in my small world. Raam joined his family business and his father’s political party. Soon I got signs I was pregnant and my Gynaecologist confirmed it. It was ecstasy. I planned to tell this good news to Raam in a romantic way. Insisted Raam reach home by eight p.m. ordered a cake for the evening.

In the evening I left home to pick up the
cake. When I reached the parking lot, I saw a man sauntering towards me, probably drunk. He couldn’t even walk properly. I ignored him and continued walking towards my car. Suddenly someone caught me from behind; it was the same man. He was so drunk that it wasn’t hard to loosen his grip and escape. But I was terrified. As I ran towards the exit, I saw a car entering the lot.
I knew this car!

I opened my eyes and looked around.
Looks like my room. What happen last night? Who brought me in my room? May be it
was a nightmare.
“Last night you fell unconscious in front of my car.” I turned my head in the direction of the voice, found Raam next to me. I felt tranquil and safe. Along with the tea, he handed me a newspaper. I saw a headline
‘Dead in car accident.’
There was apicture of
same man I’d met in the parking area. Raam noticed my perplexed expression.

“When I entered the parking lot, you fell unconscious and I saw a man rush to his car. He drove out in a killing speed. Looks like it killed him.” Raam didn’t make any eye contact with me. He sounded impassive.

Our lives changed from that day. Raam started staying away from me. He left early and returned home as
late as possible. Whenever I asked others for a reason, only reply was: ‘Pre-election preparations are going on and he has lots of responsibilities.’

Only thing I could do was to wait till everything got normal. But nothing went back to normal in my life. Very soon I got a Divorce notice. I never got a chance to tell him about my pregnancy. Now it was pointless to tell or argue, may be it was
too late.

Loud sounds of wrangling from the kids’ bedroom dragged me back to the present…
Why I am worrying without reason? Situation is not that bad. Raam never knew he had identical twins. If we don’t see each other, he will stay clueless.- Best way is to remain back stage when Raam arrives tomorrow.

Next Morning, in school, my only mission was to grab maximum back stage work. All teachers
were eager to meet Mr. Chief Minister which made my mission easy.

All preparations for Science fair had begun. Different competitions were held at school- Essay writing competitions, Future Scenarios com petitions, Science models competitions, etc. Winners of each the com petition would receive their prizes from the Chief Guest on the final day.

Kush’s Science model won first place, and
Luv stood first in
the essay writing competition.
Now one thing was very clear, I would have to tell them their father’s name.

On the final day, the Principal welcomed our Chief Guest. Our CM lit the lamp on the stage and gave his speech. Everything was working out right, as I’d planned. Soon it was time for the prize distribution ceremony. One of the teachers announced the name of winners,
one by one.

“Now the winner of the Essay Writing competition,” he proclaimed. My heart started beating fast. Which mother wouldn’t be pleased to see her lad receive a prize from his father? I couldn’t help edging away from the backstage.

“And first prize goes to Master Luv, class Nine.”

Luv went up stage to receive his prize. I peeped from the backstage. Things were under my control.
Soon the teacher announced the winner of the Science model competition. Kush appeared on stage. Raam handed over his certificate, asked something. Kush nodded and pointed towards me. Raam turned and our eyes met for a fraction of a second. I hid myself in croutons and ran away.

Oh, my God! Now he will snatch my babies from me. He can’t see me happy.
I was totally freaked out. I splashed water
on my face and tried to stay calm but my heart was pounding like crazy.

Calm down, clam down Jahanvi, and don’t panic. Jahanvi, you are overreacting. Maybe they were talking about something else. Don’t panic. Oh God! Help me.
Somehow I controlled myself, went back to work.

After the function, we drove home.

“Mom, now you have to tell us our father’s name.” Kush was obviously excited.

“Urgent family meeting in my room,” I told the boys. Now it was the right time to tell the boys about their father before it became too late to do so.

We gathered in my bed room.

“I hope you guys are mature enough to understand.”

“Mom, please tell!” Kush was impatient.

“Mr. Raam, our Chief Minister.”

They gazed at my face. I could read their minds; they were confused and astonished.
Complete silence spread in room for few seconds.

“Cooool!” Kush broke the silence.

“Tomorrow I will tell everyone at school,” said Luv, jumping on the bed with enthusiasm.

“No, you guys are not going to tell anything to anyone!”

“Why?” asked Luv.

“Why?” echoed Kush.

“Beta, no one will believe you. Everyone will make fun of you.” I could see they didn’t believe me. I tried a different
track: begging. “Promise me this is our family secret and it will remain in the family.”

Slowly, they both nodded, but I knew they were deeply unhappy.

I had a sleepless night.
Oh God! What further surprise did the future have in store for me?

Next day onwards, our lives were back to normal. Almost normal. The boys were quiet. I was quiet. I was haunted by a fear of the unanticipated.

One day, the telephone rang. The boys were in their room, studying.
It must be Luv or Kush’s friend, trying to pull them away from books.
I picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

“Jahanvi.” A familiar voice. “It’s Raam speaking.”

I was thunderstruck. My body turned cold.

“Hmmm, who gave you my number?”
Stupid question.

“Your school,” he replied. “I am sorry for whatever I did to you.
I tried to find you, met your parents but they didn’t tell me anything.”

“Why? Why did you search for me?”

“I want my family back, you and my kids. We can rekindle our life.”

“Who told you they are your kids?” I was burning in fury.

“Once after our divorce, I saw your gynaecologist’s report and prescriptions in stuffs you forgot to take with you. It said you were carrying twins. “

I hung up.
A man who didn’t care for me when I was pregnant, a man who wasn’t aware of his kids’ existence, today he was claiming my babies as his kids.

A few days later, I received an envelope from Raam’s lawyer. Without opening it, I could predict that it was a Notice for Custody. My boys! I couldn’t lose them. My world revolves around them. I can’t imagine life without them. Straight away
I consulted a lawyer.

That same evening, I got calls from many news reporters of different television channels and newspapers; everyone seemed eager to increase their TRP by publicizing my personal life. My lawyer advised me not to tell anything in front of the media.

When I reached home after meeting with my lawyer, I found my lads watching television.

Luv welcomed me with a surprised:
“Mom, you told us not to tell anyone but now everyone knows it.”

“Can we tell our friends too?” said Kush.

I was startled. I had no clue what they were talking about. Kush switched to a news channel. Breaking news: ‘Chief Minister knocking on Court’s door for his twin sons’ custody’.