Scion of Ikshvaku (21 page)

‘And do you know where Shukracharya was from?’

‘Egypt.’

Vishwamitra smiled. ‘Yes, that is technically true. But India has a big heart. If a foreigner comes here and accepts our land as his motherland, he is a foreigner no more. He becomes Indian. Shukracharya was brought up here. Can you guess which Indian city was his home town?’

Ram’s eyes widened with amazement. ‘Ayodhya?!’

‘Yes, Ayodhya. The Asuras of the old code will not attack any Ayodhyan, for that land is sacred to them.’

Ram, Lakshman and Arishtanemi rode out of the
ashram
the following day, at the first hour of the second
prahar
. Accompanied by fifty soldiers, they moved in a southward direction. The local Asura settlement was believed to be a little more than a day’s ride away.

‘Tell me about their leaders, Arishtanemi
ji
,’ Ram respectfully asked the military chief of the Malayaputras.

Arishtanemi was equal in height to Lakshman, but unlike the young prince, was lean, almost lanky. He wore a saffron
dhoti
with an
angvastram
slung over his right shoulder, one end of which was wrapped around his right arm. He wore a
janau
thread; his shaven head and a knotted tuft of hair at the crown were signs of his Brahmin antecedents. Unlike most Brahmins, though, Arishtanemi’s wheat-complexioned body had a profusion of battle scars. It was rumoured that he was more than seventy years of age, although he did not look a day older than twenty. Perhaps Maharishi Vishwamitra had revealed to him the secret of the mysterious Somras, the drink of the Gods. Its anti-ageing properties could keep one healthy till the astounding age of two hundred.

‘The Asura horde is led by a woman called Tadaka, the wife of their deceased chieftain, Sumali,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘Tadaka belongs to a Rakshasa clan.’

Ram frowned. ‘I thought the Rakshasas were aligned with the Devas, and by extension, their descendants: us.’

‘The Rakshasas are warriors, Prince Ram. Do you know what the word “Rakshasa” means? It’s derived from the old Sanskrit word for protection,
Raksha
. It is said that the word Rakshasa emerged from their victims asking to “be protected from them”. They were the finest mercenaries of ancient times. Some had allied with the Devas, while others joined the Asuras. Raavan himself is half Rakshasa.’

‘Oh!’ Ram exclaimed, as his eyebrows rose.

Arishtanemi continued. ‘Tadaka maintains a militia of fifteen soldiers, led by her son, Subahu. Along with women, children and the old, the settlement must be made up of not more than fifty people.’

Ram frowned.
Just fifteen soldiers?

Early next morning, the party left the temporary camp they’d set up the previous night.

‘The Asura camp is an hour’s ride from here,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘I have asked our soldiers to be on the lookout for scouts and possible traps.’

As they rode on, Ram steered his horse towards Arishtanemi’s, clearly intending to impose further conversation on the taciturn soldier. ‘Arishtanemi
ji
,’ said Ram, ‘Maharishi Vishwamitra mentioned the Asuras of the old code. It can’t possibly comprise only this band of fifty. Fifty people cannot keep an ancient code alive. Where are the others?’

Arishtanemi smiled but did not proffer a response.
This boy is smart. I should warn Guru
ji
to be careful with his words.

Ram persisted with his questioning. ‘Had they been in India, the Asuras would have launched an attack on us, the descendants of the Devas. This suggests that they must not be here. Where are they?’

Arishtanemi sighed imperceptibly and looked up at the dense canopy of trees preventing light from shining through. He decided to oblige the prince with the truth. ‘Have you heard about the Vayuputras?’

‘Of course, I have,’ said Ram. ‘Who hasn’t? They are the tribe left behind by the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra, just as your people are the ones left behind by the previous Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram. The Vayuputras are tasked with protecting India from Evil whenever it arises. They believe that one among them will rise and become the next Mahadev when the time comes.’

Arishtanemi smiled enigmatically.

‘But what does this have to do with the Asuras?’ asked Ram.

Arishtanemi’s expression did not change.

‘By the great Lord Rudra, are the Vayuputras giving shelter to the Asuras, to India’s enemies?’

Arishtanemi’s smile broadened.

And then, the truth hit Ram. ‘The Asuras have joined the Vayuputras…’

‘Yes, they have.’

Ram was perplexed. ‘But, why? Our ancestors went to great lengths to destroy the Asura Empire in India. They should hate all the Devas and their descendants. And here they are, having joined a group whose sole purpose is to protect India from Evil; why are they protecting the descendants of their mortal enemies?’

‘Yes, they are, aren’t they?’

Ram was stunned. ‘But, why?’

‘Because Lord Rudra ordered them to do so.’

This made no sense anymore! Ram was shocked beyond belief, but more importantly, intellectually provoked. He looked towards the sky with a bemused expression.
The people of the masculine are very strange, no doubt; but also magnificent!
He was on his way now to meet some of these quixotic creatures.

But why should they be destroyed? What law have they broken? I’m sure Arishtanemi
ji
knows. But he will not tell me. He is loyal to Maharishi Vishwamitra. I need to get some more information about the Asuras, instead of blindly attacking them.

Ram frowned as he suddenly became aware that Arishtanemi was keenly observing him, almost as if he was attempting to read his mind.

The mounted platoon had ridden for half an hour when Ram silently signalled for them to halt. Everyone immediately pulled their reins. Lakshman and Arishtanemi steered their horses gently towards Ram.

‘Up ahead,’ whispered Ram, ‘high up that tree.’

Around fifty metres ahead, an enemy soldier sat on a
machan
built on a fig tree, around twenty metres from the ground. Some branches had been pulled in front, in a vain attempt to conceal it.

‘The idiot is not even camouflaged properly,’ whispered Lakshman with disgust.

The Asura soldier was dressed in a red
dhoti;
if the intention was to serve as a spy or a lookout, the effect was disastrous, for the colour screamed his presence; like a parrot in a parade of crows.

‘Red is their holy colour,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘They wear it whenever they go into battle.’

Lakshman was incredulous. ‘But he is supposed to be a spy, not a warrior! Amateurs!’

Ram removed the bow slung over his shoulder and tested the pull of the string. He bent forward and rubbed his horse’s neck as he crooned a soft tune; the animal became completely still. Ram pulled an arrow from the quiver tied to his back, nocked it and pulled the string back, aiming quickly. He flicked his releasing thumb and fired the arrow. The missile spun ferociously as it sped to its target, hitting its mark with precision: the thick rope that held the
machan
in place. It immediately gave way and the Asura came crashing down, hitting the branches on his downward journey. This effectively broke his fall and he landed on the ground, reasonably uninjured.

Arishtanemi stared in wonder at Ram’s exquisite archery.
This boy is talented.

‘Surrender immediately and you will not be harmed,’ Ram reassured. ‘We only need some answers from you.’

The Asura quickly rose to his feet. He was, really, a youth, no more than fifteen years of age. His face was twisted with anger and disgust. He spat loudly and tried to draw his sword. Since he had not held the scabbard with his other hand to steady it, he only succeeded in getting the sword stuck. He cursed and yanked hard and the blade finally came free. Arishtanemi jumped off his horse and casually drew his sword.

‘We don’t want to kill you,’ said Ram. ‘Please surrender.’

Lakshman noticed that the poor boy’s grip on the sword hilt was all wrong; it was vice-like, which would quickly tire him out. Also, the weight of the sword was taken by his forearm, instead of his shoulder and triceps, the way it should be. He held the weapon from the farthest edge of the hilt; it would just get knocked out of his hand!

The Asura spat again, before screaming loudly. ‘You excreta of vermin! Do you think you can defeat us? The True Lord is with us. Your false gods cannot protect you! You will all die! Die! Die!’

‘Why are we here, hunting these imbeciles?’ Lakshman threw up his hands.

Ram ignored Lakshman and spoke to the young warrior again, politely. ‘I’m requesting you. Throw down your weapon. We don’t want to kill you. Please.’

Arishtanemi began to move forward slowly, intending to intimidate the Asura. The effect, however, was quite the opposite.

The Asura screamed loudly.
‘Satyam Ekam!’

The True One!

He charged at Arishtanemi. It all happened so quickly that Ram had no time to intervene. The Asura tried to strike Arishtanemi with a standard downward slice, in what was intended to be a kill-strike. But he was not close enough to his opponent. The tall Arishtanemi deftly avoided the blow by swaying back.

‘Stop!’ warned Arishtanemi.

The young soldier, however, screamed loudly, moved his sword arm, and swung from the left. He should have used both his hands for this backhand attempt. Even then, it would have been a mistake against a man of Arishtanemi’s strength. The Malayaputra swung hard, his blow so powerful that the Asura’s sword flew out of his hand. Without losing momentum, Arishtanemi sliced from a high angle and nicked the Asura’s chest. Perhaps hoping to scare him into surrendering.

Arishtanemi stepped back and drove his sword tip into the soft ground in a gesture that conveyed he meant no harm. He said loudly, ‘Just step back. I don’t want to kill you. I am a Malayaputra.’ Then, under his breath, low enough for only the Asura to hear, Arishtanemi whispered, ‘Shukracharya’s pig.’

The enraged Asura suddenly pulled out a knife from a scabbard tied to the small of his back and charged forward, screaming, ‘Malayaputra dog!’

Arishtanemi instinctively stepped back, bringing his hands up in defence. The sword, held in his right hand, came up horizontal. The Asura simply ran into Arishtanemi’s sword, the blade cutting through his abdomen cleanly.

‘Dammit!’ cursed Arishtanemi as he stepped back and pulled his sword out. He turned towards Ram, eyes filled with remorse.

The stunned Asura dropped his knife and looked down at his abdomen, at the blood that began as a trickle and, within moments, burst forth with steadily increasing intensity. The shock of the trauma had blocked out the pain, and he stared at his body as though it was another’s. He collapsed on the ground when it became too much for his brain to handle. He screamed, more with fright than in pain.

Arishtanemi threw his shield to the ground in frustration. ‘I told you to stop, Asura!’

Ram held his head. ‘Lord Rudra, be merciful…’

The Asura was bawling helplessly. There was no saving him, now. The force of the blood flow was a clear indication that the sword had pierced many vital organs and arteries. It was only a matter of time before he bled to death.