Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta Read online

  Kumbhakarna couldn’t stop smiling as he walked unsteadily back to the ship.

  Raavan put his arm around his little brother’s shoulders, leaned in close and whispered, ‘How was it?’

  They were in Mahua Island and Kumbhakarna had just visited a courtesan-house for the very first time. The island was at the mouth of the western-most distributary of the Ganga, at the point where the great river, burdened with water and silt, sluggishly met the Eastern Sea. There was a courtesan-house here, owned by a woman called Vasantpala, which was renowned across the region. Raavan had decided it was the perfect place for his brother’s initiation into the world of carnal pleasures.

  He had taken Vasantpala’s advice and chosen a famous courtesan called Zabibi for his younger brother. Zabibi was from Arabia, and had come to India only recently, to make her fortune. She was no less than an apsara, a celestial nymph. Long-limbed and supple, she was blessed with lustrous black hair. Though new to the land, she was already famed for her beauty and her impeccable taste in clothes and jewellery. And most importantly, she was experienced in the art of love.

  Only the best would do for Kumbhakarna.

  ‘I think I am in love,’ whispered Kumbhakarna, looking stricken and intoxicated at the same time.

  Raavan burst out laughing. He continued walking, then stopped when he realised his brother was not next to him.

  Kumbhakarna was standing still. Looking dreamily at the early morning sky. The two extra arms on his shoulders drooped, as if they too were inebriated. ‘I am not joking, Dada. I think I am in love.’

  Raavan raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I don’t want to leave her here. Can’t I have her forever? Can’t I marry her?’

  Raavan walked back to where Kumbhakarna stood, put his arm around his shoulders, and started walking his reluctant brother along.

  ‘Dada, I am serious…’

  ‘Kumbha, women like Zabibi are meant to be used, not loved.’

  The flash of anger on Kumbhakarna’s face gave Raavan pause.

  ‘Dada! Don’t speak of Zabibi that way!’

  ‘It was a transaction, Kumbha. She gave you pleasure, you gave her money. She is not interested in you. She is interested in the money.’

  ‘No, no! You don’t know what she told me. She couldn’t believe that I was just a boy. She said she had never been with a man like me.’

  ‘I paid her, Kumbha. She is a professional. Of course she said things that you wanted to hear.’

  ‘But she didn’t lie to me and say things to make me feel good. She meant what she said. She didn’t say that I was good looking. I know I am not. But she did say that I was intelligent. Which I am. And that I am strong. And…’ Kumbhakarna smiled shyly, ‘and good in bed.’

  Raavan couldn’t help laughing again. ‘My naïve little Kumbha! This world is full of selfish people. They will tell you what you want to hear in order to get what they want from you. To protect yourself, you must know how to use them to get what you want. That’s the way the world works.’

  ‘But Dada, Zabibi is different. She is—’

  ‘She is no different. She is just clearer about what she wants. She wants money. And she’ll give you sex in return. It’s simple. Some men want honour. Why? I don’t know. But they do. So, give it to them. Give them an honourable way to die. And profit from it. Some women believe that flaunting their beauty is empowering. So, compliment them, have sex with them, and cast them away. Use people before they can use you. Most people in the world are contemptible. Many hide behind pretentions. The ones who succeed are the ones who are honest with themselves. Zabibi is honest. She doesn’t care about you. She cares about herself. She’s here for a few years to earn enough money, and then she’ll go back to her husband in Arabia.’

  Kumbhakarna was shocked. ‘She’s married? She lied to me!’

  ‘Yes, she lied to you. But she didn’t lie to the most important person in her life—herself! You should not be shocked. Instead, you should learn from her. Be clear about what you want. But hide it well. It will help you get what you want.’

  Kumbhakarna was silent for some time, thinking over what his brother had said. Finally he said, ‘That’s why we are attacking Kubaer’s ships, right? But we do it in such a way that everyone thinks it’s the work of pirates.’

  ‘Exactly. Now you are learning. Kubaer’s strength is his wealth, and the more of it we take away, the more insecure he will get. In his desperation, he will turn to the only person in Lanka with a league of well-trained and armed men—me. He will seek my help to secure his wealth. I will obviously help the hapless man. And become the chief of the army of Lanka. From there, it will be a short distance to becoming the king.’

  Kumbhakarna’s chest puffed out with pride. ‘My brother, the king of Lanka!’

  Raavan smiled. ‘Always remember why we are strong, why we are successful. Because we don’t fool ourselves that we are honourable or good. We know who we are. We accept it. We embrace it. That’s why we beat everyone. That’s why we will continue to beat everyone.’

  ‘Yes, Dada.’

  Raavan walked on, with Kumbhakarna ambling along beside him.

  Chapter 11

  ‘We have to go back, Dada!’

  ‘Kumbha, you are being silly. Go to your cabin.’

  Their ship was to leave Mahua Island in a few hours. Kumbhakarna had just come rushing into Raavan’s cabin with some news. Earlier, when he had been with Zabibi, enjoying the courtesan’s attentions, he had barely noticed the very young girl, not more than eight years of age, who had served him alcohol and food. Before she left the room, he had seen her linger beside the chair on which he had casually flung his angvastram. He hadn’t thought much of it then.

  Back in his cabin, he had noticed a small knot tied to the end of the fabric. He had opened it to find a tiny piece of papyrus. With two words written on it, in a childish handwriting. He handed the note to Raavan.

  Raavan read it aloud. ‘Help me.’

  ‘We have to.’

  ‘Help whom?’

  ‘The little girl in the courtesan-house.’

  ‘How do you know it was her?’

  ‘I just know, Dada. She looked troubled. Now that I think about it, there was fear in her eyes. She needs our help.’

  ‘Kumbha, I gave you a long lecture only half an hour ago! We succeed because of our ability to exploit people. Not because we are do-gooders.’

  ‘Dada, you were the one who once told me that if you find someone vulnerable and in serious trouble, help them—and then make them your slave for life. If she is being abused, and we help her, she will be loyal to us forever. She could be useful.’

  ‘Nonsense, Kumbha. You just want to help her and you are trying to find a justification for it.’

  ‘Maybe I am. It will cost us very little. How much does it take to buy the services of a young girl after all? She will be worth it. I saw fire in her eyes.’

  ‘A moment ago, you said you saw fear in her eyes. Which was it? Fear or fire?’

  ‘Dada, I am telling you. This girl could be useful.’

  Raavan shook his head in dismay. Then he pointed a finger at Kumbhakarna. ‘This is the last time I am helping some random person because of you.’

  ‘It’s not help, Dada. It’s business. It will be profitable. Trust me.’

  ‘Vasantpala, it is a good price and you know it,’ said Raavan impatiently. ‘Ten gold coins. Take it and be done with it. Don’t waste my time.’

  Raavan and Kumbhakarna had returned to Vasantpala’s establishment, accompanied by twenty guards. Raavan had thought this would be a quick negotiation. But he was in for a surprise.

  The little girl Kumbhakarna wanted to rescue was standing by the wall. Head bowed. Hands clasped together. She was shaking. Perhaps in fear. Perhaps in anticipation of freedom.

  ‘It’s not that simple, my lord,’ said Vasantpala. ‘Ten gold coins may not be enough for her.’

  Raavan was irritated. ‘You have made mo
re than enough money from me over the years, Vasantpala. Don’t be a fool. You can easily get another serving girl or boy. Who has jobs these days?’

  ‘She is not just a serving girl.’

  Raavan looked at the girl again. He noticed the ligature marks on her hands and feet; marks that indicated that she was often tied up. He knew that some men liked to have sex with very young girls and boys, even tie them up during the act. He had never understood it. It was disgusting. Abominable.

  ‘How much, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Two hundred gold coins. She is profitable.’

  Raavan held his right hand out. One of his aides stepped up and gave him a papyrus sheet and pen. Raavan wrote on it, marked it with his seal and threw it at Vasantpala. ‘One hundred gold coins is my final offer. You can cash this hundi anywhere.’

  Vasantpala picked up the sheet and read it carefully. She smiled. ‘Thank you, my lord, but this will not be enough.’

  ‘I am not haggling with you, Vasantpala. This is my final offer. Or we can tear up that hundi and—’

  Vasantpala interrupted him. ‘I wasn’t asking for more money for myself, my lord. This is good enough for me. But you will need to pay somebody else too.’

  Raavan frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Her father,’ answered Vasantpala.

  Raavan turned towards the little girl, shocked. But only for a moment. All fathers are assholes. Just like mine.

  The little girl raised her head and looked at Vasantpala. Her eyes were burning with rage. And hatred. But almost immediately, her expression changed. She seemed stoic once more. Head bowed. Docile.

  Woah! This girl may actually be worth it.

  Raavan turned towards Vasantpala. ‘Her father?’

  ‘Who do you think sold her to us?’

  The little girl’s father lived a short twenty-minute walk away from the courtesan-house. One of Vasantpala’s aides led Raavan and his entourage there. On the way, he informed Raavan that the girl never spoke. They didn’t know if she had been born dumb. Raavan had a feeling that the girl’s loss of speech had more to do with the torture she had suffered at such a young age.

  They reached the place to find a modest house in a relatively deserted locality. But it was in better shape than Raavan had expected, considering the state of the little girl. The area around the house was clean. The walls had been reinforced recently with fresh bricks. The roof looked new. There was a small garden outside, with a flower bed. All very tastefully done.

  Vasantpala’s aide knocked on the door and stepped aside. A middle-aged man answered the door. He was shorter than Raavan and thin, except for a small potbelly. He wore an expensive silk dhoti. A thick gold chain gleamed around his neck. His long hair was neatly oiled and tied.

  ‘Is this your daughter?’ asked Raavan, pointing at the little girl.

  The man looked at her and then back at Raavan. He noticed the daunting musculature of the pirate-trader. His eyes took in the expensive clothes and jewellery. Obviously, a rich customer. ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘I have something to ask. I want to know—’

  The man cut in. ‘One gold coin per hour. You can use a room in my house. If you want to do something different, like with her mouth or backside, the rates go up. However, if you want to tie her up, or beat her, we will have to negotiate. Because if you break any bones, she will not be able to earn anything for a few months at least.’

  Raavan stepped closer to the man.

  ‘So, what will it be?’ asked the father, a little uncertainly.

  In answer, Raavan swung his fist viciously at the man’s face. Hitting him squarely on the nose. The sickening crunch confirmed that he had broken a bone. As the man fell to the ground, blood spurting from his nose, Raavan turned to look at the little girl. She was staring at her father. At her father’s blood.

  She didn’t blink. She didn’t look away.

  Raavan turned to his men. ‘Tie him to that tree. On his knees.’

  The man was howling in pain.

  Raavan’s men dragged him to a tall coconut palm close by and tied him to it. On his knees. Hands behind the trunk. Both legs secured. Face towards Raavan. Utterly helpless. Still screaming at the top of his lungs.

  ‘In the name of Lord Indra, cover this idiot’s mouth,’ said Raavan, his face screwed up in revulsion.

  One of the guards immediately produced a piece of cloth and stuffed it into the man’s mouth. They gagged him with another, longer piece of cloth which was then secured around the trunk of the tree. Not only could he not create a racket now, he could barely move his head. Only soft, muffled sounds escaped his mouth.

  Raavan turned to look at Kumbhakarna. Communicating with his eyes. Watch and learn.

  ‘You,’ said Raavan to the little girl. ‘What’s your name?’

  The girl didn’t say anything. Kumbhakarna was about to remind Raavan that she couldn’t speak, but his elder brother signalled for him to be quiet.

  ‘Come here,’ Raavan said to her.

  She stepped closer. The tall and extravagantly muscled Raavan towered over her. She barely came up to his waist. Suddenly Raavan pulled out a knife. The girl stepped back in alarm.

  ‘Don’t be afraid. This knife is for you.’ Saying this, Raavan flipped the knife around and handed it, hilt first, to the girl.

  She studied it closely. It was long, with a firm, metal hilt and cross-guard. The blade was sharp on the outer side and serrated on the inner. The sharper side helped the blade slide smoothly into flesh. The serrated side caused maximum damage and pain while pulling the knife out. Manufactured by the talented metalsmiths of Gokarna, it had been designed by Raavan himself.

  The little girl held the knife tightly. Her hands were trembling. Then she looked at her father. The man’s eyes widened with fear. His muffled cries became more high-pitched.

  I am your father…

  Forgive me…

  I am your father…

  ‘Come with me,’ said Raavan. He walked up to the pathetic figure tied to the tree. The little girl followed.

  The man was now shaking, and in a state of utter panic. He struggled against the ropes that confined him. But he had been trussed up well. His muffled cries were the only sounds to be heard. Everyone else was silent.

  Raavan slapped the man hard. ‘Oh, shut up!’

  Raavan turned to the girl and pointed to the place on her father’s neck, at the base, where the jugular vein and carotid artery carried blood between the head and the heart. Almost as if imparting a lesson, he said to the little girl, making a slashing action with his hand, ‘Make a large, deep cut here, and your father will die in a few minutes.’ Then he pointed to the heart and pressed a hand on the man’s chest. ‘Stab here, and he will die much faster. But you have to make sure you get it right. You don’t want the knife to get deflected by the ribs. That is hard bone. Sometimes, the knife can ricochet back from the ribs and you may end up hurting yourself. So, I wouldn’t recommend trying it right now. You can train for it later.’

  The little girl nodded. Like an eager student. A ferociously eager student.

  ‘Or,’ continued Raavan, pointing to the man’s lower abdomen, ‘you could stab him here. In the guts. No bones to deflect the knife. But the problem is that it will take time for him to bleed out. We may have to hear him scream for twenty, maybe even thirty minutes, as he bleeds to death. And if the wound is not deep enough, the blood flow will be very slow. It could take hours. And I don’t have that much time to waste on your father. So, if you are going to stab him here, make sure it’s a deep wound.’

  The desperate man was struggling to free himself.

  ‘It’s up to you now,’ said Raavan.

  The little girl looked at her father. All her reserves of self-control seemed to have run out as she shook in fury. She gripped the knife hard in both hands. Her father’s eyes were pleading for mercy. Tears mixed with sweat and blood.

  Raavan stood aside, waiting for the girl to decide.

 
But even he was surprised by how quickly it happened.

  The girl acted fast. No second thoughts. No hesitation. She stepped up and stabbed her father in the guts. Thrusting her shoulder forward as she did so. Choosing the slow, painful death for him. The man emitted a sound of sheer agony. His eyes were wide in panic and pain. His reactions only seemed to egg the girl on. She pushed the knife in harder, using both her hands. When she finally yanked it out, a fountain of blood spurted out. Dyeing her hands red. Her clothes. Her body. Everything.

  She didn’t flinch. She didn’t step back. She stood there drenched in her father’s warm blood.

  Raavan smiled. ‘Good girl.’

  But the girl was not done. She stepped forward and stabbed her father again. And again. And again. And again. Always in the abdomen. Always in the guts.

  She was silent through it all.

  No sounds of anger. No screaming. No shouting.

  Just pure, silent rage.

  She kept stabbing her father until his abdomen was ruptured, and the intestines started spilling out.

  Kumbhakarna said to Raavan, ‘Dada, make her stop.’

  Raavan shook his head. No.

  His eyes were fixed on the girl.

  She raised the knife and stabbed her father again.

  When she finally stepped back, she had inflicted nearly twenty-five wounds on his flailing body. Her face, her hands, her body, her clothes, were slick with blood. It was almost like she had bathed in her father’s blood.

  She turned around and looked at Raavan. He was momentarily staggered.

  She was smiling.

  She walked up to Raavan, went down on her knees, and placed the bloodied knife at his feet.

  Raavan placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘What is your name?’ he asked.

  The girl said nothing.

  Raavan said, ‘I am your master now. You will work for me. You will be loyal to me. And I will protect you.’