Raavan- Enemy of Aryavarta Read online

‘Looking at her makes the pain go away, Kumbha…’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘I told you.’ Raavan closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘Ka… Kanyakumari.’

  ‘That’s just a title, Dada. Even I know that. There are many Kanyakumaris. And she is probably not a Kanyakumari anymore if she is a grown woman. What’s her real name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Which tribe is she from?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Kumbhakarna’s heart grew heavy. Tears welled up in his eyes. He walked up to Raavan and embraced him. ‘We will find her, Dada.’

  The tears were flowing down Raavan’s cheeks now. There was no stopping them. He held his brother tight. The pain in his navel was excruciating.

  ‘We will find her, Dada, we will! I promise.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘It’s good to be home!’ said Kumbhakarna, his extra arms shaking slightly, as they always did when he was excited. Though he was only ten, his voice had already begun to change.

  Two years had passed since Raavan had allowed his younger brother into his secret chamber. They were now on their way back from a short trip to the Nicobar Islands, an important port en route to South-east Asia. It was Kumbhakarna’s first trade voyage ever, and Raavan had wanted to ensure that it wasn’t too long and uncomfortable.

  Raavan sighed. ‘I don’t like coming home. I prefer the sea.’

  ‘But home is home, Dada.’

  ‘And maa is maa… I can’t handle her constant crying. It’s like she produces tears at will, just to irritate me. One of these days, I’ll…’

  Raavan stopped speaking as he saw Kumbhakarna’s expression change. He knew that as much as his younger brother loved him, he did not appreciate these rants against their mother.

  ‘All right, all right,’ he said, patting Kumbhakarna’s shoulder. ‘You know I won’t do anything drastic. But you handle her tears this time.’

  The ship was slowing down gradually as it reached the mouth of the harbour. The brothers watched while the helmsman steered towards their allocated berth. As they passed other ships on their way in, heads turned to stare at the by now legendary ship as it prepared to dock. Its blinding speed on the high seas had given Raavan a huge competitive advantage in the cutthroat world of smuggling. With his fast growing profits, he had already built a fleet of five ships.

  Raavan was conscious of being watched. He rather enjoyed the attention. But he continued to look straight ahead, pretending not to notice the admiring, and jealous, eyes gawking at him. He would not preen in front of others. That would be a sign of weakness. And nineteen-year-old Raavan did not believe in letting his weaknesses show.

  The trader-prince, they called him. He liked that.

  ‘Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna, nudging Raavan to draw his attention.

  Raavan turned. Akampana was standing at the port, waiting for them, clearly excited about something.

  ‘Looks like the dandy has some news for us,’ Raavan said, preparing to disembark.

  ‘Raavan, I’ve found the secret! I’ve found the…’

  ‘Quiet!’ Raavan said severely, tapping him on the head.

  Akampana stopped speaking, looking suitably chastened.

  They were still in the port area, surrounded by people. Raavan knew that the success of any trading operation depended on reliable information about the commodities and goods that various ships were carrying, and the destinations they were headed for. It was critical to hold on to one’s trade secrets.

  He continued walking, as his bodyguards pushed people out of the way, clearing his path. Akampana fell into step behind him, smoothing his hair down. A few strands of hair had escaped their coiffure earlier, when Raavan had tapped him on the head. He turned to his assistant, who was walking alongside, for a towel. Some of the perfumed hair oil had come off on his hands.

  ‘Now,’ said Raavan. ‘Start talking.’

  They were in Raavan’s private chamber in his well-appointed mansion. Raavan was leafing through the many messages that had arrived for him while he was away. Mareech and Akampana sat across from him, on the other side of a large desk. Kumbhakarna was sitting by the window, drinking lemon juice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Raavan,’ said Akampana nervously. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken up at the port and it—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Raavan interrupted, waving his hand dismissively without looking up. ‘Get to the point. I don’t have all day.’

  Akampana leaned forward. The excitement in his voice was palpable. ‘I’ve found it. I know what the secret is.’

  Raavan put the papyrus scroll down and picked up a quill. He dipped it in the inkpot and started writing a note on the side of the message he was reading. ‘You know I don’t like riddles. Speak plainly. What have you found?’

  ‘I’ve got the information we were looking for. From one of the descendants of King Trishanku Kaashyap.’

  Raavan stopped writing. He replaced the quill in its hold, leaned back in his chair and said, ‘Continue.’

  ‘You do know that Trishanku Kaashyap’s body was never found after—’

  ‘I know Trishanku’s entire story. Don’t give me a history lesson. Get to the point,’ Raavan snapped.

  Trishanku Kaashyap was the first king of Lanka in the modern age. His kingdom had been established with the help of Vishwamitra. But over time, his subjects had wearied of Trishanku’s violent and selfish ways, and he had been deposed. Even Vishwamitra, realising his mistake in supporting Trishanku, had helped the people’s rebellion.

  Mareech asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. ‘Have you found the secret?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Akampana triumphantly.

  The secret in question related to Raavan’s main ship, once owned by Akampana. Despite the remarkably inept way in which Akampana had handled it, the ship had never suffered any biofouling and had continued to travel at twice the speed of other ships. Akampana himself did not know what made his ship special. All he knew was that it had once belonged to a descendant of Trishanku Kaashyap.

  ‘There is a special material that has to be ground and mixed with oil—an oil from Mesopotamia—and rubbed on the hull once every twenty years,’ said Akampana. ‘It keeps barnacles and other sea creatures away. It’s as simple as that.’

  Raavan leaned forward. ‘And where does one find this special material, Akampana?’

  ‘It’s with your friends. The Malayaputras. They call it the cave material for some reason.’

  ‘I guess that’s because they found it in a cave,’ said Raavan sarcastically.

  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Akampana, oblivious as usual.

  Raavan rolled his eyes and turned to Mareech. ‘Fix a meeting with them. Quickly.’

  ‘Why do you need the cave material, Raavan?’ asked Vishwamitra.

  By a strange coincidence, Vishwamitra and Arishtanemi had arrived in Gokarna that very week, en route to Sigiriya. Raavan had lost no time in going to meet them. But he had insisted on going alone. Without Akampana, or even Mareech.

  ‘I have some plans for trading with it, Guruji,’ answered Raavan, his head bowed. He was always polite and deferential with Vishwamitra.

  ‘Are you planning to cut us out and sell directly to Kubaer? Are you planning to reduce our profits?’

  Raavan knew that the Malayaputras sold the cave material directly to Kubaer. He had been told by Akampana that the material, whatever it was, was poisonous for humans. And that it was refined and used as a mixture in the fuel for the Pushpak Vimaan, the legendary flying vehicle owned by Kubaer. The other ingredients used for the fuel mixture were almost as costly. Which was one of the reasons the Pushpak Vimaan was used so rarely, and why similar vimaans had not been built. They were simply too expensive to run.

  Raavan was prepared for the question. He looked up and folded his hands together in a namaste. ‘No, Guruji. Would
I ever do that to the mighty Malayaputras? But having said that, Chief-Trader Kubaer isn’t buying the material from you anymore because it’s too expensive. As you know, he has even stopped using the Pushpak Vimaan.’

  ‘So are you planning to buy the Pushpak Vimaan and use it yourself?’

  Raavan had guessed that the Malayaputras were not aware that the cave material helped prevent biofouling on ships or they would have been using it on their own vessels. Listening to Vishwamitra now, he became certain of this. If all went well, he would be the only one with the competitive advantage of superfast ships.

  ‘Leasing the Pushpak Vimaan is an option as well, Guruji. Chief-trader Kubaer never says no to an opportunity for making profits, does he?’

  ‘And what are you going to do with the Pushpak Vimaan?’

  ‘Oh, a little bit of this and a little bit of that.’

  Although using the vimaan for trade would be a losing proposition because of the exorbitant running cost, Raavan did actually plan to use it. After all, he had to convince the ever-vigilant Malayaputras that he was buying the cave material only for the purpose of flying the vimaan. On prospecting trips maybe. Or even holidays!

  Vishwamitra looked intently at Raavan, trying to read his mind. But he hit a blank wall. Raavan had by now learnt the technique of blocking even the most powerful rishi from reading his mind.

  ‘All right,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘You will have to pay five hundred thousand gold coins per consignment. And you will have to take at least three consignments a year.’

  It was a ridiculous price. Way beyond what Kubaer paid. And the insistence on a minimum purchase was unheard of.

  But Raavan didn’t flinch. He had done his calculations already. ‘I agree to the price, Guruji. But I cannot agree to the minimum number of consignments. I don’t know how often I will use the vimaan. I will try my best to buy three consignments every year. But there may be some years when I am unable to do so. I should not be penalised for that.’

  Vishwamitra nodded. ‘All right.’

  Standing beside them, Arishtanemi could not believe his ears. Five hundred thousand gold coins per consignment! With that much money, the Malayaputras could begin the search for daivi astra material in earnest. The daivi astras were weapons of mass destruction, whose use had been severely restricted by the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra. He had decreed that they could not be deployed without the permission of the Vayuputras, the tribe left behind by Lord Rudra. But Vishwamitra had plans of his own. He wanted the Vishnu to rise in his time. For that to happen, and to manage the course of events, he had to have independent control of the daivi astras. This deal with Raavan would give him the funds to seek out and quarry the material required for the manufacture of the divine weapons. Arishtanemi could not help but smile at the irony: it was the pirate Raavan who would free them from their dependency on the Vayuputras.

  ‘Thank you so much, Guruji,’ said Raavan, bending to touch the maharishi’s feet.

  ‘Ayushman Bhava,’ said Vishwamitra, blessing Raavan with a long life.

  ‘I wonder what he is planning to do, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi.

  ‘I’m confused too,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘The only use for the cave material, other than as fuel for the Pushpak Vimaan, is as a poison.’

  ‘Yes. But for all practical purposes, it’s a pretty useless poison.’

  Arishtanemi was right. The cave material was a very slow-acting poison. One would have to administer it regularly to the victim, for many weeks, for it to have any effect. And when it was refined into a potent poison, it emanated a distinctively foul smell, which rather defeated the purpose. The intended victim would smell it from miles away!

  ‘Maybe he wants to be the only one in the world with a flying machine, even if it bankrupts him. I had thought Raavan would serve our purpose. That he could grow into a worthy villain. But it looks like he’s surrendered to mere vanity,’ Vishwamitra said, looking disappointed.

  ‘He can still serve our purpose, Guruji. With that much gold at our disposal, we can begin our search for the daivi astra materials in earnest.’

  ‘True. But getting the cave material is difficult.’

  ‘Please don’t worry about that, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘I’ll ensure that we get all the material we need.’

  ‘Raavan, have you gone mad?’ Mareech blurted. A steely look from his nephew forced him to control himself and check his tone. ‘Listen to me, Raavan, we have worked hard… you have worked hard to build up all we have now. Five hundred thousand gold coins per consignment is too much. We can never—’

  ‘My numbers are never wrong. I calculate that if we can build a fleet of two hundred ships as soon as possible, and run them continuously on the main trade routes—spice, cotton, ivory, metal and diamond—we will recover our investment in three years. After that, it’s pure profit.’

  ‘Two hundred ships? Raavan, I like your confidence, and I’ve always had faith in your vision. But this kind of scale is unimaginable. And unmanageable. The risks are too high.’

  ‘On the contrary, scaling it up will reduce our risk.’

  ‘But Raavan, no trader has ever owned a fleet of two hundred ships. It’s unheard of!’

  ‘That’s because there has never been a trader called Raavan before this.’

  Akampana tried to butt in. ‘Are you sure we cannot negotiate further with the Malayaputras? Guru Vishwamitra and his followers live very frugal lives. I don’t see what they need so much money for. Maybe there is still some room for negotiation…’

  ‘I am not going back on a deal that I’ve signed already,’ said Raavan firmly.

  ‘Perhaps we can expand slowly, then? Start with say, twenty ships. One consignment of cave material is enough for that. We can see how it works and—’

  Raavan cut in. ‘No. We will begin with two hundred.’

  ‘But, Raavan,’ said Akampana, nervously fiddling with his many finger rings. ‘Building two hundred ships means we will need ten consignments. That means we will need to pay five million gold coins.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Raavan, listen to me,’ said Mareech. ‘Five million gold coins is more than the annual revenue of most kingdoms in the Sapt Sindhu. We will have to mortgage everything we have to raise that kind of money.’

  ‘Then we should do that.’

  ‘Dada,’ interrupted Kumbhakarna.

  Raavan turned to his younger brother. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘People talk freely in front of me because they think I am only a child and—’

  ‘Please get to the point quickly, Kumbhakarna. You know Raavan does not like long-winded answers,’ Akampana interjected. He looked at Raavan for confirmation, but withered on receiving an angry glare. Raavan had all the time in the world for Kumbhakarna.

  ‘We may not need to borrow the money,’ continued Kumbhakarna calmly. ‘We can just steal it.’

  Raavan shook his head. ‘Not a good idea. We’ll have to hit too many targets to raise five million. And each time we hit a place, the risk will increase.’

  ‘Not really, Dada. All we need to do is hit one big target.’

  ‘We can’t target royal treasuries, Kumbha. The security is too tight.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about a royal treasury.’

  ‘There is someone in India, other than a king, who has five million gold coins?’ Raavan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

  ‘Krakachabahu, the governor of Chilika.’

  Mareech nearly choked on the cardamom-flavoured milk he was drinking. ‘Krakachabahu? How can we steal from him? The entire Kalinga fleet will be after us. We will not have a safe harbour anywhere in the Indian Ocean.’

  ‘But Uncle,’ said Kumbhakarna politely, ‘this is money that Krakachabahu has stolen from the king of Kalinga. He has been taking a cut from the Customs revenue for years. He keeps the money hidden in an underground vault in his palace. He will never be able to admit that
he had it in the first place. That’s the beauty of stealing from a thief; he cannot complain.’

  ‘Hmm…’ Raavan’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘I’ve also heard that a lot of his wealth is conveniently in the form of precious stones. Small, lightweight, and easy to steal. And they can be converted to gold at any port in the Indian Ocean.’

  Raavan turned to Mareech and Akampana, a proud smile on his face. ‘My brother!’

  ‘But Raavan,’ said Akampana, ‘we can’t just walk into Krakachabahu’s palace. It’s one of the best-guarded residences in India. And most of the guards are from his native land, Nahar.’

  Mareech, who had begun to warm to the idea, countered Akampana. ‘Yes, but the chief of the palace guards is Prahast.’

  Raavan smiled as soon as he heard the name. ‘He owes me one.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mareech. ‘You saved his life once. And he has always wanted to work with you. The fact that he is greedy and ruthless makes him perfect for the job.’

  ‘Let’s start the preparations. We sail to Chilika in a month.’

  Chapter 8

  ‘The plan looks good, Dada,’ said Kumbhakarna.

  Two weeks had passed since Kumbhakarna had suggested looting Krakachabahu’s treasure. The brothers were reviewing their strategy, late in the evening, in Raavan’s wood-lined personal library, with its collection of thousands of manuscripts.

  Knowledge was highly prized in India. Small manuscript collections were not uncommon in homes, though only universities and temples had large, well-stocked libraries. It was said, with reasonable confidence, that no individual had more manuscripts in his private collection than Raavan. What is more, he had actually read most of them.

  ‘I came up with it,’ said Raavan. ‘Of course it’s good!’

  ‘Maybe, but I came up with our target!’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Raavan said, laughing. ‘You are the king of everything, Kumbha.’

  Kumbhakarna bowed theatrically and laughed along. ‘I want to read something interesting, Dada. Anything you’d recommend?’

  Raavan looked around his huge library. He was extremely possessive about his manuscripts. He didn’t allow anyone to borrow them. Except Kumbhakarna. There were very few things that he refused Kumbhakarna. ‘How about I read you a poem instead?’