Asura- Tale of the Vanquished Read online

  The situation was dangerous. Power balanced precariously between Karthi Veerarjuna in the west, Bali in Central India, the decimated Indra empire (split up as numerous petty Deva kingdoms between the Himalayas and the mighty rivers of the north), and the warring Asura tribes of the South. The condition of the Asuras was the most miserable. Poverty, disease, famine and misery ravaged the once-famed cities. Apart from the architectural splendour and thriving commerce of a few port towns like Muzuris and Kaveripattinam, the majority of Asuras lived in squalor, without any hope or self-esteem. Money was concentrated amongst a few like my step-brother, Kubera. The military leadership wasted themselves fighting foolish wars with the Devas, the aborigines, the Vanaras, but more frequently, among themselves, without any plan or strategy.

  We crossed the river Poorna. The forest lay trapped and immobile, tangled in a haze of creepers and vines. I was rather apprehensive. These forests had become hiding places for guerillas belonging to various Asura tribes. We decided to continue but were suddenly surrounded by a group of armed men. I was impressed at the skill with which they surrounded us. Twenty taut bows were ready to sing. I stopped Kumbhakarana with a glance. The oaf was struggling to get his rusted sword out of its tattered sheath. I was not a coward, but the three of us were no match for the twenty archers surrounding us. This wasn’t the time to play hero and I didn’t know whether they were Karthiveerarjuna’s policemen or Asura guerilla fighters. They were too dark to be Devas.

  A well-built man with greying hair approached us and pointed his s Cpoiters. Thword at my neck. Another, much younger, started searching us. I was wondering if I could kick the man in the groin and get hold of his throat, when another man pressed the tip of his sword to the hollow of Vibhishana’s throat. My brave young brother started whimpering. I got the message and kept calm. This is no time for heroics, I told myself. Then, tied and blindfolded, we w

  ere half-led, half-dragged through the bushes and heavy undergrowth of the jungle.

  4 Guru

  Ravana

  We stood shivering inside a cave, waiting for someone to appear. There were noises emanating from its depths. Suddenly all the noises ceased and a frightening hush descended. My heart was beating violently and I was embarrassed to find Vibhishana crying. My heart went out to my younger brother. He was so innocent about the ways of the world.

  And then a deep, resonating voice ordered that our blindfolds be removed. As they were lifted and our eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the cave, we saw a very old man seated on a large stone chair. He stared intently at us. I held my head high and glared back at him. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, but then engulfing his whole face, a smile crossed his face. As if touched by a magic wand, the tough and mean-looking old man was transformed into a man of vigour and vitality. His face emanated a serenity beyond words. His smile conveyed the wisdom of ages. Slowly recognition dawned on me, it was Mahabali!

  Here was the greatest and mightiest of all Asura kings. The wise, the strong, the learned, the kind, the perpetrator of social justice, the icon of dharma – paeans run out when one thinks of Mahabali. But was a hint of contempt hovering at the back of my mind? Mahabali had conducted brilliant military campaigns, vanquished his foes and ruled over a continent justly, but he lost his empire because he did not want to back out of a promise he had given to a poor Deva Brahmin, Vamana Vishnu, seeking alms from the mighty Emperor. When Mahabali’s reign was at its summit, the Emperor conducted a Rajasooya, to proclaim his suzerainty over all of India. Kings, chieftains, rajas and maharajas, belonging to all the tribes and kingdoms of India assembled at the Asura capital of Muzuris to pay homage to the king of kings, Mahabali. As a part of the ritual, the Emperor promised a boon to anyone who asked for it. It was at that time that the Vamana Vishnu, disguised as a poor Brahmin boy, asked for three feet of land to set up a Brahminical learning centre in the Asura capital. Not wanting to go back on his promise, Mahabali gave permission to Deva Brahmins to preach their religion in the Asura capital. Soon, this small centre grew into a massive missionary institution. It became the hot-bed of conspiracy and court intrigue. Finally, before the Asura elite could work out what had hit them, Deva Brahmins had overcome the last Asura empire.

  Mahabali was banished to the underworld and the empire he had built for over two decades, soon exploded into hundreds of warring petty kingdoms. But Mahabali continued to live on in legend. I was amazed to see my childhood hero in the flesh. But I was disappointed as well. Mahabali did not match the chiselled image of my hero which a hundred childhood fairytales and legends had sculpted in my mind.

  “We have been trailing you for the last few weeks. What brings you to these parts where no one dares to tread? These are dangerous times and this is no place for fools like you to loiter about.” The deep voice boomed through the caves and snapped me back from my reminiscences.

  I bowed to the great soul before me and said, “Great King, we are seekers of fortune. We are from the Pearl island of Lanka in the southern seas.” I tasted mud in my mouth when I said this, but I couldn’t escape from my roots. Even our address was borrowed. “We are the sons of Kaikesi and half–brothers of Kubera. I am Ravana, and these are my siblings, Kumbakarna and Vibhishana.”

  A small frown appeared on his old haggard face. There were deep thought lines on his broad forehead. And there was a clear chill in his voice. “Your notoriety precedes you, Ravana. I suspected as much. My informers have brought news about your misdeeds of the past few years. It is indeed unfortunate that the Asura tribe produces such useless hotheads as you. You call yourself a warrior? But my boys were tailing you for the past eight days. They could have slit your throat many times over in the last week. And you call yourself a warrior! I think your mixed blood has got to do with this total incompetence. Stop playing a buffoon and be worthy of the ambition that burns in your heart.”

  Anger rose in me. What right did this old loser have to tell me off? Yet, I knew he was right. I was angry because it was true. I was an indifferent student. My mother wanted me to become a world-conquering warrior, but my non-caring father wanted to fill my head with Brahmin ‘learning’. Could we afford a good teacher? Did we have the opportunity to learn to be good warriors? I had many reasons for not succeeding in life. I clenched my fist to keep my temper from exploding. I left that mundane existence because I had the fiery ambition to become something. I saw Kumbha trying to untie the chords. His eyes had become red with rage.

  Then I understood. The Emperor was merely testing my patience. Perhaps this was the Guru I had been looking for. But anger still simmered within me. I didn’t want to submit so easily. I could not be so easily tamed. I looked scornfully at this man and his delusion of grandeur. But my tongue appeared to have dived deep into my stomach. I could not retort. Mahabali exuded raw power. I was suddenly afraid. And then it dawned on me; this was a turning point in my life. An array of emotions flashed through my mind and I stood paralyzed before the Emperor, exposed and naked. I could feel his glance taunting me, challenging me, soothing me, frightening me.

  “You may be of some use to this world after all. Initially, I thought of you as one of the dregs who populate the forgotten and forsaken Asura outposts like pests; who dream of glory and do nothing; who revel in a past, real or imagined and wish for a miracle to save themselves and their race. But Ravana, I can see a spark, a small one perhaps, but a spark indeed, which with the right breeze can be blown into a raging fire. I do not know, whether you are the promise of our miserable people or their curse. You could be both and many things beyond.

  Something tells this old man that you have a grand ambition and you will not stop anywhere until you achieve your dreams. You do not know what power you have suppressed in your restless and aimless mind. A small speck of hope is rising in me, that you, with proper training and guidance can become the salvation of a million people – the people who have been trampled upon, who have been banished to the nether world of nothingness. The same people who are being
crushed under the foot of an unscrupulous enemy. Ravana, welcome to the humble abode of Mahabali. Stay as long as you want, but more importantly, learn. Come with an open mind and remember that this place has a lot to teach you.”

  The old man had style. Then with a wave of his hands and a kind smile, the corners of his mouth twitching with a slight hint of a taunt, the Emperor dismissed us.

  I kept thinking about Mahabali as we followed a slightly built man w Ky b1">ith a flowing white beard, through the enormous cave. Mahabali’s fall was ridiculous. It did not have the glory and heroism associated with the fall of the other great Asura empires before him. The great Asura empire of the famous twin brothers Hiranya and Hiranyaksha, had almost achieved supremacy over all India, when Hiranya was gored to death by a wild boar. Hiranyaksha was betrayed by his son Prahalada, who had conspired with Indra, the king of the Devas.

  Prahalada was a weak king and the empire soon went to pieces. He ruined the country with heavy taxes. Farming and pasturing were ruined, trade guilds migrated and art died. Meanwhile, a new menace had entered the scene – a mad Brahmin called Parasurama – Rama with an axe to grind, who formed a group of thugs to start a series of terror raids in the south. Anarchy and arson spread and his thugs were dreaded across the country. They sneaked into palaces, looted them, butchered the occupants and set fire to the city. Whenever Parasurama conquered a land, he ensured that the Brahmins occupied the highest posts. Erstwhile priests like the Malayans or Vannans, were banished from the cities to the villages. Ineffectual King Prahalada obtained peace from Parsurama at a great and humiliating price and ensured the ascendancy of the Brahmins in the Asura social order.

  A change took place when Mahabali ascended the throne after Prahalada died. Indra could never have anticipated that Prahalada would have such a grandson. Within a decade, Mahabali had overthrown the yoke of Indra’s empire and in a few years he had conquered the entire subcontinent. This was before Karthiveerarjuna had reestablished the aborigine or Adi Dravida empire on the west coast, and Bali, the mighty Vanara king, was even born. For the next 20 years, Mahabali ruled with flourish and Asura art and music reached its peak. Great cities were built and trade exploded. The world came to his doorstep. Oh the glories I have heard about those times! The old men of our villages never stopped talking about those days – days that I believe have been glorified beyond recognition.

  Vibhishana was trying to make conversation with the old man. But he only replied in grunts and snorts. When we reached a corner, the old man abruptly stopped and turned to us. “These are your sleeping quarters. Tomorrow we will start the lessons.”

  Before we could thank him, he had left. We lay there thinking of our future. I kept thinking of my mother and sister. I hoped a hurricane had not blown our small hut over the cliff. I thought of my miserable childhood when even the old and stale food our neighbours gave us tasted good in our hungry mouths. I thought of the day when all four of us became sick with stomach aches after we ate like pigs in my half-brother’s palace; our poor stomachs unaccustomed to ghee or fruits rebelled, and we were miserable for almost a week.

  I thought of the opportunities lost by each poor, black, Asura child; the poverty, the filth, the flies, the shattered childhoods, and a familiar numbing pain started gnawing my soul. My father’s leering face jeered at me, screaming repeatedly that I was a black and good-for-nothing evil-spirited loser who was a burden to the world. I think of the nights when we spoke only about the various foods and delicacies which we had only heard about but never seen.

  My mother’s sobs touched a soft spot somewhere inside me and I wept for our misery, the struggles that lay in the future, our shattered hopes of the past, our people and our tribe. I wept for our helplessness, frustrations and broken lives. I even wept for the blackness of our skin. I sobbed for our ignorance and the cherished nostalgia about the imagined glory of our people. Tears could neither wash the colours of our heroism in poverty nor the foolhardy resolve of our people to die for a cause. Neither could it wash away the call Kawalve ofousness of people like my half-brother, who was insulated from this world of emptiness. Then I wept for myself. Then, through the darkness that covered us like a blanket, two pair of hands embraced me from either side – the tired hands of my brothers, who I vowed I would protect with my life, who I believed would die for me. We hugged each other and wept together for all the miseries we had faced.

  Slowly it began to sink in. A small seed of hope so casually thrown by the old Emperor began to sprout. I hugged my brothers hard as I began to think that my talk about conquering the world was not the e

  mpty daydreams of a destitute child. Maybe the future had promise. Tomorrow was another day and a new beginning.

  5 Dasamukha, the ten-faced

  Ravana

  The old man with the flowing beard woke us at dawn and marched us to a nearby mountain stream to do our morning chores. He was quite loquacious at the moment as if he had suddenly discovered that he had a story to tell and found in us a most willing audience. “People call me Brahma. That is my family surname. Teaching runs in our blood, and we have been Gurus since ancient times. There were four Gurus in the Council of Knowledge, and each year, they decided the syllabus for hundreds of schools spread over various parts of the Asura empire. We created the Asura world as we know it today. My family created the law and were worshipped as Gods. Along with Shiva’s family; who right from the time of the great empire on the banks of the Indus, protected farms, property and animals, and were called the Pasupathis owing to their function in the society. We developed a civilization.”

  He rambled on, ”Then the Deva invasion began. The first act of Indra was to burn down our cities, schools, temples – everything that encouraged progress. We had at that time, in collaboration with the architect and engineering guild of the Mayans, achieved great progress in technology. We had even developed a flying machine – the Pushpaka. However, only a prototype had been built. The invasion changed all that. The head of the family and the fourth member in charge of science and technology, was among the first victims of the marauding barbarians and Asura science died with him. The head of the Mayan school escaped in his flying machine in the nick of the time and his successors are now protected by your half-brother, who has appropriated the Pushpaka flying machine prototype. I do not know how many centuries will pass before man masters the sky again.

  My ancestors specialized in arms and manufacture of military equipment. The Brahma family who specialized in arts, crafts and music are under the protection of the Gandharva empire. Bali, the great Vanara king, protected the Brahma teachers of architecture and is building great cities in middle India. The tribe of the fourth Brahma, who joined the Devas, specialized in philosophical discourses. They are now the intellectual gurus to the Devas. So, even though I will be imparting knowledge in all possible branches, I shall specifically concentrate on arms and military strategy. As warriors, I believe that is the most crucial knowledge you should possess.”

  He had our attention. We had a vague idea about the evolution of the Brahma clan but it was surprising that the old man who sat cross-legged before us, was actually the bearer of such ancient wisdom. He hardly looked like a great guru. He was rather plain, short and bald, with a pot belly. But the flowing white beard and the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the genius hidden beneath that old and worn shell.

  From that day, as the sun rose over the Sahyas and the majestic Poorna river that wound its way through the green mountains turned purple, a new epoch began in our lives. Brahma was our long-lost father, the mother we left behind, our Guru, our God, our saviour. Knowledge in its purest form, refined by scores of generations of knowledge-seekers of the Brahma family, poured from the old man. It engulfed and enthralled me. He taught us long-lost arts, long-forgotten texts and more than anything else, planted in my fertile but restless soul, the quest for knowledge. It was he who taught me to listen to the music of nature. He showed me how to listen to the chirping of birds, he made
my mind dance to the tune of the flowing wild brooks, he made my inner self soar with the eagle flying high in the sky. I felt cleansed. If I owe anything to anyone in my life, it is to my Guru. He gave shape to my ambition, wings to my dreams, clarity to my vision, and power to my arms.

  In my irresponsible teenage, I would dismiss the Vedas and Upanishads as humbug. But Mahabali and Brahma opened to me the magical world of the sacred texts of the ancient Asuras and Devas. I stood astonished at the grand philosophical speculations these books espoused. They were the works of supreme intellectuals and men of genius. It was a far cry from the trivia that people like my father were propagating in the name of Vedas. The rituals, the animal sacrifices, the curse of caste - none of these had the sanction of the Vedas nor were they divine proclamations or edicts. By the time Brahma and Mahabali had reached the commentary on the Atharva Veda, I was confident that I could challenge any pseudo scholars on the Vedas. The real meaning of the sacred texts gave me greater determination to attack evils like caste, animal sacrifices and other rituals being propagated by the priestly class. I was determined to curb meaningless rituals and sacrifices and put an end to the curse of caste.

  We had nearly reached the end of our education. The last few classes were with the great Emperor himself. He spoke in length about mind control and mastering the senses. The path he proposed was rigid and straight. It was tough, challenging and totally impractical.