Vanara Page 9

  She had grown so beautiful and he had not even talked to her. When he had followed Baali, after his brother’s grand declaration of founding a city, he had expected that she would follow them. Every day he had waited impatiently for Tara to appear. He had dreamed of working together, sharing jokes, making fun of his elder brother and talking sweet nothings. As the days passed, his hopes started wilting.

  ‘Enough of daydreaming. Get back to work,’ Baali said.

  ‘One can’t build a city all alone,’ Sugreeva said.

  ‘We are three of us,’ Baali said as he lifted a huge boulder on his powerful shoulders.

  ‘Three? That eunuch is good for nothing. He sits and drinks. It is we –’

  The boulder fell from Baali’s shoulder with a crash and broke into two pieces. He rushed to Sugreeva and shook his shoulders, ‘That eunuch? That eunuch? He is our father.’

  ‘He is not my father.’

  Baali slapped him hard across his face, ‘That man slogged –’

  ‘He is no man.’

  ‘He is a better man than both of us. That man slogged as a slave for our sake. Six years he spent–’

  ‘For what? For this? For us to work like slaves? Under this scorching sun? See my hands . . . see these lesions –’

  ‘Get out,’ Baali’s voice was dangerously cold.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Out of my city. NOW!’

  Sugreeva glared at his brother and threw the hammer down. He turned in a huff and walked away. Riksarajas was singing about the celestial maidens who had breasts like melons. The eunuch called him to sit by his side and share a drink. The eunuch and his brother were mad. He was going away. He would run away to some place in Deva land and find work. He paused when he reached the proposed city boundary, half-expecting his brother to call him. Baali was busy carrying boulders. He was never coming back. He had had enough of monkey people. Barbarians, all of them. Sugreeva turned and came face to face with Tara and another girl.

  ‘You are going to someone’s wedding?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Devi, I don’t understand,’ Sugreeva said.

  ‘Devi,’ the girls giggled. Sugreeva smiled. Memories of how Tara had reacted when he had first called her Devi came rushing back. He was relieved. Tara was laughing and that meant she had forgotten about the wrestling incident six years ago. His throat felt dry. He had to ask her something but couldn’t find the appropriate words.

  ‘I asked, are you going for a wedding? You seem to be finely dressed,’ the girl said with a sly smile.

  Sugreeva blinked, not comprehending what the attractive girl was saying. Slowly it dawned on him and he wished the ground would split open and swallow him. He was just wearing a loincloth and was covered in dust. In his anger, he had not bothered to tie his dhoti and had walked away in what he was working in.

  ‘If you aren’t in a hurry for the wedding feast, show us around your great city,’ the girl said with a deadpan expression. Tara burst out laughing. Sugreeva didn’t know where to run.

  ‘If you’re wondering who this beautiful girl is,’ the girl said pointing to herself, ‘you’re talking to Swayamprabha.’

  Sugreeva joined his palms in greeting. Prabha returned the greeting and pointed to Tara, ‘And this not so pretty girl is Vaidya Sushena’s daughter.’

  ‘How are you, Tara?’ Sugreeva asked.

  ‘Oh, you know each other?’ Prabha asked in mock surprise.

  ‘I know him since when he was this small,’ Tara laughed.

  ‘Was this his preferred outfit since childhood or did he grow up in his loincloth and never bothered to change?’

  Sugreeva stood tongue-tied, embarrassed at his nudity.

  ‘Show us your new city, Sugreeva,’ Tara said. Sugreeva grabbed the lifeline and turned enthusiastically. Thankfully the topic had changed from his dressing style. It was a mistake and he realised it too late. The loincloth hardly covered his rear and he could hear the girls giggling. He did not want to face them and hurried back to the ‘city’, with the two girls whispering and tittering behind him. His only relief was the thought that his brother would be similarly dressed, but when he reached the place where he had been working, Baali was nowhere to be seen. He stood at the middle of the ‘city’ and the girls waited for him to say something.

  ‘Here will come up the city market,’ Sugreeva said, feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth. The ‘market’ was a dirt track with a few cactus sprouts on either side.

  ‘And this would be the place for the palace?’ Prabha said pointing to a rock that had patches of bird droppings splattered over it.

  ‘No, that is the public bath,’ Baali said from behind. To Sugreeva’s dismay, his brother was wearing a proper dhoti. He seemed to have had a bath and looked smart and handsome.

  ‘You’re back? Is this the way to be dressed before ladies?’ Baali asked Sugreeva. He saw the girls smiling and felt his rage returning. He shouldn’t have come back.

  ‘What are you gaping at? Go and have bath,’ Baali said, ‘Let me show the ladies our city.’

  Baali grabbed Tara’s palm, ‘Come Tara, we have a lot to catch up on. And let me show you the city of Kishkinda.’

  Sugreeva saw Tara blushing at Baali’s touch and that sent a pang of jealousy deep into his heart. He watched them going away with a sinking feeling.

  ‘Do you want me to wait? Or you can show me around your . . . er . . . city. I do not mind your fashion a bit,’ Prabha smiled.

  Sugreeva had forgotten about the girl. ‘Devi, apologies. I have a city to build for the monkeys. Why don’t you join them?’

  Prabha shrugged and hurried to catch up with Baali and Tara. At least, his brother won’t be alone with Tara, thought Sugreeva with grim satisfaction. Someone touched his shoulders and he turned. It was Riksarajas. He shoved the hammer at Sugreeva.

  ‘I have repaired this. Now you can work without getting frustrated. I will be under the tree. I should hear the sound of the hammer striking the stone there,’ Riksarajas sauntered away, complaining about the heat.

  Sugreeva stared at the hammer for a moment. He could hear his brother’s confident voice and the laughter of the two girls as he showed them his dream city. Sugreeva started smashing the rock with all the anger he could muster. He ignored the comment of the eunuch that he was building a city and not demolishing one. Right now he could break stones till the end of the world.

  Chapter 13

  It was after a few days that Sugreeva learned the reason for Tara’s visit. She had come to give back the money he had lent to her father. He felt bitter that she had handed it over to Riksarajas rather than him. It was his hard-earned money and the eunuch would spend it all on palmyra toddy and cannabis. She could have thanked him. He had made a fool of himself, standing in a loincloth, covered in dust and grime and breaking stones under a hot sun. Baali had acted as if everything was normal. Neither Riksarajas nor Baali mentioned anything about the fight. Baali had walked till Sushena’s hut along with the girls and had come back with some foul-smelling paste given by the Vaidya. He had insisted on applying it on Sugreeva’s cracked hands and when Sugreeva protested, his brother had scolded him. Sugreeva knew that was Baali’s way of apologizing. That was how his brother loved him. It was stifling and touching at the same time. Sugreeva felt that he was in a trap from which he could never escape. His fate was to be under the protection of his domineering brother and he resented it. The way Tara blushed when Baali touched her made him bitter and he replayed the scene repeatedly in his mind, trying to convince himself that it meant nothing.

  Sugreeva was now convinced that the city was never going to be built, not anytime soon, not with two of them slaving it out. They needed some labour and they needed someone who knew how to plan the city. His brother would never understand such a simple thing and he did not want to have another round of argument with his brother. Baali believed in magic, not the kind where one would sacrifice a goat to some unknown God and the God would bring miracles, bu
t the magic of dreams. Baali was sure that if they kept working hard, everything would happen by itself. Sugreeva had no such delusions. He tried to recollect the names of the famous sculptors that he had met during his travels. Not that anyone would allow a Vana Nara to interact with sculptors who were higher in the caste hierarchy. But he had heard about many names and had seen a few from a distance. Who would work for the untouchable Vana Naras? Even if he could convince someone, either from Asura land or from Deva countries that lay beyond the river Narmada, he had no idea how he could pay them. He felt he was chained to his fate, like Ahalya, his adoptive mother who he heard was still chained to a rock for her crime of adultery. The thought of Ahalya tasted bitter in his mouth. He should not have betrayed her trust, but was she not betraying the trust her husband had in her. There was no point thinking about the past. Had he not seen Ahalya and Indra that day, he and Baali would have been living in the Ashram as house slaves. There would have been a stable roof over their head and some gruel to eat.

  The money they had earned had run out and other tribesmen like Kinnaras or Gandharvas had stopped giving them provisions. No Vana Nara would sell them anything as long the ban existed. For a few days, they had survived by trapping small animals that came near, but the animals soon grew wiser and avoided those parts of the forest. Besides, Baali was against hunting animals as he said it was a primitive way of living. He wanted to do agriculture the way Asuras and Devas did, but the river had totally dried out. The grove that Baali had nurtured had wilted, with only the seven palmyra trees standing strong. Dust-laden winds blew from the north and the sky remained a sizzling blue, naked without clouds. The only thing that appeared to thrive were mosquitoes. Sugreeva had heard of many starvation deaths in the distant Vana Nara villages. There were some slave raids by Devas and some had voluntarily surrendered to become Dasas with the hope that they would be fed at least once a day. Baali was always in a morose mood and snapped for silly reasons. Sugreeva avoided talking to him. Riksarajas had stopped singing. That was the only consolation for Sugreeva in those bleak days.

  One day, when Baali had gone to the forest to get some saplings for his grove, Sugreeva decided to leave the ‘city’ and visit Sushena’s hut. His excuse was that he had a severe stomach ache which warranted a visit to the Vaidya. Riksarajas wanted to tag along as he wanted to enquire why he was unable to drink as much arrack as he had been used to, but Sugreeva dissuaded him somehow.

  When he reached the hut, the Vaidya had gone out, but the two girls were there. Sugreeva was annoyed by the presence of Prabha. The girl chattered without a break and he struggled to start a conversation with Tara. He was trying to gauge her mind and her reticence worried him. She was polite, but distant and the warmth he thought he had rediscovered when they had visited the ‘city’ was missing. Was she dreaming about his brother? To further the conversation, he talked about his troubles with the building of the ‘city’. He was self-depreciating and tried his best to be humorous. Prabha laughed at the slightest provocation, while his half-hearted humour was lost on Tara. She appeared to be in a dream-like state and he had to often repeat his questions to her.

  Sugreeva mentioned his need for an architect who could design a real ‘city’ but got no reaction from Tara. They were strolling by the river. It irritated him that Tara had not paid any attention to him. He tried flirting with Prabha and regretted it soon. The girl was enthused by his encouragement and bored him with stories of her difficult childhood and how she was rescued. He answered in grunts and nods, while trying to read Tara’s face. He didn’t even notice Prabha had stopped chatting. The silence was embarrassing and for the sake of courtesy, he repeated his need for an architect who would work for free.

  Tara said, ‘Prabha, won’t Nala be the right man?’

  Prabha, who was sulking, nodded indifferently. Tara said, ‘The boy was a slave in the home of Vishwakarma the architect. His father bought him back and he is wasting his life relaying thatch over the huts. I will send for him.’

  Sugreeva nodded and when the silence became unbearable, he thanked them and walked back. His mind was heavy. He should not have gone to Sushena’s home. Tara’s demeanour worried him, and he juggled with various possibilities and arrived at absurd conclusions, only to rejig the same and start all over again. He toyed with the idea of asking for Tara’s hand. He was a nobody, had no money, had no land and was an expelled member. Why should she bother to marry him? He felt a deep sense of inferiority. I have an ugly face, am poor and broken. What is the point in living further? He strayed towards the waterfall and stood at the edge for some time. Perhaps his death will make her realise how much he loved her and what a grave mistake she had committed by ignoring his love. His death would be a lesson to all girls who broke the hearts of men. When he looked down at the rock below and imagined his body lying prone, with blood splattered over the zigzag rock at the bottom of the fall, the idea of suicide lost its appeal. Slowly, despondency gave way to anger. He wanted Tara. He vowed that he would do anything to get her. He sat at the edge of the rock, reminiscing about each gesture and conversation of his past few hours. He had once again made a fool of himself, he concluded, and vowed that he would never give up. He decided he would never be intimidated by her or be tongue-tied. He was far more sensible and caring than his brother and there was no reason for her to choose Baali over him.

  When he reached the ‘city’, a lean dark man was waiting for him. Riksarajas wobbled towards Sugreeva and said, ‘Where have you been loitering around? This boy has been waiting for quite some time.’

  The man bowed and said, ‘The Vaidya’s daughter has sent me here. I am Nala.’

  At first glance, Nala didn’t seem impressive. He looked unwashed, wearing a dhothi that was torn in a few places and his hair and beard were matted. He looked too young to be a city builder. What would a Vanara know about building cities? Without waiting for Sugreeva to respond, Nala started inspecting the work done so far. Sugreeva saw him shake his head in dismay several times.

  ‘Have You made any model? In clay or in wood? Any plan for the city?’

  Sugreeva blinked as if Nala was talking a different language. Riksarajas said, ‘Son, we don’t plan anything. Things just happen.’

  Sugreeva was not sure whether the eunuch was mocking them or saying the same in earnest. Nala stared at Riksarajas and said, ‘You’ll aren’t going to get anything built this way.’

  ‘I know how my city should be.’

  Sugreeva hadn’t seen Baali coming. His brother had his arms crossed against his broad chest and was frowning at Nala.

  ‘You are Baali, right? Brother, this is stupid.’

  Not a right way to start a conversation, Sugreeva thought. No one called Baali stupid, not to his face. This man was either crazy or foolish. Baali’s face had grown dark.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘I am Nala. I am a builder and I want to say you seem to have no clue . . .’

  ‘Who invited you?’

  ‘Tara, the daughter of Vaidya said you guys are looking for a builder . . .’

  Sugreeva saw Baali’s face ease to a smile. ‘Oh, Tara has sent you? That is great. Come, let us plan how we can build Kishkinda.’

  Sugreeva watched them go away, without bothering to talk to him. Riksarajas returned to his resting place under the Banyan tree. Baali’s sudden transformation on hearing Tara’s name bothered Sugreeva. He had disliked Nala at first glance and the way Nala went without even acknowledging him made him bitter. The next few weeks were hell for Sugreeva. Baali and Nala would discuss plans for the city for hours, while he was ordered around to fetch something or the other. A clay model, three-feet high and twenty feet in radius was built by Nala. Sugreeva had constant arguments with Nala and Baali over how the city should be.

  Nala made the city move away from the place they had initially chosen. The grove was left as the outer part of city, which moved further south where there were many caves. The idea of using caves as dwelling pla
ce with gardens and groves in plains appealed to Baali, but not to Sugreeva. Baali wanted the city to be secure and Sugreeva wanted it to be beautiful. He had admired cities of Asuras by the seaside and wanted to model Kishkinda the same way. Nala said the sea made for a natural barrier against attacks, but a mountain city should use the caves and rocks effectively.

  Nala soon came with a group of his men and a few women to assist him. Baali was happy ordering everyone around and he had developed a kind of camaraderie with the workers. People had come with their own provisions. The building space looked like a massive picnic camp, with open hearths for cooking, and arrack being brewed surreptitiously in the nearby jungle under the expert leadership of Riksarajas and hundreds of people milling around, each shouting orders to others and offering opinions on how things should be done. The wages were never discussed, but Sugreeva was sure they would have to deal with this issue sooner or later.

  Sugreeva’s suggestions were brushed away with a scorn or a laugh and that made him hate the city they were planning to build even more. The labourers treated him like an eccentric, who had innocuous but crazy ideas like having a fountain at the centre of the city. Who wanted a fountain when the mighty Pampa river flowed a few hundred feet away? Who wanted a jasmine garden, when the whole jungle around was filled with fragrant flowers? His suggestions were met with headshakes and smiles. Nala would laugh aloud and go back to fortifying the city walls with huge boulders. He would ask with a deadpan expression whether Sugreeva needed some sculptures at the top of the fort gate, like some dancing elephants or smiling porcupines, and his people would laugh aloud. If he complained to his elder brother, Baali would ask him to stay away and leave the city-building to experts. If Sugreeva wanted to help, he could break a few boulders to pave stones. Baali would offer to have a competition in breaking stones and force Sugreeva to compete before a cheering, bawdy labour gang. Invariably, Sugreeva would lose. He felt humiliated and worthless.