CHAPTER 1

¥€¶¥€

Om Namah Shivāya

The universe bows to Lord Shiva.

I bow to Lord Shiva.

¥€¶¥€

From the Adbhuta Rāmāyana

(credited to Maharishi Valmikiji)

Yadā yadā hi dharmasya glanirbhavati suvrata |

Abhyutthānamadharmasya tadā prakrtṛsambhavaḥ ||

O keeper of righteous vows, remember this,

Whenever dharma is in decline,

Or there is an upsurge of adharma;

The Sacred Feminine will incarnate.

She will defend dharma.

She will protect us.

¥€¶¥€

List of Characters and Important Tribes

(In Alphabetic Order)

Arishtanemi: Military chief of the Malayaputras; right-hand man of

Vishwamitra

Ashwapati: King of the northwestern kingdom of Kekaya; father of Kaikeyi

and a loyal ally of Dashrath

Bharat: Ram's half-brother; son of Dashrath and Kaikeyi

Dashrath: Chakravarti king of Kosala and emperor of the Sapt Sindhu;

husband of Kaushalya, Kaikeyi, and Sumitra; father of Ram, Bharat, Lakshman

and Shatrughan

Hanuman: Radhika's cousin; son of Vayu Kesari; a Naga and a member of the

Vayuputra tribe

Janak: King of Mithila; father of Sita and Urmila

Jatayu: A captain of the Malayaputra tribe; Naga friend of Sita and Ram

Kaikeyi: Daughter of King Ashwapati of Kekaya; the second and favourite

wife of Dashrath; mother of Bharat

Kaushalya: Daughter of King Bhanuman of South Kosala and his wife

Maheshwari; the eldest queen of Dashrath; mother of Ram

Kumbhakarna: Raavan's brother; also a Naga

Kushadhwaj: King of Sankashya; younger brother of Janak

Lakshman: One of the twin sons of Dashrath; born to Sumitra; faithful to Ram;

later married to Urmila

Malayaputras: The tribe left behind by Lord Parshu Ram, the sixth Vishnu

Manthara: The richest merchant of the Sapt Sindhu

Mara: An independent assassin for hire

Naarad: A trader from Lothal; Hanuman's friend

Nagas: Human beings born with deformities

Raavan: King of Lanka; brother of Vibhishan, Shurpanakha and Kumbhakarna

Radhika: Sita's friend; Hanuman's cousin

Ram: Son of Emperor Dashrath of Ayodhya (capital city of Kosala) and his

eldest wife Kaushalya; eldest of four brothers, later married to Sita

Samichi: Police and protocol chief of Mithila

Shatrughan: Twin brother of Lakshman; son of Dashrath and Sumitra

Shurpanakha: Half-sister of Raavan

Shvetaketu: Sita's teacher

Sita: Adopted daughter of King Janak and Queen Sunaina of Mithila; also the

prime minister of Mithila; later married to Ram

Sumitra: Daughter of the king of Kashi; the third wife of Dashrath; mother of

the twins Lakshman and Shatrughan

Sunaina: Queen of Mithila; mother of Sita and Urmila

Vali: The king of Kishkindha

Varun Ratnakar: Radhika's father; chief of the Valmikis

Vashishtha: Raj guru, the royal priest of Ayodhya; teacher of the four

Ayodhya princes

Vayu Kesari: Hanuman's father; Radhika's uncle

Vayuputras: The tribe left behind by Lord Rudra, the previous Mahadev

Vibhishan: Half-brother of Raavan

Vishwamitra: Chief of the Malayaputras, the tribe left behind by Lord Parshu

Ram, the sixth Vishnu; also temporary guru of Ram and Lakshman

Urmila: Younger sister of Sita; blood-daughter of Janak and Sunaina; later

married to Lakshman

Chapter 1

3400 BCE, somewhere near the Godavari River, India

Sita cut quickly and efficiently, slicing through the thick leaf stems with her

sharp knife. The dwarf banana trees were as tall as she was. She did not need to

stretch. She stopped and looked at her handiwork. Then she cast a look at

Makrant, the Malayaputra soldier, a short distance away. He had cut down

perhaps half the number of leaves that Sita had.

The weather was calm. Just a little while ago, the wind had been howling

through this part of the forest. Unseasonal rain had lashed the area. Sita and

Makrant had stood under a thick canopy of trees to save themselves from the

rain. The winds had been so loud that it had been almost impossible for them to

talk to each other. And just as suddenly, calm had descended. The rain and

winds had vanished. They'd quickly headed to a patch of the woods with an

abundance of dwarf banana trees. For the entire purpose of the excursion was

to find these leaves.

'That's enough, Makrant,' said Sita.

Makrant turned around. The wetness had made it hard to cut the leaf stems.

Under the circumstances, he had thought that he had done a good job. Now, he

looked at the stack of leaves by Sita's side. And then down at his own much

smaller pile. He smiled sheepishly.

Sita smiled broadly in return. 'That's more than enough. Let's go back to the

camp. Ram and Lakshman should be returning from their hunt soon.

Hopefully, they would have found something.'

Sita, along with her husband Prince Ram of Ayodhya and her brother-in-law

Lakshman, had been racing through the Dandakaranya, or forest of Dandak, to

escape the expected vengeance of the demon-king of Lanka, Raavan. Captain

Jatayu, leading a small company of the Malayaputra tribe, had sworn to protect

the three Ayodhya royals. He had strongly advised that flight was the only

available course of action. Raavan would certainly send troops to avenge hissister, Princess Shurpanakha, who had been injured by Lakshman.

Secrecy was essential. So, they were cooking their food in pits dug deep into

the ground. For fire, they used a specific type of coal — anthracite. It let out

smokeless flames. For abundant caution, the sunk cooking pot was covered

with a thick layer of banana leaves. It ensured that no smoke escaped even by

accident. For that could give their position away. It was for this reason that Sita

and Makrant had been cutting down banana leaves. It was Sita's turn to cook.

Makrant insisted on carrying the larger pile, and she let him. It made the

Malayaputra soldier feel like he was balancing his contribution. But it was this

act that would eventually prove fatal for poor Makrant.

Sita heard it first. A sound that would have been inaudible a little while ago,

with the howling winds. It was unmistakable now: the menacing creak of a bow

being stretched. A common bow. Many of the more accomplished soldiers and

senior officers used the more expensive composite bows. But the frontline

soldiers used the common variety, made entirely of wood. These bows were

usually more rigid. And, they made a distinct sound when stretched.

'Makrant, duck!' screamed Sita, dropping the leaves as she leapt to the

ground.

Makrant responded quickly enough, but the heavier load made him trip. An

arrow shot in quickly, slamming into his right shoulder as he fell forward.

Before he could react, a second arrow struck his throat. A lucky shot.

Sita rolled as she fell to the ground and quickly steadied herself behind a

tree. She stayed low, her back against the tree, protected for now. She looked to

her right. The unfortunate Makrant lay on the ground, drowning rapidly in his

own blood. The arrow point had exited through the back of his neck. He would

soon be dead.

Sita cursed in anger. And then realised it was a waste of energy. She began to

breathe deeply. Calming her heart down. Paying attention. She looked around

carefully. Nobody ahead of her. The arrows had come from the other direction,

obscured by the tree that protected her. She knew there had to be at least two

enemies. There was no way a single archer could have shot two arrows in such

rapid succession.

She looked at Makrant again. He had stopped moving. His soul had moved

on. The jungle was eerily quiet. It was almost impossible to believe that just a

few short moments ago, brutal violence had been unleashed.

Farewell, brave Makrant. May your soul find purpose once again.

She caught snatches of commands whispered in the distance. 'Go to … Lord

Kumbhakarna … Tell … she's … here …'

She heard the hurried footsteps of someone rushing away. There wasprobably just one enemy now. She looked down at the earth and whispered,

'Help me, mother. Help me.'

She drew her knife from the scabbard tied horizontally to the small of her

back. She closed her eyes. She couldn't afford to look around the tree and

expose herself. She would probably be shot instantly. Her eyes were useless.

She had to rely on her ears. There were great archers who could shoot arrows

by relying on sound. But very few could throw knives at the source of a sound.

Sita was one of those very few.

She heard a loud yet surprisingly gentle voice. 'Come out, Princess Sita. We

don't want to hurt you. It's better if …'

The voice stopped mid-sentence. It would not be heard ever again. For there

was a knife buried in the throat that had been the source of that voice. Sita had,

without bringing herself into view, turned quickly and flung the knife with

unerring and deadly accuracy. The Lankan soldier was momentarily surprised

as the knife thumped into his throat. He died in no time. Just like Makrant had,

drowning in his own blood.

Sita waited. She had to be sure there was no one else. She had no other

weapon. But her enemies didn't know that. She listened intently. Hearing no

sound, she threw herself to the ground, rolling rapidly behind low shrubs. Still

no sign of anyone.

Move! Move! There's nobody else!

Sita quickly rose to her feet and sprinted to the slain Lankan, surprised that

his bow was not nocked with an arrow. She tried to pull her knife out, but it was

lodged too deep in the dead Lankan's vertebra. It refused to budge.

The camp is in trouble! Move!

Sita picked up the Lankan's quiver. It contained a few arrows. She quickly

tied it around her back and shoulder. She lifted the bow. And ran. Ran hard!

Towards the temporary camp. She had to kill the other Lankan soldier before

he reached his team and warned them.

øøø

The temporary camp showed signs of a massive struggle. Most of the

Malayaputra soldiers, except Jatayu and two others, were already dead. Lying

in pools of blood. They had been ruthlessly massacred. Jatayu was also badly

injured. Blood seeped out from numerous wounds that covered his body. Some

made by blades, some by fists. His arms were tied tightly behind his back. Two

Lankan soldiers held him up in a tight grip. A giant of a man loomed in front,

questioning the great Naga.Naga was the name given to people of the Sapt Sindhu born with

deformities. Jatayu's malformation gave his face the appearance of a vulture.

The other two Malayaputras knelt on the ground, also bloodied. Their hands

were similarly tied at the back. Three Lankan soldiers surrounded each one,

while two more held them down. The Lankan swords were dripping with

blood.

Raavan and his younger brother, Kumbhakarna, stood at a distance. Looking

intently at the interrogation. Focused. Their hands clean of any blood.

'Answer me, Captain,' barked the Lankan. 'Where are they?'

Jatayu shook his head vehemently. His lips were sealed.

The Lankan leaned within an inch of the Naga's ear and whispered, 'You

were one of us, Jatayu. You were loyal to Lord Raavan once.'

Jatayu cast a malevolent look at the Lankan. His smouldering eyes gave the

reply.

The Lankan continued. 'We can forget the past. Tell us what we want to

know. And come back to Lanka with honour. This is the word of a Lankan. This

is the word of Captain Khara.'

Jatayu looked away and stared into the distance. Anger fading. A blank

expression on his face. As if his mind was somewhere else.

The Lankan interrogator signalled one of his soldiers.

'As you command, Captain Khara,' said the soldier, wiping his sword clean

on his forearm band and slipping it back into his scabbard. He walked up to an

injured Malayaputra, and drew out his serrated knife. He positioned himself

behind the youth, yanked his head back and placed the knife against his throat.

Then he looked at Khara, awaiting the order.

Khara took hold of Jatayu's head such that his eyes stared directly at his

fellow Malayaputra. The knife at his throat.

'You may not care for your own life, Captain Jatayu,' said Khara, 'but don't

you want to save at least two of your soldiers?'

The Malayaputra looked at Jatayu and shouted, 'I am ready to die, my

Captain! Don't say anything!'

The Lankan hit the young soldier's head with the knife hilt. His body

slouched and then straightened again with courage. The blade swiftly returned

to his throat.

Khara spoke with silky politeness, 'Come on, Captain. Save your soldier's

life. Tell us where they are.'

'You will never catch them!' growled Jatayu. 'The three of them are long

gone!'

Khara laughed. 'The two princes of Ayodhya can keep going, for all I care.We are only interested in the Vishnu.'

Jatayu was shocked. How do they know?

'Where is the Vishnu?' asked Khara. 'Where is she?'

Jatayu's lips began to move, but only in prayer. He was praying for the soul

of his brave soldier.

Khara gave a curt nod.

Jatayu suddenly straightened and loudly rent the air with the Malayaputra

cry. 'Jai Parshu Ram!'

'Jai Parshu Ram!' shouted both the Malayaputras. The fear of death could

not touch them.

The Lankan pressed the blade into the throat of the Malayaputra. Slowly. He

slid the serrated knife to the side, inflicting maximum pain. Blood spurted out

in a shower. As the youth collapsed to the ground, life slowly ebbing out of

him, Jatayu whispered within the confines of his mind.

Farewell, my brave brother …

$$$$$$$

Sita slowed as she approached the camp. She had already killed the other

Lankan soldier. He lay some distance away. An arrow pierced in his heart. She

had grabbed his arrows and added them to her quiver. She hid behind a tree and

surveyed the camp. Lankan soldiers were everywhere. Probably more than a

hundred.

All the Malayaputra soldiers were dead. All except Jatayu. Two lay close to

him, their heads arched at odd angles. Surrounded by large pools of blood.

Jatayu was on his knees, held by two Lankans. His hands were tied behind his

back. Brutalised, injured and bleeding. But not broken. He was defiantly staring

into the distance. Khara stood near him, his knife placed on Jatayu's upper arm.

He ran his knife gently along the triceps, cutting into the flesh, drawing blood.

Sita looked at Khara and frowned. I know him. Where have I seen him

before?

Khara smiled as he ran the knife back along the bloodied line he had just

drawn, slicing deep into some sinew.

'Answer me,' said Khara, as he slid the knife along Jatayu's cheek this time,

drawing some more blood. 'Where is she?'

Jatayu spat at him. 'Kill me quickly. Or kill me slowly. You will not get

anything from me.'

Khara raised his knife in anger, about to strike and finish the job. It was not

to be. An arrow whizzed in and struck his hand. The knife fell to the ground ashe screamed aloud.

Raavan and his brother Kumbhakarna whirled around, startled. Many Lankan

soldiers rushed in and formed a protective cordon around the two royals.

Kumbhakarna grabbed Raavan's arm to restrain his impulsive elder brother.

Other soldiers raised their bows and pointed their arrows in the direction of

Sita. A loud 'Don't shoot!' was heard from Kumbhakarna. The bows were

swiftly lowered.

Khara broke the shaft, leaving the arrowhead buried in his hand. It would

stem the blood for a while. He looked into the impenetrable line of trees the

arrow had emerged from, and scoffed in disdain. 'Who shot that? The long-

suffering prince? His oversized brother? Or the Vishnu herself?'

A stunned Sita stood rooted to the spot. Vishnu?! How do the Lankans know?

Who betrayed me?!

She marshalled her mind into the present moment. This was not the time for

distractions.

She moved quickly, without a sound, to another location.

They must not know that I'm alone.

'Come out and fight like real warriors!' challenged Khara.

Sita was satisfied with her new position. It was some distance away from

where she had shot her first arrow. She slowly pulled another arrow out of her

quiver, nocked it on the bowstring and took aim. In the Lankan army, if the

commander fell, the rest of the force was known to quickly retreat. But Raavan

was well protected by his soldiers, their shields raised high. She could not find

an adequate line of sight.

Wish Ram was here. He would have gotten an arrow through somehow.

Sita decided to launch a rapid-fire attack on the soldiers to create an

opening. She fired five arrows in quick succession. Five Lankans went down.

But the others did not budge. The cordon around Raavan remained resolute.

Ready to fall for their king.

Raavan remained protected.

Some soldiers began to run in her direction. She quickly moved to a new

location.

As she took position, she checked the quiver. Three arrows left.

Damn!

Sita deliberately stepped on a twig. Some of the soldiers rushed towards the

sound. She quickly moved again, hoping to find a breach in the protective

circle of men around Raavan. But Khara was a lot smarter than she had

suspected.

The Lankan stepped back and, using his uninjured left hand, pulled out aknife from the sole of his shoe. He moved behind Jatayu and held the knife to

the Naga's throat.

With a maniacal smile playing on his lips, Khara taunted, 'You could have

escaped. But you didn't. So I'm betting you are among those hiding behind the

trees, great Vishnu.' Khara laid sarcastic emphasis on the word 'great'. 'And,

you want to protect those who worship you. So inspiring … so touching …'

Khara pretended to wipe away a tear.

Sita stared at the Lankan with unblinking eyes.

Khara continued, 'So I have an offer. Step forward. Tell your husband and

that giant brother-in-law of yours to also step forward. And we will let this

captain live. We will even let the two sorry Ayodhya princes leave unharmed.

All we want is your surrender.'

Sita remained stationary. Silent.

Khara grazed the knife slowly along Jatayu's neck, leaving behind a thin red

line. He spoke in a sing-song manner, 'I don't have all day …'

Suddenly, Jatayu struck backwards with his head, hitting Khara in his groin.

As the Lankan doubled up in pain, Jatayu screamed, 'Run! Run away, My Lady!

I am not worth your life!'

Three Lankan soldiers moved in and pushed Jatayu to the ground. Khara

cursed loudly as he got back on his feet, still bent over to ease the pain. After a

few moments, he inched towards the Naga and kicked him hard. He surveyed

the treeline, turning in every direction that the arrows had been fired from. All

the while, he kept kicking Jatayu again and again. He bent and roughly pulled

Jatayu to his feet. Sita could see the captive now. Clearly.

This time Khara held Jatayu's head firmly with his injured right hand, to

prevent any headbutting. The sneer was back on his face. He held the knife with

his other hand. He placed it at the Naga's throat. 'I can cut the jugular here and

your precious captain will be dead in just a few moments, great Vishnu.' He

moved the knife to the Malayaputra's abdomen. 'Or, he can bleed to death

slowly. All of you have some time to think about it.'

Sita was still. She had just three arrows left. It would be foolhardy to try

anything. But she could not let Jatayu die. He had been like a brother to her.

'All we want is the Vishnu,' yelled Khara. 'Let her surrender and the rest of

you can leave. You have my word. You have the word of a Lankan!'

'Let him go!' screamed Sita, still hidden behind the trees.

'Step forward and surrender,' said Khara, holding the knife to Jatayu's

abdomen. 'And we will let him go.'

Sita looked down and closed her eyes. Her shoulders slumped with helpless

rage. And then, without giving herself any time for second thoughts, shestepped out. But not before her instincts made her nock an arrow on the bow,

ready to fire.

'Great Vishnu,' sniggered Khara, letting go of Jatayu for a moment, and

running his hand along an ancient scar at the back of his head. Stirring a not-

so-forgotten memory. 'So kind of you to join us. Where is your husband and

his giant brother?'

Sita didn't answer. Some Lankan soldiers began moving slowly towards her.

She noticed that their swords were sheathed. They were carrying lathis, long

bamboo sticks, which were good enough to injure but not to kill. She stepped

forward and lowered the bow. 'I am surrendering. Let Captain Jatayu go.'

Khara laughed softly as he pushed the knife deep into Jatayu's abdomen.

Gently. Slowly. He cut through the liver, a kidney, never stopping …

'Nooo!' screamed Sita. She raised her bow and shot an arrow deep into

Khara's eye. It punctured the socket and lodged itself in his brain, killing him

instantly.

'I want her alive!' screamed Kumbhakarna from behind the protective

Lankan cordon.

More soldiers joined those already moving toward Sita, their bamboo lathis

held high.

'Raaaam!' shouted Sita, as she pulled another arrow from her quiver,

quickly nocked and shot it, bringing another Lankan down instantly.

It did not slow the pace of the others. They kept rushing forward.

Sita shot another arrow. Her last. One more Lankan sank to the ground. The

others pressed on.

'Raaaam!'

The Lankans were almost upon her, their bamboo lathis raised.

'Raaam!' screamed Sita.

As a Lankan closed in, she lassoed her bow, entangling his lathi with the

bowstring, snatching it from him. Sita hit back with the bamboo lathi, straight

at the Lankan's head, knocking him off his feet. She swirled the lathi over her

head, its menacing sound halting the suddenly wary soldiers. She stopped

moving, holding her weapon steady. Conserving her energy. Ready and alert.

One hand held the stick in the middle, the end of it tucked under her armpit.

The other arm was stretched forward. Her feet spread wide, in balance. She was

surrounded by at least fifty Lankan soldiers. But they kept their distance.

'Raaaam!' bellowed Sita, praying that her voice would somehow carry

across the forest to her husband.

'We don't want to hurt you, Lady Vishnu,' said a Lankan, surprisingly polite.

'Please surrender. You will not be harmed.'Sita cast a quick glance at Jatayu. Is he still breathing?

'We have the equipment in our Pushpak Vimaan to save him,' said the

Lankan. 'Don't force us to hurt you. Please.'

Sita filled her lungs with air and screamed yet again, 'Raaaam!'

She thought she heard a faint voice from a long distance. 'Sitaaa …'

A soldier moved suddenly from her left, swinging his lathi low. Aiming for

her calves. Sita jumped high, tucking her feet in to avoid the blow. While in the

air, she quickly released the right-hand grip on the lathi and swung it viciously

with her left hand. The lathi hit the Lankan on the side of his head. Knocking

him unconscious.

As she landed, she shouted again, 'Raaaam!'

She heard the same voice. The voice of her husband. Soft, from the distance.

'Leave … her … alone …'

As if electrified by the sound of his voice, ten Lankans charged in together.

She swung her lathi ferociously on all sides, rapidly incapacitating many.

'Raaaam!'

She heard the voice again. Not so distant this time. 'Sitaaaa … .'

He's close. He's close.

The Lankan onslaught was steady and unrelenting now. Sita kept swinging

rhythmically. Viciously. Alas, there were one too many enemies. A Lankan

swung his lathi from behind. Into her back.

'Raaa …'

Sita's knees buckled under her as she collapsed to the ground. Before she

could recover, the soldiers ran in and held her tight.

She struggled fiercely as a Lankan came forward, holding a neem leaf in his

hand. It was smeared with a blue-coloured paste. He held the leaf tight against

her nose.

As darkness began to envelop her, she sensed some ropes against her hands

and feet.

Ram … Help me …

And the darkness took over.