5104 BCE:
“What are you reading, Vibhu?” Meenu sat down beside her elder brother, deeply engrossed in the palm-leaf text he nimbly held in his hands. Without batting an eyelid, he replied, “This text talks about how the Himalayas were formed.” He paused, to look into her curious amber eyes. She loved that Vibhu explained things to her. Everyone else would tell her she was too young to understand, or that she would find out when she was older, but not Vibhu. “You remember when Baba and the other teachers went to Princess Mountain last year?”
Meenu’s eyes shone bright, at the thought of Princess Mountain. Her father had brought back a small stone imprinted with the shell of a sea creature, supposed to be crores of years old. She was five when she first heard the word crore. When Vibhu traced the number in their sand pit on her insistence, she had an epiphany of sorts, seeing a number with more zeros than how old she was. For almost a year, she had been sleeping with the stone tucked underneath her pillow. “For my princess, from Princess Mountain,” Baba had said. A smile crept into her face at the thought of it. “Yes! The spiral pattern is so pretty. Dada hates even looking at it, so I keep it hidden under the pillow.”
“I was wondering how a sea animal turns into a stone and goes from the bottom of the sea to the top of a mountain,” Vibhu had satisfaction in his eyes, now that he had apparently found the answer to that question. He continued, “In this text, it says that our subcontinent – Bharata, was a floating land that crashed against the larger continent. The collision caused the land under the sea to rise up.” Meenu was imagining an animated battle between two landmasses, land rising up between them, like an armistice.
“The body of the sea creatures were left high in the mountains that formed as a result – the Himalayas, and turned into stone, covered in layers of earth. When it rained, the earth eroded, and the fossil would be exposed to the surface.” Meenu’s mind wandered to Princess Mountain. A creature from the bottom of the sea, had fought its way to the top of a mountain. Even in death. Against all odds. And stood to tell its tale.
As Vibhu turned back to his palm leaves, and Meenu was lost in her thoughts, a reverberating thud swept underneath her feet and then in her ears. “Viju and Dada!” the realization struck her. She had come searching for Vibhu, to ask her where Vijay and Jay had wandered off to. They couldn’t be far away. She sprinted towards the sandpit, where she often found them sparring.
“Get up, Viju!” Jay yelled. Her Dada could never be angry. Annoyed, sure, but never angry. And he was annoyed with them all the time – her, Vibhu and Viju. Twelve year old Vijay was like Dada in his aggression and disregard for rules, but not in his shrewdness or resourcefulness. Nine year old Vibhu shared with Dada his curiosity and passion for science, mathematics, and music, but did not meet eye to eye in ambition, or stubbornness. To fifteen year old Jay, she was a child, but Meenu shared with Jay the same deep amber eyes, with black flecks, which burned with passion, and both held a controlling influence over the people around them. Jay had differences with them all, but she knew he loved them to a fault.
“Meenu?” Jay looked up, hearing her anklets jingle. Vijay managed to lift his rotund figure up, wincing as he moved his arms. “I told you Meenu would join us in a fight before the nerd ever shows up,” Vijay sighed so heavily, Meenu could swear she saw a few grains of sand rise up, just a bit, all the way from the ground.
“If you keep letting your opponent use your weight against you, I’d rather take my chances with Vibhu” Jay warned Vijay. “Or even Meenu.” Jay knelt down to face Meenu, rubbed his fingers in the dry red soil and booped Meenu’s nose with the dust, amusing himself as Meenu fervently rubbed the dust off her sharp nose with her little hands. “Now,” Jay looked at Vijay. “Your next lesson is twenty of these, with me.”
She jumped and sat cross-legged on his bare back, when he began his push-ups. If Jay was bad at something, that would be humility. “One!” she gleamed, enjoying the show of strength her brother demonstrated with her. “Two! Three!”
5100 BCE:
“Baba!” Vijay had meant to knock hard on the door of their home, to get their attention, if his booming voice was not enough. The door freed itself from the rusty hinges, and fell onto the stone floor. The walls and windows shuddered. And they were right to.
“What’s the matter?” Ma rushed from the prayer room, and froze in her tracks. It might have been the door, Vijay thought. It might have been the door, but it was definitely the fear in his eyes that horrified Ma, he later realized. Fear in Vijay’s eyes could only mean one thing. “What happened to Jay?” Colour was draining from Ma’s face.
“Sosrabahu” Vijay gathered all his strength and managed to say one word, and Ma had no idea what it meant. “Viju! What are you saying?”
At sixteen, Vijay still had trouble pronouncing certain words, especially if they had too many syllables, or unfamiliar conjunctions of sounds. “The exchange student from Taruma. She calls the king Sosrabahu.” He thought harder. Strength of a thousand arms, he remembered. “Sahasrabahu, I think. Of Mahishmati.” His name in the Bharata was a tongue-twister, no less.
“Kartaviryarjuna?” Bisrakh walked into their home, hearing all the commotion from the classroom in the adjacent quarters.
“Yes! That’s the one.” Vijay jumped from relief that Baba was here. “Dada was praying to Rudra. Suddenly, there was flooding and water everywhere.” Vijay was reliving the whole incident, and words struggled to make it out of his mouth. “Dada saw Karta…” he gave up midway. “Sosrabahu had blocked the river to show off to his wife. Dada asked him to stop.” Vijay knew Baba was not going to take what followed, well. He shut his eyes, “They started arguing and got into a fight. He beat Dada badly and took him captive.”
“Jay never learns,” Bisrakh sighed. Vijay felt helpless. The last thing he needed now was his father to give up on Jay. “The boy actively seeks trouble. What good is all that intelligence, without a shred of control on temper? It’s like handing a butcher’s knife to a surgeon.”
“Are you going to just sit here and loathe your son?” Ma intervened. To her, the only thing worse than Jay being in danger was her husband believing that Jay was at fault all the time. It always riled her up, like now. “You boast of your grand lineage and sway with kings. Is this how you let arrogant kings treat your son?”
“Do not make this worse than it already is.” Bisrakh shook his head. “Kartaviryarjuna is no doubt an arrogant king. He is not going to let Jay go. Even if I plead with him to. And even if he does let go of him, your son will fixate on the humiliation he thinks he has faced.”
“Baba!” Vibhu stormed in, panting, with Meenu behind him. “You were once telling me the Mahishmati king is fond of our grandfather. Grandpa could try and convince the king to let go of Dada, if we request.” Vibhu had seemingly thought this through. But Bisrakh seemed skeptical. “Dealing with Kartaviryarjuna is a more delicate matter than people assume. But more importantly, it is Jay I am worried for. His ego will be bruised. If Kartaviryarjuna frees him on father’s request, Jay will treat it as a sign of weakness. And to make up for it, Jay will devote his whole life to vengeance against Kartaviryarjuna.”
“Baba,” Meenu tugged at Bisrakh’s fist, which loosened up as soon as she held his hand. Her eyes moistened. “Is Dada in danger? Please. Bring him back. For us. For me.” Bisrakh could fight the world to defend his ideology, but looking into the eyes of the ten year old Meenu, the rest of the world, and the rest of his values always melted away.
“Of course, child.” Bisrakh gently wiped her tears.
5096 BCE:
“He did what!?” Vibhu was appalled when Ma told the brothers what happened in their absence. The day Jay was brought back by Bisrakh and their grandpa from the court of Kartaviryarjuna, Jay protested against his release all the way home. The whole incident had been Kartaviryarjuna’s fault. And yet, everyone reprimanded him. And said he was a disgrace to Pulatsya, for a great scholar like himself had to plead to a king, like he were a mendicant, only because Jay could not keep to himself. He decided to leave their village, to learn everything he needed, to become the greatest ruler in the universe. He would rise till Kartaviryarjuna’s glory became a mere speck against his grandiosity. And he walked. Against the insistence of Ma to stay back, and Baba’s warning. And with him, left Vijay. Vibhu did not agree with Jay, but he also knew Jay needed a balancing influence in his life. One needs courage to stand up to enemies, and even more to stand up to kin. And so, he too left. They would go around the world, becoming the masters of whatever they wished to learn, and whatever they determined to conquer. The three brothers, however, agreed to leave Meenu behind, much to their own disappointment, and her fury. She was a child. Not her rage. But at ten years, she still had time before she ventured out. But they were not prepared for what they heard when they were back.
“Vaishravana will pay for this, Meenu. I promise you that.” Jay clenched his fists till his blood vessels started showing on his forearms. He was flooded with anger, and guilt, and anger. Anger that Vaishravana dared to do this. Guilt that he was not around for Meenu. And anger again, because once again, he was rendered helpless. Vaishravana, the eldest son of Bisrakh, born to his first wife – Ilavida – was crowned the king of Sinhaladvipah, an island nation off the southern coast of Bharata. Sinhaladvipah was the home of their maternal family, from which Ma and the rest of her family had fled before Vaishravana was installed as king, after a coup-d’etat. Vaishravana was more focused on trade than governance. And while the nation prospered, he constantly lived in the fear that his throne would be usurped one day. He strongly believed it would be Jay and his siblings who would dethrone him. And when he learnt that the three brothers had left on their journey to become invincible, he saw an opportunity to earn himself a bargaining chip. As long as something precious to the brothers was held captive in Sinhaladvipah, they would not dare to attack him ever.
“But he didn’t count on the fact that Meenu too is a warrior by birth.” Ma continued. “When Vaishravana tried to drag her to that wretched Viman by her hand, she unleashed hell upon him. All with her claws” As horrified as Ma may have been, she was satisfied that her stepson had left her home with only half his face, and blood soaked clothes.
Meenu was unnaturally quiet. Vibhu could not even begin to imagine what a thirteen year old girl might have gone through that fateful day. Was he right to have left her behind in their parents’ care, and walk the ends of the earth with his brothers? Had his judgement been compromised when he focused only on his brothers? He would never allow himself to do that again, Vibhu promised himself. He knelt down to face her as she sat in a corner, reading a palm leaf text. “Meenu,” he softly called to her attention. She continued to be engrossed in the text. “I’m sorry I left you behind, thinking home would be safer than wherever we would be. I’m sorry that Vaishravana did this to you. But like the wise ten year old girl said to Dada, all men will answer to their crimes by fulfilling their destiny. And so will Vaishravana.”
“You are right, Vibhu” Jay swooped in beside Vibhu, and almost pushed him aside. “Our dear brother will pay. And we will be his destiny.” Jay looked at the palm leaf text she held in her hands. When he turned to look at her face, he found the same amber eyes with black flecks staring back at his, seeking vengeance. “Vaishravana wants to avoid a war. He can have his way. But for that, he will have to surrender Sinhaladvipah to you. You will watch from the palace as Vaishravana trots off in fear for his life.” Vibhu knew in his heart Jay was headed in the wrong direction, seeding and seeking vengeance. Or was it really him? But Vaishravana was at fault too. By attempting to abduct Meenu, he had set in motion the very thing he wanted to avoid all along.
5092 BCE:
“No! Please!” Jay woke up with a start, beads of sweat trickling down his temples. It was the same dream again, for over two years. Fear had gripped him again. He got up, and left his chambers, and walked into a dark room reverberating with his footsteps. Walls were lined with wooden panels, each angled appropriately to aid acoustics. On the far right, was a workbench with iron tools – chisels, pliers, files, mallets, hammers – dull in appearance, but in perfect condition. From there, all the way to his left, neatly arranged were the instruments, organized into percussion, brass, woodwind, and string. Jay had strung every single instrument in the room, smithed every single tool, sanded every wooden panel, and filled every gram of grout into the gaps himself. This room was his penance. This temple was his salvation. Save the small lamp at a pedestal in the center of the room, the only thing that was allowed to fill the place was music. And his memory of Vedavati.
He walked to the section of string instruments and picked up his poison. An invention of his own, he sat down with the Ravana Hasta Veena. Inspired by the Rudra Veena, Jay hollowed out a gourd, dried it to hardness, and strapped a stretched goat hide onto it. Fitting a neck made of bamboo into the gourd, he pegged strings made of sinew, set into tension by a wooden bridge. The instrument was to be played with a bow strung with horsehair. Vijay would call it Ravanahatha. A fitting name. Ravana was Sanskrit for roaring, like himself, and Hatha was Sanskrit for destruction, like how he felt. He sat down, and began playing a foreboding melancholy that filled the room with the fear of impending doom – the raga Puriya Dhanashree.
“Will you teach me the Hasta Veena some day?” asked Vedavati, as Jay was leaving for the forest for his weekly hike from the ashram. For the past year, Jay had been in service here – teaching students astronomy and architecture. While at first, his request to be a part of the ashram faculty had been a pretense for the opportunity to meet with Vedavati. As captivated as he was by her beauty, what anchored Jay to the ashram was her mind. For years, Jay was burdened with his mother’s ambitions and expectations for him, and his father’s resentment and disappointment in him. But Vedavati held no prejudice against him. She passionately argued with him, and yet, was keen to learn from him. She did not hesitate to give him a piece of her mind, and most importantly, she was wonderfully unfazed in the face of his anger. A woman that was not intimidated by his presence – that was extremely rare when one had the persona of Jay. And before the dust of the turmoil in his heart could settle, Jay had professed to Vedavati why he really joined their ashram. “Forgive me,” She said. “I speak the truth when I say I have the highest adoration for you. And it must be destiny that blessed me with your company. But this chapter of my fate has already been written. And I belong to the only man that has taken a seat in my heart – Hari.” That was six months ago. Jay apologized, and vowed to remain friends with Vedavati – never more, which she gracefully accepted. For the next six months, Vedavati and he had experimented with music, each with instruments of their own, composing new music, and new meaning.
That afternoon, when he returned from his hike in the forest, earlier than usual, he heard commotion at the ritual site. Expecting intruders, he rushed to see people panicking, when it caught his eye. The fire. It was moving. Out of a corner of his eye, he saw two boys fetch a pail of water. Quick on his feet, he took the cotton cloth wrapped around his torso, dipped it in water, and rushed towards the figure doused in flames, and threw the wet cloth over. The water-soaked cloth cut the air supply to the fire. Now that he had time to observe, he realized the person burning was a woman. She was as tall as…
Before he could assume the worst, the woman fell to the ground. He rushed to her, and slowly lifted the cloth over her face. Her face was burnt beyond recognition. “Do not worry. Lady Vedavati – the healer, will be on her way. She will help you. Can you hear me?”
The woman’s face had melted away and skin fused. Speaking was out of the question, Jay realized. But before he could call for help, she whispered in a faint and strained voice, “Ra…” Jay’s heart began pounding against his rib-cage, as though it was attempting to break free from the prison. “Va Na..” There was only one person in the entire world who called him by that name.
Jay would have been in lesser pain if he was impaled with every spear in the world and stabbed with every sword ever made. “Lady…” His voice gave way. Tears made their way down. “Vedavati. Please. Allow me to help you.”
“Ha… Ri…” Vedavati mustered all her strength to utter the two syllables. The two syllables Jay could never be. Anger began seething inside Jay, as he sat helpless beside her. He turned to the boys in his class, and bellowed, “What happened?” The flock of birds on the tree behind them made flight at once. One boy stepped forward.
“Gurudev, someone, in royal robes, walked into the ashram with few soldiers, as Lady Vedavati was getting up from the ritual. When she requested them to sit down in the courtyard for the meals, he attempted to grab her hand. Lady Vedavati was taken aback, and stepped back, and jumped into the holy fire to immolate herself. The men fled immediately. A few of us have gone after them. And as the others rushed to get water, you reached.”
“Ravana,” Vedavati called, in a weak, broken voice. If not for her calling him, Jay would have rushed after those weakling excuses for men who dared to touch Vedavati. He turned to her, “Yes, my lady?” His voice tried its best to appear calm.
“Let go. Ang… er. No. For. Me.” Jay listened to her. But in his head, he was picturing those who wronged him slip away from his grasp. After years, he felt the same helplessness he did when Kartaviryarjuna beat him. The same helplessness he felt when he found out Meenu had been in trouble, and he could do nothing. Guilt that he was not around to be able to stop. Not then, not today.
“I,” Vedavati mustered her strength one last time. “… go. To. My. Ha… Ri…”
“No! Please!” And Jay bawled onto the ground in front of him. Till every last teardrop had been shed. And with it, his existence. Vedavati was right. He let go. Everything that defined Jay, he let go. Till there was only anger left inside. Anger fueled by her memory. Anger that would avenge her death.
He laid the Ravanahatha back in its place, and stared into the darkness. Since that fateful day, Jay slowly turned into someone else – something else. This world was not worthy of his compassion. Every time he stood up for something right, the world had knocked him back down. Everytime he obeyed the dharma written by man, it only gave him pain. Not anymore. The law was for the weak. Those too cowardly to seek justice themselves, blamed it on fate. Following dharma was for those who lacked the nerve to bear the consequences of their actions. And Jay was a warrior. He would never feel helpless again. He would never feel weak again, he vowed to himself. He was no longer Jay. Victory did not matter to him. From that day, he was Ravana, the roaring sound of death to those who would wrong him.