7/3/2016
ASURA: Tale Of The Vanquished by Neelakantan, Anand - read the free ebook now from ePub Bud!
was furious. Taking a girl was accepted when you had conquered a city after a bloody war, especially if she was a Deva girl. But there was a line. Where were my bodyguards? And then I saw them a mong the Asuras fighting for the lady. “Leave her!” I bellowed. Three of the Asuras, including one wallowing in the mud, scrambled up and ran away. The other two vanished when they saw me unsheathe my sword. It was then that I noticed the quarry over whom they had been fighting. Her veil had fallen from her face. And what a face it was. Dark eyes burned like fire, deep curved lashes gave her an innocent look. Her lips were full and red under a small straight and sharp nose. Curly, dark hair fell onto her forehead. Her skin without blemish and a pout gave her a coy look. I stared at her. My eyes became transfixed on a small mole on the right cleft of her deep cleavage. She had full breasts and a flat stomach. I saw her blush as she recognized the passion in my roving eyes. She was the fairest woman I had ever seen. She exuded feminine charm and softness. I wanted her. She adjusted her dress and I averted my eyes. Even though I had never stopped anyone from raping or taking any women when our army conquered a city, I myself had never done anything of the sort. It was against my upbringing and I ensured that children and old people were spared from abuse. But I wanted her. It was not like the acquired taste I had developed for my wife, Mandodari, whom I had almost forgotten now. Was it desire at first sight? This woman generated an animal passion in me. I moved towards her and grabbed her wrists. She pulled her arm back and I tried to grab her again. Then she slapped me hard. Right across my face. My cheek stung. I was shocked. When I grabbed her again, she promptly slapped me again, this time causing my nose to bleed. She was one spirited lady. I turned as though giving up, but then quickly spun round and liftound anded her off the ground. Ignoring her scratches and screams, I carried her into my tent. I was angry, but more than that, I wanted her. I threw her onto the bed and when she tried to get away, I slapped her across her face. She spat at me. I grabbed the silk sheet and tied her hands and legs and bundled her onto the bed, suffering three more bites and numerous scratches. Then, puffing and panting, I fell into the nearest chair. She was lying with her back to me; her rounded hip again stirred waves of passion in me. Her waist was bared and I wanted to kiss the folds. Her thighs were shapely. I just wanted to run my fingers over her soft, fair skin. I imagined her naked in my arms and slapped the arm of the chair in anger and frustration. ‘Why won’t she have me? I am the Emperor of India. The mighty Asura king, Ravana.’ After a few moments si lence, I tried to turn her towards me. “What is your name?” I asked her and i mmediately felt stupi d. She slo wly turned up her face, her curly, black hai r making designs on her forehead. Her eyes bored through me and I was afraid. A shiver went down my spine. ‘This is a historic and fateful moment on which my fate and that of my race and my country hung.’ I shook off the idiotic thought and recalled my anger. “Do you require a girl’s biography, before you rape her?” she asked. I didn’t know what to say. A corner of my mind found something humorous in the statement and I wanted to laugh. But then, I foolishly stood up, lost for words, not knowing what to say. I coughed, stammered, and moved away from her. “Once you have finished with me, please leave me alive for a few minutes. I want to see your king, Ravana, the great Asura,” with these words she spat on the ground. “But.. I am Ravana.” my voice trailed off. An animal cry rose from her. I was startled. How cou ld such a lovel y creature make such a hide ous sound? She was struggling to free herself but finall y gave up and di ssolved into fits of sobbing. I stood watching from a distance. After some time, I moved near her. I wanted to touch her but my hands trembled as I hesitated and then slowly put an arm on her shoulder. She stirred and looked at me with hatred. I withdrew my hand. “Do you know how a Deva widow lives?” she asked in a whimper. I remained silent. “Do you know the choices a Deva widow has… How should you know? You are the conqueror. Why should a few lives bother you. . .?” I was moved beyond myself. But I was from a different culture. I had heard of the plight of Deva women but it was so horrible that I had thought they were stories spun by the Asura or Naga spin doctors to discredit the Devas. “Your people killed my husband. He was a poor man. . . a Brahmin who did no one any wrong. . . Why did your people kill him?” I was stung. ‘What was I doing with a Brahmin widow? Was it because she was a Brahmin that I was attracted to her? Did her fair skin trigger the lust in me?’ I felt disgusted with myself. But then, I had known she was a high-born Brahmin woman the moment I saw her. Why did I choose to be shocked when she spelt out her lineage? “We can live a slave's life in the house of our inlaws… with our heads shaven… hands and throats unadorned… purposefully made unattractive… a living corpse… no bindis for us… no bangles… no coloured saris… only coarse white… no life… an unpaid servant… a living corpse… ” I was moved. I could not imagine such a life for an Asura wor an Asuman. If the husband died, she would mourn for a decent period and then find another life partner and move on with her life. “You are a mighty King…ha…. You know I could jump into my husband’s funeral pyre and become a Goddess… the virtuous sati. Then the same people who would have treated me no better than an animal in life… would erect temples and worship me.” “What is your name?” I asked her. I moved closer and lifted her chin. Tears swelled in the dark eyes and made them glitter. I saw my own reflection, so small that I felt my own insignificance. She stared for a long time at my face. Finally, the hint of a smile lit up her face. I dissolved. “Vedavathi.” she said simply and I promptly fell head over heels in love with this Deva Brahmin girl.
28 An asura princess Bhadra When the guard shook me from sleep, I cursed him and his forefathers. He prodded me with the blunt end of his spear and told me that the Prime Minister wanted to see me, so would I please pull up my dhothi and get going? I felt heavy from the previous night’s drinking binge and was not in the mood for barrack humour. I cursed him again and tied my dhothi tightly and washed my face in the sluggish stream nearby. I smelt of country liquor so I gargled once more and dragged myself to the prime minister ’s camp. Why was I being summoned? The last few months had only brought disaster on our race. Most of the camp was thoroughly disillusioned with this campaign. We had been camping in the forest across the river Narmada, eating wild berries and the occasional monkeys that were foolish enough to stray near our camp, drinking badly brewed liquor, and waiting endlessly for some action. The wise men, the great men, the royals, like Prahastha and the others, were huddled together, talking in whispers. But our great King, the mighty Ravana, had it coming. He was busy wooing an adamant Brahmin girl without a thought for all the fools who had started with him on this campaign. He refused to meet his ministers, stopped his inspections of the ranks, and even his inspirational speeches. She would sit cross-legged near the river, meditating or sometimes vehemently cursing the Asura King for what he had done to
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