Kaand I

Night Has A Thousand Eyes

1

They started early, bathing in the last rays of a dying moon. Ratnakar led the group, with Lakshman and three others following closely. Mashaals were out of question. They wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. With only smidgen of pearly moonlight to lead them, progress was slower than what Lakshman would have expected. With some visible effort, not lost on Ratnakar, he stifled an urge to prod the group further. It had rained steadily for three days. Thankfully, it was a clear night. Lakshman glanced upwards into the dark sky. Trutiya, third night after Amaavas, the night when even the moon sleeps. They had to reach their destination before Pournima, the full moon night. They marched on, a silent procession.

They had descended the slopes of the hills two days ago. The plains of Khandesh opened up before them, sparse pockets of vegetation indicating some sign of life in an otherwise arid landscape. Each man carried light provisions - they would live off the land - and necessary weapons. Travel from the third prahar of the night to noon, and stay out of sight the rest of the time, Rama’s instructions replayed in his mind. Most Rakshashas were nocturnal hunters, and by dawn, even the heartiest of the scouts would have returned back to the camp or dug a hole in the ground to sleep. Rama had chosen the duration of their journey taking into account the rains and the light of the moon, brighter as they reached their destination and then waning as they returned, which would make it harder for the Rakshasas to spot them. Of course, it would also make it harder for their party to move swiftly. Rama, he thought. Forever - the leader. Forever - the king. Rama was the king of this band of warriors, though he wore not a crown, or demanded to be treated as one. He could see the respect and awe in their eyes when in Rama’s presence. He was their hero, their champion, and they would follow him to hell and back, if he asked them to. For that was Rama’s way, to lead from the front. Never had he asked anyone to perform a task he would not have performed himself. Never had his request been turned down.

He looked back to catch a glimpse of his weary companions. They were following him, maintaining the pace with some visible effort now, keeping a distance of five feet between themselves. Enough room to wield a sword should the time come. Basic principles of Arya warfare. Never bunch together and provide an easy target for the enemy archers. They were tired, walking for the third consecutive night. He looked ahead at the lean form of Ratnakar, walking at a constant pace. Lakshman wondered if he was tired too. Ratnakar would rather eat gobar than admit that he was tired. He smiled, now there was a proud man! At times, he felt Ratnakar would fit perfectly in his father’s court. He had all the markings of an Arya soldier, nay Captain, and certainly showed signs of some early formal education. A couple of years under Bejoo chacha and Ratnakar would emerge as a polished gem, true to his name. Maybe his father served in an army once. Ratnakar never mentioned the life before he turned into a brigand. It was a touchy subject, Lakshman guessed. Maybe someday, he sighed. Tonight, they had a destination to reach, a mission to fulfill. He glanced up into the sky again, gauging their direction with the help of constellations. Westwards, they were walking westwards.

A cool breeze swept through the forest, carrying the scent of a blooming mogra on its wings. Lakshman closed his eyes and stopped for a moment. Urmila, he thought. The scent of their wedding night. The scent of her soft skin, her sweet lips, their lovemaking… Mograi, he had fondly named her – the grove of mogra blossoms. He recalled their conversation after.

“Aryaputra”, she whispered on his chest.

“Blessed am I to be in your arms, my love. I promise thee

The fleeting nights, the waning moon, our love shall never be!”

“What is it with you women and poetry?” he smiled.

“No lofty words, no starlight skies nor the radiant moon can I conjure,

Alas, no master of words am I, but just a lowly warrior!”

Silently, he thanked the frustrating hours spent in the Gurukul, learning the intricacies of Sanskrit grammar and style. Never thought that would pay off somewhere. Bless you Milind, for your patient tutoring.

“Hmmm… where did you … What are you smiling about, my love?” she had asked.

Lakshman nearly bumped into Ratnakar.

“My prince, I asked - what are you smiling about?” Ratnakar had a quizzical expression he could barely make out in the dim light. When Lakshman shook his head, Ratnakar decided to let the matter rest.

“We are nearly there.” By now the rest of the pack had come together. “Let us make haste and reach the other bank before its sunrise.”

They started walking in their single line formation again. Lakshman noticed for the first time that the landscape had changed from the last time he had noticed. They were no longer walking on the plains. The path was steeply going up a hill. He mentally calculated the distance to the top. About five hundred feet. Another ghatika or so to go.

The cool breeze gained strength as they climbed higher, and by the time he was on the top, Lakshman could feel the goose bumps on his arms. Ratnakar was standing on the top, his right hand outstretched; clutching the staff he was leaning on. Lakshman joined him, as did others in a short while. Ratnakar swept his left hand, from North to West and beyond, and spoke a single word.

“Godavari!”