Kundan was scared. Last night as he was returning home after work, some hooligans had jumped him. They had beaten him so badly that he passed out. When he woke up he found himself in a small room with stone walls and a metal grill for a gate. It looked like a prison and stank of urine and vomit. There were blotches of blood on the floor, walls and, Kundan stared horrified, on the ceiling. Kundan wondered what had happened to the previous occupant of the room.
"Where am I?" He shouted, but no one replied. "Anybody here? Why have you brought me here?"
A low growl came from the end of the corridor. Like a predatory animal's. Kundan shut up. Whatever was at the end of the corridor, he didn't want its attention.
He heard voices. Someone was shouting. Then came the sound of a blow and a cry of pain. Some more shouting. Presently a boy came shuffling down the corridor. There was blood on his face, trickling down from a cut on his cheek. He slid a bowl of rice through the grill and stood back.
Kundan pulled the bowl towards himself and realised that he was really quite hungry.
As he put the first bit of rice into his mouth, he heard footsteps. Another growl. I front of him, the boy was shivering. A tall, dark man came striding down and halted in front of his cell. He was dressed in a single piece of cloth, a white dhoti. Kundan noticed, with a shiver, the blood smattered over the dhoti and over the torso of the man. The man was muscular, with a lean face. He was about middle-aged with white hair extending back from his temples. He held a wicked-looking curved dagger in his right hand.
"Who told you to give food to this dog?" The tall man shouted. The boy cringed as if expecting a blow. But the newcomer opened the grill and snatched the bowl of rice from Kundan's trembling hand. The bowl dashed against the wall and smashed to pieces.
"I made the mistake of feeding you once, dog! Never again!"
The stranger had bent to his level and his face was very close to Kundan's. Kundan gagged on the stink of his breath.
"You must be mistaken. I don't even know you. I have never eaten from your kitchen."
"You don't know me?! You destroy my entire tribe and you shamelessly tell me that you don't know me!"
Tribe. Something clicked in Kundan's head and images from his past began streaming past his eyes.
"I see you recognise me. Good. You are ready. You have till midnight to say your last prayers. I do not know what god will have mercy on your pathetic soul but I cannot deny you that right. At midnight tonight you will be sacrificed to Vandevi to pay for her children whom you killed."
Kundan was speechless with terror. He threw himself at the man's feet, unable to utter a word to save himself.
The man kicked him away. "At midnight tonight, I will cut open your stomach with this very dagger and gut you like a fish. You will beg for death but death won't come, not for a while. Do you know how Vandevi accepts our sacrifices? She sends her spirits in the form of animals to devour them. You will still be alive when the vultures are eating your insides!"
"NO! No no no! Please forgive me! Garib Das made me do it. I didn't want to. I didn't."
The man, no longer a stranger, kicked him aside. On his way out, he smacked the boy hard on the ear.
"Mind you don't give this worm food or water or I'll make you wish you were never born."
The boy fell down hard on the floor. The man left him there and went away.
It took Kundan a while to regain his senses. Death which had only been a distant possibility till now, now became an imminent reality. No! He wouldn't let that happen. He had to find a way out.
The walls were solid, no windows. The only way out was through the grill and that was locked. Where were the keys? There! On the wall right behind the boy.
Then his eyes reached the boy. He was sitting with his chin on his knees and looking at him.
"Did you really kill Jatayu's tribe?" He asked.
"Jatayu? Oh, that man? Leave it. Can you unlock this door. I will give you a bag of gold!"
The boy shook his head.
"Did you kill his tribe?"
Oh, what the hell! Maybe if Kundan engaged the boy in conversation, he might discover a way to save himself.
"I didn't kill all of them. A couple, maybe. I was with other warriors who killed most of them."
"And good riddance!" The boy said under his breath, but Kundan's ears were sharp.
"Who are you, boy? Why are you here?"
"My name is Shesh. When I was nine, I stole an apple from Jatayu's lunch. It was just a game! He got so angry that he kidnapped me and brought me here. Makes me do all the work. Cooking, cleaning, washing. Beats me. Daily. My poor parents never raised a hand on me. It will break their hearts to see me like this. I miss them so much!"
"You know, my parents are kshatriyas in the king's army. So what if I stole an apple. Don't high caste people have some rights? He is just a tribal. I am not even sure if he is human!"
"Of course they are not humans! In the jungle they don't even wear clothes."
"What! Not even the women?!"
"Not a thread"
"Have you seen any?"
Kundan winked. "I did more than just see, my boy!"
"Really?! Tell me!"
This is good. Keep the conversation flowing, Kundan.
So Kundan started telling him the tale of the day they lost their way in the jungle.
He was so engrossed in his narration that he didn't notice the two people who came and stood besides the grill.
Ram, the prince of Ayodhya and the chief of guards were listening from the adjacent cell. They had been so quiet throughout that Kundan hadn't realized anyone was in the building except himself and the boy.
The boy! He had been fooled by a mere boy!
Of course, now he had no option but to testify in front of the king. Ram told him that if he helped the king's guards by telling them all that he knew, they would be lenient with him. Otherwise he would be beheaded and all his property confiscated. His descendants would be reduced to beggars.
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"He gave us everything - the entire team's names and what they had done, their buyers and helpers in other towns!" Lakshman was exuberant. "I told you I'd get it out of him!"
We - Lakshman, Jatayu, Ram and I - were in the gardens. Lakshman was still in the garb he had used in his little skit. His face was swollen now. He had insisted that Jatayu hit him with force instead of just pretending. They couldn't afford to make their quarry suspicious.
Jatayu was reluctant, so Ram had done the honors with the first blow. It had cut Lakshman's cheek.
Jatayu had hastily taken over then. At least he would soften the blows.
I was completely in awe of Lakshman. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty to help Jatayu, had suffered personal injury, had bled for another man. Bleeding in battle was different. It brought honor and glory to the warrior. But Lakshman had allowed himself to be man-handled. He had allowed them to beat him like a rag-doll, had taken blows not just to his body but also to his self-respect.
And now he sat there, so happy that his scheme had worked.
I could see my awe mirrored in both Ram's and Jatayu's faces. In that moment, we knew we were looking at a Vishnu.
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