Scion of Ikshvaku (17 page)

‘Are you sure?’ asked the worried mother.

Numerous villagers from the surrounding settlements had gathered at the Saraiya village square. Roshni had patiently attended to them all. This was the last patient.

‘Yes,’ said Roshni, as she patted the child on his head. ‘Now, listen to me,’ she cupped the child’s face with her hands. ‘No climbing trees or running around for the next few days. You have to take it easy till your ankle heals.’

The mother cut in. ‘I will ensure that he stays at home.’

‘Good,’ said Roshni.

‘Hey, Roshni
Didi!
’ said the child, pouting with pretend annoyance. ‘Where is my sweet?’

Roshni laughed as she beckoned one of her assistants. She pulled out a sweet from his bag and handed it to the delighted child. She ruffled his hair and then rose from her stool. Stretching her back, she turned to the village chief. ‘If you will excuse me, I should be leaving now.’

‘Are you sure, My Lady?’ asked the chief. ‘It’s late and you may not be able to reach Ayodhya before nightfall. The city gates will be shut.’

‘No, I think I’ll make it in time,’ said a determined Roshni. ‘I have to. My mother wants me back in Ayodhya tonight. She has planned a celebration and I need to be there for it.’

‘All right, My Lady, as you wish,’ said the chief. ‘Thank you so much, once again. I don’t know what we would do without you.’

‘The one you must truly thank is Lord Brahma, for he has given me the skills to be of use to you.’

The chief, as always, bent down respectfully to touch her feet. Roshni, as always, stepped back. ‘Please, don’t embarrass me by touching my feet. I am younger than you.’

The chief folded his hands together in a namaste. ‘May Lord Rudra bless you, My Lady.’

‘May he bless us all!’ said Roshni. She walked up to her horse and mounted swiftly. Her assistants had already gathered all their medical material and had mounted their horses. At a signal from Roshni, the trio rode out of the village.

Moments later, eight horse-mounted men appeared at the chief’s front door. They were from a nearby village called Isla, and had taken some medicines from Roshni earlier in the day. Their village had been struck by an epidemic of viral fever. One of the riders was an adolescent called Dhenuka, the son of the Isla village chief.

‘Brothers,’ said the chief. ‘Have you got everything you need?’

‘Yes,’ said Dhenuka. ‘But where is Lady Roshni? I wanted to thank her.’

The village chief was surprised. Dhenuka was famous for his rude, uncouth behaviour. But then he had met Roshni for the first time today. She must have impressed even this rowdy youth with her decency and goodness. ‘She has ridden out already. She needed to get to Ayodhya before nightfall.’

‘Right,’ said Dhenuka, scanning the road leading out of the village. He smiled and spurred his horse into action.

‘Can I help you, My Lady?’ asked Dhenuka.

Roshni turned around, surprised at the intrusion. They had made good time and she had stopped for some rest near the banks of the Sarayu River. They were an hour’s ride from Ayodhya.

At first she didn’t recognise him, but soon smiled in acknowledgment.

‘That’s all right, Dhenuka,’ said Roshni. ‘Our horses needed some rest. I hope one of my assistants explained how the medicine should be administered to your people.’

‘Yes, they have,’ said Dhenuka, smiling strangely.

Roshni suddenly felt uneasy. Her gut instinct told her that she must leave. ‘Well, I hope everyone in your village gets better soon.’

She walked up to her horse and reached for the reins. Dhenuka immediately jumped off his horse and held Roshni’s hand, pulling her back. ‘What’s the rush, My Lady?’

Roshni shoved him back and retreated slowly. The other members of Dhenuka’s gang had dismounted by then. Three of them moved towards her assistants.

A terrifying chill went up Roshni’s spine. ‘I… I helped your people…’

Dhenuka grinned ominously. ‘Oh, I know. I’m hoping you can help me too…’

Roshni suddenly turned around and ran. Three men took off after her and caught up in no time. One of them slapped her hard. As blood burst forth from Roshni’s injured lips, the second man twisted her hand brutally behind her back.

Dhenuka ambled up slowly, reached out and caressed her face. ‘A noble woman… Mmm… This is going to be fun.’

His gang burst out laughing.

‘
Dada
!’ screamed Lakshman as he rushed into Ram’s office.

Ram did not raise his eyes as he continued to pore over the documents on his desk. It was the first hour of the second
prahar
and he had expected some peace and quiet.

Ram spoke with casual detachment, continuing to read the document in his hand, ‘What’s the matter now, Lakshman?’

‘
Dada
…’ Lakshman was choked with emotion.

‘Laksh…’ Ram stopped mid-sentence as he looked up and saw the tears streaming down Lakshman’s face. ‘What happened?’

‘
Dada
… Roshni
Didi
…’

Ram immediately stood up, and his chair hurtled back. ‘What happened to Roshni?’

‘
Dada
…’

‘Where is she?’

FlyLeaf.ORG

Chapter 13
FlyLeaf.ORG

A stunned Bharat stood immobile. Lakshman and Shatrughan were bent over, crying inconsolably. Manthara held her daughter’s head in her lap, looking into the distance with a vacant expression, her eyes swollen but dry. She was drained of tears. Roshni’s body was covered with a white cloth. She had been found lying next to the Sarayu River by Manthara’s men, violated and bare. The corpse of one of her assistants lay a short distance away. He had been brutally bludgeoned to death. The other assistant was found by the side of the road, severely injured but still alive. Doctors tended to him as Ram stood by their side; his face was impassive but his hands shook with fury. He had questions for Roshni’s assistant.

When Roshni had not returned by the next morning, Manthara had sent out her men to Saraiya to find and bring back her daughter. They had ridden out at dawn as soon as the city gates were unlocked. An hour’s ride away from the city, they had chanced upon Roshni’s body. She had been brutally gang-raped. Her head had been banged repeatedly against a flat surface. The marks on her wrist and her back suggested that she had been tied to a tree. Her body was covered with bruises and vicious bite marks. The monsters had ripped off some of her skin with their teeth, around her abdomen and bare arms. She had been beaten with a blunt object all over her body, probably in a sick, sadistic ritual. Her face was torn on one side, from her mouth to the cheekbone, the injuries and blood clots in her mouth suggesting that she was probably alive through this torture. There were semen stains all over her body. She had died in a most gruesome manner, as one of the assailants had poured acid down her throat.

The assistant opened his eyes painfully. Ram bent over him and growled. ‘Who were they?’

‘I don’t think he can speak, My Lord,’ said the doctor.

Ram ignored the man as he knelt next to the injured assistant. ‘Who were they?’ he repeated.

Roshni’s assistant barely found the strength to whisper a name before he passed out once again.

Roshni was a rare figure who was popular among the masses as well as the classes. She had devoted her life to charity. She was a woman of impeccable character, a picture of grace and dignity. Many compared her to the fabled
Kanyakumari
, the
Virgin Goddess
. The rage that this brutal crime generated was unprecedented. The city demanded retribution.

The criminals were rounded up quickly from Isla village just as they were planning to escape. The chief of Isla was beaten black and blue by the women of his village when he made vain attempts to protect his son. They had suffered Dhenuka’s bestiality in silence for too long. Even by the standards of Ram’s vastly improved police force, the investigations were completed, the case presented in front of judges, and sentences delivered in record time. Within a week, preparations were on to mete out punishment to the perpetrators. They had all been sentenced to death; all except one; all except Dhenuka.

Ram was devastated that Dhenuka, the main perpetrator of the heinous gang rape and murder, had been exempted from maximum punishment on a legal technicality: he was underage. But the law could not be broken. Not on Ram’s watch. Ram, the Law Giver, had to do what he had to do. But Ram, the
rakhi
-brother of Roshni, was drowning in guilt, for he was unable to avenge the horrifying death of his sister. He had to punish himself. And he was doing so by inflicting pain on himself.

He sat alone on a chair in the balcony of his private study, gazing out towards the garden where Roshni had tied a
rakhi
on his wrist. He looked down at the golden thread, eyes brimming with tears. The heat of the mid-day sun bore down mercilessly on his bare torso. He shaded his eyes as he looked up at the sun, and inhaled deeply before turning his attention back to his injured right hand. He picked up the wedge of wood placed on the table by his side. Its tip was smouldering.

He looked up at the sky and whispered, ‘I’m sorry, Roshni.’

He pressed the burning wood on the inner side of his right arm, the one that still had the sacred thread which represented his solemn promise to protect his sister. He didn’t make a sound, his eyes did not flicker. The acrid smell of burning flesh spread through the air.

‘I’m sorry…’

Ram closed his eyes as tears flowed freely down his face.

Hours later, Ram sat in his office with a vacant air of misery. His injured arm was covered by his archer’s arm band.

‘This is wrong,
Dada
!’

Lakshman entered Ram’s office, visibly seething with fury. Ram looked up from his desk, the grief in his eyes concealing the rage within.

‘It is the law, Lakshman,’ said Ram calmly. ‘The law cannot be broken. It is supreme, more important than you or me. Even more important than…’

Ram choked on his words as he could not bring himself to take her name.

‘Complete your sentence,
Dada
!’ Bharat lashed out harshly from near the door.

Ram looked up. He raised his hand towards Bharat, wincing in pain. ‘Bharat…’

Bharat strode into the room, his eyes clouded with sorrow, his body taut, his fingers trembling, yet unable to adequately convey the storm that raged within. ‘Finish what you were saying,
Dada
. Say it!’

‘Bharat, my brother, listen to me…’

‘Let it out! Tell us that your damned law is more important than Roshni!’ Fierce tears were flowing in a torrent from Bharat’s eyes now. ‘Say that it matters more to you than that
rakhi
around your wrist.’ He leaned over and grabbed Ram’s right arm. Ram did not flinch. ‘Say that the law is more important to you than our promise to protect our
Roshni forever.’

‘Bharat,’ said Ram, as he gently freed his arm from his brother’s vice-like grip. ‘The law is clear: minors cannot be executed. Dhenuka is underage and, according to the law, will not be executed.’

‘The hell with the law!’ shouted Bharat. ‘This is not about the law! This is about justice! Don’t you understand the difference,
Dada
? That monster deserves to die!’

‘Yes, he does,’ said Ram, tormented by the guilt that wracked his soul. ‘But a juvenile will not be killed by Ayodhya. That is the law.’

‘Dammit,
Dada
!’ shouted Bharat, banging his hand on the table.

A loud voice boomed from behind them. ‘Bharat!’

The three brothers looked up to find Raj Guru Vashishta standing at the door. Bharat immediately straightened and folded his hands together in a respectful namaste. Lakshman refused to react, his untrammelled anger now focused on his guru.

Vashishta walked in with deliberate, slow-paced footsteps. ‘Bharat, Lakshman, your elder brother is right. The law must be respected and obeyed, whatever the circumstances.’

‘And what about the promise we made to Roshni, Guru
ji
? Doesn’t that count?’ asked Bharat. ‘We gave our word that we would protect her. We had a duty towards her too, and we failed in that. Now, we must avenge her.’

‘Your word is not above the law.’

‘Guru
ji
, the descendants of Raghu never break their word,’ said Bharat, repeating an ancient family code.

‘If your word of honour is in conflict with the law, then you must break your word and take dishonour upon your name,’ said Vashishta. ‘That is
dharma
.’

‘Guru
ji
!’ shouted Lakshman, on the brink of losing all semblance of propriety and control.

‘Look at this!’ said Vashishta, as he walked up to Ram, tore his archer’s band off and raised his arm for all to see. Ram tried to pull it away but Vashishta held firm.

Bharat and Lakshman were shocked. Ram’s right inner arm was badly burnt. The skin around the wound was charred and discoloured.

‘He has been doing this again and again, every single day, ever since the judge announced that Dhenuka will escape death on a legal technicality,’ said Vashishta. ‘I have been trying to get him to stop. But this is his way of punishing himself for having broken his word to Roshni. However, he will not break the law.’

Ram did not attend the execution of the seven rapists.

The judges, in their anger at not being able to put the main accused to death, had, in an act of judicial overreach, prescribed in detail the manner of punishment to be meted out to the seven other accused. Ram’s new law on execution had laid out a quick procedure: to be hanged by the neck till the person is dead. Furthermore, he had decreed that the execution be carried out in a designated area of the prison premises, the clause ending with giving the judge discretion in matters of procedure. Using this clause, the fuming judges had pronounced a detailed, exceptional procedure for the execution: that it would be carried out in public, that they would be made to bleed to death, and that it would be as painful as can be; they justified their impropriety by asserting that it would serve as a lesson for all time to come. In private they argued that this would also allow people to adequately give vent to their righteous rage. The police had no choice but to obey the ruling.

The execution platform was constructed outside the city walls, built to a height of four feet to enable an adequate view from even a distance. Thousands gathered outside the city walls from early morning to witness the spectacle. Many were armed with eggs and rotten fruit, to be used as missiles.

An angry roar erupted from the crowds as the seven convicts were led out of the mobile prison carts that they had been transported in. It was clear from the injuries on their body that they had already been beaten mercilessly in the prison; despite his best efforts, Ram had not been able to control the moral outrage of not only the prison guards, but also the other prisoners. Without exception, they had all been the recipients, in some form or the other, of Roshni’s benevolence. The desire for retribution was strong.

The criminals walked up the steps of the platform. They were first led to wooden pillories erected on a post, with holes where the head and hands were inserted, exposed to the people for ritual public abuse. Having secured the prisoners, the guards marched off the platform.

That was the cue for the crowd. Missiles began to fly with unerring accuracy, accompanied by vehement cursing and spitting. At this distance, even eggs and fruit drew blood, causing tremendous pain. The crowd had been strictly forbidden from hurling any sharp objects or big stones. No one wanted the convicts to die too quickly. They had to suffer. They had to pay.