Tomorrow is my funeral. I don't know if they'll bury me like a rabid, mangy dog or with the dignity befitting an emperor—an emperor of a bygone era. The howling of jackals reaches my ears. They're busy snapping the limbs of my friends and family. Something slithers past my feet. I don't have the strength left to lift my head and look.
Squeak
Large, black, hairy rats. The battlefield, once ruled by the foolish bravado of men killing each other, now belongs to them. This is their feast day. For the past eleven days, this has been the scene—rotting flesh, pus, blood, urine, and death. The stench is unbearable.
My death is near. The pain has become intolerable. The life-sucking arrow lodged in my lower abdomen ensures that. But I don't fear death. I've been thinking about it for a long time now. Thousands have walked the path to Yama's abode in these last few days.
Somewhere in the deep ocean, my brother Kumbha lies lifeless. Giant sea creatures must have gnawed at him halfway. Yesterday—or was it the day before?—I lit the pyre for my son, Meghanada. Time has lost all meaning. So much of my awareness has slipped away.
In the vast expanse of this universe, a single star flickers faintly—like the eye of God. Like the destructive third eye of Shiva, who incinerated Kama. My beloved Lanka burns. Where once stood a magnificent city, now only smoldering embers remain.
Trikuta, my capital, was the greatest city in the world. At least, until that monkey came and set it ablaze. But even before that, it had been smoldering for days. Shops, homes, palaces, men, women, children—all turned to ash. Yet we rebuilt. Every able-bodied person contributed to raising Trikuta anew. Hanuman's actions sealed our fate. Because of that monkey, death came to us, destruction followed, and defeat became inevitable.
I don't want to speak of it further. My son had captured him. I should have killed him then. But I listened to my scheming younger brother instead. Betrayal and treachery! Not that these things are new to asuras. I was a fool. I believed, like an idiot, that the love of my people and my brothers would never waver. That I would never be betrayed. Now, I want to laugh. Though laughing isn't easy when your intestines are spilling out like rags.
The sounds of celebration from my city reach me. The enemy revels in victory. The monkeys must be ransacking Trikuta—looting my temples, burning my granaries, setting fire to schools and hospitals. What else is victory? When I brought home triumphs, I did the same—or worse—to the cities of the gods. Some vile monkeys must have breached my queens' chambers by now.
I can only hope my queen has the sense to leap from the cliffs before anything unspeakable happens. I am utterly helpless now. Death's hot breath brushes my face.
The jackals have arrived. Which part of my body will they tear into first? Probably my still-writhing intestines. What if a piece of my armor gets stuck in a jackal's throat? The thought makes me laugh. The jackal sinks its teeth into my cheek and rips away a chunk of flesh.
Well… I've lost my final bet too.
They started with my face. The rats have begun gnawing at my heels.
I am Ravana. I have gone far beyond the reach of everything. Now, the only fight left in me is against these jackals.
Tomorrow, a procession will march through the streets—the same streets that once witnessed my royal chariot parades. They'll impale my head on a spear and parade it like a trophy. My people will watch, a mix of fear and perverse delight in their eyes. I know my subjects. This will be a grand spectacle.
One thing I don't understand—why did Rama stand over me after I fell? As if showering me with his goodwill. He told his brother that I was the greatest scholar, a mighty king, and one from whom even he could learn statecraft. I laughed bitterly. I ruled so well that my empire now lies shattered around me.
The stench of my soldiers' charred corpses fills the air. The cold, lifeless touch of Meghanada's body still lingers on my arms. The smoke from smoldering Trikuta chokes me. I couldn't protect my people from these two warriors and their monkey army. I couldn't save them. And he called me a great king?
The irony amuses me. I want to mock my enemies—and my own people! Because these same fools trusted me, and now they lie around me, headless, limbless, lifeless. The dream of an egalitarian rule I built my empire upon now seems like a joke. A ridiculous joke.
But this is no way for an emperor to end. I fought hard. I played the game against the gods and their chosen ones. I wonder if there's a place in heaven for those who die laughing.
Suddenly, the rats and jackals scatter. A shadow darker than night falls over me. A lone figure with curly hair blocks my view. Is this Death, come to take me? I strain to open my eyes wider, but dried blood has sealed them shut.
Has one of Rama's aides come to claim my head as a prize? I want to see his face. I want to lock eyes with him—even in my final moments. Unflinching. Unyielding.
That head of curly hair stirs memories. Do I know him? He bends down, looking at my face.
*Ah!*
It's Bhadra. My friend. Perhaps the only one left alive. Though I'm not sure if he was ever truly a friend. He began as a foot soldier in my army, then vanished somewhere along the way, reappearing sporadically in my life. Sometimes gone for years.
When I was just a bandit chief, he made his way into my private quarters. When I became king of a small island, he gained access to my inner chambers. By the time I ruled over Bharat, he had earned the right to enter my bedchamber. More importantly, Bhadra found his way into the darkest corners of my mind—corners I hid even from my brothers, my wives, my lovers, my people… even from myself.
What is Bhadra doing here? But why am I surprised? This is where shadows like him belong. I feel him shudder. Is Bhadra… emotional? He was never angry, sad, or joyful. Now, he pretends to be overwhelmed. But I know—he feels nothing. He knows I know.
"Bhadra… take me away from here. Take me far away…"
I have no strength left. I don't even know if the words left my lips or died in my throat.
Bhadra shakes his head.
I was growing cold. Very cold. My life was slipping away. Then Bhadra cradled my head against his chest. The smell of his sweat reached me. Pain seared through every fiber of my being, a venomous sensation spreading through my veins. I groaned.
On the blood-soaked earth—drenched in the blood of my kin—Bhadra laid me back down. That blood was the remains of my dreams, my life. Everything was over.
A wave of sorrow and emptiness washed over me.
"I will finish your work, Maharaj. Do not worry. Die in peace. I will do something for your lineage—my way. It may be different. Shameful compared to yours. I was a warrior once. Now I am old. I fear weapons. I fear war. I couldn't hurt even a child. Yet my method will be deadly. I will avenge you. For myself. For our fallen race. I will not let Rama escape what he did to you. Trust me. Let go."
Much of what he said didn't reach me. Strangely, I felt comforted. The burning agony faded, and my mind drifted to childhood memories.
Thousands of scenes flashed before me—my early struggles, love, reckless passion, separation, battles, music, art—all flickering chaotically across my mind's eye. Not in order. Meaningless. Pointless. Just as life is.
I felt Bhadra bend to touch my feet. Then he left.
"Bhadra…"
For a moment, I wished he would return, take me to a physician, stitch my intestines back, push my dangling left eye into its socket, and somehow breathe life back into me.
I wanted to return to the Sahya forests, wage guerrilla war as Mahabali once did, start everything anew. Make the same mistakes. Love the same people. Fight the same enemies. Befriend the same allies. Marry the same women. Father the same sons. Live the same life.
I want my childhood back. I want to begin again. Every little thing. Over and over.
But I know it doesn't work that way.
I was sixty. I won't be sixteen again. If I survive, I'll be a one-eyed, repulsive, stinking beggar in tattered robes, haunting roadside temples. Nothing like the man I once was.
Now, I want death. This farce must end. I want to leave. Let the smoldering cities fend for themselves. Let the asuras fight their wars. Let the gods live their cursed lives.
Iwant my childhood back. I want to start over. Completely. Every single thing. Again and again.