The Princes of Ayodhya-The Ramayan Through Short Stories

Dhumraksh the Dumb Rakshas

If Indrajit was destroyed, Ravan was destroyed to the point of no return when he heard that Ram and Lakshman somehow managed to survive through the snake darts that had almost suffocated them. There had been a great debate as to who would inform the Great Demon King, and eventually they had just placed twigs in small cups, and Poor Yuka Rakshas picked up the shortest twig, and then, got the "short end of the stick".

Quivering from head to toe, the demon known for being as thin as a twig (okay, I'll stop now) blinked rapidly as he stood trembling before a seething Ravan, who regarded the messenger closely. The poor guy. His every word was obstructed by a stutter as persistent as Ravan's steadily reddening face. "Kya M-m-m-m-m-muh kar rahe ho?" Ravan snapped. "Unless you were talking about the m-m-m-m-mourning of the m-m-m-m-monkeys." The court erupted into laughter, and Ravan settled back. "Was it gruesome? It must have been, if you're trembling so much!"

The rakshas shook his head, finally coming to the terms that he would die, even if Ram and Lakshman hadn't. "Your greatness, your highness, your lordship," Ravan waved him off. "-the two men, Ram and Lakshman, have shaken off their darts like eager lions and rejoined their army, which is celebrating louder than anything. As the sun rises, it bathes them in victorious light, and they look like the Gods in our temples, great, fierce, and now, one of them is pacing impatiently as if ready to storm our fields."

Ravan blinked, trying to comprehend what the demon was saying through the sentence. "You mean to say, you ungrateful useless messenger, that Ram and Lakshman are, ALIVE?" Ravan didn't wait for an answer, knowing that was exactly what the messenger meant. "This entire night, we celebrated with wine that clouded our minds and dances that our wives would slap at us for, and you mean to tell us that those two men in deer's clothing still roam our battlefields, with their army of apes?" Mandodari glared at him from the sidelines, but did not say  a word.

Not a single word. Ravan had brought this upon himself. She had warned him, so many times, and he had just laughed it off, called her jealous. If Mandodari was jealous, she would have shown it long ago, when Ravan married 10,000 women. No, this was more than that. This was war, and this was a war which only dharm could win. All she could do was pray, pray that Ravan would come to his sense. But deep down, she knew that his ego could block all her prayers.

Ravan stood up, his eyes bloodshot and the little red, faint nerves showing, like the large, bulbous, eggplant purple vein thumping in his throat like a heart beating blood. "Those hermits are alive, and you stand before me like you were thrown in ice cold water and beg for mercy and heat? I sentence you, bringer of bad news, to death!" But even this proclamation wasn't allowed to boom in the high ceilings of the throne room for long as Ravan whirled around, all the silks used to clothe his body whirling around like a storm with him.

And suddenly, he smiled, and it was the most frightening thing that many of his courtiers had ever experienced or seen. Their king, smiling while a giant purple snake throbbed on his neck, and his eyes had no whites left to differentiate between the black of his pupil and the red that had taken over the ivory. His yellow teeth bared in what would have seemed normal, if his entire aura didn't reflect that of someone begging for vengeance.

"Dhumraksh!" he laughed, and many of his courtiers whirled around to where the mighty rakshas stood. "Why should I worry so much, when you're here? Go, take as many men as you want, and kill Ram, Hanuman, and the rest of the monkey army!" Lakshman, of course, was forgotten, (a bad idea, since he would prove to be quite a threat for Ravan), and with great pomp and glamour, Ravan sent Dhumraksh out at the first sound of the shankh, and sat down, appeased and excited.

Dhumraksh wasn't obnoxious (like Devantak), or particularly large (like Atikay), or necessarily Ravan's favorite (like Meghnad/Indrajit). But Dhumraksh, left out of the spotlight, clamored for appreciation from Lankesh, and with that, killed many enemies. Soon, he became known as the one whom Ravan could send when the enemy threatened to be more than the preliminary armies could take. But he had never been singled out like Ravan like this, and now kindled with a new burning fire to win, with a thousand carefully selected men, Dhumraksh stepped out from the gates of Lanka on his horse. A thin, malicious, blood stained smile spread across his scarred face.