Post by Bhaskar on Nov 6, 2010 16:33:52 GMT -7
I thought it could be interesting to write a story about the Do-Rakhanaa, sort of a look into how they're functioning at the moment with current events. So I did. On the off-chance that anyone is interested, Vasanti, Murali, and Arundhati are adoptable.
------
Rajata is almost to her peak in the night sky when Bhaskar finally reaches his destination. Though the world has been dark for several hours, it is not still. Insects compete with singing nightbirds, some distance northwest a stream burbles and tumbles over the rocks lining its bed, and directly east, where the moon had risen after sunset, Bhaskar's sharp ears can hear voices ahead. He proceeds forward at the same unhurried pace he'd set at the beginning of his journey, a tiger alone and in no particular rush to find company.
Presently, emerging from the thicker tangles of brush and into the small clearing that the Do-Rakhanaa have appropriated for this month's chamdra mauta, he sees them.
The turnout is small, unsurprisingly so. Seven tigers, their fur silvered in the moonlight that filters down through the sparse canopy branches, have gathered into a loose knot. Two spar while the others look on with idle interest and talk among themselves. One, the eldest male of their group, has taken over a mossy, irregularly-shaped boulder that juts halfway out into the little glade. Three kol-bahl keep company with one another, having left their feline companions alone to form their own little group. He recognizes all of them.
As he enters the clearing, nineteen eyes turn to regard him. One of the jackals is missing his right, nothing left of it but a pitted, empty socket.
"Bhaskar," his mother Jyotsana calls in greeting, and several of the others grunt in acknowledgement as he makes his way over to her. She rises from her stomach and butts her forehead against his, an affectionate motion which he returns gladly. Her pelt is threaded with grey that has nothing to do with the reflection of the moon and he is becoming more and more relieved to see her at each chamdra mauta.
"Where is your kol-bahl?" somebody else queries of him, and he turns as he recognizes her voice. His littermate, Vasanti.
"She's looking after the cubs," he says after he's exchanged breaths with her. Vasanti snorts incredulously.
"Are you raising your own offspring now, brother?" she asks with amusement. He flicks an ear dismissively.
"Not mine. I've come to speak about it."
"Then speak," says Jyotsana. "There is nothing else under consideration at the moment."
They settle together, the three of them, and before the rest can set aside his arrival and return to their own business Bhaskar chuffs to keep their attention.
"Something has come to light," he starts, "that the varga should hear of."
He tells them of the Ran Garjana, of the attacks in the coastal jungle and Nishpaksha and, most recently, the forest, and of the survivors. Of all he knows about Dushta, his nameless second, and their subordinates.
"Judging by the gleam in your eye, Bhaskar, I don't think you've come to us without a plan of action," says Murali, a male of about his own age, when he's finished. Bhaskar makes a small noise of assent.
"They're no Sakht Nakh," he says. "Their numbers are fewer, and I've seen them fight; they've demonstrated little cohesion and discipline so far. Dushta and the cannibal at Nishpaksha, who may be his nameless second, are likely the greatest threats. If we take out both of them, I believe we'll be cutting off the serpent's head. Cleaning the rest out afterwards will be easy enough. We may have to sweep their territory for stragglers like we did Vijayi's."
"If we've the upper hand in numbers, that won't be difficult." Murali dips his head. "We can probably do it in one strike, once we get hold of a few more able-bodied varga."
"Such wild and whorling words," a voice rumbles down from above, and Bhaskar glances up even though he has no need to check the speaker's identity. It's Harendra, of course; Harendra, who presently controls the largest territory of all the varga, who had once upon a time been the second most powerful bhaaii in the Do-Rakhanaa; Harendra, who had become the most powerful after the executions of the Sakht Nakh survivors and who has clung grimly to his influence ever since, stubborn and unyielding.
"And why is that?" Bhaskar says, not breaking eye contact. The older male returns his stare unblinkingly. "This situation is straightforward enough. We've dealt with far worse even in the recent past."
Harendra has not stirred from his perch once all evening, and he doesn't do so now, but his ears slowly rotate back to display their spots as Bhaskar continues to hold his gaze. His muzzle wrinkles, though he does not yet show his teeth. "That's of little consequence, Bhaskar," he rumbles. "I've no doubt that we could excise a new clan of tigers. I question, however, the long-term efficacy of doing so."
"What are you going on about?" Jyotsana asks sharply, adding her glower to Bhaskar's. "You speak nonsense yourself, you old fatalist."
"Oh, come off it," Harendra says, but though he addresses Jyotsana it's Bhaskar that he still watches, his tail beginning to thump against the rock. "You've seen the signs, just as I have. Perhaps your son has not."
"I've seen every sign that we ought to end this Ran Garjana foolishness before it can grow to larger proportions. What are you going on about, Harendra?"
"So you haven't seen them." Harendra sounds satisfied and disgusted in the same breath. "You must be blind, boy. Look around you, and what do you see? Eight tigers, counting the two of us. Three kol-bahl. Not every member of the varga is in attendance tonight, and that is only to be expected, but with each passing month less of us show up to honor the end of Rajata's life. Do you know why? They grow weary of maintaining this farce before so an ever-increasing pile of evidence!"
"Watch your tongue," a female named Arundhati growls. Harendra ignores her. His eyes are only for Bhaskar, who is fighting to keep his own ears straight and his upper lip over his teeth.
"Evidence of what?" he demands. His voice is low and steely.
"Surely you've noticed a decline in our birth rates over the past nine years. Even before Vijayi strolled in and made a nuisance of himself, the Two-God damn his soul, our population was shrinking. We've had less cubs and more traitors in the last decade than throughout all the varga's remembered history!"
Finally Harendra moves, sitting up. Atop his boulder he towers over everyone else in the area, and from here, from his position of advantage, he glares down at Bhaskar.
"The omens are undeniable," he goes on softly, dangerously. "Things that we once considered auspicious are now a curse to us, a blight. The videshaja, for instance. Xynala, this Dushta character, your father." His narrow eyes narrow even further as he speaks those last two words, snipping each one off with deadly precision. "Need I say more?"
No. He doesn't need to say more. Bhaskar growls, furious, but the sound of it is lost in Vasanti's snarl. She jerks forward, her eyes blazing.
"Speak ill of Mahesha again and I'll throw you from that rock of yours," she hisses. "Is there a point to this blithering, or do you simply wish to bait us?"
Harendra looks between them, but his body remains unwavering, immovable as the stone under his haunches. His mouth curls into a brief, grim smile, heavy with irony and implicit threat.
"My point, Vasanti," he says, "is that all around us the world is changing, and to fight against it as it transitions into its next and final cycle would be madness."
At Bhaskar's side, Jyotsana tenses.
"Harendra, you had better not be saying--"
"I am," he interrupts her. "I believe that we're entering Kaala Mrityu, if we haven't already."
A murmur runs through the assembled beasts, tigers and jackals alike. Some are disbelieving, others accepting. None look so angry as Jyotsana, whose fangs are showing by now.
"You know as well as I do," she snaps, "that we have no way of proving which Kaala we're in. You can speak of omens all you like. I could twist them around to make it seem as if we're in the middle of Ghataava instead!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Harendra says frostily. "The appearance of the Sakht Nakh was probably the beginning of the end. Never, before their arrival, had anyone proposed the creation of something so ludicrous as a pride full of tigers--not to mention their goal of eliminating all other species, which was ridiculous in and of itself. We removed them, and now, half a decade later, here are the Ran Garjana! What will happen if we rid the jungles of this new clan? Will a third show up five years from now? A fourth after that? I tell you, Jyotsana, this is Mrityu. The world is a half-rotted corpse. There's nothing left for us to do except step back and let Do-Bhagavaana get on with things once he's good and ready!"
Utter silence greets Harendra when he's finished speaking. Most of the varga glance uncomfortably at one another, not wanting to be the first to either argue or lodge their support. Even Jyotsana's anger falters briefly, though it does not do so for long.
"I think he's right," a young male named Kunala ventures at length, breaking the impasse.
It's as if a floodgate has opened. Suddenly everyone is talking at once, debating, agreeing, squabbling. Their voices jostle for supremacy and only succeed in tangling together, becoming a senseless wash of noise. Bhaskar looks on in disbelief, too shocked to even move, until Kunala snaps at Jyotsana in agitation.
Kunala is pinned, a second later, and atop him Bhaskar roars, "Enough!"
Blessed silence falls again, cut only by his voice.
"Be grateful I've left your throat intact," he snarls into Kunala's ear, and then steps off of the younger male. He surveys the clearing balefully, his ears turned back.
"I can see that, in recent years, some of the varga have become as susceptible to hysteria as a troupe of week-old macaques," he begins, speaking with flat disapproval. "Truly, I never thought I would see the day when I felt so ashamed of my own people. You've given Harendra exactly the reaction he was fishing for: panic."
Kunala pulls himself to his feet, seething, but doesn't lunge for Bhaskar or his mother. He retreats, his head and ears low, to fume.
"I don't know if we're at the end of Naasha or the beginning of Mrityu or if Do-Bhagavaana will destroy this world tomorrow, but I'll not use the Kaala as an excuse to avoid fighting another war. If the Ran Garjana think that they can come along and do whatever they like, then I will exterminate them myself, one by one, if I must." Bhaskar turns to leave, his tail swaying in irritation. "Those who would follow me, do so.
"Not you, mother," he adds, his face softening, when Jyotsana comes up beside him. She can't take another war. Her body is simply too old by now.
"I know," she says, rubbing her face against his shoulder. "But, my son--"
"Yes?" he asks, nudging his head against her neck in turn.
"Return victorious, or don't return at all!"
Bhaskar hadn't expected to hear that old saying. He laughs, startled, and nods before taking his leave of the clearing. Behind him his ears identify Vasanti's familiar gait, and, accompanying her, her kol-bahl's. Two others follow: Murali and Arundhati.
If the others have sided with Harendra, so be it.
They depart, the five of them, and in their wake Jyotsana turns to the others.
"Well," she says tartly, "I hope you're all satisfied."
Unnoticed by all, a twelfth shadow detaches itself from the deeper gloom of the trees and slips after Bhaskar's group.
He sends them on ahead with directions, opting to travel alone, and waits until they've all left. Then he swivels around, catching a gleam of striped fur.
"You," he says. The other dips his head, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Me."
"Have you chosen to stand with us?"
The other's gesture, this time, is noncommittal, a flick of the ears and a slight list of the head.
"Good," Bhaskar says anyway. "Then I've a task for you, one that will require some discretion."
"I'm listening, vishaarada."
They speak quickly and then go their separate ways, but Bhaskar is satisfied with the outcome of their discussion. He continues on by himself, back to where he'd left Lakshmi and the cubs. For all its low points, this has been a productive evening.
------
Rajata is almost to her peak in the night sky when Bhaskar finally reaches his destination. Though the world has been dark for several hours, it is not still. Insects compete with singing nightbirds, some distance northwest a stream burbles and tumbles over the rocks lining its bed, and directly east, where the moon had risen after sunset, Bhaskar's sharp ears can hear voices ahead. He proceeds forward at the same unhurried pace he'd set at the beginning of his journey, a tiger alone and in no particular rush to find company.
Presently, emerging from the thicker tangles of brush and into the small clearing that the Do-Rakhanaa have appropriated for this month's chamdra mauta, he sees them.
The turnout is small, unsurprisingly so. Seven tigers, their fur silvered in the moonlight that filters down through the sparse canopy branches, have gathered into a loose knot. Two spar while the others look on with idle interest and talk among themselves. One, the eldest male of their group, has taken over a mossy, irregularly-shaped boulder that juts halfway out into the little glade. Three kol-bahl keep company with one another, having left their feline companions alone to form their own little group. He recognizes all of them.
As he enters the clearing, nineteen eyes turn to regard him. One of the jackals is missing his right, nothing left of it but a pitted, empty socket.
"Bhaskar," his mother Jyotsana calls in greeting, and several of the others grunt in acknowledgement as he makes his way over to her. She rises from her stomach and butts her forehead against his, an affectionate motion which he returns gladly. Her pelt is threaded with grey that has nothing to do with the reflection of the moon and he is becoming more and more relieved to see her at each chamdra mauta.
"Where is your kol-bahl?" somebody else queries of him, and he turns as he recognizes her voice. His littermate, Vasanti.
"She's looking after the cubs," he says after he's exchanged breaths with her. Vasanti snorts incredulously.
"Are you raising your own offspring now, brother?" she asks with amusement. He flicks an ear dismissively.
"Not mine. I've come to speak about it."
"Then speak," says Jyotsana. "There is nothing else under consideration at the moment."
They settle together, the three of them, and before the rest can set aside his arrival and return to their own business Bhaskar chuffs to keep their attention.
"Something has come to light," he starts, "that the varga should hear of."
He tells them of the Ran Garjana, of the attacks in the coastal jungle and Nishpaksha and, most recently, the forest, and of the survivors. Of all he knows about Dushta, his nameless second, and their subordinates.
"Judging by the gleam in your eye, Bhaskar, I don't think you've come to us without a plan of action," says Murali, a male of about his own age, when he's finished. Bhaskar makes a small noise of assent.
"They're no Sakht Nakh," he says. "Their numbers are fewer, and I've seen them fight; they've demonstrated little cohesion and discipline so far. Dushta and the cannibal at Nishpaksha, who may be his nameless second, are likely the greatest threats. If we take out both of them, I believe we'll be cutting off the serpent's head. Cleaning the rest out afterwards will be easy enough. We may have to sweep their territory for stragglers like we did Vijayi's."
"If we've the upper hand in numbers, that won't be difficult." Murali dips his head. "We can probably do it in one strike, once we get hold of a few more able-bodied varga."
"Such wild and whorling words," a voice rumbles down from above, and Bhaskar glances up even though he has no need to check the speaker's identity. It's Harendra, of course; Harendra, who presently controls the largest territory of all the varga, who had once upon a time been the second most powerful bhaaii in the Do-Rakhanaa; Harendra, who had become the most powerful after the executions of the Sakht Nakh survivors and who has clung grimly to his influence ever since, stubborn and unyielding.
"And why is that?" Bhaskar says, not breaking eye contact. The older male returns his stare unblinkingly. "This situation is straightforward enough. We've dealt with far worse even in the recent past."
Harendra has not stirred from his perch once all evening, and he doesn't do so now, but his ears slowly rotate back to display their spots as Bhaskar continues to hold his gaze. His muzzle wrinkles, though he does not yet show his teeth. "That's of little consequence, Bhaskar," he rumbles. "I've no doubt that we could excise a new clan of tigers. I question, however, the long-term efficacy of doing so."
"What are you going on about?" Jyotsana asks sharply, adding her glower to Bhaskar's. "You speak nonsense yourself, you old fatalist."
"Oh, come off it," Harendra says, but though he addresses Jyotsana it's Bhaskar that he still watches, his tail beginning to thump against the rock. "You've seen the signs, just as I have. Perhaps your son has not."
"I've seen every sign that we ought to end this Ran Garjana foolishness before it can grow to larger proportions. What are you going on about, Harendra?"
"So you haven't seen them." Harendra sounds satisfied and disgusted in the same breath. "You must be blind, boy. Look around you, and what do you see? Eight tigers, counting the two of us. Three kol-bahl. Not every member of the varga is in attendance tonight, and that is only to be expected, but with each passing month less of us show up to honor the end of Rajata's life. Do you know why? They grow weary of maintaining this farce before so an ever-increasing pile of evidence!"
"Watch your tongue," a female named Arundhati growls. Harendra ignores her. His eyes are only for Bhaskar, who is fighting to keep his own ears straight and his upper lip over his teeth.
"Evidence of what?" he demands. His voice is low and steely.
"Surely you've noticed a decline in our birth rates over the past nine years. Even before Vijayi strolled in and made a nuisance of himself, the Two-God damn his soul, our population was shrinking. We've had less cubs and more traitors in the last decade than throughout all the varga's remembered history!"
Finally Harendra moves, sitting up. Atop his boulder he towers over everyone else in the area, and from here, from his position of advantage, he glares down at Bhaskar.
"The omens are undeniable," he goes on softly, dangerously. "Things that we once considered auspicious are now a curse to us, a blight. The videshaja, for instance. Xynala, this Dushta character, your father." His narrow eyes narrow even further as he speaks those last two words, snipping each one off with deadly precision. "Need I say more?"
No. He doesn't need to say more. Bhaskar growls, furious, but the sound of it is lost in Vasanti's snarl. She jerks forward, her eyes blazing.
"Speak ill of Mahesha again and I'll throw you from that rock of yours," she hisses. "Is there a point to this blithering, or do you simply wish to bait us?"
Harendra looks between them, but his body remains unwavering, immovable as the stone under his haunches. His mouth curls into a brief, grim smile, heavy with irony and implicit threat.
"My point, Vasanti," he says, "is that all around us the world is changing, and to fight against it as it transitions into its next and final cycle would be madness."
At Bhaskar's side, Jyotsana tenses.
"Harendra, you had better not be saying--"
"I am," he interrupts her. "I believe that we're entering Kaala Mrityu, if we haven't already."
A murmur runs through the assembled beasts, tigers and jackals alike. Some are disbelieving, others accepting. None look so angry as Jyotsana, whose fangs are showing by now.
"You know as well as I do," she snaps, "that we have no way of proving which Kaala we're in. You can speak of omens all you like. I could twist them around to make it seem as if we're in the middle of Ghataava instead!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Harendra says frostily. "The appearance of the Sakht Nakh was probably the beginning of the end. Never, before their arrival, had anyone proposed the creation of something so ludicrous as a pride full of tigers--not to mention their goal of eliminating all other species, which was ridiculous in and of itself. We removed them, and now, half a decade later, here are the Ran Garjana! What will happen if we rid the jungles of this new clan? Will a third show up five years from now? A fourth after that? I tell you, Jyotsana, this is Mrityu. The world is a half-rotted corpse. There's nothing left for us to do except step back and let Do-Bhagavaana get on with things once he's good and ready!"
Utter silence greets Harendra when he's finished speaking. Most of the varga glance uncomfortably at one another, not wanting to be the first to either argue or lodge their support. Even Jyotsana's anger falters briefly, though it does not do so for long.
"I think he's right," a young male named Kunala ventures at length, breaking the impasse.
It's as if a floodgate has opened. Suddenly everyone is talking at once, debating, agreeing, squabbling. Their voices jostle for supremacy and only succeed in tangling together, becoming a senseless wash of noise. Bhaskar looks on in disbelief, too shocked to even move, until Kunala snaps at Jyotsana in agitation.
Kunala is pinned, a second later, and atop him Bhaskar roars, "Enough!"
Blessed silence falls again, cut only by his voice.
"Be grateful I've left your throat intact," he snarls into Kunala's ear, and then steps off of the younger male. He surveys the clearing balefully, his ears turned back.
"I can see that, in recent years, some of the varga have become as susceptible to hysteria as a troupe of week-old macaques," he begins, speaking with flat disapproval. "Truly, I never thought I would see the day when I felt so ashamed of my own people. You've given Harendra exactly the reaction he was fishing for: panic."
Kunala pulls himself to his feet, seething, but doesn't lunge for Bhaskar or his mother. He retreats, his head and ears low, to fume.
"I don't know if we're at the end of Naasha or the beginning of Mrityu or if Do-Bhagavaana will destroy this world tomorrow, but I'll not use the Kaala as an excuse to avoid fighting another war. If the Ran Garjana think that they can come along and do whatever they like, then I will exterminate them myself, one by one, if I must." Bhaskar turns to leave, his tail swaying in irritation. "Those who would follow me, do so.
"Not you, mother," he adds, his face softening, when Jyotsana comes up beside him. She can't take another war. Her body is simply too old by now.
"I know," she says, rubbing her face against his shoulder. "But, my son--"
"Yes?" he asks, nudging his head against her neck in turn.
"Return victorious, or don't return at all!"
Bhaskar hadn't expected to hear that old saying. He laughs, startled, and nods before taking his leave of the clearing. Behind him his ears identify Vasanti's familiar gait, and, accompanying her, her kol-bahl's. Two others follow: Murali and Arundhati.
If the others have sided with Harendra, so be it.
They depart, the five of them, and in their wake Jyotsana turns to the others.
"Well," she says tartly, "I hope you're all satisfied."
Unnoticed by all, a twelfth shadow detaches itself from the deeper gloom of the trees and slips after Bhaskar's group.
He sends them on ahead with directions, opting to travel alone, and waits until they've all left. Then he swivels around, catching a gleam of striped fur.
"You," he says. The other dips his head, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Me."
"Have you chosen to stand with us?"
The other's gesture, this time, is noncommittal, a flick of the ears and a slight list of the head.
"Good," Bhaskar says anyway. "Then I've a task for you, one that will require some discretion."
"I'm listening, vishaarada."
They speak quickly and then go their separate ways, but Bhaskar is satisfied with the outcome of their discussion. He continues on by himself, back to where he'd left Lakshmi and the cubs. For all its low points, this has been a productive evening.
