This woman will tear off Ayodhya’s veils of falsehood before the eyes of its people. She, this hunchback, would be the one who ignites its tail. Dasarathan’s lust and betrayal, Aswapathy’s greed, ambition, and anger, all these will fall upon Ayodhya like a flaming comet, an evil omen. Not much time left now for deeply guarded secrets to become street songs in Ayodhya. When dawn breaks, Manthara would not be in Ayodhya. Her eyes, like a wild cat’s, found light slowly in the dark. She pulled the dagger out and gripped it. Manthara chided her wounds to be silent and tied the bundle close to her chest. Must leave as soon as possible and reach the jungle. How smart! What useless brains, not good enough to consider the simple act of lighting the stone-lamp! What sincerity! The soldiers are out seeking the woman who spied for kings. They searched north and south, up and down, all around and settled down to gossip for a while. The torches circled the stone-lamp a few times. And tapas-austerities! Where would starving folk find time for all that? But…the dagger…she knew how to wield it well. Those come out of secret affairs with the devas. Manthara’s hand stretched towards the handle of the dagger tucked into her waist. She taught Malayalam till her retirement in 2001. All her novels and collections of short fiction have won prestigious State-level awards as well as the Sahitya Akademi Award. Sarah Joseph is Kerala’s most famous woman writer and activist. Beneath the hills of gold, Manthara’s hump became a black rock. She pulled the night over herself and lay flat on the ground, face down. Then, some sixty more-as if preparing for battle! Manthara lost hope. The haystacks glittered like hills of gold. Suddenly, a torch leapt from the stables. She had crept around the stables and was now hidden in the haystacks quite deliberately. Not for nothing did she decide against waiting where Valaakan had told her, or avoid the route he had suggested. Manthara was no stranger to making a fresh move when the first went wrong. Treachery? Will Valaakan betray her? Was there a smile one could trust, candid, and open in Kosalam? This would not be the first time her calculations had failed. She waited a long time, watching intently, wondering when his bony dark form would emerge from the darkness. Valaakan was not to be seen behind the stone-lamp. Straightening up and stealing a look, Manthara quickly crouched into the valley between two hill-like haystacks. A gold bangle for his wife, to leave the stone-lamps unlit. A hundred gold coins for Valaakan to get her past the border. Outside the fort, Valaakan’s single-ox cart will be waiting. There would Valaakan have hung a ladder of jungle-vines-her escape from the fort a ladder marked by a bunch of aattuvanchi flowers. On the other side of the stone-lamp, the forest. Amusement lit the old crone’s face and spread as contempt. Kosalam is not free of untruth and treachery and false words it is not the Land of Maveli that once thrived somewhere in the south. To expect gratitude for food partaken is sheer greed on the part of those who offer it. Today was Valaakan’s woman’s turn to light the lamps. She had no way but to crawl over the sharp gravel. And now, to reach the space in the middle where the big stone-lamp stood and the small one where Valaakan was waiting. The wound on her knee smarted as it scraped against the granite. Kneeling, crawling, creeping, she escaped the eyes of the horses and crossed the stables. They did not find her and the torch slid back into the stable. The old crone pressed hard against the wall, as still as a painting. A burning torch stretched out into the open. She uttered a curse without opening her mouth.Ī question and some light leapt out of the stable. Manthara felt as if all of Ayodhya had heard the clatter of the hooves on the granite-paved stable floor. The horses saw her and neighed a warning. Manthara did not become a spy to retreat at the sight of blood. The warmth that seeped from her forehead into her eyes was blood. The wounds all over her body open their mouths as she moves, the sharp wind rubbing hot chilli-paste into them. Creeping close to the stable walls, hiding from the light and the spirits that guard it, the hag inched forward, slouching.
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