work up enough wind to elevate itself off the ground until it found an air current. For yards around, the grass was flattened by the tremendous force of its flapping. A family of hares creeping from their hole were pressed to the ground, their long ears laid flat on the earth to either side of their heads. With a final ear-splitting screech of effort, Jatayu launched itself off the ledge, plummeting downwards like a boulder for several heart-stopping seconds before it found a small wind-wave and clung to it fiercely. The wave strengthened and it straightened out scant yards above the trail the sage had taken. With one more massive effort, it rode the wave out into the Sarayu valley.
Airborne at last, it drifted for several minutes, climbing steadily higher to find a current flowing in the direction it wished to go. It saw the seven gates of Ayodhya far below, ringing the mortal city like a set of concentric necklaces around a queen’s throat. The river Sarayu undulated like a silver cord through the lush valley. The magnificent palaces and mahals at the centre of the city straddled the roaring river with a variety of vaulting arches and inbuilt bridges in a large complex system of architecture. It was an amazing sight and Jatayu accepted grudgingly that it had never seen a mortal city as intricately designed as this one. So this was the great Ayodhya the Unconquerable. As it drifted on a strong up-current that flowed parallel to the river, the sickly-sweet odour of mortal flesh came clearly to its hunger-heightened senses. All the beauty and splendour of the magnificent Arya architecture was forgotten as its appetite was provoked again. To Jatayu, that was what this great city was ultimately: a giant feeding trough. Soon, it knew, its lord and master would beat down the proud walls of this so-called unconquerable city, and Jatayu and its kind would feast to their heart’s content.
The giant man-vulture issued an ululating cry, mocking the city and its inhabitants and their puerile quest for immortality before riding the air current southwards to its distant destination.
The sound that issued was a single word, split into three extended syllables by the bird-beast’s cry:
‘Ra-van-a!’
FIVE
The guards on watch at the city walls below heard the cry of the bird-beast and started involuntarily.
A grizzled veteran at the seventh gate glanced up and glimpsed the shockingly large silhouette that was sketched briefly against the deep-blue pre-dawn sky.
‘What in Shiva’s name was that?’ asked his companion, a much younger man, barely old enough to sport a beard. ‘Did you see the size of that thing? It must have a wingspan of at least twenty yards!’
The veteran shrugged. ‘Trick of the light. Like I told you before, this is the time of day you see the strangest things.’
The young guard stared at his companion. ‘But you must have seen it. It was right above us. It looked like a giant vulture. That round head, long hooked beak, that hunched back. But there was something odd about the body. It was broader than a bird, differently shaped, almost like a—’
‘A man? A giant man-vulture, is that what it looked like, young novice?’ the older man responded sharply.
‘Exactly!’ The young soldier looked eagerly at his senior. ‘Then you saw it too?’
The old man hawked and spat over the rim of the stone wall. The gob of phlegm glistened in the light of the gate-lamps. He watched it splash into the still waters of the moat far below before he answered in a disinterested tone.
‘There are no giant man-vultures, boy. Not any more. A trick of the light is all we saw. One sees strange things on purnima. The full moon dazzles the senses. Now, get your thoughts back on your work. It’s almost time to open the gates.’
Still the young guard pressed on.
‘But Somasra, you saw it too! It was a Garuda. Just like the
Airborne at last, it drifted for several minutes, climbing steadily higher to find a current flowing in the direction it wished to go. It saw the seven gates of Ayodhya far below, ringing the mortal city like a set of concentric necklaces around a queen’s throat. The river Sarayu undulated like a silver cord through the lush valley. The magnificent palaces and mahals at the centre of the city straddled the roaring river with a variety of vaulting arches and inbuilt bridges in a large complex system of architecture. It was an amazing sight and Jatayu accepted grudgingly that it had never seen a mortal city as intricately designed as this one. So this was the great Ayodhya the Unconquerable. As it drifted on a strong up-current that flowed parallel to the river, the sickly-sweet odour of mortal flesh came clearly to its hunger-heightened senses. All the beauty and splendour of the magnificent Arya architecture was forgotten as its appetite was provoked again. To Jatayu, that was what this great city was ultimately: a giant feeding trough. Soon, it knew, its lord and master would beat down the proud walls of this so-called unconquerable city, and Jatayu and its kind would feast to their heart’s content.
The giant man-vulture issued an ululating cry, mocking the city and its inhabitants and their puerile quest for immortality before riding the air current southwards to its distant destination.
The sound that issued was a single word, split into three extended syllables by the bird-beast’s cry:
‘Ra-van-a!’
FIVE
The guards on watch at the city walls below heard the cry of the bird-beast and started involuntarily.
A grizzled veteran at the seventh gate glanced up and glimpsed the shockingly large silhouette that was sketched briefly against the deep-blue pre-dawn sky.
‘What in Shiva’s name was that?’ asked his companion, a much younger man, barely old enough to sport a beard. ‘Did you see the size of that thing? It must have a wingspan of at least twenty yards!’
The veteran shrugged. ‘Trick of the light. Like I told you before, this is the time of day you see the strangest things.’
The young guard stared at his companion. ‘But you must have seen it. It was right above us. It looked like a giant vulture. That round head, long hooked beak, that hunched back. But there was something odd about the body. It was broader than a bird, differently shaped, almost like a—’
‘A man? A giant man-vulture, is that what it looked like, young novice?’ the older man responded sharply.
‘Exactly!’ The young soldier looked eagerly at his senior. ‘Then you saw it too?’
The old man hawked and spat over the rim of the stone wall. The gob of phlegm glistened in the light of the gate-lamps. He watched it splash into the still waters of the moat far below before he answered in a disinterested tone.
‘There are no giant man-vultures, boy. Not any more. A trick of the light is all we saw. One sees strange things on purnima. The full moon dazzles the senses. Now, get your thoughts back on your work. It’s almost time to open the gates.’
Still the young guard pressed on.
‘But Somasra, you saw it too! It was a Garuda. Just like the
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