The Ramayana retold: Tara’s tumultuous life as she first becomes Bali’s queen and then Sugreeva’s

I had seldom witnessed a more ferocious phase in my life. Heat waves had gripped the world. They melted the glaciers, unsettling Mahadev in Kailash. Blocks of ice surged into the Gangotri, flooding the plains below. Incendiary debris fell onto the turbulent surface, emitting thick smoke. Sea animals fled towards the sweet waters. Those who couldn’t escape perished in the boiling waterbody that was once their trusted habitat. Fiery winds carrying a repulsive stench charged northwards, accusing the great god of severe injustice.

A forest fire had broken out on the outskirts of Kishkindha, and it was spreading fast. Our land, along with its residents, would be wiped out if the calamity was not contained right away. The vanar women rushed forward to throw water at the flames. The fire seemed to have opened its mouth with demonic hunger. The roasted flesh was insufficient for its insatiable gluttony. Only the rains could quench this inebriated.

“Rocks. Dump rocks!” I commanded. “Keep up with the water.” I grabbed Bali’s mace and rushed towards the Pampa. The girls stopped abruptly. Without wasting time, they divided themselves into three groups. One ran behind Ruma, balancing as many rocks on their heads and shoulders as they could. This task wasn’t difficult; the forest, spread out on the plains beneath a mountain, was littered with stones of all shapes and sizes. The two other groups followed me.

We gathered water from the Pampa and hurled it at the fire with all our might. Another group collected a huge pile of leaves in no time. I closed my eyes and uttered a prayer: “Forgive me, Mother Earth. We need to survive. We need resources. We have no other way.” With a heavy blow, I struck the dry earth using the mace. It shattered into powdery sand. The sand was scooped onto the large leaves and dropped on the flames from above, while water was splashed from the sides. In the meantime, the stones, both big and small, began to fall too.

The burning trees rustled out their last prayers. Some of the girls jumped atop them, scattering a cover of thorny leaves. Gel-like material was trapped between the blades of their large shoots. Oh god, I’d completely forgotten about them. This region grew these plants in plenty. The fire seemed to be receding. No one stopped until every last flicker was extinguished. Smoke swirled upwards, suppressed by the ambush. I looked at Ruma; she was already staring at me. We turned away before the tears could fall from our eyes.

“Let us uproot these useless plants,” Sugreev suggested.

“No,” Bali said sternly. “We will not uproot anything. There must be an alternative.”

“But these are not edible,” argued Sugreev, tearing off a piece from the long, thorny leaves and shoving it into his mouth. Its slimy, watery membrane stuck to his tongue. “Yuck!” He spat it out immediately. “Atrocious. The edges hurt.”

“These plants will stay where they are. It’s their space,” Bali affirmed. “We will figure out another way to our food. I think Sushena can advise.”

Sushena, my father.

“He is a doctor, not an agricultural expert,” Sugreev grimaced.

Bali slapped his back, making his twin squirm. “Mark my words, brother. Someday, in a moment of great crisis, these plants will provide crucial relief. Thank me then.”

Sugreev removed his brother’s fingers from his aching back, grumbling to himself. ‘Inedible plants will save us from an imaginary massacre. Doctors should double up as farmers. Animals must thrive in the wild, strictly partitioned from urban civilisation. What’s next? Fish will fly? Birds will burp? Butterflies will chew?’ Sugreev grouched away. Bali headed leftwards to meet my father.