Week 3 Story: The Desert Feared by the Gods

This writing is based on R. K. Narayan's The Ramayana, of which I have acquired a physical copy 

Rama felt the desert’s hatred with every step. Wherever he placed his boot, the sand split apart and engulfed it. His feet burned now; the leather in his boots was an inch thick, and it had kept out the heat of the sand for 3 hours, but after that, the scorch of the desert had pierced them. Rama had asked Viswamithra why he should bring his winter boots to the desert. “When we walk there, you will know.” For the first 3 hours, he hadn’t known, but when his boots had grown hot, Rama was glad for the 3 hours of only mild discomfort those winter boots had bought him.

The wind whipped sand into Rama’s face, and he turned his head. The wind in this desert was not cool, like the breeze, but spiteful; somehow it felt hotter than the still air.

Rama had heard stories of deserts before, where cactus gathered water and lions hunted amongst the sparse vegetation. But the desert that Rama, his brother Lakshmana, and his sage Viswamithra were walking through now was not like the deserts Rama had heard about as a boy. No life grew here; Rama didn’t know it, but there was no mortal living thing for 100 miles. There were bones scattered about the sand, bleached white from time in the sun and worn from the abrasion of the sand in the wind, but all of them had been there for hundreds of years.

When the wind passed, and the sand settled to the ground, Viswamithra stopped walking. It was the first time he had stopped during the trek through the desert, but Rama’s legs were so numb at this point that he was not glad to be stopping; he wished to leave the desert as quickly as he could. Still, he stopped before his sage, looking up at him. Viswamithra stood over him, blocking the sun for some fleeting moments, and looking down to the two boys who followed him. “This desert is no ordinary desert. The strongest of creatures can thrive in deserts around the world; nothing of that kind lives here. Even the gods themselves fear this desert.”

“Are we near the end?” Rama asked meekly. He had not yet run out of water; Viswamithra had strapped many gallons to each of the boys’ bags, and they were thankful now, but Rama was worried that he would run out soon.

“We are less than halfway, my prince. But you will find the second half of the journey much easier.” Viswamithra turned and continued walking, but the wind did not start again. Rama put his head down and followed.

“This land used to be lush with plants, and cool under the trees. Many sages would travel across it to pray to Shiva. But 600 years ago, the daughter of a great Yaksha came to this land to find a husband. The man she married was a chief of a small tribe, and when she married him, she made him strong, and their two sons were just as strong.” Viswamithra stopped and wrapped his scarf around his face, and the boys followed suit. Not a moment later, the wind returned in full force, and the sand ripped at the three of them, who felt alone in the desert.

“What happened then?” Rama asked when the wind passed.

“The father and sons were humans with the strength of gods; they became drunk with power. One day, the chief came to a sacred tree, thousands of years old. A great savant lived within it, but the chief paid him no mind and began to rip the tree from the earth. The savant killed him on the spot.”

“And what of his sons?” Rama asked. As he felt shade on his face, he looked up to see the white jawbone of a gigantic creature. It was long dead, but the mouth was vast enough to swallow a heard of elephants. The spine and ribs stretched ahead of the party for miles. Rama was thankful for the shade as he walked under the vertebrae.

“Thataka and her two sons went to kill the savant. He turned them into demons and cursed them with misery for the rest of their lives. Thataka became so hideous that her sons fled her.” Rama heard the bones of the great skeleton rattle slightly, but he felt no wind.

“Thataka herself became one of the most powerful demons ever to live, and she struck down the savant in her newfound rage. The has since cursed this land, beating the life out of it with a great heat and killing anything or anyone that wanders into her desert. Like I said before, even the gods fear her.”

Rama felt the sand shifting under his feet even more so than normal. “But she’s gone now, right?” Rama asked, as fear crept into his voice.

“No, she still owns the desert,” Viswamithra replied. Now Rama was sure of it; the ground was trembling under his foot.  “And she knows we’re here.”

“What are we going to do?!” Lakshmana shrieked. Both boys had feared for their lives, but they thought exhaustion would take them. The ground was shaking violently, and Rama could see a black figure coming over the dunes; it was getting closer.

“Prepare your weapons boys,” Viswamithra said, and a smirk crossed his face. “We came to this place for a reason.”

Author’s Note: The original story is very similar to this one. The primary differences are that Rama is not implied to feel fear at all. Additionally, Viswamithra uses magic to lessen the discomfort of the desert. I thought that this story was an integral part on Rama’s journey to greatness, therefore he shouldn’t be fearless during this stage of the journey. I wanted to focus on the hardship of the desert and the apprehension of fighting Thataka, so I excluded the fight.  

Image Information

(Giant Skeleton - ArtStation)