Chapter 88 — Madhura's Founding

Lavana lay dead before the gate of Madhu's city. The arrow Rama had entrusted to Shatrughna had returned to his hand; the trident had gone back to Rudra. Around the gate, the force that had endured the terror of Lavana's rule stood in a silence different from fear. The danger that had governed every road and hermitage in the region was over.

Then the gods came down to Shatrughna. Indra was among them, and Agni, the god of fire, went before the others. They did not speak of the battle as if it had been a private quarrel between two warriors. Lavana's violence had emptied a country of safety. His death mattered to more lives than the lives of the men who had faced one another at the gate.

“Your victory has come well,” they told Shatrughna. “Lavana the rakshasa is dead. Choose a boon.”

Shatrughna stood with folded hands. He did not ask for another weapon, a longer life, or a conquest beyond the one he had been sent to make. Before him lay Madhu's city, its walls and ground made useless by the fear that had issued from it. The victory would mean little if that fear simply left behind an empty place.

“May this city of Madhu be settled swiftly,” he asked. “May it become a beautiful city.”

The gods gave their assent. “So it will be,” they said. “A fair city will stand in the country of the Shurasenas.” Having spoken, they rose away into the sky.

Shatrughna sent word for the force Rama had ordered ahead: soldiers, provisions, wealth, traders with their goods, performers, and the people needed for a town to begin again. The command Rama had given before Lavana's death had been exact. Shatrughna had not been sent merely to strike down a threat; he had been given authority to make a place where people could live after it was gone.

The force came quickly when it heard his command. Settlement began where Lavana had ruled. Roads and dwellings took their place among the cleared ground. Goods were brought in. Fields were cultivated beyond the inhabited streets. Markets gathered where people could meet without wondering whether the road ahead would lead to an armed guardian, a ruined hermitage, or a hunter who fed on whoever crossed his path.

Twelve years passed.

The city was called Madhura. It stood beside the Yamuna, its shape a half moon along the riverbank. Fine houses rose within it; squares and markets gave it movement and order. In its surrounding fields, crops grew. Rain came at the proper season. The people were healthy, and men of courage guarded the city under Shatrughna's protection.

What Lavana had made a great emptiness had become a place full of goods and people. It was the work of rule made visible: a land in which terror had been ordinary now had houses, markets, harvests, and guarded roads.

Shatrughna looked upon the settled city and felt profound joy. Yet the sight brought another thought with it. Twelve years had passed since he had seen Rama.

He had carried out the command entrusted to him. Madhura was established; the people who lived there needed a ruler still, not a hero who would disappear after victory. But he desired to see his elder brother, to stand once more before Rama, and to look upon Rama's feet in reverence. In the twelfth year, with the city secure behind him, Shatrughna resolved to travel to Ayodhya.