Druhyu stopped talking as Mara removed the angvastram that veiled his face. Sheer terror gripped Druhyu’s heart. He had seen Mara’s face. He knew what would follow.
Mara smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing.’
The assassin got down to work. Druhyu’s body had to be left there. It had to be discovered by Manthara and the others in her employ. It was supposed to send a message.
Sita was sitting with her younger sister, Urmila, who had been crying almost incessantly.
Despite all that had been happening for the last few days, Sita had found time to come and meet Urmila repeatedly. Lakshman had insisted on coming along with Ram and Sita for the fourteen-year banishment. Initially, Lakshman had thought Urmila could also come along. He had later realised that the delicate Urmila would not be able to survive the rigours of the jungle. It was going to be a tough fourteen years. The forests could be survived only if you were sturdy and hard. Not if you were delicate and urbane. It had been tough for Lakshman, but he had spoken to Urmila and she had, reluctantly, agreed to not come along with the three of them. Though she was unhappy about it.
Sita too was constrained to admit that Lakshman was right. And she had come repeatedly to meet Urmila to help her younger sister make peace with the decision.
‘First maa left me,’ sobbed Urmila, ‘Now you and Lakshman are also leaving me. What am I supposed to do?’
Sita held her sister warmly, ‘Urmila, if you want to come, I will push for it. But before I do so, I need you to realise what jungle life means. We won’t even have a proper shelter over our heads. We’ll live off the land, including eating meat; and I know how you despise that. These are minor things and I know you will adapt to what needs to be done. But there is also constant danger in the jungle. Most of the coastline south of the Narmada River is in Raavan’s control. So, we can’t go there unless we intend to get tortured to death.’
Urmila cut in, ‘Don’t say such things, Didi.’
‘We cannot go to the coast. So, we will have to remain deep inland. Usually, within the forests of Dandakaranya. The Almighty alone knows what dangers await us there. We will have to sleep lightly every night, with our weapons next to us, in case any wild animals attack. Night is their time for hunting. There are so many poisonous fruits and trees; we could die just by eating the wrong thing. I’m sure there will be other dangers we are not even aware of. All of us will need our wits about us at all times to survive. And in the midst of all this, if something were to happen to you, how would I face maa when I leave this mortal body? She had charged me with protecting you … And, you are safe here …’
Urmila kept sniffing, holding on to Sita.
‘Did Kaushalya maa come today?’
Urmila looked up, smiling wanly through her tears. ‘She is so wonderful. I feel like our maa has returned. I feel safe with her.’
Sita held Urmila tight again. ‘Bharat is a good man. So is Shatrughan. They will help Kaushalya maa. But they have many powerful enemies, some even more powerful than the king. You need to be here and support Kaushalya maa.’
Urmila nodded. ‘Yes, Lakshman told me the same thing.’
‘Life is not only about what we want, but also about what we must do. We don’t just have rights. We also have duties.’
‘Yes, Didi,’ said Urmila. ‘I understand. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.’
‘I know, my little princess,’ said Sita, holding Urmila tight, patting her back. ‘I know …’
Only a few hours were left for Ram, Sita, and Lakshman to leave for the jungle. They had changed into the garb of hermits, made from rough cotton and bark.
Sita had come to meet Guru Vashishtha.
‘I’ve been thinking since our meeting yesterday, Sita,’ said Vashishtha. ‘I regret that we didn’t meet earlier. Many of the issues that arose could have been avoided.’
‘Everything has its own time and place, Guruji.’
Vashishtha gave Sita a large pouch. ‘As you had requested. I am sure the Malayaputras will also get you some of this. But you are right; it’s good to have back-up.’
Sita opened the pouch and examined the white powder. ‘This is much finer than the usual Somras powder I have seen.’
‘Yes, it’s made from the process I have developed.’
Sita smelt the powder and grinned. ‘Hmmm … it becomes finer and smells even worse.’
Vashishtha laughed softly. ‘But it’s just as effective.’
Sita smiled and put the pouch in the canvas bag that she had slung around her shoulder. ‘I am sure you have heard what Bharat has done.’
A tearful Bharat had come to Ram’s chambers and taken his brother’s royal slippers. If and when the time came for Bharat to ascend to kingship, he would place Ram’s slippers on the throne. With this one gesture, Bharat had effectively declared that Ram would be the king of Ayodhya and he, Bharat, would function as a mere caretaker in his elder brother’s absence. This afforded a powerful shield of protection to Ram from assassination attempts. Any attempts to murder the future king of Ayodhya would invite the wrath of the Empire, as mandated by the treaties between the various kingdoms under the alliance. Added to the cold reality of treaty obligations was the superstition that it was bad karma to kill kings and crown princes, except in battle or open combat. While this afforded powerful protection to Ram, it would severely undercut Bharat’s own authority and power.
Vashishtha nodded. ‘Bharat is a noble soul.’
‘All four of the brothers are good people. More importantly, they love each other. And this, despite being born in a very dysfunctional family and difficult times. I guess credit must be given where credit is due.’
Vashishtha knew this was a compliment to him, the guru of the four Ayodhya princes. He smiled politely and accepted the praise with grace.
Sita folded her hands together in respect and said, ‘I’ve thought about it. I agree with your instructions, Guruji. I will wait for the right time. I’ll tell Ram only when I think we are both ready.’
‘Ram is special in so many ways. But his strength, his obsession with the law, can also be his weakness. Help him find balance. Then, both of you will be the partners that India needs.’
‘I have my weaknesses too, Guruji. And he can balance me. There are so many situations in which he is much better than I am. That’s why I admire him.’
‘And, he admires you. It is a true partnership.’
Sita hesitated slightly before saying, ‘I must ask you something.’
‘Of course.’
‘I guess you must also have been a Malayaputra once … Why did you leave?’
Vashishtha began to laugh. ‘Hanuman was right. You are very smart. Scarily smart.’
Sita laughed along. ‘But you haven’t answered my question, Guruji.’
‘Leave the subject of Vishwamitra and me aside. Please. It’s too painful.’
Sita immediately became serious. ‘I don’t wish to cause you any pain, Guruji.’
Vashishtha smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘I must go, Guruji.’
‘Yes. It’s time.’
‘Before I go, I must say this. I mean it from the bottom of my heart, Guruji. You are as great a guru as the one who taught me.’
‘And I mean it from the bottom of my heart, Sita. You are as great a Vishnu as the one I taught.’
Sita bent and touched Vashishtha’s feet.
Vashishtha placed his hands on Sita’s head and said, ‘May you have the greatest blessing of all: May you be of service to our great motherland, India.’
‘Salutations, great Rishi.’
‘Salutations, great Vishnu.’
Chapter 28
Eleven months had passed since Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had left Ayodhya on their fourteen-year exile in the forest. And a lot had happened.
Dashrath had passed away in Ayodhya. The three of them had received this heartbreaking news while still in the Sapt Sindhu. Sita knew it had hurt Ram that he had
not been able to perform the duties of an eldest son and conduct the funeral rites of his father. For most of his life, Ram had had almost no relationship with his father. Most Ayodhyans, including Dashrath, had blamed the ‘bad fate’ of Ram’s birth for the disastrous loss to Raavan at the Battle of Karachapa. It was only over the last few years that Ram and Dashrath had finally begun building a bond. But exile and death had forced them apart again. Returning to Ayodhya was not possible as that would break Lord Rudra’s law, but Ram had performed a yagna in the forest for the journey his father’s soul had undertaken.
Bharat had remained true to his word and placed Ram’s slippers on the throne of Ayodhya. He had begun to govern the empire as his brother’s regent. It could be said that Ram had been appointed emperor in absentia. An unorthodox move. But Bharat’s liberal and decentralising style of governance had made the decision palatable to the kingdoms within the Sapt Sindhu.
Ram, Lakshman, and Sita had travelled south. Primarily walking by the banks of rivers, they moved inland only when necessary. They had finally crossed the borders of the Sapt Sindhu near the kingdom of South Kosala, ruled by Ram’s maternal grandfather. Lakshman and Sita had suggested visiting South Kosala and resting there for a few months. But Ram believed that it was against the spirit of the punishment they were serving to exploit the comforts of the palace of royal relatives.
They had skirted South Kosala and travelled deeper southwest, approaching the forest lands of Dandakaranya. Lakshman and Ram had expressed some concern about travelling south of the Narmada. Lord Manu had banned the Sapt Sindhuans from crossing the Narmada to the South. If they did cross, they were not to return. Or, so it had been decreed. But Sita had pointed out that Indians had, for millennia, found creative ways to travel to the south of the Narmada without actually ‘crossing’ the river. She suggested that they follow the letter of Lord Manu’s law, but not the spirit.
While Ram was uncomfortable with this, Sita had managed to prevail. Living close to the coast was dangerous; Raavan controlled the western and eastern coastlines of the subcontinent. The safest place was deep inland, within the Dandakaranya; even if that meant being south of the Narmada. They had travelled in a southwesterly direction, so that the source of the west-flowing Narmada remained to their north. They had, thus, reached land that was geographically to the south of the Narmada without technically ‘crossing’ the river. They were now at the outskirts of a very large village, almost a small town.
‘What is this town called, Captain Jatayu?’ asked Ram, turning to the Malayaputra. ‘Do you know these people?’
Jatayu and fifteen of his soldiers had been trailing Ram, Sita, and Lakshman, ensuring their safety. As instructed by Sita, they had remained hidden. Ram and Lakshman did not know of their presence for a long time. However, despite their best efforts to stay hidden, Ram had begun to suspect that someone was shadowing them. Sita had not been sure how Ram would react to her seeking protection from some Malayaputras. So she had not told Ram about her decision to ask Jatayu to act as a bodyguard for them. However, as they crossed the borders of the Sapt Sindhu, the risks of assassination attempts had increased. Sita had finally been forced to introduce Jatayu to Ram. Trusting Sita, Ram had accepted the Malayaputra and his fifteen soldiers as members of his team. Together they were one short of twenty now; more defendable than a group of just three. Ram understood this.
‘It’s called Indrapur, Prince Ram,’ said Jatayu. ‘It is the biggest town in the area. I know Chief Shaktivel, its leader. I’m sure he will not mind our presence. It’s a festive season for them.’
‘Festivities are always good!’ said Lakshman, laughing jovially.
Ram said to Jatayu, ‘Do they celebrate Uttarayan as well?’
The Uttarayan marked the beginning of the northward movement of the sun across the horizon. This day marked the farthest that the nurturer of the world, the sun, moved away from those in the northern hemisphere. It would now begin its six-month journey back to the north. It was believed to be that part of the year which marked nature’s renewal. The death of the old. The birth of the new. It was, therefore, celebrated across practically all of the Indian subcontinent.
Jatayu frowned. ‘Of course they do, Prince Ram. Which Indian does not celebrate the Uttarayan? We are all aligned to the Sun God!’
‘That we are,’ said Sita. ‘Om Suryaya Namah.’
Everyone repeated the ancient chant, bowing to the Sun God. ‘Om Suryaya Namah.’
‘Perhaps, we can participate in their festivities,’ said Sita.
Jatayu smiled. ‘The Indrapurans are a martial, aggressive people and their celebrations can be a little rough.’
‘Rough?’ asked Ram.
‘Let’s just say you need bulls among men to be able to participate.’
‘Really? What’s this celebration called?’
‘It’s called Jallikattu.’
‘By the great Lord Rudra,’ whispered Ram. ‘This sounds similar to our Vrishbandhan festival … But very few play this game in the Sapt Sindhu anymore.’
Ram, Sita, Lakshman, Jatayu, and the bodyguards had just entered Indrapur. They had gone straight to the ground next to the town lake. It had been fenced in and prepared for the Jallikattu competition the next day. Crowds were milling around the fence, taking in the sights and sounds. Nobody was allowed to cross the fence into the ground. The bulls would be led there soon to acclimatise them for the competition the next day.
Jatayu had just explained the game of Jallikattu to them. It was, in its essence, a very simple game. The name literally meant a tied bag of coins. In this case, gold coins. The contestant had to yank this bag to be declared a winner. Simple? Not quite! The challenge lay in the place this bag of coins was tied. It was tied to the horns of a bull. Not any ordinary bull, mind you. It was a bull especially bred to be aggressive, strong and belligerent.
‘Yes, it is similar to Vrishbandhan, embracing the bull,’ explained Jatayu. ‘The game itself has been around for a long time, as you know. In fact, some say that it comes down from our Dwarka and Sangamtamil ancestors.’
‘Interesting,’ said Sita. ‘I didn’t know it was so ancient.’
Many bulls, which would participate in the Jallikattu, were specially bred in the surrounding villages and within Indrapur itself. The owners took pride in finding the best bulls to breed with the local cows. And, they took even more pride in feeding, training and nurturing the beasts to become fierce fighters.
‘There are lands far to the east, outside India’s borders,’ said Jatayu, ‘where you find bull-fighting competitions as well. But in their case, the dice is loaded against the bulls. Those people keep the bulls hungry for a few days before the contest, to weaken them. Before the main bull-fighter gets into the ring, his team further weakens the beast considerably. They do this by making the poor bull run a long distance and stabbing it multiple times with long spears and blades. And despite weakening the bull so much, the bull-fighter still carries a weapon to fight the beast, and ultimately kill it.’
‘Cowards,’ said Lakshman. ‘There is no kshatriyahood in fighting that way.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jatayu. ‘In fact, even in the rare case that a bull survives that competition, it is never brought back into the arena again because it would have learnt how to fight. And that would tilt the scales in its favour instead of the bull-fighter. So, they always bring in a new, inexperienced bull.’
‘And, of course, this is not done in Jallikattu …’ said Ram.
‘Not at all. Here, the bull is well fed and kept strong and healthy, all the way. Nobody is allowed to spear or weaken it. Experienced bulls, which have performed well in previous competitions, are allowed to participate as well.’
‘That’s the way to do it,’ said Lakshman. ‘That will make it a fair fight.’
‘It gets even fairer,’ continued Jatayu. ‘None of the men competing against the bull are allowed to carry any weapons. Not even small knives. They only use their bare hands.’
Lakshman whistled softly. ‘That takes real courage.’
‘Yes, it does. In that other bull-fighting competition I told you about, the one outside India, the bulls almost always die and the men rarely suffer serious injury, let alone die. But in Jallikattu, the bulls never die. It’s the men who risk serious injury, even death.’
A soft, childish voice was heard. ‘That’s the way real men fight.’
Ram, Sita, Lakshman, and Jatayu turned almost in unison. A small child, perhaps six or seven years of age, stood before them. He had fair skin and small animated eyes. For his young age, he was extraordinarily hairy. His chest was puffed with pride. His arms akimbo as he surveyed the ground beyond the wooden fence.
He’s probably a Vaanar.
Sita went down on her knees and said, ‘Are you participating in the competition tomorrow, young man?’
The child’s body visibly deflated. His eyes downcast, he said, ‘I wanted to. But they say I cannot. Children are not allowed. By the great Lord Rudra, if I could compete I am sure I would defeat everyone.’
Sita smiled broadly. ‘I’m sure you would. What’s your name, son?’
‘My name is Angad.’
‘A-N-G-A-D!’
A loud booming voice was heard from a distance.
Angad turned around rapidly. Fear in his eyes. ‘My father’s coming … I gotta go …’
‘Wait …’ said Sita, stretching her hand out.
But Angad wriggled out and ran away quickly.
Sita rose up and turned towards Jatayu. ‘The name rang a bell, right?’
Jatayu nodded. ‘I didn’t recognise the face. But I know the name. That is Prince Angad. The son of King Vali of Kishkindha.’
Ram frowned. ‘That kingdom is deep in the south of Dandakaranya, right? Isn’t it aligned to …’
Ram was interrupted by another booming voice. ‘I’ll be damned!’
Sita: Warrior of Mithila Page 26