Shatrugan shifted uncomfortably. Both princes were loath to hear this outburst, yet were too well mannered to walk out on her. Kaikeyi saw this and went on quickly, as if afraid that at any moment their deep-rooted conditioning would snap and they would stalk out without further regard for social mores.
‘But the worst thing of all, my son, is that I wanted this to come to pass.’ Kaikeyi’s voice was one notch short of an outright cry. ‘In my heart of hearts, I wanted it all. I wanted you to be prince-heir, and maharaja some day. I wanted to be First Queen, and to hold the keys to Ayodhya in my fist. I wanted to see my grandchildren inherit the sunwood crown and become the forebears of the future Suryavansha dynasty. I wanted it all, and Manthara only manipulated me into using wrongful means to get what I wanted. But,’ her voice broke, ‘and you have to believe me, putra, when I say this, I did not want it at this price! I did not want Rama … or your father … I did not want any of these things to happen. This was not my ambition, to cause all this pain and damage. I only wanted the good things, not the bad. Try to see that. I need you to see that, as my son.’
Bharat stood silently throughout this long speech, listening with his eyes averted. At the end, when his mother began to regret aloud the things she hadn’t wanted, he turned his gaze back on her. His eyes were hard and remorseless.
‘And in the end,’ he asked quietly, ‘did you get what you wanted? Are you pleased with what you accomplished? Are you content?’
She shook her head, crying freely. ‘No,’ she said over and over again, ‘no, no, no. How can I be?’
‘Then what is it you wish from me?’ he asked. ‘Forgiveness?’
She raised her eyes to his, hope sparking in her orbs.
He shook his head. ‘I cannot give it.’
She stared at him wordlessly.
‘I cannot forgive you. The things you did to my father and my brother, these are beyond my ability to forgive. Perhaps they are beyond forgiveness itself! But that is not my place to judge. The devas will consider your actions and weigh your karma in due course, be certain of that. Be certain also of this now: I will fulfil all my duties to you as befits an Arya son. But do not expect anything beyond duty. Do not expect understanding, or compassion, or trust. Above all, do not expect love. That I will not hate you, nor act out of hatred, is all that I can promise. But beyond that, you will have nothing from me. I will serve you as any other servant in your retinue.’ He pointed at the guard by the door. ‘I will serve you as efficiently as that guard at your threshold. But expect no more.’
‘I expect only a son’s love and forgiveness!’ she wailed, beating her breasts.
‘Then you expect more than you deserve.’
He bowed his head curtly, performing a dutiful namaskar that would have suited his greeting of a strange courtier in a sabha session, turned smartly on his booted heel, and left the chamber, Shatrugan in his wake.
NINE
They left the raj-marg and turned west at the northern crossroad. Going straight would have led them eventually to Kaikeya Pass. The by-road was bumpier, being less travelled, and then rarely by royals. The traffic dwindled to a few bullock carts driven by farmers carrying their produce to Ayodhya market. Several were piled enormously high with sugarcane stalks, seemingly too great a load for two oxen or bullocks to carry. Yet the beasts trundled along, their horned heads lowered, pulling with untiring energy. The farmers must have distinguished the royal chariot from its rapid dust-churning progress up the road, for all of them were standing up on their carts by the time it reached them. They performed namaskars and called out the traditional four-word greeting, ‘Dasa naam satya hai!’ Dasaratha’s name is truth.
Fields of freshly cut sugarcane rolled by, the late-morning air thick with the scent of the syrupy sap. Scorpion birds hovered, sipping from cut stalks, snakes slithered in the bushes alongside the marg, and across the marg at times. They were quick enough to get out of the chariot’s way in time, warned by the vibrations in the ground well in advance. At a small pond, children and oxen milled together in the muddy water, splashing about happily. They saw the chariot and waved excitedly, shouting simply, ‘Ram-rajya!’ The reign of Rama. Clearly, news of the dramatic events in Ayodhya had not reached these backwaters yet.
After another yojana, they began to pass villages. Some were barely a dozen thatched mud huts built on either side of the marg itself, their occupants busy binding together sugarcane stalks and loading them on to carts. Women and men, old and young, all worked together, unmindful of the sun. It had been a harsh winter, well below freezing until little more than a fortnight before Holi feast day, and people were happy to be out baking carelessly in the affectionate warmth of Surya-deva once more.
An occasional dharamshala passed by, its mud roof bearing the saffron pennant that announced to passers-by that they could find free food and shelter here. Brahmins came out at the sound of the approaching chariot and made genuflections, conferring long life and honour on the maharaja and his lineage.
As they climbed higher into the western hills, the road grew less populous. For a full yojana or more they saw neither a cart nor a house. Then, as they descended the far side, the vista spread open before them, and they began to glimpse distant smoke-puffs rising into the ice-blue sky. These were villages and hamlets, some sprawling across entire valleys or over clusters of hills, thousands-strong clans living together harmoniously, linked by their varna or occupational caste, each self-contained tribal township or village engaged in its own hereditary line of work, be it tanning, harvesting, threshing, or sword-making. Hills rose and fell as the chariot trundled on; the road grew rough and stony, then turned smoother and less gravelly, then wound up and down over ghats and hillocks. Once, they passed a grove filled with musicians playing happy, carefree songs, presumably stopping to rest while en route to Ayodhya. From the snatches that could be heard over the thundering of the chariot, it appeared they were singing the praises of the new crown prince Rama Chandra. They all waved happily at the chariot passing by, dipping their heads in allegiance.
Shortly after midday Sumantra suggested that they stop briefly for a rest, more for the sake of the horses than for themselves. None of them felt much like partaking of any nourishment. Rama would not even take a sip of water. Sita and Lakshman ate some fruit, at Sumantra’s insistence, but left most of what the pradhan-mantri offered them. The land here was abundant with fruit and fowl and game, and in younger days, the prime minister informed Sita as they sat beneath the shade of a banyan tree and tried to eat their noon repast, Rama and his brothers would often ride out here and hunt for days.
They would set themselves a target, he told her, smiling wistfully at the memory of those bygone days, always picking species that had overbred lately and needed culling - or, quite frequently, assorted predators that had turned man-eaters and were preying on the nearby villagers, and so needed to be exterminated. The four brothers would split up into two pairs he hardly needed to tell her which two went together in each pairing - and would enter the dense hilly woods on foot. They would hunt over the next several days, surviving on the land itself, and occasionally on some of their own game. All the while, Sumantra had to send out men to follow on their heels, collecting the animals they had killed, carrying the carcasses back to the city. The princes would continue to stalk and kill and even be stalked at times - he narrated a chilling yet ludicrously funny anecdote of a panther that had kept on their trails for three whole days one time - and at the end of the tour, Rama and Lakshman and Bharat and Shatrugan would all return to an appointed spot on an agreed-upon day to compare their kill-tallies.
‘Who mostly won?’ Sita asked Sumantra, not because she had a burning curiosity but because the pradhan-mantri seemed to expect some query or response at this point. Rama and Lakshman sat with heads bowed, presenting a polite listening stance yet clearly not engaged by the telling.
Ah, winning was rarely easy to judge, Sumantra recalled, chuckling and shaking his head. For i
t wasn’t a question of mere numbers but size and age and species as well. ‘For instance,’ he pointed out, after all three had declined the fruit he was offering for the third or fourth time, ‘Rama and Lakshman might have ten fully grown adult boars, three pantheresses, two male leopards, a lioness, and a few dozen stag and deer. Bharat and Shatrugan, on the other hand, might have seven female leopards but only three adult boars, a panther or two, a young lion, a hundred fowl, duck, geese, peahens.’ He laughed. ‘Either one a cache deserving of a whole royal hunting party, not just two young boys armed with nothing but simple steel knives.’
Sita frowned. ‘They killed all that game with just knives?’
Sumantra chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t put even that past them. But no, I meant that they went into the woods armed only with knives. They then used the knives to carve bows and cut and shape arrows. It was with the bows and arrows that they carried out the actual hunting. That was always the way they liked to stage their contests, pitting not only their hunting abilities but their survival skills against one another.’
After waiting a moment for someone to comment or question him, the pradhan-mantri went on with exaggerated enthusiasm, ‘So it was almost impossible to measure and compare their tallies exactly, some kills clearly being more difficult to attain than others. And naturally enough, that led to arguments, growing more and more heated until it seemed inevitable that both pairs of brothers would come to blows.’ He shook his head, smiling wistfully. ‘But it never came to such a pass. Because, in the end, they would always turn to their father and ask him to decide. And Dasaratha, when he had a few minutes free from matters of state, would look over the two caches carefully, and pronounce his judgement. And once he had spoken, no matter which pair he had judged the winner, his verdict was accepted without objection or debate. And all four were friends once more. That night they would all feast and carouse over the roasting joints of their own catch, along with most of the city!’
There was a long silence after the prime minister had finished the story. All four of them sat silently, looking at the ground, at the squirrels dancing up and down the massive gnarled banyan trunk, listening to the calls of the monkeys rampaging through the treetops, the distant roars, grunts of boars and other assorted sounds from the wooded hills. Their horses snorted and neighed, having finished the oats that Sumantra had obtained from a nearby farmer while they had waited here beneath the tree at Rama’s request. Sumantra unpeeled a banana and raised it to his mouth, then paused and looked around. Except for a bite or two, none of their fruit had been touched. He put aside the banana uneaten.
‘I suggest we rest awhile now, rajkumars, rajkumari. The day grows exceedingly hot, even for early spring. Had I time, I would have fetched a covered chariot, or even a wheelhouse, but even now it would pose no difficulty to find a suitable lodge where you may lay yourselves down for a few hours. After the sun has grown less stringent, we may resume our journey once more.’
‘Sumantra,’ Rama said quietly, ‘we cannot wait. We must continue on our way within the hour.’
Sumantra nodded, as if he had expected this response. ‘You wish to reach the Tamasa by tomorrow then?’
‘I wish to cross the Tamasa before sundown, and leave the borders before sunrise.’
Sumantra’s brow creased. ‘That would mean travelling without another halt. And … ‘ He shook his head, disapproving. ‘You would travel all night? But what purpose would that serve, my lord? Why not stay and camp by the Tamasa tonight? It is most pleasant there. I am sure Rajkumari Sita Janaki would enjoy—’
Rama placed his hand on Sumantra’s shoulder. ‘Good Sumantra, my mother Kaikeyi’s orders were crystal clear. I am to leave the borders of Kosala this very day. And I am to enter the Dandaka-van as fast as humanly possible. If it is not possible to do so tonight itself, then with the help of your speedy rath, we can certainly do so before sundown tomorrow. That will fulfil my mother’s wishes.’
Sumantra shrugged in acceptance. His face clouded briefly. ‘I do not know, though, how you can continue to call her mother. Even a clan-mother, which is all that Kaikeyi ever was to you, and even that in name alone. When a clan-mother acts as she has acted, she deserves no respect. By sending you into exile in Dandaka-van, Kaikeyi-rani—’
‘Enough.’ Rama rose to his feet. ‘I will hear no word against her. She only fulfilled the boons my father owed her. You will not sully her name by speaking ill of her to me or to anyone else.’
Sita and Lakshman had stood with Rama. Sumantra came to his feet too, wearily. He dusted crumbs of soil from his garments. ‘If that is your wish, then it will be as you say, my prince,’ he said.
‘That is my wish,’ Rama said. He turned to go.
Sumantra caught his arm, stopping him. ‘Rajkumar, hear me out. The Dandaka-van is no place to take a newly wed wife, a princess of Mithila no less. What life would you have there? Fending off wild beasts and asuras every hour? The demons of that dark forest are almost as legendary as Tataka’s brood in the Bhayanak-van.’
Rama did not speak, he only looked at Sumantra without any expression. It was Lakshman who asked curiously, ‘What would you have us do then, chacha?’
Sumantra gestured at their surroundings. ‘Why not stay somewhere in these very hills? They are remote enough for you to stay incognito. I can have a small lodge built in a few days in a location that does not come easily to human eyes. There is a clan of sutaars nearby, they are among the best house-builders in the kingdom. You can reside in that lodge and live out your exile. That way, you shall be close enough to Ayodhya to have all your needs supplied by me. Rani Kaikeyi need never come to know of it as long as she lives. Only say the word, and I will have it done.’
Rama looked at the pradhan-mantri a long moment, saying nothing. Finally, the minister released the prince’s arm and looked away, lowering his eyes. Rama turned and walked back to the horses, putting the yoke on them himself without waiting for Sumantra. Lakshman glanced back at Sumantra, as if wanting to say something, then went to help Rama. Sita hung back a moment, long enough to give Sumantra a squeeze on his shoulder, affectionate and compassionate. As if I am the one who needs compassion rather than they.
Sumantra fought back the tears that had started to brim in his eyes, and went to help the brothers horse the chariot.
TEN
It was early evening by the time they came to the Tamasa. They heard its roar and smelled its flower-strewn banks almost a mile before they reached it. Lakshman had taken the reins of the rath since midday and he brought the team to a gentle halt, turning the vehicle around in the clearing used by those who waited to take the ferry across. There were no people here at present: almost all travellers preferred to use the newer, manned ferry boats plying across the wider strait a mile or two downriver. This was precisely why Lakshman had suggested they cross at this relatively abandoned old crossing, to avoid meeting any more citizenry.
A thick jute rope was tied to trees on both riverbanks, and passed through poles at either end of a large ancient balsawood raft. One had to pull oneself across the river by hand. Normally, Tamasa was a gentle, quiet river, but this was spring, and melting ice had given her more force than usual. There was also some danger from debris from the logging mills upriver, where the woods clans toiled to supply Ayodhya’s unceasing construction needs with timber.
They de-yoked the horses, and tied them to a tree to give them a few moments to adjust to the river. It was decided to take the rath across first, with Sita and Sumantra holding it firm and Rama and Lakshman pulling the rope. The trip went without too much trouble, although the river’s force was hard to fight and both princes were hard pressed to pull the loaded raft the last few yards. Sita and Sumantra trundled the chariot off the raft, inadvertently bogging one side down in a wet muddy patch, and both Rama and Lakshman had to disembark as well to lend a hand. They got in the mud pit and pushed while Sita and the pradhan-mantri pulled the yokes. By the time they got the stubbornly stuck chariot wh
eel out of the mud patch, the two brothers were spattered from head to foot. Sita turned around and took one look at them and burst out laughing. Both grinned sheepishly, and washed themselves off in the river, each holding the other’s hand to keep from getting swept away.
Sita stayed on the west bank, while the three men went back for the horses. From the outset there was trouble. The lead horse, a beautiful black stallion named Kamabha, was skittish around white water, and neighed and stamped his feet stubbornly when he was taken down to the river’s edge. Sumantra tried to coax him down, to no avail. It was Lakshman who was able to talk the horse into going down the bank, holding his head firmly when he flared his nostrils and tried to wheel around, and managed to get him on board the raft. The others followed Kamabha nervously but obediently. Rama poled them away from the bank, then pulled on the rope. Sumantra pulled as well, but Lakshman stayed with Kamabha, who was still exceedingly skittish and snorted every time the raft jiggled or shook.
They were halfway across when the logs came downriver. From the looks of it, a rope must have snapped, or more likely an elephant had dropped its load at the sight of a water-snake or river-rat. The elephant seemed the more likely explanation: there were about a dozen roughly cut logs, just about what an elephant would be expected to carry at a time. They came sweeping around the bend, rubbing noisily against one another, striking the bank and pinwheeling around, climbing over each other with harsh rapping sounds.
Sita saw them first, the three men being wholly occupied with the twinfold task of pulling the raft across as well as keeping the horses in control. She yelled a warning to them. Rama looked up and saw the oncoming logs and assessed the situation instantly. They were a little more than halfway across, too far to go back, not far enough across to be out of harm’s way. He shouted to Sumantra to pull harder, harder! Sumantra did so, his muscles standing out in corded relief as he strained with all his energy. Rama pulled too with all his might. But Lakshman’s hands were full with the skittish stallion, who had sensed danger in the air and chose that moment to start kicking out in panic.
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