PRINCE IN EXILE

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  The ritual finished, Rama prostrated himself before the maharishi, taking his blessings. Lakshman and Sita followed his example.

  ‘Sadhu,’ said the maharishi, touching their heads and uttering the appropriate benedictions.

  He then led the way to his own hut, at the rear of the ashram. Not surprisingly, it was neither the largest nor the most striking; in fact, it was no different from any of the twenty-odd other huts aligned in neat rows across the compound. Behind the huts was a small thicket that had been included in the fencing-in, and Rama was pleased to see tame deer roaming freely. One doe nibbled tentatively at what looked like a lettuce patch. An elderly rishi waved a stick unaggressively at the nibbling doe, and she skittered away a step or two before turning her large round eyes back on the enticing green leaves peeking out of the ground. The elder rishi shook his head despairingly; clearly, this was a fight he was accustomed to losing, and the doe, emboldened by his gentleness, snatched a quick mouthful of crisp green lettuce, munching contentedly. Rama and Sita both noticed the little theft and smiled. The elder rishi saw them and smiled back, sighing as if to say, What to do?

  At the north-eastern wall of the compound was a row of immaculately maintained shrines dedicated to various deities. Rama glimpsed shrines honouring Brahma, Vishnu, Indra, Surya the sun god, Chandra the moon god, Bhaga, Kubera, Dhatr, Vidhatr and Vayu. He noticed Sita genuflecting as she saw the shrines. He made a note to make time to pray before they continued their journey to the Dandaka-van.

  ‘My roof is yours,’ the sage said, gesturing them within the open uncurtained doorway of his hut.

  They entered, bowing their heads to duck below the low lintel. The interior was as Rama had expected: bare and devoid of all but the most essential requirements. Pallets of darbha grass for sleeping, a mud pot filled with water for drinking, and naught else. The unmistakable pungency of cow urine hung in the air. No doubt the floor had recently been sanitised by a good washing-down using the usual antiseptic mixture of cow urine and water. Rama glanced at his brother. If Lakshman had any response to the odour, he didn’t show it on his face.

  The sage indicated the floor, upon which had been placed straw mats. ‘Please. Sit.’

  They made themselves as comfortable as was possible and were served water in clay cups by three visibly nervous young brahmacharyas. One of them was shaking so much with excitement, he spilled most of the contents of one cup on the floor before handing it to Rama.

  Barely had the brahmacharyas been dismissed when the maharishi spoke softly but with unmistakable urgency. ‘Words cannot express my great joy at your arrival, my lords. Since the day I heard the news of your journeying in this direction, I have said to my acolytes, indeed, mighty Brahma is magnificent in his vision. See how he turns two great princes out of their homes so harshly, and yet in doing so he provides us, the beleaguered ascetics of this region, with two great champions. Truly, rajkumars, we are greatly blessed that you have arrived here in time to save us from the evil menace that plagues Chitrakut vale.’

  EIGHT

  Sage Agastya was about to continue when more acolytes entered the hut, bearing bowls of fruit, puffed rice, and similar simple fare. The maharishi commended the food to his guests, and they ate some gladly, for they had begun their journey at dawn on empty stomachs, taking only a little water from the Jamuna en route, and had traversed over three yojanas that morning alone.

  Rama sensed Lakshman’s curiosity to his left, and Sita’s concern to his right, and at the first available opportunity he asked politely, ‘Maha-dev, I do not follow your meaning. What evil menace plagues this place?’

  An acolyte, no doubt the same one who had spilled the water earlier, almost dropped the bowl of puffed rice he was carrying. Lakshman’s hand shot out and caught it in the nick of time. The brahmacharya smiled nervously at Lakshman, who nodded and took the bowl from the boy’s nervous hands, setting it down on the mat. As the brahmacharya scurried out of the hut, Rama heard him saying, ‘Guru-dev is asking the rajkumars for help! Now we will be free of the menace at last!’

  Agastya gestured at the food. ‘Pray, supply yourselves first. I know you have come a long way and must be sorely in need of rest and nourishment. We can speak of these matters later this evening, after you have rested. Or even on the morrow if you prefer.’

  Rama glanced briefly at Lakshman, who was clearly bursting with curiosity. ‘Maha-dev, we thank you earnestly for your hospitality. The terms of our exile require us to live deep within Dandaka-van. If I am correctly informed, Chitrakut vale is on the outskirts of the forest proper. We still have further distance to travel before we reach the heart of the forest, and it is only our great desire to pay our respects to your holiness that caused us to divert our path briefly.’

  The faintest trace of surprise touched the sage’s face. He blinked once, then recovered his equanimity. His gaunt cheekbones moved slowly above his white beard as he spoke. ‘I see. Then clearly I was mistaken in my impression. I believed that you had been sent here for another purpose altogether.’ He was silent for another moment, then shook his head, smiling broadly again. ‘It was my error then. No matter. You shall be provided with whatever you require, and I shall personally inform you as to the most efficacious route into the forest.’

  One of the rishis made as if to speak but was silenced by a look from the sage.

  ‘Maha-dev, do tell us what you were speaking of a moment ago. What is this evil menace you mentioned? Is it some wild predator that troubles your ashramites?’

  Sage Agastya sighed. ‘It is no matter. You are honoured guests. I must not burden you with our petty troubles. Please, eat some more. We do not boast of a fine table as you princes and you, my lady, must be accustomed to. But the fruits of this region are renowned for their sweetness, and the melons are particularly good this time of year. They will nourish you and prepare you for the rest of your arduous journey.’

  Faced with the maharishi’s insistence, Rama was unable to press the matter further. Controlling his curiosity, he ate some of the proffered melon - it was every bit as sweet as promised. Sita ate as well, pointing to the bowl of grapes to let him know discreetly that they were good too. He took some. They were sweet, and the large seeds were easy to remove. He would have wished for some jamuns, rasbhurries or ber, but none had been served and he didn’t want to ask for them. Well, they were going into the deep forest; surely they would find any number of berry and other fruits growing wild everywhere. Food for exiles.

  They spoke of minor matters for a while, mostly relating to Rama’s and Lakshman’s visits to Ananga-ashrama and Siddashrama, and Guru Vashishta and Brahmarishi Vishwamitra. Sage Agastya was very eager to know about various rituals and practices and how they were followed in Ayodhya. He also had questions about Mithila, especially about Sita’s father Maharaja Janak and his renowned patronage of Brahmanical studies.

  They had finished the meal and the bowls had been cleared away. Several of the senior rishis of the ashram were seated to one side of the hut by this time, listening unobtrusively to their conversation. Agastya urged Sita to speak more about her father, and several of the other rishis added their voices to his.

  To please them, Sita narrated an anecdote depicting her father’s dedication to the search for spiritual wisdom. ‘He had performed a lavish sacrifice once and distributed many gifts. Wise men from Kuru and Panchala attended the ceremony and my father wished to learn who among them all was the wisest. So he ordered his men to fasten ten gold coins between the horns of each of a thousand cows and had the cows driven into a pen. Then he told the venerable Brahmins that the one among them who could prove he was the wisest of all could drive home all the cows.’

  As Rama watched Sita tell her tale, he felt eyes watching him intently. He glanced over at the part of the room where the other rishis were seated. All of them were listening intently to Sita, some of the older ones nodding their heads happily. Clearly they relished having visitors and hearing of such things.
/>
  Except for one of the rishis, a relatively younger man, with only a little grey peppering his mostly black hair, and a face marred by an odd discoloration, like white-skin fungus, except that his skin had turned more pale green than white. The rishi was staring at Rama, and when Rama’s eyes found his, he blinked rapidly and lowered his gaze in deference to the honourable visitor. Yet, Rama observed, he did not look at Sita or pay much attention to her story. Rama continued to watch the rishi with the discoloured face without making his observation evident; after a while, the Brahmin’s eyes crept inevitably back to Rama. Rama felt a sense of disappointment issuing from the man. He had been one of those who had started to speak when Maharishi Agastya had turned the topic away from the initial mention of the evil menace. Something was definitely troubling him.

  Sita had reached the end of her story. ‘As Maharishi Yajnavalkya’s pupil, who was but a novice yet, began to lead away the cows, an outraged Brahmin shouted, “How presumptuous!” And yet another cried out, “Yajnavalkya, do you truly believe you are the wisest here?” Janak restored quiet and allowed Yajnavalkya to explain his pupil’s presumptiveness … The guru faced the hostile gathering calmly and said,’ and here Sita looked around with a coy smile. ‘“I salute the wisest. But I want those cows.”’

  The rishis roared with laughter. Several slapped their thighs. One elderly rishi - Rama thought he was the same one who had been keeping the foragers away from the vegetable patch, and not doing a very good job of it - laughed so much he choked, and had to be given water to drink by his fellow rishis. ‘More, more,’ said the doe-challenged rishi when he had recovered his power of speech. Sita beamed. She would have obliged happily, Rama, knew, but the maharishi intervened.

  ‘Rishiyon, we must not detain our guests further. You heard them say they wish to proceed towards Dandaka-van at the earliest. Let us now wish them a good voyage and see them off at the gates.’

  Rama glanced at the rishis. The one with the discoloured face showed his disappointment clearly, looking down at the floor. Others seemed unhappy as well, yet unwilling to speak contrary to their guru.

  Agastya stood with a little difficulty, favouring his right hip. He sighed with the unmistakable weariness of age, and took hold of a staff laid against the wall of the hut. Rama glanced idly at the staff, and saw something unusual.

  At once he found his opening.

  Speaking with apparent nonchalance, he said, ‘Maha-dev, we city-dwellers have long heard tales of the dreaded Dandakavan. Since our childhood we have been told hair-raising stories of demons and supernatural beings prowling the woods.’

  Lakshman understood what Rama was up to and added his own voice: ‘Indeed, maha-dev, we were told that the forest is infested with wild predators as well as asuras.’

  Sita added: ‘Since we are proceeding there to reside, we would appreciate anything you could tell us in this regard, maha-dev.’

  Sage Agastya stroked his beard thoughtfully, his forehead wrinkled with concentration. He could hardly ignore their queries, Rama knew, and waited patiently for his answer.

  Instead, it was another voice that spoke first. The rishi with the discoloured face stepped forward. ‘Maha-dev, if I may speak … ?’

  Agastya looked troubled. He turned his wise, tired eyes to the rishi.

  Finally he nodded. ‘Speak, Somashrava.’

  The rishi’s face was pinched with intensity, the discolorations on his forehead and cheek seeming to change colour as he grew more agitated. ‘The stories you heard are true. Demons abound within the deep woods. After leaving our ashram, you will find only one more Brahmin on your route. That is the venerable sage Atri and his legendary wife Anasuya. But beyond their domicile you will find no more Brahmin inhabitants. After you cross the confluence of the rivers, travel over Chitrakut hill and Panchvati grove, then cross the Godavari, you will see only wilderness. A desolate spiritual wasteland, beautiful and alluring in its physical temptations, like a honey trap laid out to entice and imprison mortals with fleshly desires. No mortal who enters those woods ever returns … at least, they do not return as mortals.’

  Somashrava fell silent after this astonishing speech, after a look from his guru, even though it was evident that he had much more to say. The rishi’s emotions had changed visibly while narrating these few details; his discolorations had turned from their green tinge into an almost reddish hue.

  Rama asked, ‘Do you fear attacks by these asuras?’

  Rishi Somashrava looked at his guru. Sage Agastya remained silent, his long face and high cheekbones still with disapproval.

  Lakshman spoke. ‘Why else would you have walled in your ashram, maha-dev, if not to keep out something that threatens you?’

  Somashrava began to speak again, in a headlong rush. ‘All the other sages have fled this region. Once there were many ashrams here—’

  ‘Enough,’ Agastya said quietly. ‘Rajkumars, rajkumari … you need not trouble yourself with these matters. We will deal with these inconveniences as they arise. It is an inevitable part of our penance and a small price to pay for eventual spiritual enlightenment.’

  Somashrava looked as if he would cry out. The discolorations on his face were turning blackish now. Rama wondered if the colour changes reflected the rishi’s emotional state or were caused by some unrelated factor.

  Rama suggested politely, ‘It would be helpful if we heard the whole matter, guru-dev. After all, we are now residents of these parts too, virtually neighbours. And as neighbours, we must share our troubles.’

  Agastya sighed, laying a wrinkled white-haired arm on Rama’s shoulder. ‘My son - for you are as a son to me - we are far more fortunate than some of us realise. These environs, where our ashram is situated, are relatively peaceful and tranquil yet. Compared to the Dandaka-van into which your brave trio ventures, we are almost safe and sound here. You, on the other hand, will have far more contentious matters to contend with within those formidable woods. What Somashrava has told you is all true. Be on your guard night and day inside that terrible place. There are perils that would infatuate any mortal and sway him from the path of common reason. If you were not pupils of Guru Vashishta and the great Vishwamitra, achievers of such notable feats of Kshatriya bravery, I would have entreated you not to go any further, for it would mean certain destruction. As it is, I give you all my blessings for a safe exile and shall offer special prayers to the Lord Brahma daily until your fourteen years are over and you pass this way once more.’

  ‘Why will you not tell them?’

  Somashrava’s voice quivered with frustration and anger. ‘Why will you not tell them about the gandharva? That murderer of my brother and father and of so many other innocents among our brahmacharyas? These men are champions, heroes of the Bhayanak-van, cleansers of the cursed Southwoods, slayers of Tataka and her demon hordes, challengers of Ravana, and of Parsurama. Already, their deeds are the stuff of history. Then why will you not tell them about our bane? They can help us. They can slay the creature and avenge our lost friends … and my blood-relatives.’

  Agastya didn’t react angrily at Somashrava’s unexpected and unorthodox outburst, as Rama expected. Instead, the sage looked sad. ‘Because it is not their karma, Somashrava. They are merely passing through our habitat on their way to their own destination. We cannot divert them from their intended goal and ask them to solve our problems.’

  ‘Why not?’ Somashrava demanded, his voice and tone still respectful and controlled, but trembling with urgent desperation. Rama could see tears bunching in the corners of the rishi’s eyes. The tears were yellowish black in colour. ‘They are Kshatriyas, we are Brahmins at a holy outpost, expanding the realm of Brahman. The code of the Kshatriyas says that we may call upon any of them to protect us and defend us from aggressors, be they human or inhuman. It is their dharma to fight for our survival.’

  ‘True,’ Agastya said. ‘But the code of the Kshatriyas does not apply to exiles. Being banished, they are now bound only by the terms o
f their banishment. Rama, Sita and Lakshman need only stay in the Dandaka-van and survive the fourteen years. Nothing else is required of them. As exiles, they exist outside the Laws of Manu.’

  Outside the law. Outlaws. It was hard hearing oneself described with that word, even though it was spoken by a wise and sympathetic tongue, and was undeniably accurate. The truth was not easy for Rama to accept. An outlaw in my own kingdom, that is what I am now become.

  Somashrava was silenced momentarily by his guru’s argument. Still, the rishi was searching for some counterargument, unwilling to concede the point that easily. His father and brother, he had said. And many other brahmacharyas as well? No wonder the poor Brahmin was beside himself with grief. Rama looked around and saw, as he had sensed, the door of the hut crowded with the faces of acolytes. The entire population of the ashram had gathered outside the hut, listening eagerly to the debate. The silent pleading in the eyes of the little brahmacharyas told its own story. Rama noticed now for the first time that one of them had an arm missing, another an eye, a third a leg, a fourth had an ugly scar on his bald head and neck … He guessed that these crippled ones had been inside one of the huts when the visitors had entered the ashram, not among the more active acolytes. No doubt Rishi Somashrava’s own facial discoloration had been caused by some similar encounter with the berserker in question.

  He turned to Sage Agastya without hesitation. ‘Maha-dev, permit me to speak my mind. All that you have said is undeniably true. Your knowledge of dharma and the laws of my ancestor Manu are unquestionable. Yet even though the code no longer applies to us exiles, outlaws as we are for these fourteen years, yet we still carry our weapons for our own protection. We intend to use them freely to defend ourselves and our loved ones against any aggressors. And what else art thou and thy ashramites if not beloved to us, who love all things that serve Brahman? So, I ask you humbly and in all deference to your greater years and wisdom, allow us this opportunity to serve you. Not to avenge those who have been struck down, but because we wish it. We would not choose to turn our backs on such a menace, for who is to say that he might not follow us and attack us while we sleep? One asura downed is one asura fewer for us to fear in Dandaka-van. Let us face and destroy this evil that plagues you, and gain spiritual satisfaction for ourselves as well. Show us this gandharva and we will kill him.’