Vashisht. Still alive, old fool?
The rakshas’s voice was like the sound of gravel grinding with glass. It hurt the ears physically.
Vishwamitra addressed Vashishta.
‘You know this beast, old friend?’
Vashishta replied without taking his eyes off the rakshas, who kept turning his antlered head slowly to look at each of the seers as they spoke.
‘He and I have had … encounters over the millennia. He comes from a very illustrious line of asuras. I’m sure you know him by his family name at least. Pulastya.’
Vishwamitra snorted.
‘You must be joking. This stinking foulness is descended from the sage Pulastya?’
‘Yes. Through his son, Visravas. This handsome fellow is Visravas’s brother, in fact.’
‘How interesting. So that would make him … uncle of Ravana, the self-proclaimed king of the rakshas clans?’
At the mention of Ravana, the rakshas raised his antlered head and opened his mouth wide. A slimy, maggot-infested serpent with snapping jaws emerged a foot out of his open mouth and emitted a high-pitched scream that jarred Dasaratha’s ears. The serpent retreated as quickly as it had come, dropping one wriggling greenish-white maggot on to the dust of the avenue.
Dasaratha saw the ground boil with a frenzy like soup bubbling, and the maggot dissolved into a tiny puddle of steaming fluid, unable to survive outside the fetid environment of its natural habitat.
I am Kala-Nemi, king of rakshasas. Ravana is merely my nephew. I roamed the three worlds long before he was even a mote in my sister’s eye.
An elephant reared in fright, startled by the unnatural sound of the rakshas’s voice. An old veteran, Dasaratha thought, just like me, hearing and seeing things it has tried desperately to forget for many years.
Suddenly, he wanted a sword in his hand. The sight of the rakshas sickened him to the belly. He had almost washed this thing’s feet! Bent his head before its vile presence like a goat bowing before a butcher. Close enough to be struck down with one treacherous blow. At the gates of his own palace, in the heart of the most impregnable Arya city ever built. Unbelievable. He turned to Drishti Kumar and asked him for a sword. The captain responded without a word, eyes fixed on the tableau unfolding before the palace gates.
Dasaratha clutched the sword in his fist, and strode forward, trailing his squadron of guards. He wanted to confront this stranger who had dared to humiliate him on his own turf. But as he moved forward, Vishwamitra and Vashishta exchanged a glance, and Vishwamitra gestured in the maharaja’s direction. To his chagrin, Dasaratha found himself locked into a bubble of immobility, unable to speak or move.
The guru inclined his head marginally in the maharaja’s direction, his tone apologetic. ‘This matter cannot be settled with swords, Dasaratha. Allow us to deal with this intruder in the manner that best befits his race.’ He gestured at the rest of the army contingent gathered all around them. ‘I have done the same to all your brave soldiers as well, with your royal permission.’
For a moment, Dasaratha felt an irrational surge of anger at the guru. But he realised at once that Vashishta was right. He had fought enough rakshasas to know that to bring down one such beast could cost a dozen or more Kshatriya lives. And he had never faced a rakshasa as formidable as this Kala-Nemi before. As his anger subsided, he felt a brief pulse of gratitude to the guru for yet again helping him save face, and saving his life as well.
It is my dharma, my king, came the unspoken reply in Dasaratha’s brain, reminding him for the umpteenth time that if Vashishta’s actions and words sometimes seemed curt and brusque, it was because the sage bore the weight of great responsibility. The responsibility of being the world’s oldest living seer, one of only three of the original seven seers who had been present at the dawn of civilisation, and by extension, the oldest living repository of the unwritten Vedas, the cumulative knowledge of the Arya peoples since the beginning of their race.
Aloud, Vashishta continued calmly, as if he was accustomed to having conversations with rakshasas at the palace gates, surrounded by Ayodhya’s army and the watching populace. ‘So, Kala-Nemi. You believe yourself to be the true leader of the rakshas clans, do you? And yet, I would wager my seven thousand years of knowledge that it was on your nephew Ravana’s orders that you came here on this foolish mission.’
It was my idea. I go where I please, do as I please. If I choose to let Ravana sit on the throne of Lanka, it is because I prefer to roam free and ravage the cities of you mortals. He likes to enjoy the company of his stolen queens and toys. It pleases me to leave him to manage my kingdom while I strike terror and cause ruin among your kind.
Vishwamitra commented scornfully, ‘Is that what you intended to do here? You don’t seem to have been very successful.’
‘If your canny colleague had not exposed me when he did, I would have been within the walls of your palace wreaking havoc even at this moment. You were fortunate to have been spared my wrath this time.’
Both sages laughed together.
‘Foolish creature,’ Vashishta went on. ‘Did you really believe you had fooled me? I saw through your disguise the moment I laid eyes on you. Just as a true sage, seer or seer-mage has an aura of Brahman around his form, you asuras have a stench of evil around you. I smelt it a mile away.’
The rakshas roared again in frustration, spitting maggots into the air.
You lie! If you saw through my disguise you would never have let me come so close to Maharaja Dasaratha!
He extended a large clawed hand and made a slashing motion barely inches from Vashishta’s face.
I could have slit his throat just by flexing my arm!
The guru looked unperturbed by the threatening gesture. ‘But then you would never have come close to your real target. And your mission would have been a failure.’
Kala-Nemi grunted. Dasaratha thought he heard disgust in that alien sound. Although it might have been just an acid belch.
If you know who I intended to kill, then know this also, old seer. I will accomplish my mission, sooner or later. And a day will come not far from now when this gaudy eyesore of a city will lie in smouldering ruins. Even as we speak, the greatest army of asuras ever assembled is preparing to march north. Ayodhya will fall. And after it, all of the proud Arya nations. We masters of the netherworld will possess the world of Middle-Earth that you call Prithvi. We will crush you like the pathetic bags of meat-and-water you are, mortals! And when we have rid all Prithvi of every last one of your kind, we shall rise to overpower the plane of swarga-lok as well, land of the devas. No power in the three worlds of hell, earth and heaven can stop us!
Vashishta glanced at his fellow seer-mage grimly.
‘I think we have bantered enough with this pretty boy, Vishwamitra. Time to show him how we mortals deal with skulking assassins and rude rakshasas who threaten us with genocide.’
Vishwamitra nodded, and both seer-mages raised their arms high, chanting a mantra that Dasaratha had never heard before. Blue streaks of light shot from the tips of their fingers, coiling together to form a thick rope of Brahman. They lowered their hands, and the rakshas was entwined in the rope of mystic energy. He screamed with rage, twisting in the grip of their power.
Do your worst, fools. I will be back. And you will learn as countless mortals before you have learned the painful way, that it’s not for nothing He is named Ra-van-a. He Who Makes The Universe Scream!
‘But for now,’ Vishwamitra said softly, ‘you are the one who will scream.’
Together both mages raised their hands. Lifting the rakshas on the thick, coiling beam of blue light, they elevated him a dozen yards above the avenue. Dasaratha heard gasps of wonder from the crowd assembled at the far end of the avenue as well as muttered exclamations and invocations from the soldiers.
‘In the name of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva,’ cried the mages together in a single voice that seemed to boom like thunder from the clear skies, ‘consign this demon to t
he lowest level of the netherworld, to everlasting agony!’
One last mantra. And with an explosion like a volcano erupting, the blue beam shot the rakshas downwards into the ground. He struck it like an arrow piercing water, and a hole appeared.
Dasaratha felt a sucking force drawing himself and everything around him, the very air itself, into the hole. Darkness swirled like a vortex into infinity. The blue light blazed blinding bright, forcing everyone to cover their eyes; a deafening thunderclap sounded, and suddenly the rakshas was gone, the hole had disappeared, and the world was normal once more.
A giant roar of applause and cheers exploded from the watching hordes, soldiers and citizens alike. Elephants trumpeted, echoing their mahouts’ joy. Guards clattered their swords against their shields.
Dasaratha found he too was free to move once again. The spell binding them all had been released the instant the rakshas was dispatched. He pushed his way past the soldiers encircling him and ran to the seers. They stood together speaking softly, their faces looking more lined and anxious than when they had been fighting the rakshas.
‘Mahadev,’ Dasaratha blurted, bending to touch the tips of his fingers to Vishwamitra’s dusty feet. ‘Forgive me for not recognising you at first, and for treating you so rudely. You have saved my life and done all of Kosala a great, great service. My debt to you can never be repaid. But if there is any way I can show my gratitude, then you have but to ask.’
Vishwamitra touched Dasaratha’s forehead, blessing him, then raised him to his feet gently.
‘That natural error is not even worth mentioning, Ayodhyanaresh. As for being in my debt, don’t be too quick to offer me gratitude. I am about to ask you to give me your most precious possession.’
Dasaratha smiled, joining his hands in pranaam.
‘Great One, whatever you ask for, it is yours. I swear this in the presence of my mahaguru Vashishta, by the honour of the Arya nations, the Suryavansha dynasty and Ikshvaku clan, the kingdom of Kosala and its capital city of Ayodhya. Today, you have ensured the survival of all these great lineages. Name your dakshina and I shall grant it without hesitation.’
Vishwamitra glanced at Guru Vashishta. The older seer looked troubled but did not speak.
Vishwamitra looked at Dasaratha again.
‘Raje, I come to ask for the life of your oldest and most beloved son, Rama. I need him to accompany me on a mission of the greatest danger and importance. A mission that could save Ayodhya itself. Surrender his life to me and you shall be forever blessed for your sacrifice.’
FIFTEEN
Lakshman brought Marut to a halt. Rama, riding double-saddle behind his brother, dismounted and ran to the tree where he had tethered Airavata.
‘I couldn’t herd the whole bunch of pahadis up through the grove to get him,’ he explained to Lakshman. ‘It was simpler to walk them straight to the first gate. If I hadn’t met you on the way, I would have just left them with the gate-watch, turned around and come back for him.’
Lakshman nodded, peering over the rise at the riverbank below. ‘Where did you say you left the deer anyway? I don’t see her down there.’
Rama joined him, scanning the rocky bank. ‘Right there. Look. You can see the blood-stains from her wound. She must have been well enough to return to the forest after all.’
‘Good for her. Now we can go back to the city and play Holi!’
Rama frowned. ‘What about practice?’
Lakshman sighed. ‘What about it? You’re already the best in your class, Rama. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, today’s a feast day! Everybody’s looking forward to a day of celebration, masthi, bhaang and roast meat! And it’s Holi! Our first Holi in Ayodhya in eight years!’
Rama grinned, wiping a last stain of kairee ras from his chin. ‘It is, isn’t it?’ He paused. ‘Luck, do you think we’re too old to play Holi?’
Lakshman chuckled. ‘Too old? Don’t you remember all the stories Father told us about playing Holi with our mothers and all his other wives as well, all three hundred and fifty of them? Or how the entire cabinet of ministers got drunk on bhaang and danced the bhangra with each other—and these are statesmen who are at each other’s throats at every cabinet meeting! You’re never too old to play Holi, Rama! Holi was created for even the old to act young, just for a day at least.’
‘That’s good,’ Rama mused. ‘So if we act like little brats today, nobody would mind, right?’
Lakshman grinned. ‘What did you have in mind?’
Rama shrugged. ‘Oh, nothing much. Just thought we might find Bharat and Shatrugan and turn their faces as purple as monkeys!’
Lakshman clapped his hands. ‘Now you’re talking like a true Arya! Let’s do it!’
‘Okay!’ Rama yelled, rising to a half-crouch. ‘Come on, kachua. Race you back to the horses!’
Lakshman laughed and raced his brother. As they leaped on their horses, startling the old stalwarts with their suddenness, they sang out together in perfect harmony:
‘Holi hai, Holi hai! Rang-birangi Holi hai!’
***
They had just reached the point where the raj-marg undulated from its curving path and ran straight as an arrow the last halfyojana to the first gate when they saw the dust-cloud approaching.
‘That’s Bharat and Shatrugan,’ Rama said.
In a moment, the dust-cloud cleared to reveal two gleaming gold-plated raths, each drawn by two fine Kambhoja stallions. As the chariots neared and slowed, Bharat’s muscular bulk and Shatrugan’s only slightly less developed physique became clearly visible.
Bharat’s voice rang out across the dusty highway. ‘Where in the three worlds have you been?’
Rama grinned as his brothers halted their chariots smartly, barely a yard before Airavata and Marut’s noses. The old battlehorses stood their ground calmly. Rama replied, ‘What’s the matter, bhai? Impatient to get your face coloured?’
Bharat grinned back at him. ‘We’ll see who gets his face coloured first. But first we’re needed back in the palace. Father’s orders.’
Rama and Lakshman exchanged glances. ‘Probably heard about your little escapade with the pahadis,’ Lakshman commented under his breath.
‘What pahadis?’ Shatrugan asked as he started to turn his chariot around, clucking encouragingly to his horses. ‘Are the pahadis invading us too?’
‘Invading? Who said anything about invading?’ Rama asked, his voice suddenly sharp. Lakshman glanced at him, surprised.
This time, Bharat and Shatrugan exchanged glances.
‘Don’t you know anything?’ Bharat replied, turning his chariot as well. ‘The city is on full alert. The army was called out.’
Rama’s expression darkened abruptly. Lakshman saw him and thought of a barkha cloud passing across the sun. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Shatrugan chuckled. ‘It was almost funny at first. There were two Vishwamitras, but one was a sudra hunter. It was only when he started throwing whole quads of soldiers around that Father realised he wasn’t a sudra hunter. And then—’
‘Be quiet, Shot.’ Bharat’s voice was quiet but firm. He had seen the expression on Rama’s face. ‘It’s all under control now, bhai. The seer-mage Vishwamitra arrived to visit Father on an urgent mission. Only a rakshas arrived at the same time, disguising himself as Vishwamitra. There was a lot of confusion. But the real Vishwamitra and Guru Vashishta exposed the rakshas and dispatched him using Brahman sorcery. Father’s called us all back to the palace just in case there are more intruders around. We should go.’
They were all silent, watching Rama closely. Lakshman had never seen his brother grow so serious so suddenly. Rama had nodded distractedly during Bharat’s explanation. It was as if Rama had expected to hear something along those lines.
‘What is it, bhai?’ Lakshman asked gently.
Rama glanced at him. He seemed to realise that they were all staring at him and that he might not be behaving quite as might be expected. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing. I just
… Bharat’s right. We should return to the palace as soon as possible. We should be within the seventh wall at a time like this.’
Lakshman saw Shatrugan frown and look at Bharat questioningly. Bharat shook his head, silencing Shatrugan again. Shatrugan shrugged.
They began trotting their horses down the raj-marg. After a moment of tense silence, Rama seemed to shrug off his sudden cloak of tension with a visible effort. He glanced around at his brothers, giving them a smile. Lakshman felt relieved. He had been worried there for a moment.
PRINCE OF DHARMA Page 14