Mantri Ashok asked reasonably how a single warrior could be expected to face an entire forest filled with demoniac asuras.
Vishwamitra nodded sagely. ‘Young Rama will not be alone. I will be beside him every step of the way. I shall prepare him en route to face the perils ahead. I shall gift him the most potent maha-mantras ever created for martial combat. When he enters the Bhayanak-van, he will be alone, true, but he will have the power of a thousand Kshatriya veterans. When we have cleared the Bhayanak-van of Ravana’s vile filth, the rajkumar and I shall proceed to my ashram, where he shall defend my purohits and myself as we conduct the yagna of which I spoke earlier.
Thereby we shall sanctify that forbidden land and make it hospitable at long last for Arya habitation. Bear in mind, people, I do not ask you this favour idly. I know well of what I speak. It is a seemingly impossible task, I admit. Yet sometimes, a single man can do what vast nations cannot.’
Finally, the arguments wound down, and the brahmarishi reached his conclusion.
‘And so I ask you, as is my right according to the code of the Kshatriyas and Brahmins: give me Prince Rama Chandra as my guru-dakshina, and I will give you a champion. Give me your crown-heir for this mission, and I will help strike an important first blow in this new war against the asuras. Give me this boy-warrior to wield as a weapon against the berserkers who threaten my yagna, and I will prove to you as well as to Ravana that under the guidance and tutelage of a brahmarishi such as myself, even a single inexperienced Kshatriya can defeat a horde of rakshasas. Grant me this guru-dakshina, for Ayodhya’s future, and humankind’s sake.’
And the brahmarishi joined his palms together and bowed his head before the people, waiting for their reply.
It was not long in coming.
Later, there would be much debate about the finer points of the matter. People would ask: ‘But can a young stripling truly face a force of berserker rakshasas?’ And others would answer indignantly: ‘Under the tutelage of Brahmarishi Vishwamitra, even a carpenter could face them.’
And they would add, sniffing: ‘Not just any young stripling, mind. It’s Prince Rama he speaks of.’
A dhobi seated with his wife and six children, his head covered in the white roughcloth turban of his class, heard his wife say anxiously from beneath her sari’s head-cover, ‘God forbid that the prince should come to any harm. But even if he were to die fighting the demons, it would be a noble sacrifice for a good cause.’
The dhobi turned and glared at his wife, reflexively raising his palm, withered and creased by years of washing, and threatened her with a slap that would rock her head. But slowly, he lowered his hand, acknowledging the truth of what she said, then rose and spoke, expressing what all the gathered assemblage had only been able to think nervously until now.
‘If a son of Ayodhya must go, better it should be our proudest son. If Maharaja Dasaratha agrees to send his own scion, then no father in the Arya nations will hesitate to send his own heirs into battle against the asuras.’
As the dhobi sat down, Lakshman glanced at his father. Dasaratha’s face was drained of all colour. The dhobi’s simple logic was unassailable. If the maharaja refused the seer now, every parent would have a ready excuse to refuse to draft his children into the coming war.
‘Yatha raja tatha praja.’
The dhobi was the first to take up the chant. In moments, the entire crowd was thundering the words.
‘Yatha raja tatha praja, yatha raja tatha praja, yatha raja tatha praja!’
Dasaratha came to his feet, unable to ignore the call of his own people. The people whom he was sworn to rule and govern, by the second law of Manu and by his own conscience.
The people’s answer was crystal clear.
As does the king, so shall the people.
Rama must go.
THIRTY-THREE
On Guru Vashishta’s advice, they rode discreetly to the palace, using simple chariots rather than the elaborate royal entourage. It was the guru who suggested they do their leave-taking at the rear gate of the palace rather than the parade grounds. After that, the brahmarishi and the rajkumar could take the old road out of the city, thereby bypassing the crowds of exuberant Holi revellers. It was not that they wished to avoid the people, but if they took their leave of all of Ayodhya, it would be days before they left the city. Kausalya would have liked to see Rama to the first gate, but the guru as well as Sumantra advised against it— security was still a concern.
Only after they reached the palace and were behind barred gates did Captain Drishti Kumar withdraw his men to a discreet distance to allow the royal family space for a private moment.
Kaikeyi was conspicuous by her absence, as was Manthara: Bharat had seen both the second queen and her aide leave the parade abruptly after the brahmarishi’s amazing demonstration, hurrying angrily back to the palace. They were probably within the Second Queen’s Palace even now, seething with anger over the coronation announcement.
But Bharat was there, as were Shatrugan and Sumitra-maa. The third queen was already in tears, less in control of her emotions than the more stoic Kausalya, even though it was Kausalya’s son who was leaving.
Everyone stood around for a moment, uncomfortable and nervous, except for the two seers, who remained as impassive as ever.
Lakshman was the first to end the awkward pause.
‘Father,’ he said, kneeling before Dasaratha. ‘I beg your leave to go with my brother on his sacred mission.’
Dasaratha blanched. ‘My son, how can you even ask such a thing of me? It is Rama’s karma to go, I understand and accept that now, as I have accepted the will of the people and the desire of the great brahmarishi. But do not ask me to sacrifice another son to this terrible task! It is perilous enough for one Kshatriya, yet with the blessings of the devas, I pray that he shall return victorious. But with two of you, the chances of mortal harm increase twofold. I cannot brook such a thought. Please, Lakshman, don’t ask this of me.’
Lakshman looked up at his father with an expression filled with all the sorrow and longing of youth.
‘Father, I have never asked you for anything. But you know that from the time I could stand, I stood beside Rama. When he would not eat, I starved. When he laughed, I was happy. We have never been separated for a moment, by any force. Do not separate us now.’
Dasaratha’s face was a mask of conflicting emotions. He passed a hand wearily across his brow, trying to find a way to convince his son.
Rama spoke quietly. ‘Father, forgive me for speaking out of turn. But I wish to say something to Lakshman. My brother, stay. The shadow of the asura threat hangs over Ayodhya still. Your bow will be needed here should any more intruders come. You saw the brahmarishi’s warning of what might come to pass.’
Lakshman turned his head. ‘But Rama, you heard him yourself. The reason he wishes to take you into the Bhayanakvan is to prevent that invasion from taking place! By going with you, I will help prevent it more effectively than staying here. Besides, one bow more or less in Ayodhya will not matter much. While in the forest, it would double the chances of success.’
Dasaratha looked at the brahmarishi in despair. ‘Mahadev, what is your esteemed opinion on this matter?’
Vishwamitra leaned on his staff. ‘Maharaj, I have no opinion in this matter. This is a father’s and a mother’s decision to make, not a guru’s. If Rajkumar Lakshman wishes to accompany his brother, so be it. If he stays, that is acceptable to me as well.’
He moved away after saying these words, distancing himself from the family debate. Dasaratha looked around, searching for someone to aid him in his argument against Lakshman. His eyes flicked across Kausalya, who wisely remained silent, and were passing on to Guru Vashishta when Sumitra-maa spoke, struggling through her tears.
‘Send Lakshman with Rama.’
Everyone turned to stare in surprise at the third queen. Sumitra’s delicate small features were smeared with damp kajal and a streak of sindhoor. She stepped forwar
d, wiping her face with the pallo of her sari. ‘He speaks the truth. He and Rama share a bond that is beyond this mortal plane. If he were to stay back, he would pine and waste away. In the woods, at least they will look out for each other.’
‘Sumitra?’ Dasaratha replied, astonished. ‘Do you know what you’re saying? You would risk the life of your own son even when not required? Rama is honour-bound to go now. Lakshman does not have to take this great risk. Think before you speak your mind, my gentle queen!’
‘I’m saying what’s right,’ she said with surprising determination. ‘Do you think it doesn’t hurt me to say it?’ She held the pallo to the corner of her mouth, her eyes misting over again. ‘It’s like pulling a piece of my heart from my breast. But then I say, if I can endure the pain of sending Rama, then I can endure the pain of sending Lakshman as well. That way, double the pain will halve the risk at least.’ She looked around defiantly, challenging anyone to prove her wrong. ‘I cannot speak for Bharat, but I would send Shatrugan as well. Because—’
Both Bharat and Shatrugan stepped forward, speaking hotly. ‘Father, send us too!’
Dasaratha waved them to silence, gesturing to Sumitra to go on.
‘Because,’ she went on, ‘Rama is a son of my heart if not of my body. To lose him would be as unbearable as to lose my own birth-sons. So I say, if Lakshman’s going gives him satisfaction, if the presence of one more bow improves the chances of success, then why should I not send my son as well?’
All eyes watched Dasaratha, waiting for his verdict. He looked at Sumitra’s tearful, defiant face, at Lakshman’s desperate pleading eyes, and his tired shoulders slumped. He released a great sigh.
‘Very well, then. So be it. Lakshman shall go with Rama.’
Both Bharat and Shatrugan began to protest.
Dasaratha waved them wearily into silence again. They quietened instantly. ‘But none other than Lakshman. Leave me at least half my sons in this time of crisis!’ He seemed to address the plea to some invisible deva rather than to anyone present.
Rama spoke to his brothers. ‘Bharat, Shatrugan. Heed Father’s words. He is ailing. If for any reason imaginable we should fail in our mission, Ayodhya will need your axe and your mace. Stay and defend our mothers and our city.’
Bharat and Shatrugan bowed their heads reluctantly, agreeing. Lakshman rose and stood beside Rama.
Guru Vashishta cleared his throat. ‘You must make haste. The brahmarishi desires to reach Ananga-ashrama before sunfall. You have a great walk ahead.’
The rajkumars glanced at each other, then, moving as one, went forward and bowed before their guru together. They touched his feet in the ritual plea for blessings.
‘Guruji, ashirwaad dijiye.’ The guru laid his hands on both their heads gently. ‘Ayushmaanbhav, Ayodhya ke rajkumaron. Hum tumhari safalta ke liya prarthana karenge.’ Live long, princes of Ayodhya. We shall pray for your success.
Next they turned to the maharaja. Dasaratha’s eyes were red and swollen even though he hadn’t shed a tear. His face was blotchy and flushed with strain. Rama’s heart twinged as he raised himself after touching his father’s feet. ‘Father, have faith in us. We shall bring you triumph.’
‘I expect nothing less, my sons.’ Dasaratha’s voice was hoarse and cracked. Suddenly, as Rama and Lakshman started to turn away, he lurched forward and put his arms around them both, enfolding and crushing them in a massive bear-hug. ‘Oh, my sons, my sons. What have I done? Can I never do right by you? What have I done to deserve this cursed karma?’
Rama hugged and kissed his father gently. The maharaja’s greying stubble was rough against his smooth, hairless cheek. ‘You have always done right by us, Father. It’s not your karma but our dharma that leads us where we go.’
Dasaratha looked at his son, fat opaque tears spilling from his anguished eyes. ‘So young and yet so wise. If I have ever done anything to deserve a boon from the devas, I pray for your safe return. Both of you.’ He clutched their arms one last time, his meaty fists twice the size of their slender shoulders, and released them, turning away with a choked cry.
They went next to Kausalya-maa. She had tears in her eyes when they bent to take her ashirwaad, and made no attempt to conceal them, but her voice was steady and clear. ‘Heed the words of your new guru carefully and obediently. Care for one another as well as for yourselves. Guard each other’s backs night and day. Do as your gurus have taught you and as your duty demands. Fulfil your dharma.’
The boys took their leave of Sumitra-maa, Bharat and Shatrugan next and turned to Guru Vashishta once more. He nodded, acknowledging the momentary disorientation that was visible on their faces. ‘Be brave, young rajkumars. It is a great thing you go to do today. A noble undertaking. Your names shall be writ large in the chronicles of your dynasty and your line. Go now, with the grace of the devas. I shall use every power at my disposal to pray for your speedy and safe return.’
Vishwamitra tapped his staff on the ground, indicating to the captain that they were ready to leave. The brahmarishi looked back once at Maharaja Dasaratha and the rest of the royal family.
‘I give you my word, Ayodhya-naresh. Either I shall return both your sons safely to you once my mission is accomplished; or I shall not return at all.’
Dasaratha felt a chill in his heart at the brahmarishi’s words. Not return at all? Was the seer admitting there was some chance of failure? But of course he was, he chided himself. Even the most powerful of seers couldn’t guarantee the future. What he meant was that he had pledged not just his honour but his life on ensuring their safe return. Either they would all return safely, or none would return.
Dasaratha couldn’t deal with the implications of the latter possibility.
As the rear gates of the palace swung open, Drishti Kumar and his guards gave the departing trio a royal salute. Then, turning smartly, they began to shut the gates, following their security procedures without lapse. Bharat and Shatrugan ran forward, clutching at the bars of the gates and calling words of farewell and encouragement to their brothers.
Rama and Lakshman walked behind the seer, following the customary three paces to the rear of their new guru, without looking back once. A way had been cleared specially for their passing right through to the first gate, and the raj-marg was deserted as far as the eye could see, with soldiers standing alert at regular ten-metre intervals along the way.
The three travellers reached the end of the avenue and turned the bend, passing out of sight.
KAAND 2
ONE
From a window in the Second Queen’s Palace, Manthara and Kaikeyi watched the three figures walk down the avenue and disappear round a bend in the road.
The minute they were out of sight, Kaikeyi turned her tear-streaked eyes on Manthara.
‘My son was to be crowned maharaja. My son, Bharat. Not Rama! Bharat!’
The daiimaa let the drapes fall back into place. She replied calmly: ‘Before he can be crowned maharaja, he must be crowned prince-heir. And then he must wait for his father to resign the throne or die. That is the law of ascension.’
‘I don’t care about the law,’ Kaikeyi shrieked. ‘I want my son to be king! You said it would happen! You said his kundalee is that of a king, not a mere lord or thakur. You promised me he would become maharaja!’
‘So I did,’ Manthara replied levelly. Kaikeyi’s shriek still echoed in the corridors. The palace was deserted. Everybody was at the parade grounds, celebrating the feast. The rest of the royal family would hardly care to enter these chambers. ‘And so he will.’
Kaikeyi bent down and clutched Manthara’s bony shoulders tight enough to hurt the daiimaa. ‘Then why was Rama declared crown prince today? Answer that, you witch!’
Manthara hissed. A flash of greenish-yellow flame, like the tongue of some enormous lizard, snaked out from deep within her throat. The sorcerous fire shot out and struck Kaikeyi between the eyes, crackling at the impact. The second queen’s eyes rolled up, astonished, and lik
e a rag doll being tossed aside by a playground bully, she was flung back bodily across the chamber. She struck a chaupat on the way, knocking it over and sending crystal jal-bartans and greasy dishes from her afternoon snack crashing, and landed with a bone-jarring impact on the bolsters and well-padded mattresses of her own baithaksthan. She lay there like a crumpled toy, breathing noisily through her open mouth, nostrils flared in shock, eyes wide and round.
Manthara crooked one finger and Kaikeyi sat up abruptly, her head lolling forward like a dog’s wagging tail. She gasped, as startled by the involuntary movement as she had been by the flight across the room.
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