Vashishta ended with the ritual term signifying the close of any such invocation: ‘Swaha.’
When Kausalya raised her face to the guru, her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘I am truly fortunate to have your blessings, great one.’
‘You are fortunate on account of your own spotless existence, mother of Rama. You have lived your entire life with a nobility truly worthy of your race. Women and men such as you embody the true meaning of the word Arya. Noble One, it means in our beautiful deva-given tongue of Sanskrit, and truly you have lived your life nobly. Even without my blessings, you shall ever be watched over and loved by all the devas, including the great creator Brahma himself. Now, pray tell me, why do you shed these tears? Are they out of joy for your beloved liege’s recovery? Or are they on account of your anxiety for your son Rama?’
Kausalya struggled to regain control of her emotions. She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her pallo. ‘Your wisdom is infinite, Guru-dev. What can I tell you that you do not already know? You have named both the causes of my outpouring of emotion. My heart is as much filled with joy for my husband’s recovery as it is pierced with anxiety for my only child. It has been nine long days, great one. And not a word has reached us yet of the outcome of Rama and Lakshman’s mission. The great Vishwamitra promised he would return with them safe and sound in time for the day of Rama’s coronation as prince-heir. That happy day is only six days away now. And still there is no news or sign of their return.’
The guru nodded sagely. He stopped counting his beads and wound the necklace around his wrist. ‘And yet six days remain. You need not fear on their account, good Kausalya. I can assure you that your son Rama and Sumitra-putra Lakshman are both safe and well at Brahmarishi Vishwamitra’s Siddhashrama. Well is that sacred sanctuary named, for their mission was siddh.’
‘They were successful?’ Fresh tears flowed freely down Kausalya’s face. Her finely formed features, still retaining the beauty that had made princes and kings across the nine Arya kingdoms sigh with desire in her youth, grew radiant with happiness. ‘They are alive and well? Neither of them suffered any injury during their terrible mission?’
Guru Vashishta paused a moment before replying. The pause was uncharacteristic of him. The great seer always spoke with the eloquent ease of an actor who had not only mastered his own dialogue but had written his own part. Yet he seemed to search for a phrase before answering Kausalya’s eager questions. ‘They are both well. Your son Rama achieved a great victory over Tataka. And both of them showed great courage and prowess in the battle against the dread demoness’s army of vile offspring. They shall return as champions to Ayodhya in time for the coronation. That auspicious day is also the day of Rama’s naming, his sixteenth navami. And proudly will he stand before his creator and be declared a man not just in age but in achievements.’
Kausalya’s lips parted with amazement as she repeated the guru’s last words. ‘A man. My Rama will return a man.’
‘And he will be crowned king. This is his destiny and he well deserves it. These things I have seen through the flow of Brahman that pervades the entire universe, by the grace of the devas who have granted me this ability as a boon for my long bhor tapasya.’
Kausalya bowed her head again, preparing to touch her forehead once more to the guru’s feet. But Vashishta stopped her this time; catching her shoulders and raising her upright, he brought her to her feet, rising with her. The seer towered over the First Queen, although, like most Arya Kshatriya women, she was as tall as any average man.
‘Do not thank me, good Kausalya. It is I who should thank you instead. For bearing such a great son, and for raising him so well.’
The guru’s voice softened, his penetrating gaze growing gentler. ‘For too long you have endured the negligence of Dasaratha and the malicious will of Kaikeyi silently. Pay heed to what I say now, Kausalya. For this is the most important advice I shall ever give you in this lifetime.’
Kausalya’s eyes widened.
The guru’s word was akin to law. Perhaps because of this, he gave advice so rarely that the court scribes kept detailed records of each of his dispensations in a special bank of scrolls named Vashishta-Puran. It was said that a newly crowned king could find enough wisdom in that book to see him through fifty reigns. After all, it had been just about that long that Guru Vashishta had been acting as spiritual guide and mentor to the Suryavansha dynasty. Kausalya showed her respect for the guru’s gift of wisdom by wiping her tears quickly and listening raptly.
‘There shall be challenges ahead in the days to come, good Kausalya. Great challenges that shall test your mettle to the limit. I know you will weather these challenges and emerge triumphant. But in the hope that I may lighten your heavy burden somewhat, I offer you this word of gentle direction. Remember that your son Rama Chandra is as much a child of dharma as he is a child of your body. I have been guru to the royal family of the kingdom of Kosala, and its throne here at Ayodhya, for nigh on eight hundred years. Not once in all that time have I seen a prince or princess with as much promise as your son. Truly he is blessed by the devas with great qualities.’
Kausalya’s fair complexion, as white as a lily’s petals, coloured with a blush of pleasure and pride. She touched her mangalsutra instinctively, the black-bead necklace that every legitimate wife wore to indicate her married status to society at large, silently mouthing an invocation to Durga, the avatar of the Mother Goddess Sri to whom she prayed daily for the wellbeing of her family.
The guru nodded approvingly and continued. ‘Yet great prowess is tempered with great responsibility. The head that wears a crown must bear its weight as well. Remember this when trying times approach, Kausalya, and you and your son will weather the storm that gathers above Ayodhya.’
Why does he not include Dasaratha? Why does he only mention Rama and me? The thought flashed through her mind as fleetingly as lightning glimpsed in a distant monsoon cloud.
Aloud she said, ‘Great One, I do not fathom your meaning. Are you warning me of some danger that will befall us? When will this crisis descend?’
Again, that uncharacteristic trepidation passed over Guru Vashishta’s ancient features. It lasted a fraction of a second but this time Kausalya was watching him closely and she caught the expression.
‘In a kingdom as vast and powerful as this great land, danger is a part of life. Whatever the crisis, rest assured that you and your son will face it and triumph in the end, good Kausalya. Now, I must go to visit the maharaja. I wish to see his face with my own eyes.’
Kausalya hesitated. She wanted to ask the sage many more questions. But she was aware how precious and rare this whole encounter had been. She was too good a person to impose any further on the great guru’s patience.
It was Vashishta himself who sensed her hesitation and paused. ‘I see a question lingering in your eyes, good Kausalya. Go ahead then, ask. You have earned that much at least with your diligence and patience.’
She bowed her head gratefully. ‘Guru-dev, some days past, on the night of Rama’s departure, you called the royal family together in the Seal Room to discuss an urgent matter. All of us were in attendance, apart from Second Queen Kaikeyi, whom you requested be kept apart for reasons best known to you alone.’
His voice was gentle and patient. ‘Indeed, Kausalya. You were present at the meeting. You recall that discussion as well as I do.’
‘Yes, Guru-dev. But after the meeting you retired to this yoga chamber with instructions you were not to be disturbed. And only today, eight days after that last encounter, do I have the opportunity to be graced with your venerated presence once again.’
She gestured mildly, trying to explain herself more eloquently. ‘What I mean to say, great guru, is that a statement you made at that secret meeting has been troubling me all these past days. Could I ask you what you meant by that statement?’
Vashishta nodded. ‘You may, good queen.’
Kausalya breathed out slowly. ‘Then pray tell
me, Gurudev, when you said that the threat to our kingdom would come from Maharaja Dasaratha himself, what did you mean? All of us have debated and sought to understand your meaning, but we are as perplexed today as we were that night. How could Dasaratha, the protector and saviour of the mortal realm and the Arya civilisation, he who risked his own life and immortal aatma by battling the asuras in the Last War, how could he cause any danger to his own beloved kingdom? Or to his own family? Pray tell me, for I cannot believe that my husband can do or say anything that will cause harm to the kingdom of Kosala. You are infinitely wise and omniscient, maha-dev. What was the real meaning of that statement you made?’
Vashishta was silent for a moment. This time, the silence was deliberate and it weighed heavily in the air, giving the guru’s next words greater significance.
‘Karma, my good queen. The only thing that can outweigh the scales of character and bring the noblest of mortals to his knees. If dharma is one side of the scale of a man’s character, then karma is the other side of that same scale. Maharaja Dasaratha need not commit any new deed or speak any new word that will cause harm to his kingdom and family. It is his past misdeeds and misspoken words that threaten us all. In due course, you shall see the truth of my prophecy revealed clearly. I can say no more at this time, for it would endanger the balance of the scales. The wheel of time, the great samay chakra that governs all our lives, gods and mortals and asuras alike, shall reveal all in due course. There is the answer to your question. Now, I take your leave to go visit the king in his sickchamber and hasten his recovery.’
But before the guru could take another step, a serving girl rushed in, agitation writ large on her face. ‘Guru-dev, Maharani, pardon the intrusion. The Maharaja and Third Queen Sumitra …’
‘Yes,’ Kausalya asked curiously. ‘What about them?’
The serving girl wrung her hands in distress, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Something … something terrible has happened. Please, come quickly.’
TEN
The sun was barely over the treetops when they set out for Mithila.
Shortly before leaving, the Brahmins of Siddh-ashrama assembled in the open field before the main hermitage. Brahmarishi Vishwamitra led the congregation in a final chanting of mantras, asking the devas to watch over the hermitage, its surrounding forest and flower groves, and the animals that roved freely. Rama saw several species of animals watching from the edge of the woods. The animals of Siddh-ashrama lived without fear of humans; they had never known violence or aggression from their two-legged friends.
The seer-mage ended the prayer with a mantra praying for their safe journey and speedy return. The entire congregation prostrated themselves before him, then stood and came forward singly to accept the simple prasadam of desiccated coconut from his blessed hands, bowing their heads for the guru’s ashirwaad.
The adoration on the faces of the ashramites was striking; some of them had come to the ashram as infants, brought by their parents to be raised in the holy ancient ways, and had only heard of the great founder of the hermitage. Even the oldest sadhus and rishis had not seen Vishwamitra in the flesh before. After all, Rama recalled, the brahmarishi had been cloistered in a grotto deep in the jungle for over two hundred and forty years, performing the intense transcendental meditation that Brahmins called bhor tapasya. He had only interrupted his long penance in response to the petitions of the rishis of the ashram, who were troubled by the rakshasas who had begun disturbing their holy rituals. And few Brahmins, even those as devout as the residents of Siddh-ashrama, lived anywhere close to Vishwamitra’s five thousand years.
Rama himself felt little reaction to any of this. He felt little of anything. After the debate over which choice to make, he had reached a point beyond emotion, a point where he felt he was walking on a road so unfamiliar that he hardly knew whether it led upward or downward, over a bottomless pit or into a vale of flowers. He knew only that he had chosen, and that he must now see that choice through to its end, whatever that end might be. There was a phrase his mother had always used when speaking of life-choices: as you choose, thus must you act. He had chosen. It was no longer his job to judge whether that choice was the right one or the wrong one. His only to act, and fulfil the promise made by his choosing.
After the distribution of prasadam, which Rama and Lakshman as well as the Vajra Kshatriyas accepted from the seer-mage, Vishwamitra then led the congregation in a mantra offering thanks to the rajkumars Rama and Lakshman for cleansing the Bhayanak-van, breeding ground for the yaksi Tataka and her demonaic offspring, and protecting their sacred yagna from Tataka’s vengeful sons Mareech and Subahu.
‘It is thanks to the courage and battle prowess of these two noble Kshatriyas that our great yagna was successful,’ the brahmarishi concluded. ‘They have upheld the code of the Kshatriya and fulfilled the oath they swore unto me before their father. They are true keepers of the sacred flame of dharma. We shall chant their names aloud at sunrise and sunset when we perform our ritual offerings.’
Rama sensed Lakshman’s numbness. His brother had accepted his decision without argument or debate, folding his hands respectfully, as befitted a younger sibling–even though he might be only days younger–and pledging acquiescence. Unlike Bejoo, who had ranted and raved on for several minutes, refusing to accept Rama’s words.
Rama turned his head a fraction, and glimpsed Captain Bejoo, watching from the cart path where he stood at the head of his Vajra.
The look of open fury on the Vajra captain’s face said all that needed to be said. He would not, indeed could not, hide his feelings. But he was sworn to protect the rajkumars wherever they might go, and to return with them alive, or not return at all. He would do his duty no matter how it rankled. In his own way, he was fulfilling his own dharma as well.
The ritual over, the congregation dispersed and moved with an orderliness born of centuries of monastic discipline towards the row of bullock-carts waiting on the dirt track. Rama watched as the Vajra commander mounted his horse and issued a crisp order to his charioteers. The Vajra chariots rode around the line of bullock-carts and Brahmins, disappearing up ahead in a cloud of dust. Having heard Bejoo giving his unit their orders the previous evening, Rama knew that the chariot would scout about a mile ahead, making sure the path was clear of obstacles.
The Vajra elephants were the next to receive their marching orders. They trundled forward, trumpeting happily at being on the move again, their armoured saddles polished to a glitter. They would walk at the head of the Brahmin procession, a quarter-to a half-mile before the humans, a formidable defence against any unexpected trouble. If he couldn’t fulfil the latter part of his orders by delivering the rajkumars home swiftly, Bejoo was making sure he fulfilled the first part—to protect them vigilantly.
As the elephants trundled by, the ground trembling beneath their tonnage, the lead bull—named Himavat after the tallest peak in the northern range, the father-mountain of the great Himalayas—trumpeted a friendly greeting to Lakshman, whose gift for befriending voiceless beasts had only been enhanced in the benign environs of Siddh-ashrama. Despite the momentous events that had marked this day already, Rama was compelled to smile at how eagerly the towering bigfoot rolled his trunk upwards into a salute to both of them. The royal elephants of Ayodhya could hardly have mustered a better salute to their maharaja during the annual parade.
He nudged Lakshman, admonishing his brother for not responding to the elephant’s innocent greeting. Lakshman glanced up at Rama. Rama met his brother’s eyes and held them firmly with his own strong gaze.
‘As you choose, thus must you act, Lakshman,’ he said quietly, knowing that his brother understood the full implications and meaning of the phrase. ‘Once decided, there is no place for regret or remorse.’
Lakshman stared at him a moment, as if battling with some great turmoil within himself. Then he nodded briefly, once, turned and waved to the elephant. Himavat trumpeted again, louder than ever, to show his delight. A
pair of maharishis standing nearest to the bigfoot covered their ears, blasted into temporary deafness by the volume of the pachyderm’s joy.
Himavat’s fellow bigfoot echoed their response. The entire clearing filled with the powerful sounds of their effusion. In the distant depths of the Vatsa woods, their wilder brothers blew their own trumpeting responses.
While the elephants moved up to the front, the horse section of the Vajra unit turned around in the opposite direction, riding to the very end of the entourage, where they took up a defensive rearguard position. Now, the procession was ready to set off. Rama noted that it was already two hours since sunrise. They were running a little later than the brahmarishi had desired.
A breathless young acolyte, his oiled pigtail bouncing atop his shaven pate, came running up to inform the rajkumars that the seer-mage was awaiting their presence at the head of the procession. Rama and Lakshman acknowledged the acolyte’s message. The young Brahmin-in-training executed a deep bow and a namaskar while retreating backwards to avoid showing them his back. When he was the requisite three yards distant, he turned and sprinted back to join his fellow novices, who were waiting eagerly to ask him about his close personal encounter with the heroes of Bhayanak-van.
Rama and Lakshman began walking across the grassy field to the front of the long, winding line of carts and Brahmins. They passed rows of carts filled with white-haired, white-bearded rishis reciting their mantras while counting off the red beads on their prayer necklaces. Younger Brahmins waited on foot, herding the cattle that would provide the only nourishment the Brahmins would partake of during their journey: cow’s milk. The rajkumars passed the line of young acolytes, smiling and waving at their excited admirers. The boy who had brought the message waved familiarly at them, showing off for his associates.
‘He reminds me of Dumma,’ Rama said to Lakshman when they were out of hearing range. Though he avoided staring directly, nevertheless he was watching Lakshman closely. His younger brother had ever been more prone to emotional sensitivity, and Rama was concerned that he might not be able to bear the strain of the crushing burden they had been given.
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