PRINCE OF DHARMA

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  Kausalya’s eyes widened. She started to say something, then stopped as Sumitra motioned her to wait.

  Sumitra’s voice was low but steady. She was over her upheaval and fear now. Not a woman given easily to anger, she was beyond that hot state of fury. She was cold as Himalayan ice. ‘Because it’s easier for me to believe that Kaikeyi turned into a snake and attacked Dasaratha than to accept that I poisoned him.’

  Kausalya stared at her silently, uncertain whether to speak yet or wait.

  Sumitra said, ‘That is what you believe, isn’t it, Kausalya? That’s the explanation that you and the guru came up with after reviewing all the facts of the situation. That half-delirious, agonised Dasaratha cajoled and convinced docile little Sumitra into drugging his punch. And now her fragile feminine mind can’t deal with the monstrosity of such a deed. That more or less sums it up, doesn’t it?’

  Kausalya nodded unhappily. ‘Something like that. But Sumitra, we understand, we know you didn’t mean to do it. We’ve all been under a great strain of late.’

  Suddenly Sumitra felt very tired, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. In a way that was partly true: since Holi she had napped only a few hours each day, spending all her time in the maharaja’s sickroom tending to his needs. Shouldn’t have bothered, she thought bitterly. Should have just mixed up a good batch of poisonroot fruit punch and poured it down his throat nine days ago, would have saved us all a lot of grief and heartache.

  She giggled at the absurdity of the thought.

  Kausalya looked at her with new concern.

  Sumitra shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not turning hysterical. It’s just so bizarre, it’s almost funny.’ But once she had said it, she didn’t feel like laughing.

  A thought occurred to her. ‘Tell me, Kausalya, this scenario you and the guru came up with to explain this morning’s events, does Dasaratha corroborate your version?’

  Kausalya shook her head slowly. ‘He doesn’t remember anything. Only that you offered to make him some of your famous fruit punch and he tried to convince you to give him something else, but he can’t remember what that other thing was exactly.’

  She hesitated before adding: ‘He doesn’t know about our theory, of course. It would only make him feel worse.’ Her tone had a plea in it.

  ‘Of course,’ Sumitra agreed without rancour. ‘I won’t say a word to him. How is he now?’

  ‘He’s all right, just a little shaken. He had only just begun to recover this morning, you know. This incident—’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’ Sumitra stood up. ‘What do you and the guru mean to do now? Arrest me? Imprison me in my chambers? Throw me into the dungeons?’

  Kausalya looked horrified. ‘Never! We love you, Sumitra. You know that. I never said that I believe this is what actually happened. It’s just—’

  ‘The only explanation that fits all the facts,’ Sumitra finished wearily. ‘Yes, I know. In that case, Kausalya, if you don’t mind, I’d like to bathe and change my clothes and say my prayers. I would have done it in the morning, but somehow in all themelee, I just don’t seem to have found the time. If you’ll excuse me.’

  Kausalya stood up. ‘Of course. I’ll be with the maharaja. Maybe, after you’ve finished, you should rest a while longer. You look like you need it. You’ve been under a great deal of strain these past nine days.’

  Sumitra nodded and added silently: I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot more strain in the days to come.

  Kausalya went to the doorway. ‘If there’s anything you need … if you need to talk about this some more … ‘

  ‘I’ll come to you. Of course. Good day, Kausalya.’

  Kausalya paused a moment longer at the threshold. Their eyes met for an instant and something passed between the two women. Something that was part regret and part confusion. And all sadness.

  The First Queen turned and made her way down the corridor. Sumitra watched her go, feeling as if she had just lost her best friend in the whole wide world.

  She shut the door, latched it, leaned her head against the softly scented pinewood, and began to cry.

  SEVENTEEN

  They ran into trouble in the late afternoon.

  The sun was behind them now, beating relentlessly down on their backs, searing the nape of Rama’s neck. From the cool touch of the rig against his bare back, he knew that the leather was soaked through with sweat. So was his ang-vastra, reduced now to a limp rope-like garland hanging around his neck and wound around his arms to keep it out of the way. They had been travelling for over eight hours without pause, he estimated. A little after noon, the brahmarishi had exhorted them to eat some fruit and salt and drink some water, but Vishwamitra himself had not taken a morsel. In fact, Rama realised, in the nine days they had been together, he couldn’t recall ever seeing the seer-mage eat a full meal. Small wonder then that not a single one of the three-hundred-strong Brahmin procession had uttered a word of protest at either the relentless pace, the searing heat, or the lack of a rest. Old and young alike, the Brahmins and brahmacharyas of Siddh-ashrama had followed their guru stoically. There was no more chanting or recitation–there wasn’t enough energy for that–but the entourage had trudged on without protest or complaint for the better part of the day.

  Around noon, they had left behind the rolling grassy plains where wild horse, elephant and rhino roamed freely and entire clans of lumbering hippopotami rolled cumbrously in mud-pools, and the path had begun undulating constantly, seemingly unable to stay flat any longer, while thickets of wildbrush, sage, bamboo and bizarre profusions of lavishly multi-hued wildflowers bounded it on either side. The path widened steadily and the ruts continued to deepen as they went northwards, a considerable improvement over the narrow grassy dirt-track that had led them out of Siddh-ashrama. It never actually became a proper road, at least not one that any Arya cartographer would officially label a ‘marg’, but clearly this part of the route saw fairly regular traffic.

  The trees bordering the path provided some welcome shade and the air grew slightly cooler as they toiled steadily to a higher level above sea. Rama spied flashes of movement in the depths of the woods they passed by and several times glimpsed the tip of a busy tail or the glint of dark feral eyes. But no animals troubled them. Even the most ferocious predators shied away from a procession of over three hundred humans travelling with elephants, horses and bullocks. Even the occasional lowing of the bullocks or whinnying of horses from the rear of the line was perfunctory, like little animal exclamations rather than nervous complaints. After a while, the road seemed to rise and fall in waves like an ocean. The swells grew higher each time, until they could see nothing of the land ahead until they reached the top of the next rise.

  They crested yet another of these rolling swells and were rewarded by a dramatic change in view.

  Brahmarishi Vishwamitra came gradually to a halt, raising his staff high above his head to let the procession know that he intended to stop.

  ‘Slow!’ his strong booming voice called out.

  The message rippled down the line as noisily as the quintet of parrots flying squawking overhead, their long green and red tails flashing brightly against the ocean-blue sky. A few of the older rishis had begun to doze sitting upright in their carts. They came awake at once. The younger acolytes peered around the rear of the bullocks, trying to see what had warranted the unexpected halt. With a series of creaking, clanking, lowing and tongue-clicking sounds, the pilgrim procession ground to a halt.

  The same little lisper who had amused the company earlier emitted an unselfconscious yawn, stretched mightily, and repeated his now-famous phrase: ‘Omharithwaaa!’ bringing a brief smile to the faces of everyone except Rama and Lakshman, whose attention was focused on the brahmarishi.

  Vishwamitra hefted the staff and used it to point ahead, explaining the decision that lay before them.

  They were in an overgrown meadow bordered by bamboo thickets. Up ahead, Rama saw, the cart-track they were followi
ng curved sharply right and wound its way eastwards for as far as he could see. About a hundred yards further ahead, just about where the Vajra bigfoot had stopped on seeing the main procession halt, a thin, sketchy line wound its way through the brush, wavering upwards into the lower slopes of what seemed to be a range of rolling hills of varying heights. The path, if it could be called that, disappeared into the dense woods of the hills. The hillside was cloaked with densely growing trees all the way up its height, which seemed to rise to at least three hundred yards.

  ‘Rajkumars, heed me,’ the seer-mage said, using his staff to point ahead. ‘Those hills lie just below the southernmost boundary of the Videha nation. If we were to follow that narrow winding path up through those hills, in less than a mile we would be able to look down on the River Shona. The river marks the southern border of Videha. The capital city, Mithila, is less than a day’s journey from there.’

  He pointed to the left. ‘The boundaries of Kosala are four yojanas in that direction, at the point where the Shona curves northwards. Its west bank then marks Kosala’s easternmost border and its east bank marks Videha’s westernmost border. Do you follow me thus far?’

  Both Lakshman and Rama agreed they did. This was basic geography of the Arya nations and they had studied it well at Guru Vashishta’s gurukul.

  The seer-mage nodded and raised his staff to point to the far right. ‘Twenty yojanas in that direction the Videha nation rubs shoulders with the kingdom of Banglar, the easternmost Arya nation and the blessed place whence hails Rajkumar Rama’s noble mother Kausalya-maa.’

  Vishwamitra then pointed ahead again, tracing the main cartpath’s winding line upwards to the right. ‘There lies our marg. The nameless dirt path on which we stand travels two yojanas north-east then goes due north for another yojana and a half before turning north-west until it reaches the River Shona. The river runs weak and shallow there and can be crossed easily on foot. We shall breach it and continue north-west across open fields, passing through the town of Visala and continuing until we reach the sacred Ganga. On the blessed banks of that great river we shall spend the night. From the Ganga’s north bank, it is perhaps ten yojanas to Mithila city.’

  The sage lowered his staff. ‘Do you have any questions, rajkumars?’

  Rama spoke for both Lakshman and himself. ‘Guru-dev, why not go up the hill and down the other side? We would reach the River Shona in an hour or less and Mithila city is less than ten yojanas thence. We would cover a third of that journey before this day ends, break for the night at a spot of your choosing and arrive in Mithila well before noon tomorrow. It would save us two-thirds of a day’s journey.’

  The brahmarishi nodded. ‘This is the reason why I halted our company, young Rama. Few travellers venture this far south, yet those who do so invariably face this very dilemma. To take the road through the hills or follow the long way around. As you have grasped already, the marg we intend to follow circumnavigates the entire range, taking us over five yojanas out of our way and adding a further two yojanas as well. At our current pace of one yojana per hour, that would be seven hours more than the direct route.’

  The sage paused. ‘But there is a reason why sensible travellers always take the long way. It is safer.’ He indicated the narrow upward-winding path again. ‘That wooded way is indeed quicker and easier. But there is a price to pay for taking it. As the Vajra captain reminded us this morning, those hills are rife with bandits and outlaws, as well as wild predatory beasts of several species. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of innocent travellers have lost their lives or their virtue, and surely all their valuables, upon those hills. If we were to take that route, we endanger the entire company.’

  Rama inclined his head respectfully. ‘Guru-dev, whatever your choice, we shall follow gladly. But may I say that in the event of our being waylaid by the bandits you speak of, my brother and I would not hesitate to protect every last life and limb in our entourage.’

  Lakshman said, ‘Rama speaks truly, maha-dev. If assaulted, we would ensure that not a single hair on a single Brahmin’s head should be harmed.’

  Vishwamitra’s eyes twinkled. ‘Not that they have much hair to protect!’

  Rama and Lakshman grinned involuntarily, surprised at the sage’s sudden flash of humour.

  Vishwamitra shook his head slowly. ‘But jesting apart, rajkumars, I would rather that we avoid violence where possible. Our mission to cleanse the Southwoods was an unavoidable one, made even more imperative and urgent by the growing brazenness of the Lord of Lanka. But fighting bandits in the hills is not necessary to our cause. And as our studies teach us, even a Kshatriya must do all he can to avoid violence, resorting to it only when all other means fail. In the present circumstance, violence is easily avoided. We shall take the main path and go around the hills.’

  Rama wanted to ask the brahmarishi why, if his mind was already made up, he had stopped and discussed the whole question in the first place. But it didn’t behove a shishya to question a guru on his motives. Besides, the brahmarishi’s wisdom was unquestionable. Kshatriyas who wilfully sought out fights were looked down upon. Even so, he was surprised to feel a twinge of regret that they wouldn’t be taking the more dangerous option. It’s almost as if I want a fight. He dismissed the thought at once, feeling guilty for having even conceived it.

  ‘Jaise aagya, Guru-dev,’ he said, joining his palms together.

  Vishwamitra raised his staff to order the company to resume their journey.

  Just as he strode forward, the first scream erupted.

  It was distinctly human. A man crying out hoarsely in extreme terror and agony. It was cut short abruptly.

  Droves of birds of every colour and breed, disturbed by the blood-curdling cry, rose into the air, darkening the afternoon sky as they wheeled about. Bandars chattered in the trees. Dry leaves and brush rustled as other, smaller beasts of prey reacted to the sound of another being in mortal pain. Mirroring exclamations travelled through the Brahmin procession.

  Rama and Lakshman exchanged a glance. Ahead of them, the Vajra bigfoot had raised their trunks and were rolling them about excitedly, twitching their tails as well, but too well disciplined to issue a sound. A lookout seated facing backwards on the last bigfoot glanced up at the hills then back at the procession to see if

  he was expected to give the word to call a halt.

  The brahmarishi strode on as if nothing had happened.

  A second scream erupted, this one much louder and more startling than the first. It was more a clash of howls than a scream, really, as if two beings, human and inhuman, were fighting to the death. The throaty animal howl was cut off with brutal abruptness. Immediately after, the human voice issued a sharp, high-pitched cry.

  The ensuing silence was more chilling than the screams.

  EIGHTEEN

  Rama and Lakshman had drawn and strung their bows the instant the second scream began. Without slowing their pace, they scanned the hills intently. It was impossible to see anything through the dense, close-growing northern trees. Behind them, nervous murmurs broke out in the Brahmin procession as the ashramites debated the source and cause of the blood-curdling screams. The Vajra bigfoot leading them had begun lowing uneasily, shaking their trunks from side to side and flapping their ears.

  They’re battle elephants, they know violence, Rama thought. Just as he now did.

  ‘Guru-dev,’ he said, ‘it appears that someone is in trouble up in the hills.’

  The seer-mage was so still and silent at first that Rama thought he might be absorbed in another trance state. Then Vishwamitra’s fist opened and slid down the length of his wildwood staff, gripping it lower. He raised the staff, calling a halt yet again.

  The procession lurched to a standstill.

  Yet another outburst of screams and howls shattered the still, hot afternoon, causing a great commotion in the procession. Some Brahmins were reciting mantras to ward off asuras. But Rama didn’t think those screams had been caused by asuras.
/>
  Those were some kind of animal. And humans of course. Locked in mortal conflict. A queer sensation rippled through the muscles of his back and arms. A brief memory of the battle in the Bhayanak-van flashed in his mind’s eye. He tightened his grip on his bow, the string creaking as he drew it to its limit.

  The sound of hoofbeats drummed steadily from the rear of the procession, growing louder and closer. Vajra Captain Bejoo was coming up again, and this time he didn’t need to ask the reason why they had stopped. Ahead, the Vajra bigfoot squad also came to a lumbering, thumping stop.

  The brahmarishi had remained curiously silent after calling the halt. Rama addressed him again.

  ‘Guru-dev, my brother and I ask permission to go up into the hills to investigate the situation. If bandits or wild animals are preying on innocent wayfarers, it is our dharma to go to their aid.’

  The seer-mage looked at Rama thoughtfully. ‘True, rajkumar. But what if those are not innocent wayfarers but bandits themselves who are fighting the wild beasts of the hills? Whom would you save then? The savage beasts or the murdering mortals?’

  Rama blinked. The question was completely unexpected. Did that mean that the brahmarishi knew what was happening up there? Of course he does, Rama admonished himself. If he could sniff out Lanka spies in a city as populous as Ayodhya, he can easily sense what’s happening on the hill up there. He struggled to find an appropriate answer.

  ‘If that were the case, Guru-dev, I should attempt to put a stop to the violence and send both groups their separate ways.’

  The brahmarishi looked at Rama intently. His voice was unusually soft, almost as if he was speaking to himself. ‘Truly blessed, Rani Kausalya.’

  A fresh burst of noise exploded into the nervous stillness. This one was a veritable orchestra of murderous shouts, yells of pain and rage, and a series of clashing sounds that were unmistakably weapons at work, including the familiar metallic ringing of steel striking steel. The sounds carried for miles around, disturbing the birds and fauna of the entire region and alarming the Brahmin procession further. The youngest acolyte was lisping his ‘Omharithwaaa!’ frantically over and over again. This time nobody was laughing.