PRINCE OF DHARMA

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  Bejoo was unable to restrain himself any longer. He had drifted slowly closer as the dialogue between the sage and the Kshatriyas had grown more intriguing. Now he said, ‘Forgive me, maha-dev. I apologise for interrupting. But the maharaja of Videha has no sons. There is no prince-heir to the throne of Videha!’

  The sage smiled, his ancient grey eyes twinkling in the warm reflected light of the campfires.

  ‘I did not say that Janaki here was a prince. I merely said that this person was the heir to Videha’s throne and Janak’s own adopted child.’

  Lakshman said, ‘But, Guru-dev, Bejoo-chacha is right. Maharaja Janak has no sons, so how can Janaki Kumar be his adopted child?’

  Vishwamitra turned his eyes again to the slender Kshatriya. ‘Janaki Kumari, not Janaki Kumar. A title that is cleverly used in place of a name, concealing the user’s true identity, just as the black veil and garb of the travelling Kshatriya is cleverly used to disguise the wearer’s true form and appearance.’

  Bejoo looked at the slender Kshatriya, still not fully understanding what the sage meant. Then it registered with the sharp clicking of a final bolt falling into place.

  ‘IMPOSTER!’ Bejoo roared, drawing his sword and stepping forward. ‘VAJRA! TO ME!’

  The riverbed exploded into a flurry of activity as half a hundred Vajra Kshatriyas left off whatever chore they were engaged in to run to their leader’s side. Some of them tossed aside chunks of roast meat to lunge for their weapons. In an instant, Bejoo’s yell still echoing through the upper slopes of the hill behind them, every Vajra Kshatriya was within ten yards of the brahmarishi and the four young men, their swords, lances and bows out and ready for action. Their boots crunched noisily on the riverbed as they shifted slowly closer, directing their weapons at the two black-clad figures.

  The taller Kshatriya had already drawn his sword and turned to face the Vajra Kshatriyas. Nakhu Dev made a gesture of warning to the nearest of Bejoo’s men, cautioning them against coming any closer.

  Downriver, the Brahmins of Siddh-ashrama ceased their devotional chanting and fell silent, peering towards the Kshatriya camp as they tried to make out what this new crisis entailed.

  Bejoo took a step forward. ‘Rajkumars! Step back, away from those two. My men and I will deal with the asuras.’

  ‘Asuras? When did I say these were asuras, Captain Bejoo?’

  The tone of amusement in the bramarishi’s voice confused Bejoo further.

  He glanced at the sage. ‘Guru-dev, did you not just pronounce this man an imposter in disguise?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Vishwamitra replied calmly. ‘I merely said that Janaki Kumar is in fact Janaki Kumari.’

  Bejoo stared at the sage. ‘So doesn’t that mean—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Kumari? But that would be a girl’s title.’

  ‘Indeed, which is precisely why our young Kshatriya friend here removed the last vowel, to masculinise it.’

  Bejoo turned his attention to the slender mercenary. ‘Kumari?’ he repeated, feeling foolish. ‘But that would make him a her!’ He gaped at the Kshatriya-for-hire. ‘A woman? In disguise?’

  ‘Two women in fact, Captain Bejoo. Her companion is in fact named Nakhudi Devi, which was cleverly altered into Nakhu Dev to sound more masculine.’

  Bejoo stared at the two black-clad figures. Rama and Lakshman had turned to look at them as well, giving the Vajra captain a clear line of sight. He quickly re-appraised the shorter and more slender of the two. Yes, that one could certainly be a woman. That would explain his … um, her delicate shape and lack of musculature. But the bigger one? That hulking giant with shoulders like a bigfoot’s knee? Could that towering mass really be a woman?

  ‘Don’t fret, Captain Bejoo,’ the sage went on. ‘Anyone would have been deceived. Those black garbs are quite effective. Their voices made them appear young men. And Nakhudi Devi’s enviable size and strength defied the usual expectation. If it’s any consolation to your injured ego, you should know that Nakhudi Devi is in fact the chief of the princess’s royal bodyguards and her closest trusted companion. Naturally, I have not laid eyes on either of them before as I have only recently emerged from my long bhor tapasya, but it is not the first time that I have met a princess travelling incognito in her own kingdom. Who else would she choose to accompany her on her adventure except her most trusted bodyguard? Besides, I doubt that Nakhudi Devi, like any sworn personal retainer, would allow herself to live if she ever let her mistress out of her sight. Even if the rajkumari wished to travel alone, the very idea of her dearly loved bodyguard committing aatmahatya for having failed in her duties would give her pause. By accompanying her, the princess avoids an unnecessary tragedy while Nakhudi Devi continues to fulfil her sworn duty to protect the rajkumari.’

  ‘Rajkumari?’ Bejoo barely recognised his own voice, it was so hoarse with surprise.

  The seer-mage gestured sorcerously. As if whipped off by an invisible and powerful wind, the veils on the faces of the two Kshatriyas were peeled away. They fell on the pebbled floor of the riverbed. Amazed eyes stared at the delicate if grimy features of the two women, one flushed with embarrassment and impotent fury, the other still suspicious and aggressive.

  Vishwamitra spoke aloud, adding a touch of theatricality to his voice: ‘I give you the princess-heir of Videha and the future ruler of the moonwood throne of Mithila, Rajkumari Sita Janaki!’

  EIGHT

  ‘Mithila?’ Mantri Ashok seemed unable to believe the guru’s words. ‘But they are followers of ahimsa. Their army is not even a standing force. Ayodhya city alone has twice the Kshatriyas of the entire kingdom of Videha!’

  ‘Besides,’ Sumantra added, ‘with their annual philosophical festival in progress, their attention will be diverted to spiritual matters. Their gates will be opened to all visitors, their defences lowered. They are least prepared to face an outright assault by … ‘ The prime minister’s voice trailed off as he realised the implications of his own words. ‘They will be as easy prey as fledgling swans in a pond filled with gharial!’

  ‘Indeed,’ the sage agreed sadly. ‘This is the very reason the Lord of Lanka proposes to attack Mithila first. Once he has control of Mithila, his path is clear to Ayodhya. Banglar is too distant to send forces in time, and Gandahar and Kaikeya will be occupied with their own sieges. The lord of asuras will finally be able to lay siege to the one Arya city that has never been besieged before. And to do this, he must first storm Mithila. From what I gleaned from the wretched mind of the asura spirit that possessed our liege, I learned that the asura armies are already making their way northwards. They will reach Mithila in two days or less.’

  ‘But that’s even worse,’ Mantri Ashok cried out. ‘Mithila is three days’ march from here. Even if we call our army back and instruct them to go to Mithila, it will take all of five nights and four days to reach Maharaja Janak’s city. We will be too late to help them!’

  ‘Even so,’ the sage said grimly, ‘this is our only recourse. Couriers must be sent out at once, asking rajkumars Bharat and Shatrugan to turn their divisions around. Better we reach our fellow Aryas in Mithila in four days than never. Pradhan Mantri Sumantra, I propose you ride personally to warn Rajkumar Bharat, while you Mantri Jabali go after Rajkumar Shatrugan. You must leave within the hour. From the information I gathered, the asura attack on Mithila will begin tomorrow at nightfall. As you know, contrary to the Arya code of war, asuras fight at night as well as by day. By sundown tomorrow, Mithila will face the most hideous army of asuras ever assembled.’

  Mantri Kasyapa spoke, his normally austere facade giving way to open anxiety. ‘But what will be the use, Guru-dev? We will be too late. Including the time taken to contact our forces and turn them around, it will take four days of hard marching to reach Mithila, even if we wear out our animals and soldiers getting there. Surely Mithila cannot hold out that long?’

  He looked around at the other ministers for confirmation.

  Mantri Jabali nodded grimly. ‘Mithila w
ill not stand one night against such an assault, let alone four! With the philosophical festival to add to the burden on their already meagre security forces, I’d wager they’ll fall within an hour or two. It will be a slaughter worse than the first asura war. Those unfortunate Videhans will be as innocent and unsuspecting as our founding fathers were when they faced the horror and fury of the first asura invasion.’

  The minister raised his piercing eyes to the guru and to the prime minister. ‘Forgive me, Guru-dev, pradhan mantriji. I would make a suggestion which may not sound very Arya in its aspect, but I would make this offer for the good of all our citizens whom we are sworn to protect.’

  ‘Speak, Jabali,’ Sumantra said. Vashishta nodded his encouragement.

  Jabali took a deep breath, released it as a sigh and said, ‘As minister of defence it is my duty to propose a military strategy that ensures the continued safety of our own kingdom and capital city. If Ayodhya falls, all Arya falls. This is not just a homily handed down from generations, but a basic military fact. We are the only Arya nation positioned geographically in a manner that enables us to aid any or all of our neighbour nations. As we have seen from past encounters with the asura vermin, our only hope lies in unity. If the Lord of Lanka were to capture Ayodhya,’ he bowed his head for a fraction of a second, ‘and note that I still say ‘if’ … if that foul day ever fell upon us, then Ravana would have the most advantageous base from which to launch assaults on all the Arya lands. The guru has already informed us that smaller but significant asura forces will attack the other Arya nations. With Ayodhya as his centre, the lord of asuras can catch all our brother Aryas in pincer-actions, besieging them until their resources run out. Within months, perhaps as long as a year at best, all of the subcontinent will be in his fist.’

  The mantri made a fist of his own right hand and clenched it tight. The knuckles and joints cracked loudly in the silent assembly hall. Jabali looked at the faces of each person present in turn.

  ‘This is the only reason why I propose what I am about to say. I submit to this council that we recall our army to Ayodhya and redeploy them in preparation for a siege. If Mithila is to be attacked tomorrow night, then the asura armies will be at our gates in three, perhaps four days. This gives us enough time to stock our granaries, bring as many citizens as possible within the city walls and strengthen our defences. Thus, we may yet withstand the might of the asura hordes and repel the Lord of Lanka.’

  The silence that met this proposal was broken by Mantri Kasyapa, his voice almost a sob. ‘You mean that we should leave Mithila to face the asura armies alone? That we should abandon our brothers and sisters? How can you suggest such a thing, Jabali? I know you are hard of heart, you must be to become minister of war, but this is beyond hardness. This borders on betrayal!’

  Mantri Ashok said, ‘I agree with Kasyapa, Jabali. I see the logic of what you propose, but how can we save Ayodhya and let Mithila fall? How can we not go to the aid of our fellow Aryas?’

  Pradhan Mantri Sumantra raised his hand. ‘Let us not grow too emotional. I too feel outraged at the thought of leaving the Videhans unaided. Yet Mantri Jabali speaks wise words. If we go to the Mithilans’ aid and are too late, our army will be caught between the two kingdoms, on the open road, exposed and vulnerable. Under such conditions, we will be no match for the superior numbers and strength of the enemy. We all recall the titanic struggle Maharaja Dasaratha had to endure on the fields of Kaikeya. What Mantri Jabali has proposed seems harsh and cold, it’s true. Yet the alternative may be harsher still.’

  Mantri Kasyapa rose to his feet angrily. ‘If we are to choose between helping Mithila and saving our own skins, I will vote for Mithila no matter what the outcome. Better that we die fighting on the open road than cluster here behind our seven walls while the Videhan nation is raped and razed by Ravana’s monstrous hordes. We have all seen how hideously the asura species treat their enemy. This is no Arya civil conflict we speak of, where rules of war are maintained and the code of the Kshatriyas is upheld even in the thick of battle. The survival of an entire kingdom is at stake!’

  Guru Vashishta spoke calmly. ‘There is a third alternative. Neither abandon Mithila, nor abandon Ayodhya.’

  Everybody turned curious eyes to the sage.

  Vashishta said, ‘Mithila must hold out until our army reaches them. They must put up a fight fierce enough to keep the asura armies from reaching the Sarayu river. If they hold the enemy there for four more days, our forces can reach them and press them back. Meanwhile, we also send word to Banglar in the east and Marwar in the west to join our army at Mithila. They ought to reach Mithila at best a day after our forces, just in time to press home the attack.’

  The council exchanged glances, their expressions varying from surprise to wonder.

  Sumantra spoke for all of them when he said slowly, ‘A brilliant plan, maha-dev. Truly magnificent. The open plains of the Videha nation would then be our ally rather than our foe. We could attack the asura force on three fronts, and drive them back southwards. What do you say, Mantri Jabali, might not this be a viable strategy?’

  The pinched face of Jabali cleared slightly. ‘Oh yes. It would work. The asuras are not good on flatland, we’ve seen that before. And they get confused and disoriented when attacked from more than one direction–it forces each species to transgress into the other’s area and causes huge internal conflict and outright fighting. They could even end up fighting one another as much as our armies. It could certainly work.’ The minister’s face clouded again.

  ‘But I have a pertinent question for Guru Vashishta. Gurudev, how can we expect Mithila to hold out for those four crucial days? Everything would depend on that. If they fell even a day too soon, all would be lost. For the plan to work successfully, it is imperative that Mithila must make a stand like no other stand in Arya history. It would be like pitting an ant-hill against a herd of elephants.’

  The guru nodded.

  ‘Well spoken, mantriji. But I believe these ants of Mithila might just be able to keep the elephants at bay long enough to save the ant-hill from destruction.’

  Jabali looked confused. His expression was mirrored on the faces of the other council ministers. Only Sumantra watched the guru’s face earnestly. He had spent enough time with the sage to know when he was speaking of matters that were beyond mortal ken.

  Guru Vashishta looked around at the anxious and curious ministers. ‘Ants can sting,’ he said. ‘And when enough ants work together, their sting can be enough to bring down even an elephant. I think Mithila might just be able to produce one giant surprise.’

  NINE

  For one long, stunned moment, the entire company was silent. The sounds of the river valley seemed to grow louder to fill the sudden vacuum: leaves whispering in the wind, the gurgling of the rivulet, horses nickering softly, bigfoot pawing the shale and noisily eating the grass and fruits collected by their mahouts. The scents of wildwood and honey, roses and thyme, neem and chandanwood filled the air. The pungent but not unpleasant animal odours of horse and elephant mingled with the strong perfume of nightqueen blossom, reminding Sita of the compound behind the princess gardens where she had learned to ride as a little girl. Its wall separated that end of the princess’s palace from the stables, and the bougainvillea creeper overhanging that wall was interwoven with the branches of a nightqueen blossom tree, its strong scent mingling with the aroma of horses.

  But this she noticed only in an abstract, subconscious way, just as her ears took in the natural, animal and human sounds around her without her mind fully registering the meaning of those sounds. Right now, the only sound Sita could hear was the deafening thudding of her own heart. The only scent in her nostrils was the scent of her own fear. When the veil was removed by the brahmarishi’s sorcery, she felt bare, vulnerable. She wanted to pick it up and cover herself at once. To scream out loud and run away from these gawking, gaping people. To sink into the earth and be embraced by the all-encompassing arms of Prith
vi Maa, the form in which the Mother Goddess Sri presided over the world, and Sita’s own patron deity.

  She was exposed. Unmasked. Humiliated. It was bad enough to have her identity revealed, it was unbearable to have it done thus, so publicly. She could feel every pair of eyes as keenly as if they were two-tined pitchforks goring her flesh. Most of all, she could see Rama, standing closest to her, staring at her with an expression that was all the more shocking because it wasn’t displaying shock or horror or disbelief, like the other faces around her. Rama was smiling. As if his jest-prone brother Lakshman had just voiced another of his silly, grossly unfunny jokes.

  ‘It isn’t funny,’ she snapped at him. ‘This isn’t a joke for your pleasure.’

  Rama’s smile remained unchanged. His dark pupils gleamed, twin campfires reflected in them. Wind ruffled his dark locks gently. He continued to smile at Sita.

  She turned her attention to the gawking crowd of Brahmins who had drifted upriver to watch the unfolding drama. They were staring at her in stunned amazement.

  ‘And the rest of you, if you want entertainment, go find the nearest tavern or dance hall! This isn’t a free show provided for your amusement!’

  Several of the more senior rishis exclaimed, offended by her tone as well as her words. To tell a Brahmin to go to a wine hall or dance performance was akin to asking him to deny his faith. Perhaps there were a few dissolute Brahmins somewhere in the world who did indulge in such fleshly pleasures clandestinely, but these were Siddh-ashrama hermits not city pundits! As she had expected, the sharpness of her words did the trick. In moments, most of the Brahmins had moved away, returning to their evening chores. Only a few brahmacharya acolytes continued to steal guilty glances at the two women.

  Sita flashed her angry eyes at the Vajra captain next. Bejoo was literally gaping at her, his lips parted as he stared at the two women. More specifically, he was staring at the taller of the pair. He seemed to be physically unable to take his eyes off Nakhudi.