‘But Gautama could not forgive. This was no simple ravishment by some vile asura. Nor even a gandharva consorting with a wanton apsara. This was his wife. He had been cuckolded. And the cuckolder was none other than a deva, a being who possessed the power of life and death over mortals. If Indra could perpetrate such an atrocity and be allowed to go unpunished, what weight would the laws of dharma have? Nay, as one of those chosen to school mortals in the laws of dharma, Gautama the seer could not permit Indra to escape unpunished, any more than Gautama the man could forgive the deva for this vile transgression.
‘So Gautama inflicted on Indra the most terrible punishment he was empowered to give. With a single spoken incantation, he gelded the deva, rendering him impotent and incapable of repeating the act of fornication for the rest of his eternal existence. Thus he stripped the deva of his ability not only to procreate but to perpetuate his own line until the end of time.
‘In addition, so that the entire world might always be reminded of Indra’s shameful crime, Gautama issued a second incantation. This one punished Indra for the crime of seeing and coveting another man’s wife. He willed that since Indra had eyes for so many women, he ought to be covered with a thousand eyes. And thus Indra was doubly penalised and marked for ever.’
Vishwamitra paused. ‘How Indra attempted to overcome the maharishi’s curse and whether he succeeded or not is another tale and one that I will not tell tonight. But hear now what befell Ahilya.
‘Perceiving that his wife had been deceived and seduced by the deva, Gautama’s anger cooled marginally and he was inclined to forgive her for this inadvertent transgression. But because he was still inflamed by the sight of his wife lying naked beside the deva, he asked her one question.
‘Had she known that she was being bedded by Indra, had she truly been deceived by his guise?
‘Now, Ahilya was a virtuous and honourable woman. So despite fearing her husband’s ire, she replied honestly. Her truthful answer was, Yes, she had known that it was Indra who lay with her and not Gautama, but—
‘Alas, poor Ahilya was unable to complete her explanation. To her husband’s enraged mind, the word “yes” itself was a condemnation. Her admission rang in his ears like the bells of the great temple at Mithila. She had knowingly fornicated with another man? In her own marital bed? Unspeakable! The maharishi’s rage was of such proportions that Lord Indra, minus his testicles and covered from head to toe with a thousand staring eyes, fled the ashram without daring to ask the sage’s forgiveness once again.
‘Ahilya’s curse, spoken by Gautama with lightning swiftness, took effect before she could utter another word of explanation. Had she been given the opportunity to tell her side of the story, certainly the maharishi would have seen that she was blameless and innocent of any guilt. But her own honesty had condemned her.
‘Gautama decreed his wife’s fate with a single gesture and incantation. Since she had transgressed by yielding to physical desire and pleasure, she would be deprived of any physical sensation or pleasure for the rest of her days. And since, as the wife of one of the Seven Seers, she would live a considerable lifespan, the curse would be in effect indefinite. In order to enforce it, the sage sent her along with the entire hermitage, to the bottom of a pool nearby. This was no ordinary pool though. It was the Pit of Vasuki.
‘The Pit of Vasuki was the hole that was dug in the ground when the devas called up the serpent lord that dwells in the bowels of the earth. They required Vasuki to wind around the mountain Himavat, and churn the great ocean of Sagara in order to produce the amrit, the nectar of immortality. That is the tale of the Amrit-Manthan, and that too is a tale that you shall hear another time.
‘All you need know now is that when the Amrit-Manthan was done and the amrit was collected, along with many other miraculous by-products of the churning, a deep hole remained in the ground. That is the Pit of Vasuki. Many fantastic events occurred after the churning, one of which was the bringing of the Ganga from the realm of Swarga-lok down to earth. When the Ganga fell to earth, flowing from the bound tresses of Lord Shiva himself, the three-eyed deva took great care to let it fall gently so as not to harm any living creature. For, despite his notoriety as the Great and Terrible Destroyer, Shiva in truth has great love and respect for all creatures mortal and otherwise. This is why he is also named Pashupati, or lord of animals.
‘But at the instant that he was pouring the Ganga on to the earth, his elephant-headed son Ganesha and his younger brother Kartikeya were playfully wrestling nearby. In the course of their play, Ganesha’s trunk flicked up and brushed against his father’s hand. So Shiva’s control slipped by the tiniest fraction. He corrected himself at once and told his wife Parvati Devi to take the boys outside to play their boyish games, but in that moment a single drop of the Ganga splashed out of its chosen course. That drop fell into the Pit of Vasuki, and being a drop of divine Ganga water, it filled the vast pit from top to bottom.
‘At the bottom of the Pit of Vasuki, Ahilya lies still, trapped for all eternity. For her husband took samadhi soon after this tragic incident. Since Gautama, as one of the Seven Seers, possesses the power to prolong his life indefinitely through the pursuit of bhor tapasya, and since by taking samadhi he is frozen in the ultimate penitential form, he can continue thus for ever. And as long as he lives, Ahilya will live as well. If you can call such an existence living. Imprisoned at the bottom of the Pit of Vasuki, chained by the sage’s curse, she endures still, feeling no pleasurable emotions, only pain, sorrow, regret and guilt. Physically her condition is even worse. Her body is as stone, it can feel no sensation at all. She is condemned to a life of the mind and the spirit.’
Silence greeted the seer as he lowered his staff, indicating the end of the story. All the five travellers, eager and brimming with questions and comments at the start of the narration, were silent now.
Vishwamitra looked at each one in turn, lingering on Sita a moment longer than the others, then his piercing eyes sought out Rama.
‘Your silence is eloquent, good Kshatriyas. I see you have taken this tale to heart. Yet you must prepare yourself. For one last chapter remains in the tale of Gautama and Ahilya. And that chapter will be written by us this very night.’
He pointed at the far bank of the river. ‘There, in the heart of that vinaashe-wood thicket, lies the Pit of Vasuki. That is our first destination on this arduous mission. We shall cross the river now and enter the thicket. When we find the pit, Rajkumar Rama shall enter it and descend to the bottom of its waters. There he will revive Ahilya and return with her to the surface. Then we shall all proceed to Gautama-ashrama, to reunite the sage with his wife and plead her case to him. After that, we may proceed to Mithila. But we must act with haste and boldness, for already the night grows old and the sun god has almost completed his circuit of the far side of Prithvi. In a few hours, it will be dawn. That is how long we have to complete this task. Now, let us board the boat and cross the sacred river.’
Rama stopped the brahmarishi. ‘Guru-dev, may I ask a single question?’
‘Swiftly then, Rama. Time is scarce. We have much to accomplish this night and the coming day. The fate of at least one Arya nation, a great holy city, and perhaps the future of all mortalkind rests on our success or failure. Ask your question, but once it is answered, we shall speak no more until we are at the Pit of Vasuki.’
‘Yes, Guru-dev,’ Rama said. ‘My question is, how can I, a mere mortal, overturn the curse issued by a seer of Maharishi Gautama’s eminence? I am willing and eager to fulfil your every command diligently and with all the knowledge and wisdom in my possession, but this question troubles me. How can I overturn a curse when I know nothing of such things? I am a Kshatriya after all. Perhaps you, with your infinite knowledge of Brahman, might—’
‘Say no more, Rama,’ Vishwamitra broke in. ‘Your question is pertinent, so I shall attempt to answer it as briefly as possible. After the curse was pronounced and put into effect, the devas themselves sen
t a delegation to the sage Gautama. This was shortly before he took samadhi. They pleaded with him on behalf of Lord Indra as well as on Ahilya’s behalf. Indra’s fate does not concern us, but when the devas, by dint of their divine knowledge of mortal affairs, revealed to Gautama the full explanation that his wife herself had been unable to give him, he was filled with remorse at the harshness of the penalty he had imposed upon her. He regretted his curse but could not take it back completely. For that would undermine the value of his words. What would people think if a sage penalised a deva so harshly but allowed his own wife to go unpunished? So he spoke a codicil to the curse, an amendment that allowed for a means of Ahilya’s liberation.’
‘Of course!’ Sita said excitedly. She added apologetically: ‘With your permission, Guru-dev. If I may continue? Every visitor to Gautama-ashrama is told about this part. The maharishi Gautama proclaimed then that if and when a young boy pure of body, mind and spirit should be willing to risk his life to free Ahilya without any ulterior motive, she would be freed of the curse!’
Everybody turned to look at Rama. He felt his face burn with embarrassment.
‘Pure of mind and spirit I follow,’ Nakhudi’s gruff nasal voice said. ‘But what exactly does it mean, pure of body?’
It was Lakshman who spoke, saving Rama the embarrassment of replying himself. ‘It means a man who has not loved a woman yet. In other words, a virgin.’
‘Indeed,’ Vishwamitra said drily. ‘A virgin. Now your question is answered, Rama, and our task still remains to be done. Do you have any more questions?’
Rama shook his head silently.
The sage gestured impatiently. ‘Come then, waste no more time. Board the boat and let us cross the river.’
SIXTEEN
The crossing took very little time. The ferry was a pull-across. Bejoo and Nakhudi took hold of the rope and began dragging them over. The Ganga was barely fifty yards wide at this place, one of the narrowest points in the river’s mighty course. They disembarked on the north bank moments later. Sita had run her hands in the river as they were pulled across vigorously by her bodyguard and the Vajra captain. Nakhudi noticed her damp garments as they left the ferry and frowned disapprovingly. Sita responded by flicking water in her face. Nakhudi raised her hand to wipe it off, then remembered it was Ganga water and let it dry. It was considered inauspicious to wipe off water from the sacred river, and Jat Kshatriyas were perhaps the most superstitious of all the Kshatriya clans.
The night was still moonless and pitch-black but their eyes had adapted by this time. Or so Sita thought at first. When she looked around and began recognising species of flowers and even night insects scurrying underfoot, she knew that her vision couldn’t possibly be this good. She turned her head back and found she could see clear across the river to the south bank, right to the place on the knoll where the Brahman corridor had deposited them. Even Nakhudi’s owl-like night vision wasn’t that sharp.
When she turned back, Rama was beside her, watching her curiously.
‘Night vision?’ he asked.
She nodded.
He gestured with a nod at the brahmarishi.
Ah, that explained it. The seer had used his powers to enhance their vision. What else had he done to them? She wondered if maybe he had infused the three of them with some mysterious shakti as well, the way he had infused Rama and Lakshman.
She found Rama still watching her. As if reading her thoughts, he shook his head. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘Just the night vision. And a cloaking spell to prevent us from being seen too easily.’
‘Seen by what?’ she asked.
The sage spoke quietly then, calling them forward. Rama and Sita had lagged behind by a few yards. They ran to the edge of the vinaashe thicket where the others waited on their haunches, crouched over behind a clump of bushes. Nakhudi shot her an admonishing glance at the exact same time that Lakshman gave Rama a raised-eyebrows look. Sita resisted the urge to laugh out loud.
‘We shall go into the woods separately,’ the sage said quietly. ‘That way, it will be difficult to tell which of us intends to enter the Pit of Vasuki. If we are attacked, which is more than likely, we shall try our best to lead the attackers back this way, towards the bank of the Ganga, away from the pit. Our opponents will assume that we are retreating out of the thicket and will not pursue us. Their only goal is to keep us away from the pit. Rama will use the ensuing confusion to proceed.’
The sage turned his attention to Rama. ‘Now, rajkumar, listen carefully. Before you enter the pit, you must throw these stones into the water.’
He handed Rama a small cloth bag bound at the top by a string. The bag clinked softly as Rama stuffed it into his angvastra.
‘They are infused with Brahman and will illuminate your way at the bottom of the pit. Remember, the pit is very deep, perhaps a hundred yards or more. Yet you will be able to hold your breath at its lowermost depth and sustain yourself for as long as you desire without taking fresh breath. You have only to will it! The maha-mantras will do the rest. But when you enter the pit, you must leave all your weapons behind.’
Rama looked startled. ‘My weapons?’
‘Yes, this is imperative. From that point on, the flow of Brahman itself will protect you and guide you to the fulfilment of your task. Remember, if it is not ordained that you are the right person to save Ahilya, then you will fail no matter what you do. Therefore your only hope lies in trusting the shakti of Brahman itself. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Guru-dev.’
Sita wondered how Rama could just take a command from the seer and accept it so easily. She would have debated the point about the weapons until she was satisfied or until she had convinced the seer to let her keep them. How could a Kshatriya hope to defend himself in such a place without weapons? The devas alone knew what lay in that pit, waiting to snare unwary—
‘Do you wish to say something, rajkumari?’ The seer’s voice was deadly quiet.
Sita looked at Vishwamitra. He knows what I’m thinking. She felt as embarrassed as a shishya caught peeping at her companion’s slate at gurukul. ‘No, Guru-dev,’ she said meekly.
‘Very well,’ Vishwamitra said. ‘Then let us proceed.’
Bejoo spoke hesitantly. ‘Maha-dev, what are these opponents who are likely to attack us within the vinaashe-wood?’
‘That’s exactly the question I was about to ask,’ Nakhudi whispered agitatedly. ‘How can we fight without knowing what we fight?’
Vishwamitra replied without looking back.
‘Vetaals.’
Nakhudi exclaimed and clutched Sita’s shoulder tightly enough to hurt. Beside her, Bejoo swore softly. The Vajra captain had stopped dead in his tracks as if pole-axed by the seer’s last word.
Apparently unaware of the agitation he had caused, the brahmarishi was already at the edge of the thicket. He gestured to the others to go different ways and entered a gap between two twisted trunks. He was swallowed by the darkness and was gone.
The rest of them had no choice but to follow his lead. Rama and Lakshman went next, moving to the left and right of the gap through which the brahmarishi had entered the thicket. In an instant, they too had vanished into the vinaashe grove.
Sita stepped forward, accompanied by Nakhudi, who was swearing freely under her breath now that the seer was out of earshot. The Vajra captain followed them, muttering incoherently. Sita only heard his last words.
‘Vetaals,’ Bejoo said grimly. ‘And the seer said some of us may not emerge alive from this thicket? I say none of us will.’
Sita and Nakhudi entered the thicket.
***
Sumitra stared at the serving girl. She recognised the woman from around the palace. She was a part of the Second Queen’s staff.
She searched for the girl’s name. She was usually good at remembering the names of servants and even their families. It was one of the reasons she was nicknamed Queen of Angels, for her charitable work and her empathy for even the lowest o
f castes.
‘Sulekha?’ she said. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
The woman stopped beating her fists against the stone wall through which she had appeared a few moments ago. She turned a tear-streaked face to Sumitra. She seemed to have difficulty focusing and keeping her balance. She tottered to the right, on the verge of falling. Sumitra shot out a hand and caught her in the nick of time. She helped the girl seat herself on the floor.
‘What’s wrong? Are you not well, girl?’
The serving girl’s head dropped, her hair falling over her face. She looked up at Sumitra through gaps in her hair.
‘The Third Queen,’ she said in a tone of shocked amazement. ‘Queen of Angels.’
Sumitra touched the girl’s forehead. She didn’t seem to have a fever. ‘What happened? Does she beat you?’
‘Beat me?’ The girl looked puzzled for a moment. Then she seemed to recall whom they were speaking about. ‘Oh, she! Manthara? She beats me sometimes. Yes. She beats everybody.’ She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. ‘There’s worse things than beating though, my queen. Worse!’
Sumitra realised with a start that the girl wasn’t ill as she had first thought. She was drunk! Her breath was as heavy with soma-wine as any Sumitra had ever smelled.
‘Sulekha,’ she said gently. ‘You’ve been drinking.’
The girl’s hand flew to her mouth. She nodded slowly, several times, as if unable to stop. She looked as guilty as a maid caught stealing her mistress’s jewellery. Sumitra put a hand on her shoulder, calming her.
‘Never mind that now. Tell me, what is this place? What does Manthara-daiimaa do here?’
The girl peered at Sumitra blankly for a moment. Her head lolled to one side as if in danger of dragging her body in that direction, then she registered the question posed to her and straightened up with some difficulty. She looked at the ceiling, then the walls, then scanned the room. It was so plain and bare, there was nothing really to see. None of the decorative fluting or carving or plasterwork that the rest of the palace was ornamented with. Just a large rectangular room Except for one thing. In the centre of the room.
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