PRINCE OF DHARMA

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  After a further round of formalities and ritual greetings, Maharaja Janak turned his attention to the rajkumars standing beside Vishwamitra.

  Rama and Lakshman were still in the same ang-vastras and dhotis they had worn when they left Siddh-ashrama the previous morning. Although only a day, a night and another morning had passed since then, so much had happened that they looked less like princes of Ayodhya and more like travellers who had been on the road for weeks. Their clothes were soiled by dust and mud and various dubious stains that the sage knew was the blood of vetaals spilled during the fight last night. Their vastras were torn in several places, ripped by the clinging barbs of the vinaashe-wood bushes and leaves. Their hair was unkempt and matted with dust and dirt, their skin grimy. And this was despite their having bathed in the sacred Ganga at dawn today.

  Yet none of this seemed to trouble Maharaja Janak. He was accustomed to meeting with sadhus and rishis who regarded any concern for personal hygiene as being a sacrilegious waste of precious time needed for devotion and meditation, the twin goals of every Brahmin.

  The maharaja smiled warmly at the princes as they greeted him with polite namasakars.

  ‘You are fortunate to be travelling in such illustrious company, young shishyas. Your proud bearing and gracious manner impresses me. Guru-dev, are they the sons of some noble sage? Or perhaps the scions of some great Brahmin house? Clearly, they have spent their young lives devoted to religious pursuits and holy activities only. They have an enviable Brahmin air of serenity and peace about them.’

  Vishwamitra replied without preamble.

  ‘They are Kshatriyas. Valiant warriors both. Their serenity comes from following the path of dharma scrupulously.’

  Maharaja Janak blinked, taken aback. He looked disappointed but smiled on regardless, acknowledging the namaskars performed by the two princes. ‘Well met, young Arya-putras.’

  ‘Well met, Janak-chacha,’ Rama said, echoed by Lakshman.

  In Mithila, the royal dais was on the same level as the rest of the chamber, reflecting Janak’s famous writ that a king was no different from his subjects. Only the moonwood throne, massive and magnificent, suggested the maharaja’s great warrior ancestry and hinted at the heritage of the Chandravansha dynasty. Dwarfed by its looming carved bulk, the lithe, slim and smiling Janak looked more like a young prince than the descendant of a great line of warrior-kings.

  Rama approached the throne and bent low to touch the feet of the maharaja. Lakshman did likewise. Janak gave them his ashirwaad without showing any sign of recognition. Even Rama’s affectionate use of the term ‘chacha’ hadn’t rung a bell. It was customary in Arya society to politely address any older man as ‘uncle’ and woman as ‘auntie’. Janak would have to be given more than a subtle hint to recognise the two rajkumars, Vishwamitra saw.

  The sage said, ‘The grime of the road conceals their true identities from you, Mithila-naresh Janak. When last you saw these two lads they were probably little more than half as high and certainly no more than half as old as they are now. Eight years at Guru Vashishta’s gurukul, the inevitable progress of time, the appearance of maturity on their faces and bodies, and their adventures these past ten days have lent them an air of the unfamiliar to your eyes. Yet they are your own distant relatives by marriage, the rajkumars Rama Chandra and Lakshmana, sons of Dasaratha, Maharaja of Ayodhya, ruler of Kosala.’

  Janak sprang up from his throne. ‘Rama and Lakshman? Impossible!’

  He came forward, taking Rama by the shoulders, then Lakshman, looking at each one with stunned amazement. ‘Yes! Of course. I see the resemblance now. You, Rama, have inherited Maharani Kausalya’s striking beauty and complexion as well as your father’s magnificent physique. While you, Lakshman, have inherited your father’s features and gentle Maharani Sumitra’s grace and charm! What magnificent young men you have become!’

  He embraced them both, unmindful of their grimy clothes and unwashed bodies. ‘When last I saw you both, you were mere boys! You were still innocent enough to run around and play childish games with my daughters, I recall! Look at you now. It makes my heart proud to see you grown so well. And under the tutelage of such a great brahmarishi no less. Truly, this is a doubly happy day. I knew the omens were unmistakable: this day shall go down in history, mark my words. I have studied the configuration of the constellations and cast my predictions at daybreak, as I do every day after my pre-dawn meditation. Great things shall happen in Mithila before the sun sets on this happy day.’

  Rama and Lakshman exchanged a glance. Rama spoke for them both. ‘Janak-chacha, we are happy to see you as well. But—’

  ‘But, raje,’ Vishwamitra said, ‘as you yourself have read in the stars, today is destined to be an eventful day in your kingdom’s history. Much as you would like to sit and pass the time talking with the rajkumars about how the intervening years have treated them, we have important matters to discuss and much to do.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Janak said. ‘In the excitement of hearing of your arrival, Guru-dev, I neglected to mention that I have a swayamvara to preside over as well. It would do my house great honour if you would join me there. The rajkumars as well, of course.’

  Janak laughed as he looked disbelievingly at the two princes. ‘Rama and Lakshman. With the brahmarishi Vishwamitra. On a feast day no less. Who would have believed it?’

  ‘A swayamvara?’ Vishwamitra kept his voice devoid of inflection. It was good to be able to know all by dint of the powers of Brahman, but it was not always appropriate to let others know that you knew. ‘Who is it who will choose a husband today? Is it one of your daughters?’

  Janak’s smile reduced in intensity. ‘Yes, Guru-dev. My daughter Sita.’

  ‘Then this is a fortunate coincidence indeed. It will give me great joy to see you give away your daughter Sita today, raje. You can count on my attending both the swayamvara and the marriage.’

  Janak laughed nervously. ‘You honour me, maha-dev. But I must inform you of all the facts of the matter. If left up to me alone, I would have given my daughter away years ago. But as you must know already, we of the Chandravansha and Suryavansha dynasties do not wed children. We believe an Arya has the right to choose his or her own life-partner. Hence the practice of a swayamvara, which enables any suitor, regardless of stature, wealth, appearance, caste or creed, to come forward and seek the hand of my daughter. Whom she chooses, or even whether or not she chooses at all, is entirely up to her. I can only watch and offer suggestions when called upon.’

  ‘An excellent and commendable attitude, raje. In my experience, most swayamvaras result in marriage. After all, when a mature young woman has every imaginable choice before her, it’s usual that she will make her pick wisely and well. You must expect that Rajkumari Sita will find a groom worthy of her taste and inclination this very day.’

  Janak’s face lost its smile entirely. ‘One would normally expect that from a swayamvara. But, maha-dev, my eldest daughter is as particular about her choices as I am particular about my prayer rituals. On several previous occasions, at occasions much like this one, she has rejected more suitors than I could count using a bead-table!

  ‘Even today, I hesitate to raise my hopes yet again. But I am heartened by the fact that the stars are most auspicious for a marital match. That is why I have set the swayamvara for the hour of noon. If the devas–and my daughter–so decree, then I shall give her away in a marriage ceremony this very afternoon. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Guru-dev, you must say a mantra to ensure this fruitful union. I am aware of the power you wield. It would give my ageing heart great relief to see my Sita settle down with a suitable husband this very day, blessed by your auspicious ashirwaad. It would ensure her long and blissful cohabitation.’

  Vishwamitra nodded before replying. ‘I should gladly speak the most powerful mantra I have knowledge of, good Janak. But even I cannot change the mind of a woman who knows what she wants. Sita is right to wait for the groom of her choice a
nd to refuse to lower her standards and expectations.’

  Janak’s face showed his disappointment.

  Vishwamitra went on, ‘However, take heart from this, raje. I too see propitious stars aligning themselves. And like yourself, I predict that before the sun sets on this auspicious day, not just your daughter Sita but all four of your daughters shall have husbands of their choosing. And shall live long and happily married lives.’

  Janak cried out happily, falling to his knees before the sage. ‘Maha-dev, may your words be heard by the devas themselves!

  If it is so then I shall undertake a pilgrimage to every holy site in the world to offer thanks to every deity. I shall give my worldly possessions to the needy and less fortunate. I shall grant the Brahmins of Mithila any gurudakshina their hearts desire.’

  Vishwamitra held up a hand. ‘All this and more you may do. But first, the rajkumars and I have important matters to discuss with you. Matters that exceed the vexing concern of a loving father for his daughters’ future welfare. We must discuss these matters at once that you may prepare yourself and your beautiful city for the approaching crisis.’

  Janak frowned. ‘Crisis, maha-dev? What crisis do you foretell? Pray, do not speak inauspicious words on this most excellent of days. I have forsworn all material joys and pleasures for over twenty years. The only ambition I retain for this lifetime is to see my daughters married and settled happily in good houses. Tell me not that some ugly shadow shall darken this hope. I beg of you, do not deprive this father of the only pleasurable dream he has left.

  ‘When my wife passed away, I took not another woman as wife or even as mistress, not for a single night. When my brother passed away, I raised his daughters under my own roof, counting my daughters as four, not two. I have performed every yagna, every sacrifice, every ritual, every obeisance to the devas, asking only two things: peace on earth to all men; and the happiness of my daughters. They are the jewels in my crown. Just now when you spoke those beautiful words, predicting marriage and happy lives for all of them, I felt the greatest pleasure of my life.

  ‘I pray to you, maha-dev, do not cast any shadow over this happy day. Whatever threat approaches me or my people, I shall confront it gladly and with open arms. But let this swayamvara be completed successfully and my daughters be well placed in their lives. This boon I beg of you.’

  Maharaja Janak prostrated himself on the ground before Vishwamitra, clutching and kissing the seer’s feet, tears pouring from his eyes.

  Vishwamitra was silent for a long moment. When he spoke at last his voice betrayed neither anger nor impatience. Instead, he said affectionately, ‘Rise up, good Janak. You have lived a pious and honourable life. This boon you ask is within my power. I shall grant it to you in recognition of your great devoutness and adherence to the twofold path of dharma and karma. We shall talk of other matters afterwards. Come now, walk with me. Lead the way to the hall where this auspicious swayamvara is being held. Let us go and see for ourselves as your daughter Sita selects her mate for life.’

  THREE

  Sita entered the packed and silent assembly hall with her head covered and eyes lowered as befitted an Arya princess at her swayamvara. Given the freedom to survey, interview, test and finally judge her suitors at this ritual event, it was nonetheless considered unseemly for a woman to simply strut about and look boldly at the men on display. She would have time to gaze at them at the right moment. Right now, it was she who was presenting herself before them. And tradition required that she present herself as a princess and a potential bride. Even though, right now, she thought of herself as neither.

  Sita’s mind was still preoccupied with the events of the previous day and night. At several moments during that short span of time, she had actually doubted if she would be back home in time for this swayamvara. Not that it would have mattered much to her, but her father would have been bitterly anguished.

  He would also have discovered her absence. Her sisters had covered up for her from the night before last, when she had slipped away incognito, making excuses and pleading a variety of different feminine and princessly reasons for her non-appearances at meals and other family occasions. It hadn’t been difficult for them to convince her father that she was fraught with anxiety over the swayamvara; it had made him think that if she was this anxious, perhaps she was finally going to choose a husband! On all the three previous swayamvaras, she had been so nonchalant and disinterested, he had known even before the event began that he would not be finding a son-in-law on that particular day. Any emotional response on her part would have given him hope.

  But he would have been heartbroken if she had failed to show up at the event itself. He would assume that she had deliberately missed it to avoid finding a husband. And there was more than a little truth in that assumption. One of the reasons she had left Mithila incognito had been because she wanted space and time to think. The mission to Dandakavan had been an excuse. Now that she knew how grave the asura menace really was, her little escapade seemed foolish and ineffectual. But at the time it had seemed to her that this was her one last chance to enjoy the freedom of being just herself, a person and not a princess.

  Now that freedom was in danger of being stolen from her for ever. She walked slowly, with cautious steps–she had always been uncomfortable in these complicated garments and heavy ornaments–as she traversed the rows upon rows of seated men, presenting herself for the ritual viewing.

  For the first time in the past year, she actually peeped out occasionally from beneath the pallo hanging over her forehead, glancing curiously at the faces she passed.

  A few were middle-aged and sagging, one or two aged and decrepit, there was even a fat red-faced Brahmin grinning idiotically at her as he chewed noisily on a paan, but the vast majority were young, handsome, robust looking men, bursting with youthful confidence and the glow of good health. Very few were nervous or less than good-looking. She guessed that these must be sons of rich fathers, pushed forward by their parents, eager to make a match with the biggest house in all Videha.

  Sita knew the realities of her situation. She wasn’t a coy nymphet toying with the power given to her by this age-old Arya ritual. A swayamvara wasn’t an opportunity to see the handsomest and wealthiest men jump through burning hoops to provide a day’s entertainment. It was a serious affair. An opportunity for a woman to carefully select the very best mate available. She considered herself lucky in one way: at least she didn’t have a father who believed that it was a parent’s right to make every important choice for his child; or worse, a chauvinist who refused a daughter her right to choose while letting his sons marry as they pleased. There were parts of the Arya nations where such practices were traditional and swayamvaras were unheard of. Mithila was not one of those places and she was grateful for it.

  But that didn’t mean that she had to be pressured into marrying if she wasn’t ready. Or into marrying at all.

  She reached the far end of the hall and was guided across the width of the aisle to the other side by her sakshis–her bridesmaids, if she chose to marry today. Starting with the first suitor seated on that side, nearest the door, she began working her way up the hall.

  As she walked, and occasionally glanced at the men seated on the comfortable thrones designed to make every suitor feel like a prince, she thought back to the moment at the Pit of Vasuki.

  After they had driven the vetaals into the water and watched them all melt away, they had nothing to do but wait for Rama’s return. Even the seer had descended to solid ground again and sat with them by the edge of the pool.

  As the minutes passed, then turned into hours, Lakshman had grown anxious and agitated, becoming convinced that Rama had encountered some obstacle or opponent that he could not overcome. He wanted to dive into the pool and go to his brother’s aid. Each time, Brahmarishi Vishwamitra restrained him with a firm command.

  Finally, when Sita herself had begun to think they should all leap into the pool and go to Rama’s res
cue, Rama had returned. And with him had been a woman of the most astonishing beauty Sita had ever seen. She was like an effigy made out of fine bonewood, or porcelain. In contrast to Sita’s own dusky complexion and sharp features, the legendary Ahilya was the epitome of classical Arya beauty.

  White as a summer rose, she was delicately boned and featured, full breasts and wide hips divided by a waist a wasp would have envied, with a smile that could have melted the snows on Mount Kailasa and eyes so mesmerising, even Sita found herself unable to look away. When she and Rama had stepped ashore, Rama had wanted to tell them about his experience finding and then freeing Ahilya, but the brahmarishi had insisted that they proceed to the next stop on their route.

  So they had gone to Gautama-ashrama on the outskirts of Visala. And there, standing before the statue-like maharishi frozen in his meditative state for two thousand years, the sage had chanted mantras that cleared away the vines and creepers and detritus of the centuries, then issued an incantation that had caused a blinding flash of lightning, and when they were able to see again, the sage Gautama—

  ‘Rajkumari, you have already finished that side! It’s now time to take your seat.’

  Sita returned to the here and now with a start. Lost in her recollections, she had traversed the entire left side of the hall as well, and had been about to walk down the right side for the second time. How embarrassing! Luckily for her, Sundari, her first sakshi and childhood friend, had stopped her in time.

  She let her sakshis guide her, giggling softly at her near-mistake, and took her seat on the raised dais at the head of the hall. Her father was already seated in the seat to her left. Beside him, preferring to stand, was the brahmarishi Vishwamitra.

  But there was still no sign of Rama and Lakshman. Where were they? Surely they would at least do her the courtesy of attending the swayamvara. It wasn’t as if she was expecting them to participate in it! Just to attend and give her some moral support. Was that too much to ask?