by Amish
Six years had lapsed since Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had gone into exile.
The band of nineteen had finally settled along the western banks of the early course of the mighty Godavari, at Panchavati. Or the place of the five banyan trees. The site suggested by Hanuman. The river provided natural protection to the small, rustic, yet comfortable camp. The main mud hut at the centre of the camp had two rooms — one for Ram and Sita, and the other for Lakshman — and an open clearing for exercise and assembly.
Another cluster of huts to the east housed Jatayu and his band.
The perimeter of this camp had two circular fences. The one on the outside was covered with poisonous creepers to keep animals out. The fence on the inside comprised nagavalli creepers, rigged with an alarm system. It consisted of a continuous rope that ran all the way to a very large wooden cage, filled with birds. The birds were well looked after and replaced every month with new ones. If anyone made it past the outer fence and attempted to enter the nagavalli hedge, the alarm system would trigger the opening of the birdcage roof. The noisy flutter of escaping birds would offer precious minutes of warning to the inmates at the camp.
Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had faced dangers in these six years, but not due to any human intervention. The occasional scars served as reminders of their adventures in the jungle, but the Somras had ensured that they looked and felt as young as the day they had left Ayodhya. Exposure to the harsh sun had darkened their skin. Ram had always been dark-skinned, but even the fair-skinned Sita and Lakshman had acquired a bronze tone. Ram and Lakshman had grown beards and moustaches, making them look like warrior-sages.
Life had fallen into a predictable pattern. Ram and Sita liked to go to the Godavari banks in the early morning hours to bathe and share some private time together. Their favourite time of the day.
This was one such day. They had washed their hair the previous day. There was no need to wash it again. They had tied it up in a bun while bathing. After their bath in the clear waters of the river, they sat on the banks eating a repast of fresh berries and fruit.
Ram lay with his head on Sita’s lap. She was playing with his hair. Her fingers got stuck in a knot. She gently tried to ease it out and untangle the hair. Ram protested mildly, but the hair came loose easily, without any need to yank it.
Sita smiled. ‘See, I can do it gently as well.’
Ram laughed. ‘Sometimes …’
Ram ran his hand through Sita’s hair. It hung loose over her shoulder, down to where his head lay on her lap. ‘I am bored with your ponytail.’
Sita shrugged. ‘It’s up to you to tie some other knot. It’s open now …’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Ram, holding Sita’s hand and looking lazily towards the river. ‘But later. When we get up.’
Sita smiled and continued to ruffle Ram’s hair. ‘Ram …’
‘Hmm?’
‘I need to tell you something.’
‘What?’
‘About our conversation yesterday.’
Ram turned towards Sita. ‘I was wondering when you would bring that up.’
Sita and Ram had spoken about many things the previous day. Most importantly, of Vashishtha’s belief that Ram would be the next Vishnu. Ram had then asked who Sita’s guru was. But Sita had sidestepped the answer.
‘There should be no secrets in a marriage. I should tell you who my guru is. Or was.’
Ram looked directly into Sita’s eyes. ‘Guru Vishwamitra.’
Sita was shocked. Her eyes gave it away. Ram had guessed correctly.
Ram smiled. ‘I’m not blind, you know. Only a favourite student could get away with saying the kind of things that you had said to Guru Vishwamitra in my presence that day in Mithila.’
‘Then why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I was waiting for you to trust me enough to tell me.’
‘I have always trusted you, Ram.’
‘Yes, but only as a wife. Some secrets are too big even for a marriage. I know who the Malayaputras are. I know what your being Guru Vishwamitra’s favourite disciple means.’
Sita sighed, ‘It was silly of me to wait for so long. Passage of time makes a simple conversation more complicated than necessary. I probably should not have listened to …’
‘That’s water under the bridge.’ Ram sat up and moved close to Sita. He held her hands and said, ‘Now, tell me.’
Sita took a deep breath. Nervous for some reason. ‘The Malayaputras believe I am their Vishnu.’
Ram smiled and looked directly into Sita’s eyes, with respect. ‘I have known you for years. Heard so many of your ideas. You will make a great Vishnu. I will be proud to follow you.’
‘Don’t follow. Partner.’
Ram frowned.
‘Why can’t there be two Vishnus? If we work together, we can end this stupid fight between the Malayaputras and Vayuputras. We can all work together and set India on a new path.’
‘I’m not sure it is allowed, Sita. A Vishnu cannot begin her journey by breaking the law. I will follow you.’
‘There is no rule that dictates that there can be just one Vishnu.’
‘Umm …’
‘I know, Ram. There is no such rule. Trust me.’
‘All right, assuming there isn’t, you and I can certainly work together. I’m sure that even the Malayaputras and Vayuputras can learn to work together. But what about Guru Vashishtha and Guru Vishwamitra? Their enmity runs deep. And the Malayaputras will still have to acknowledge me. With things between our gurus being the way they are …’
‘We’ll handle that,’ said Sita, as she inched close to Ram and embraced him. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you for so long.’
‘I thought you would tell me yesterday, when you were tying my hair. That’s why I touched your cheeks and waited. But I guess you weren’t ready …’
‘You know, Guru Vashishtha believes …’
‘Sita, Guru Vashishtha is just like Guru Vishwamitra. He is brilliant. But he is human. He can sometimes read situations incorrectly. I may be a devotee of the law, but I am not an idiot.’
Sita laughed. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t trust you earlier.’
Ram smiled. ‘Yes. You should be. And remember, we are married. So, I can use this against you anytime in the future.’
Sita burst into peals of laughter and hit her husband’s shoulder playfully. Ram held her hands, pulled her close and kissed her. They held each other in companionable silence. Looking at the Godavari.
‘What do we do for now?’ asked Sita.
‘There’s nothing to do till our exile is over. We can just prepare …’
‘Guru Vashishtha has accepted me. So, I don’t think he will have a problem with our partnership.’
‘But Guru Vishwamitra … He’ll not accept me.’
‘You don’t hold anything against him? For what he did in Mithila?’
‘He was trying to save his Vishnu. His life’s work. He was working for the good of our motherland. I’m not saying I condone his cavalier attitude towards the daivi astras. But I understand where he was coming from.’
‘So, we don’t tell the Malayaputras anything about what we have decided for now?’
‘No. In fact, I’m not even sure we can tell the Vayuputras for now … Let’s wait.’
‘There is one Vayuputra we can tell.’
‘How do you know any Vayuputra? Guru Vashishtha had consistently refused to introduce me to any of them till I was accepted by all as a Vishnu. It could have caused problems.’
‘I wasn’t introduced to him by Guru Vashishtha either! I got to know him through sheer good fortune. I met him through a friend at my gurukul. I believe he can advise and help us.’
‘Who is he?’
‘He is Radhika’s cousin.’
‘Radhika! Bharat’s Radhika?’
Sita smiled sadly. ‘Yes …’
‘You know Bharat still loves her, right?’
‘I have heard … But …’
‘Yes, the law in her tribe … I had told Bharat to not pursue her …’
Sita knew Radhika’s reasoning was different. But there was no point in revealing that to Ram. It was water under the bridge.
‘What is her brother’s name? The Vayuputra?’
‘Hanu bhaiya.’
‘Hanu bhaiya?’
‘That’s what I call him. The world knows him as Lord Hanuman.’
Hanuman smiled, folded his hands together and bowed his head. ‘I bow to the Vishnu, Lady Sita. I bow to the Vishnu, Lord Ram.’
Ram and Sita looked at each other, embarrassed.
Sita and Ram had told Lakshman and the Malayaputras that they were going on a hunt. They had, instead, stolen away to a clearing at least a half-day away. They had taken a boat ride downstream on the Godavari, where Hanuman was waiting for them. Sita had introduced Ram to Hanuman. And told him of their decision. Hanuman seemed to accept the decision very easily. Even welcoming it.
‘But do you think Guru Vishwamitra and Guru Vashishtha will agree?’ asked Sita.
‘I don’t know,’ said Hanuman. Then looking at Ram, he continued, ‘Guru Vishwamitra was very angry that Guru Vashishtha has told you that he expects you to be the Vishnu.’
Ram remained silent.
Hanuman continued. ‘Your brother Lakshman is a brave and loyal man. He will die for you. But he can, sometimes, let out secrets that he shouldn’t.’
Ram smiled apologetically. ‘Yes, he said it in front of Arishtanemiji. Lakshman doesn’t mean any harm. He is …’
‘Of course,’ agreed Hanuman. ‘He is very proud of you. He loves you a great deal. But because of that love, he sometimes makes mistakes. Please don’t misunderstand. But I would suggest that you don’t tell him about your little arrangement. Or, about me for that matter. At least for now.’
Ram nodded. Agreeing.
‘What is the reason for the enmity between Guru Vashishtha and Guru Vishwamitra?’ asked Sita. ‘I have never been able to find out.’
‘Yes,’ said Ram. ‘Even Guru Vashishtha refuses to speak about it.’
‘I am not sure either,’ said Hanuman. ‘But I have heard that a woman called Nandini may have played a role.’
‘Really?’ asked Sita. ‘A woman caused the rift between them? What a cliché.’
Hanuman smiled. ‘Apparently, there were other problems as well. But nobody is sure. These are just speculations.’
‘Anyway, what’s more important is, do you think the Malayaputras and Vayuputras can come together on this?’ asked Ram. ‘Will they agree to the two of us being Vishnus? I’ve been told by Sita that there is no law against it. But it is certainly against the standard protocol for Vishnus and Mahadevs, right?’
Hanuman laughed softly. ‘Prince Ram, do you know how long the institutions of the Vishnu and Mahadev have been running?’
Ram shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Thousands of years? Since Lord Manu’s times, I guess. If not earlier.’
‘Right. And do you know exactly how many Vishnus and Mahadevs, in the many millennia, have actually emerged according to the plans and protocols laid down by the tribes left behind by the previous Vishnu or Mahadev?’
Ram looked at Sita. And then, back at Hanuman. ‘I don’t know.’
Hanuman’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Precisely zero.’
‘Really?’
‘Not once, not once has any Vishnu or Mahadev emerged exactly according to plan. The best laid plans always have a tendency to get spoilt. There have always been surprises.’
Ram laughed softly. ‘We are a country that does not like order and plans.’
‘That we are!’ said Hanuman. ‘The Mahadevs or the Vishnus didn’t succeed in their missions because “plans were implemented exactly”. They succeeded because they were willing to give their all for our great land. And they were followed by many who also felt exactly the same way. That is the secret. Passion. Not plans.’
‘So, you think we will succeed in getting the Malayaputras and Vayuputras to agree?’ asked Sita.
‘Of course we will,’ answered Hanuman. ‘Don’t they love India? But if you ask me how exactly we will succeed, my answer is: I don’t know. No plans as of yet! But we have time. Nothing can be done till the both of you return to the Sapt Sindhu.’
It had been more than thirteen years of exile now. In less than a year, Ram, Sita, and Lakshman would head back to the Sapt Sindhu and begin their life’s greatest karma. Hanuman had, over time, managed to get the Vayuputras to accept Sita. And Arishtanemi, along with a few other Malayaputras, had begun to favour Ram. Vashishtha, of course, had no problem with Ram and Sita being the Vishnus together. But Vishwamitra … well, he was another matter altogether. If he held out, the Malayaputras could not be counted on to be completely on board. After all, they were a relatively disciplined organisation that followed their leader.
But this was not occupying the minds of Ram and Sita right now. They lounged around in their section of the camp, watching the setting sun as it coloured the sky with glorious hues. Unexpectedly, the avian alarm system was triggered; the flock of birds in the cage had suddenly fluttered away noisily. Someone had breached their camp perimeter.
‘What was that?’ asked Lakshman.
Ram’s instincts told him that the intruders were not animals.
‘Weapons,’ ordered Ram calmly.
Sita and Lakshman tied their sword scabbards around their waist. Lakshman handed Ram his bow, before picking up his own. The brothers quickly strung their bows. Jatayu and his men rushed in, armed and ready, just as Ram and Lakshman tied quivers full of arrows to their backs. Sita picked up a long spear, as Ram tied his sword scabbard to his waist. They already wore a smaller knife scabbard, tied horizontally across the small of their backs; a weapon they kept on their person at all times.
‘Who could they be?’ asked Jatayu.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ram.
‘Lakshman’s Wall?’ asked Sita.
Lakshman’s Wall was an ingenious defensive feature designed by him to the east of the main hut. It was five feet in height; it covered three sides of a small square completely, leaving the inner side facing the main hut partially open; like a cubicle. The entire structure gave the impression that it was an enclosed kitchen. In fact, the cubicle was bare, providing adequate mobility to warriors. But unseen by enemies on the other side of the wall. They would have to be on their knees, though. A small tandoor, a cooking platform, emerged on the outside from the south-facing wall. Half the enclosure was roof-covered, completing the camouflage of a cooking area. It afforded protection from enemy arrows.
The south, east, and north-facing walls were drilled with well-spaced holes. These holes were narrow on the inner side and broad on the outer side, giving the impression of ventilation required for cooking. Their actual purpose was to give those on the inside a good view of the approaching enemy, while preventing those on the outside from looking in. The holes could also be used to shoot arrows. Made from mud, it was not strong enough to withstand a sustained assault by a large force. Having said that, it was good enough for defence against small bands sent on assassination bids. Which is what Lakshman suspected they would face.
Designed by Lakshman, it had been built by everyone in the camp; Makrant had named it ‘Lakshman’s Wall’.
‘Yes,’ said Ram.
Everyone rushed to the wall and crouched low, keeping their weapons ready. Waiting.
Lakshman hunched over and peeped through a hole in the south-facing wall. Straining his eye, he detected a small band of ten people marching into the camp premises. Led by a man and a woman.
The man in the lead was of average height. Unusually fair-skinned. His reed-thin physique was that of a runner; this man was no warrior. Despite his frail shoulders and thin arms, he walked as if he had boils in his armpits; pretending to accommodate impressive biceps. Like most Indian men, he had long, jet black hair that was tied in a knot at the back of his head. His full beard was neatly trimmed, and
coloured a deep brown. He wore a classic brown dhoti and an angvastram that was a shade lighter. His jewellery was rich but understated: pearl ear studs and a thin copper bracelet. He looked dishevelled. As though he had been on the road for too long, without a change of clothes.
The woman beside him faintly resembled the man, possibly his sister. Bewitching. Almost as short as Urmila. Skin as white as snow. It should have made her look pale and sickly. Instead, she was distractingly beautiful. Sharp, slightly upturned nose. High cheekbones. She almost looked like a Parihan. Unlike them, though, her hair was blonde, a most unusual colour. Every strand of it was in place. Her eyes were magnetic. Perhaps she was the child of Hiranyaloman Mlechchas: fair-skinned, light-eyed, and light-haired foreigners who lived half a world away towards the north-west. Their violent ways and incomprehensible speech had led to the Indians calling them barbarians. But this lady was no barbarian. Quite the contrary, she was elegant, slim, and petite, except for breasts that were disproportionately large for her body. She wore a classic, expensively dyed purple dhoti, which shone like the waters of the Sarayu. Perhaps it was the legendary silk cloth from the far-eastern parts of India; one that only the richest could afford now. For Raavan had established a complete monopoly on it and had jacked up the prices. The dhoti was tied fashionably low, exposing her flat tummy and slim, curvaceous waist. Her silken blouse was a tiny sliver of cloth, affording a generous view of her cleavage. Her angvastram had deliberately been left hanging loose from a shoulder, instead of across the body. Extravagant jewellery completed the picture of excess. The only incongruity was the knife scabbard tied to her waist. She was a vision to behold.
Ram cast a quick glance at Sita. ‘Who are they?’
Sita shrugged.
It was quickly clarified by the Malayaputras that the man was Raavan’s younger half-brother Vibhishan, and the woman his half-sister Shurpanakha.
A soldier next to Vibhishan held aloft a white flag, the colour of peace. They obviously wanted to parley. The mystery was, what did they want to talk about?
And whether there was any subterfuge involved.
Ram looked through the hole again, and then turned towards his people. ‘We will all step out together. It will stop them from attempting something stupid.’