In keeping with tradition, they were reciting the Guru Stotram, the hymn in praise of the teacher, before the class commenced.
As the hymn ended, the students rose and ceremoniously touched the feet of their guru, Vashishta. He gave them all the same blessing: ‘May my knowledge grow within you, and may you, one day, become my teacher.’
Ram, Bharat, Lakshman and Shatrughan took their allotted seats. Thirteen years had passed since the terrible battle with Raavan. Ram was thirteen years old, and both Bharat and he were showing signs of adolescence. Their voices had begun to break and drop in pitch. Faint signs of moustaches had made an appearance on their upper lips. They’d suddenly shot up in height, even as their boyish bodies had begun to develop lean muscle.
Lakshman and Shatrughan had now begun combat practice, though their pre-adolescent bodies made fighting a little difficult for them. They’d all learnt the basics of philosophy, science and mathematics. They had mastered the divine language, Sanskrit. The ground work had been done. The guru knew it was time to sow the seed.
‘Do you know the origins of our civilisation?’ asked Vashishta.
Lakshman, always eager to answer but not well read, raised his hand and began to speak. ‘The universe itself began with—’
‘No, Paurav,’ said Vashishta, using Lakshman’s gurukul name. ‘My question was not about the universe but about us, the Vedic people of this yug.’
Ram and Bharat turned to Shatrughan in unison.
‘Guruji,’ began Shatrughan, ‘it goes back to Lord Manu, a prince of the Pandya dynasty, thousands of years ago.’
‘Teacher’s pet,’ whispered Bharat, indulgently. While he teased Shatrughan mercilessly for his bookish ways, he appreciated the fearsome intellect of his youngest brother.
Vashishta looked at Bharat. ‘Do you have something to add?’
‘No, Guruji,’ said Bharat, immediately contrite.
‘Yes, Nalatardak,’ said Vashishta, turning his attention back to Shatrughan and using his gurukul name. ‘Please continue.’
‘It is believed that thousands of years ago, swathes of land were covered in great sheets of ice. Since large quantities of water were frozen in solid form, sea levels were a lot lower than they are today.’
‘You are correct,’ said Vashishta, ‘except for one point. It is not a belief, Nalatardak. The “Ice Age” is not a theory. It is fact.’
‘Yes, Guruji,’ said Shatrughan. ‘Since sea levels were a lot lower, the Indian landmass extended a lot farther into the sea. The island of Lanka, the demon-king Raavan’s kingdom, was joined to the Indian landmass. Gujarat and Konkan also reached out into the sea.’
‘And?’
‘And, I believe, there were—’
Shatrughan stopped short as Vashishta cast him a stern look. He smiled and folded his hands into a namaste. ‘My apologies, Guruji. Not belief, but fact.’
Vashishta smiled.
‘Two great civilisations existed in India during the Ice Age. One in south-eastern India called the Sangamtamil, which included a small portion of the Lankan landmass, along with large tracts of land that are now underwater. The course of the river Kaveri was much broader and longer at the time. This rich and powerful empire was ruled by the Pandya dynasty.’
‘And?’
‘The other civilisation, Dwarka, spread across large parts of the landmass, off the coast of modern Gujarat and Konkan. It now lies submerged. It was ruled by the Yadav dynasty, the descendants of Yadu.’
‘Carry on.’
‘Sea levels rose dramatically at the end of the Ice Age. The Sangamtamil and Dwarka civilisations were destroyed, their heartland now lying under the sea. The survivors, led by Lord Manu, the father of our nation, escaped up north and began life once again. They called themselves the people of vidya, knowledge; the Vedic people. We are their proud descendants.’
‘Very good, Nalatardak,’ said Vashishta. ‘Just one more point. The Ice Age came to an abrupt end in the time-scale that Mother Earth operates in. But in human terms, it wasn’t abrupt at all. We had decades, even centuries, of warning. And yet, we did nothing.’
The children listened with rapt attention.
‘Why did the Sangamtamil and Dwarka, clearly very advanced civilisations, not take timely corrective actions? Evidence suggests that they were aware of the impending calamity. Mother Earth had given them enough warning signs. They were intelligent enough to either possess or invent the technology required to save themselves. And yet, they did nothing. Only a few survived, under the able leadership of Lord Manu. Why?’
‘They were lazy,’ said Lakshman, as usual jumping to conclusions.
Vashishta sighed. ‘Paurav, if only you’d think before answering.’
A chagrined Lakshman fell silent.
‘You have the ability to think, Paurav,’ said Vashishta, ‘but you’re always in a hurry. Remember, it’s more important to be right than to be first.’
‘Yes, Guruji,’ said Lakshman, his eyes downcast. But he raised his hand again. ‘Were the people debauched and careless?’
‘Now you’re guessing, Paurav. Don’t try to pry open the door with your fingernails. Use the key.’
Lakshman seemed nonplussed.
‘Do not rush to the “right answer”,’ clarified Vashishta. ‘The key, always, is to ask the “right question”.’
‘Guruji,’ said Ram. ‘May I ask a question?’
‘Of course, Sudas,’ said Vashishta.
‘You said earlier that they had decades, even centuries of warning. I assume their scientists had decoded these warnings?’
‘Yes, they had.’
‘And had they communicated these warnings to everyone, including the royalty?’
‘Yes, they had.’
‘Was Lord Manu the Pandyan king or a prince, at the time? I have heard conflicting accounts.’
Vashishta smiled approvingly. ‘Lord Manu was one of the younger princes.’
‘And yet, it was he and not the king who saved his people.’
‘Yes.’
‘If anyone other than the king was required to lead the people to safety, then the answer is obvious. The king wasn’t doing his job. Bad leadership, then, was responsible for the downfall of Sangamtamil and Dwarka.’
‘Do you think a bad king is also a bad man?’ asked Vashishta.
‘No,’ said Bharat. ‘Even honourable men sometimes prove to be terrible leaders. Conversely, men of questionable character can occasionally be exactly what a nation requires.’
‘Absolutely! A king need be judged solely on the basis of what he achieves for his people. His personal life is of no consequence. His public life, though, has one singular purpose: to provide for his people and improve their lives.’
‘True,’ said Bharat.
Vashishta took a deep breath. The time was ripe. ‘So, does that make Raavan a good king for his people?’
There was stunned silence.
Ram wouldn’t answer. He hated Raavan viscerally. Not only had the Lankan devastated Ayodhya, he had also ruined Ram’s future. His birth was permanently associated with the ‘taint’ of Raavan’s victory. No matter what he did, Ram would always remain inauspicious for his father and the people of Ayodhya.
Bharat finally spoke. ‘We may not want to admit it, but Raavan is a good king, loved by his people. He is an able administrator who has brought prosperity through maritime trade, and he even runs the seaports under his control efficiently. It is fabled that the streets of his capital are paved with gold, thus earning his kingdom the name “Golden Lanka”. Yes, he is a good king.’
‘And what would you say about a very good man, a king, who has fallen into depression? He has converted his personal loss to that of his people. They suffer because he does. Is he, then, a good king?’
It was obvious whom Vashishta was referring to. The students were quiet for a long time, afraid to answer.
It had to be Bharat who raised his hand. ‘No, he is not a good king.’
‘That’s it for today,’ Vashishta brought the class to an abrupt end, leaving a lot unsaid. ‘As always, your homework is to mull over our discussion.’
‘My turn, Dada,’ whispered Bharat as he softly tapped Ram’s shoulder.
Ram immediately tied his pouch to his waistband. ‘Sorry.’
Bharat turned to the injured rabbit lying on the ground. He first anesthetised the animal and then quickly pulled out the splinter of wood buried in its paw. The wound was almost septic, but the medicine he applied would prevent further infection. The animal would awaken a few minutes later, on the road to recovery, if not immediately ready to face the world.
As Bharat cleaned his hands with medicinal herbs, Ram gently picked up the rabbit and wedged it into a nook in a tree to keep it away from predators. He glanced at Bharat. ‘It will wake up soon. It’ll live.’
Bharat smiled. ‘By the grace of Lord Rudra.’
Ram, Bharat, Lakshman and Shatrughan were on one of their fortnightly expeditions into the jungle, where they tended to injured animals. They did not interfere in a predator’s hunt; it was only its natural behaviour. But, if they came upon an injured animal, they assisted it to the best of their abilities.
‘Dada,’ said Shatrughan, standing at a distance, watching his elder brothers with keen concentration.
Ram and Bharat turned around. A dishevelled Lakshman was even farther away, behind Shatrughan. He was distractedly throwing stones at a tree.
‘Lakshman, don’t linger at the back,’ said Ram. ‘We are not in the ashram. This is the jungle. There is danger in being alone.’
Lakshman sighed in irritation and walked up to the group.
‘Yes, what is it, Shatrughan?’ asked Ram, turning to his youngest brother.
‘Bharat Dada put jatyadi tel on the rabbit’s wound. Unless you cover it with neem leaves, the medicine will not be effective.’
‘Of course,’ exclaimed Ram, tapping his forehead. ‘You’re right, Shatrughan.’
Ram picked up the rabbit as Bharat pulled out some neem leaves from his leather pouch.
Bharat looked at Shatrughan, grinning broadly. ‘Is there anything in the world that you do not know, Shatrughan?’
Shatrughan smiled. ‘Not much.’
Bharat applied the neem leaves on the rabbit’s wound, tied the bandage again, and placed him back in the nook.
Ram said, ‘I wonder if we actually help these animals on our bi-weekly medical tour or are we just assuaging our conscience?’
‘We are assuaging our conscience,’ said Bharat, with a wry smile. ‘Nothing more, but at least we aren’t ignoring our conscience.’
Ram shook his head. ‘Why are you so cynical?’
‘Why are you not cynical at all?’
Ram raised his eyebrows resignedly and began to walk. Bharat caught up with him. Lakshman and Shatrughan fell in line, a few steps behind.
‘Knowing the human race, how can you not be cynical?’ Bharat asked.
‘Come on,’ said Ram. ‘We’re capable of greatness, Bharat. All we need is an inspirational leader.’
‘Dada,’ said Bharat, ‘I’m not suggesting that there is no goodness in human beings. There is, and it is worth fighting for. But there is also so much viciousness that sometimes I think it would have been better for the planet if the human species simply did not exist.’
‘That’s too much! We’re not so bad.’
Bharat laughed softly. ‘All I’m suggesting is that greatness and goodness is a potential in a majority of humans, not a reality.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Expecting people to follow rules just because they should is being too hopeful. Rules must be designed to dovetail with selfish interest because people are primarily driven by it. They need to be shepherded into good behaviour through this proclivity.’
‘People also respond to calls for greatness.’
‘No, they don’t, Dada. There may be a few who will answer that call. Most won’t.’
‘Lord Rudra led people selflessly, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ said Bharat. ‘But many who followed him had their own selfish interests in mind. That is a fact.’
Ram shook his head. ‘We’ll never agree on this.’
Bharat smiled. ‘Yes, we won’t. But I still love you!’
Ram smiled as well, changing the topic. ‘How was your holiday? I never get to speak with you when we are there…’
‘You know why,’ muttered Bharat. ‘But I must admit it was not too bad this time.’
Bharat loved to have his maternal relatives visit Ayodhya. It was an opportunity for him to escape his stern mother. Kaikeyi did not like his spending too much time with his brothers. In fact, if she could have her way, she would keep him to herself exclusively during the times when they were home. To make matters worse, she would insist on endless conversations about the need for him to be great and fulfil his mother’s destiny. The only people Kaikeyi did not mind sharing her son with were her own blood-family. The presence of his maternal grandparents and uncle on this holiday ensured that Bharat was free of his mother. He had spent practically the entire vacation in their indulgent company.
Ram punched Bharat playfully in his stomach. ‘She’s your mother, Bharat. She only wants what is best for you.’
‘I could do with some love instead, Dada. You know, I remember when I was three, I once dropped a glass of milk and she slapped me! She slapped me so hard, in the presence of her maids.’
‘You remember stuff from when you were three? I thought I was the only one who did.’
‘How can I forget? I was a little boy. The glass was too big for my hands. It was heavy; it slipped! That’s it! Why did she have to slap me?’
Ram understood his stepmother, Kaikeyi. She had her share of frustrations. She’d been the brightest child in her family. Unfortunately, her brilliance did not make her father proud. Quite the contrary, Ashwapati was unhappy that Kaikeyi outshone his son, Yudhaajit. It appalled Ram that society did not value capable women. And now, the intelligent yet frustrated Kaikeyi sought vicarious recognition through Bharat, her son. She aimed to realise her ambitions through him.
Ram held his counsel though.
Bharat continued, wistfully, ‘If only I had a mother like yours. She would have loved me unconditionally and not chewed my brains.’
Ram did not respond, but he got the feeling that something was playing on Bharat’s mind.
‘What is it, Bharat?’ asked Ram, without turning to look at his younger brother.
Bharat lowered his voice so that Lakshman and Shatrughan wouldn’t overhear. ‘Ram Dada, have you thought about what Guruji said today?’
Ram held his breath.
‘Dada?’ asked Bharat.
Ram stiffened. ‘This is treason. I refuse to entertain such thoughts.’
‘Treason? To think about the good of your country?’
‘He is our father! There are duties that we have—’
‘Do you think he’s a good king?’ Bharat interrupted.
‘There’s a law in the Manu Smriti that clearly states a son must—’
‘Don’t tell me what the law says, Dada,’ said Bharat, dismissing with a wave of his hand the laws recorded in the Book of Manu. ‘I have read the Manu Smriti too. I want to know what you think.’
‘I think the law must be obeyed.’
‘Really? Is that all you have to say?’
‘I can add to that.’
‘Please do!’
‘The law must always be obeyed.’
Bharat rolled his eyes in exasperation.
‘I understand that this might not work under a few exceptional circumstances,’ said Ram. ‘But if the law is obeyed diligently, come what may, then over a period of time a better society has to emerge.’
‘Nobody in Ayodhya gives two hoots about the law, Dada! We are a civilisation in an advanced state of decay. We’re the most
hypocritical people on earth. We criticise corruption in others, but are blind to our own dishonesty. We hate others who do wrong and commit crimes, blithely ignoring our own misdeeds, big and small. We vehemently blame Raavan for all our ills, refusing to acknowledge that we created the mess we find ourselves in.’
‘And how will this change?’
‘This attitude is basic human nature. We’d rather look outward and blame others for the ills that befall us than point the finger at ourselves. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. We need a king who can create systems with which one can harness even selfish human nature for the betterment of society.’
‘Nonsense. We need a great leader, one who will lead by example. A leader who will inspire his people to discover their godhood within! We don’t need a leader who will leave his people free to do whatever they desire.’
‘No, Dada. Freedom is an ally, if used with wisdom.’
‘Freedom is never the ally of the law. You can have freedom to choose whether you want to join or leave a society based on the rule of law. But so long as you live in such a society, you must obey the law.’
‘The law is and always will be an ass. It’s a tool, a means to an end,’ said Bharat.
Ram brought the exchange to an end with a convivial laugh. Bharat grinned and patted his brother on his back.
‘So, all these things you say about a great leader being inspirational and enabling the discovery of the God within and other such noble things…’ said Bharat. ‘You think Father lives up to that ideal?’
Ram cast a reproachful look at his brother, refusing to rise to the bait.
Bharat grinned, playfully boxing Ram on his shoulder. ‘Let it be, Dada. Let it be.’
Ram was genuinely conflicted. But, as a dutiful son, he would not allow himself, even in his own mind, to entertain rebellious thoughts against his father.
Lakshman, walking a few steps behind, was engrossed in the frenetic activities of the jungle.
Shatrughan, however, was listening in on the conversation with keen interest. Ram Dada is too idealistic. Bharat Dada is practical and real.
Scion of Ikshvaku Page 7