‘Didi,’ said Kaikeyi, folding her hands together in a namaste. ‘What a pleasure to see you twice in the same day.’
‘The pleasure is all mine, Kaikeyi,’ replied Kaushalya. ‘You mentioned that His Majesty is going on a hunt. I thought I should perform the proper ceremony.’
The ritual of the chief wife of a warrior ceremonially handing the sword to her departing husband had come down through the ancient times.
‘Things have not gone too well whenever I have not presented His Majesty with the sword,’ said Kaushalya.
Dashrath’s vacant expression changed suddenly. He frowned, as if he was struck by the enormity of the not-so-subtle implication. Kaushalya had not handed him the sword when he had set out for Karachapa, and that had been his first defeat. He slowly took a step towards his first wife.
Kaushalya took the small puja thali from her attendant and looped it in small circles around Dashrath’s face seven times. Then she took a pinch of vermillion from the plate and smeared it across Dashrath’s forehead in a vertical tilak. ‘Come back victorious…’
Kaikeyi sniggered, interrupting the ceremony. ‘He’s not going to war, Didi.’
Dashrath ignored Kaikeyi. ‘Complete the line, Kaushalya.’
Kaushalya swallowed nervously, half convinced now that this was a big mistake; that she should not have listened to Sumitra. But she completed the ritual statement. ‘Come back victorious, or do not come back at all.’
Kaushalya thought she detected a flicker of fire in her husband’s eyes, reminiscent of the young Dashrath, who lived for thrill and glory. ‘Where’s my sword?’ Dashrath demanded, as he extended his arms solemnly.
Kaushalya immediately turned and handed the puja thali back to her attendant. She then picked up the sword with both her hands, faced her husband, bowed ceremonially and handed him the sword. Dashrath held it firmly, as if drawing energy from it.
Kaikeyi looked at Dashrath and then at Kaushalya as she narrowed her eyes, deep in thought.
This must be Sumitra’s doing. Kaushalya couldn’t have planned this by herself. Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in asking Ram to accompany Dashrath.
Royal hunts were grand affairs that lasted many weeks. A large entourage accompanied the emperor on the expedition, moving the headquarters of the court to a hunting lodge built deep in the great forest to the far north of Ayodhya.
Action commenced on the day after their arrival. The technique involved numerous soldiers spreading out in a giant circle, circumscribing almost fifty kilometres sometimes. They beat loud drums ceaselessly as they slowly moved to the centre, steadily drawing the animals into an increasingly restricted area, at times a watering hole. The animals would then be attacked in the kill-zone, where the emperor and his hunting party would indulge in this royal sport.
Dashrath stood on a howdah atop the royal elephant. Ram and Lakshman were seated behind him. The emperor thought he heard the soft chuff of an unsuspecting tiger; he ordered the mahout to charge forward. Within no time, Dashrath’s elephant had separated from the rest of the hunting party. He was alone with his sons.
They were surrounded on all sides by dense vegetation. Many trees were so tall that they towered over the elephant, blocking out much of the sunlight. It was almost impossible to see beyond the first few lines of trees into the impenetrable darkness.
Lakshman leaned in and whispered to Ram, ‘Dada, I don’t think there is any tiger here.’
Ram gestured for Lakshman to remain quiet as he observed his father, standing in front. Dashrath was barely able to contain his enthusiasm. His body weight was on his strong left foot. His inert right foot was stabilised with an innovative mechanism built into the howdah platform: a swivelling circular base with a sturdy column fixed in the centre. Boot straps attached to the base secured his foot as it leaned on the column, the leather support extending all the way to his knee. The circular base allowed him swift movement for shooting his arrows in all directions. Nevertheless, his back showed signs of visible strain as he held the bow aloft with the arrow nocked on the bowstring.
Ram would have preferred it if his father did not exert his weakened body so. But he also admired the spirit that drove him to push his corporeal frame beyond its natural limits.
‘There’s nothing there, I tell you,’ whispered Lakshman.
‘Shh,’ said Ram.
Lakshman fell silent. Suddenly, Dashrath flexed his right shoulder and pulled the bowstring back. Ram winced as he watched the technique. Dashrath’s elbow was not in line with the arrow, which would put greater pressure on his shoulder and triceps. Sweat beads formed on the emperor’s forehead, but he held position. A moment later he released the arrow, and a loud roar confirmed that it had found its mark. Ram revelled in the spirit of the all-conquering hero that his father had once been.
Dashrath swivelled awkwardly on the howdah and looked at Lakshman with a sneer. ‘Don’t underestimate me, young man.’
Lakshman immediately bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to…’
‘Order some soldiers to fetch the carcass of that tiger. They will find it with an arrow pierced through its eye and buried in its brain.’
‘Yes, Father, I’ll—’
‘Father!’ screamed Ram as he lunged forward, drawing a knife quickly from the scabbard tied around his waist.
There was a loud rustle of leaves as a leopard emerged on a branch overhanging the howdah. The sly beast had planned its attack meticulously. Dashrath was distracted as the leopard leapt from the branch. Ram’s timing, however, was perfect. He jumped up and plunged his knife into the airborne animal’s chest. But the suddenness of the charge made Ram miss his mark. The knife didn’t find the leopard’s heart. The beast was injured, but not dead. It roared in fury and slashed with its claws. Ram wrestled with the leopard as he tried to pull the knife out so he could take another stab; but it was stuck. The animal pulled back and sank his teeth into the prince’s left triceps. Ram yelled in pain as he attempted to push the animal out of the howdah. The leopard pulled back its head, ripping out flesh and drawing large spurts of blood. It instinctively struggled to move to Ram’s neck, to asphyxiate the prince. Ram pulled back his right fist and hit the leopard hard across its head.
Lakshman, in the meantime, was desperately trying to reach Ram even as Dashrath blocked his way, tied as he was to the stationary column. Lakshman jumped high, caught an overhanging branch and swung out of the howdah in an arc. He propelled himself forward and landed in front of the howdah, right behind the leopard. He drew his knife as the leopard pulled back again to bite into Ram. Lakshman thrust brutally and, by good fortune, the blade sank into the leopard’s eye. The animal howled in pain as a shower of blood sprang out of its shattered eye-socket. Lakshman strained his mighty shoulder and jammed hard, pushing the knife deep into the animal’s brain. The beast struggled for a brief moment and then fell, lifeless.
Lakshman picked up the leopard’s body with his bare hands, and threw it to the ground. Ram had collapsed in a pool of blood.
‘Ram!’ screamed Dashrath, twisting desperately as his right leg remained fixed to the column.
Lakshman turned to the mahout. ‘Back to the camp!’
The mahout sat paralysed, shaken by the sudden turn of events. Dashrath bellowed his imperial command. ‘Back to the camp! Now!’
Torches were lit across a hunting camp seized with frenetic activity late into the night. The injured prince of Ayodhya lay in the massive and luxurious tent of the emperor. He should have been in the medical tent, but Dashrath had insisted that his son be tended to in the comfort of the emperor’s living quarters. Ram’s pallid body was covered in bandages, weak from tremendous loss of blood.
‘Prince Ram,’ whispered the doctor as he touched the prince gently.
‘Do you have to wake him up?’ demanded Dashrath, sitting on a comfortable chair placed to the left of the bed.
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said the doctor. ‘He must take this medicine
now.’
As the doctor repeated Ram’s name, the prince opened his eyes, blinking slowly to adjust to the light. He saw the doctor holding the bowl of medicine. He opened his mouth and swallowed the paste, wincing at the bitter taste. The doctor turned, bowed towards the emperor and left the room. Ram was about to slip back into sleep when he noticed the ceremonial gold umbrella on top of the bed. At its centre was a massive sun in intricate embroidery, with rays streaming boldly out in all directions; the Suryavanshi symbol. Ram’s eyes flew open as he struggled to get up. He wasn’t supposed to be sleeping on the emperor’s bed.
‘Lie down,’ commanded Dashrath, raising his hand.
Lakshman rushed over to the bed and gently tried to calm his brother down.
‘In the name of Lord Surya, lie down, Ram!’ said Dashrath.
Ram fell back on the bed as he looked towards Dashrath. ‘Father, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be on your—’
Dashrath cut him off mid-sentence with a wave of his hand. Ram couldn’t help but notice a subtle change in his father’s appearance. A spark in the eyes, steel in the voice, and an alertness that brought back stories his mother would constantly repeat, about the kind of man Dashrath had once been. Here sat a powerful man who wouldn’t take kindly to his orders being disregarded. Ram had never seen him like this.
Dashrath turned to his attendants. ‘Leave us.’
Lakshman rose to join the attendants.
‘Not you, Lakshman,’ said Dashrath.
Lakshman stopped in his tracks and waited for further orders. Dashrath stared at the tiger and leopard skins spread out in the corner of the tent; trophies of the animals he and his sons had hunted.
‘Why?’ asked Dashrath.
‘Father?’ asked Ram, confused.
‘Why did you risk your life for me?’
Ram did not utter a word.
Dashrath continued, ‘I blamed you for my defeat. My entire kingdom blamed you; cursed you. You’ve suffered all your life, and yet you never rebelled. I thought it was because you were weak. But weak people celebrate when twists of fate hurt their tormentors. And yet, you risked your life trying to protect me. Why?’
Ram answered with one simple statement. ‘Because that is my dharma, Father.’
Dashrath looked quizzically at Ram. This was the first real conversation he was having with his eldest son. ‘Is that the only reason?’
‘What other reason can there be?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dashrath, snorting with disbelief. ‘How about angling for the position of crown prince?’
Ram couldn’t help smiling at the irony. ‘The nobility will never accept me, Father, even if I’m able to convince you. It is not in my scheme of things. What I did today, is what I must always do: be true to my dharma. Nothing is more important than dharma.’
‘So, you don’t believe that you are to blame for my defeat at the hands of Raavan, is it?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think, Father.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
Ram remained silent.
Dashrath leaned forward. ‘Answer me, prince.’
‘I don’t understand how the universe keeps track of our karma across many births, Father. I know I could not have done anything in this birth to make you lose the battle. Maybe it was something to do with my previous birth?’
Dashrath laughed softly, amazed at his son’s equanimity.
‘Do you know whom I blame?’ asked Dashrath. ‘If I were truly honest, if I had had the courage to look deep into my heart, the answer would have been obvious. It was my fault; only my fault. I was reckless and foolhardy. I attacked without a plan, driven only by anger. I paid the price, didn’t I? My first defeat ever… And, my last battle, forever.’
‘Father, there are many—’
‘Do not interrupt me, Ram. I’m not finished.’ Ram fell silent and Dashrath continued. ‘It was my fault. And I blamed the infant that you were. It was so easy. I just had to say it, and everyone agreed with me. I made your life hell from the day you were born. You should hate me. You should hate Ayodhya.’
‘I don’t hate anyone, Father.’
Dashrath stared hard at his son. After what seemed like eternity, his face broke into a peculiar smile. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve suppressed your true feelings completely or you genuinely don’t care about the ignominy that people have heaped on you. Whatever be the truth, you have held strong. The entire universe conspired to break you, and here you are, still unbowed. What metal have you been forged in, my son?’
Ram’s eyes moistened as emotion welled within him. He could handle disdain and apathy from his father; he was used to it. Respect was difficult to deal with. ‘I was forged from your metal, my father.’
Dashrath laughed softly. He was discovering his son.
‘What are your differences with Mrigasya?’ asked Dashrath.
Ram was surprised to discover that his father kept track of court matters. ‘None at all, Father.’
‘Then why did you penalise one of his men?’
‘He broke the law.’
‘Don’t you know how powerful Mrigasya is? Aren’t you afraid of him?’
‘Nobody is above the law, Father. None can be more powerful than dharma.’
Dashrath laughed. ‘Not even me?’
‘A great emperor said something beautiful once: Dharma is above all, even the king. Dharma is above the Gods themselves.’
Dashrath frowned. ‘Who said this?’
‘You did, Father, when you took your oath at your coronation, decades ago. I was told that you had paraphrased our great ancestor Lord Ikshvaku himself.’
Dashrath stared at Ram as he jogged his memory to remember the powerful man he had once been.
‘Go to sleep, my son,’ said Dashrath. ‘You need the rest.’
FlyLeaf.ORG
Chapter 12
FlyLeaf.ORG
Ram was awakened by the doctor at the beginning of the second prahar for his next dose of medicine. As he looked around the room, his eyes fell on a visibly delighted Lakshman, standing by his bedside bedecked in a formal dhoti and angvastram. The saffron angvastram had a Suryavanshi sun emblazoned across its length.
‘Son?’
Ram turned his head to the left and saw his father attired in regal finery. The emperor sat on his travel-throne; the Suryavanshi crown was placed on his head.
‘Father,’ said Ram. ‘Good morning.’
Dashrath nodded crisply. ‘It will be a fine morning, no doubt.’
The emperor turned towards the entrance of his tent. ‘Is anyone there?’
A guard pulled the curtain aside and rushed in, saluting rapidly.
‘Let the nobles in.’
The guard saluted once again and retraced his steps. Within minutes, the nobles entered the tent in single file. They gathered in a semicircle around the emperor, waiting with a solemn air of ceremony.
‘Let me see my son,’ said Dashrath.
The nobles parted immediately, surprised at the voice of authority emerging from their emperor.
Dashrath looked directly at Ram. ‘Rise.’
Lakshman rushed over to help Ram, but Dashrath raised his hand firmly to stop him from doing so. The assemblage stood rooted as it watched a severely weakened Ram struggle to raise himself, stand on his feet and hobble towards his father. He saluted slowly once he reached the emperor.
Dashrath locked eyes with his son, inhaled deeply and spoke clearly, ‘Kneel.’
Ram was unable to move, overwhelmed by a sense of shocked disbelief. Tears welled up in his eyes, despite his willing them not to do so.
Dashrath’s voice softened slightly. ‘Kneel, my son.’
Ram struggled with emotions as he sought the support of a table close at hand. Laboriously, he went down on one knee, bowed his head and awaited the call of destiny.
Dashrath spoke evenly, his voice reverberating even outside the royal tent. ‘Rise, Ram Chandra, protector of the Raghu c
lan.’
A collective gasp resounded through the tent.
Dashrath raised his head and the courtiers fell into a taut silence.
Ram still had his head bowed, lest his enemies see the tears in his eyes. He stared at the floor till he regained absolute control. Then he looked up at his father and spoke in a calm voice. ‘May all the Gods of our great land continue to protect you, my father.’
Dashrath’s eyes seemed to penetrate the soul of his eldest son. A hint of a smile appeared on his face as he looked towards his nobles. ‘Leave us.’
General Mrigasya attempted to say something. ‘Your Majesty, but—’
Dashrath interrupted him with a glare. ‘What part of “leave us” did you not understand, Mrigasya?’
‘My apologies, Your Majesty,’ said Mrigasya, as he saluted and led the nobles out.
Dashrath, Ram and Lakshman were soon alone in the tent. Dashrath leaned heavily to his left as he made an effort to get up, resisting Lakshman’s offer of help with a brusque grunt. Once on his feet, he beckoned Lakshman, placed his hand on his son’s massive shoulders and hobbled over to Ram. Ram, too, had risen slowly to his feet and stood erect. His face was inscrutable, his eyes awash with emotion, though coupled with surprising tranquillity.
Dashrath placed his hands on Ram’s shoulders. ‘Become the man that I could have become; the man that I did not become.’
Ram whispered softly, his vision clouded, ‘Father…’
‘Make me proud,’ said Dashrath, with tears finally welling up in his eyes.
‘Father…’
‘Make me proud, my son.’
All doubts about the tectonic shifts that had taken place in the royal family were laid to rest when Dashrath moved out of Kaikeyi’s wing of the Ayodhya palace. He had been unable to convincingly answer Kaikeyi’s repeated and forceful questions as to why he had suddenly made Ram the crown prince. Dashrath moved in, along with his personal staff, to Kaushalya’s wing. The bewildered chief queen of Ayodhya had suddenly regained her status. But the timid Kaushalya was careful with her newfound elevation. No changes were attempted, though it was difficult to say whether this was because of her diffidence or fear that the good fortune might not last.
Scion of Ikshvaku Page 12