‘And he has to honour it. Raghukul reet sadaa chali aayi, praan jaaye par vachan naa jaaye.’
Manthara had recited the motto of the Suryavanshi clan that ruled Ayodhya; or at least, what had been their motto since the days of the great Emperor Raghu. It translated as: The clan of Raghu has always followed a tradition; they would much rather die than dishonour their word.
‘He cannot say no…’ whispered Kaikeyi, a glint in her eye.
Manthara nodded.
‘Ram should be banished for fourteen years,’ said Kaikeyi. ‘I’ll tell him to say publicly that he is doing so to punish him according to the rules of Lord Rudra.’
‘Very wise. That will make the public accept it. Ram is popular with the people now, but nobody will want to break Lord Rudra’s rule.’
‘And he has to declare Bharat the crown prince.’
‘Perfect! Two boons; the solution to all problems.’
‘Yes…’
As she rode over the bridge that spanned the Grand Canal, Sita looked around to check that she was not being followed. She had covered her face and upper body with a long angvastram, as if protecting herself from the cold, late evening breeze.
The road stretched into the distance, heading east towards lands that Kosala controlled directly. A few metres ahead, she looked back again, and steered the reins to the left, off the road. She rode into the jungle and immediately made a clicking sound, making her horse break into a swift gallop. She had to cover an hour’s distance in just half the time.
‘But what will your husband say?’ asked the Naga.
Sita stood in a small clearing in the jungle, her hand on the hilt of her knife, encased within a small scabbard; a precaution against wild animals.
She did not need any protection from the man she had just met, though. He was a Malayaputra, and she trusted him like an elder brother. The Naga had a hard and bony mouth, extending out of his face like a beak. His head was bare but his face was covered with fine downy hair. He looked like a man with the face of a vulture.
‘Jatayuji,’ said Sita, respectfully, ‘my husband is not just unusual, he’s the kind of man who comes along once in a millennium. Sadly, he doesn’t realise how important he is. As far as he is concerned, he simply thinks he’s doing the right thing by asking to be exiled. But in doing so, he is also putting himself in serious danger. The moment we cross the Narmada, I suspect we will face repeated attacks. They will try every trick in the book to kill him off.’
‘You have tied a rakhi on my hand, my sister,’ said Jatayu. ‘Nothing will happen to you or the one you love, for as long as I am alive.’
Sita smiled.
‘But you should tell your husband about me, about what you are asking me to do. I don’t know if he dislikes the Malayaputras. But if he does, it would not be completely unfair. He may harbour some ill-will about what happened at Mithila.’
‘Let me worry about how to handle my husband.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I know him quite well by now. He won’t understand at present that we might need some protection in the forest; maybe later. For now, I just need your soldiers to keep a constant but discreet watch on our positions and prevent any attacks.’
Jatayu thought he heard a sound. He pulled out his knife and stared into the darkness beyond the trees. A few seconds later he relaxed and turned his attention back to Sita.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Sita.
‘Why is your husband insisting on being punished?’ asked Jatayu. ‘It can be argued against. The Asuraastra is not really a weapon of mass destruction. He can get away on a technicality, if he chooses to.’
‘He is insisting on being punished because that is the law.’
‘He can’t be so…’ Jatayu didn’t complete his statement. But it was obvious what he wanted to say.
‘People see my husband as a naive and blind follower of the law. But a day will come when the entire world will see him as one of the greatest leaders ever. It is my duty to protect him and keep him alive till then.’
Jatayu smiled.
Sita was embarrassed by her next request, as it seemed selfish. But she had to be sure. ‘And the…’
‘The Somras will be arranged. I agree that you and your husband will need it, especially if you have to be strong enough to complete your mission when you return fourteen years later.’
‘But won’t you face difficulties in getting the Somras out? What about…’
Jatayu laughed. ‘Let me worry about that.’
Sita had heard all that she needed to. She knew that Jatayu would come through.
‘Goodbye. Go with Lord Parshu Ram, my brother.’
‘Go with Lord Rudra, my sister.’
Jatayu lingered for a bit after Sita mounted her horse and rode away. Once sure that she was gone, he touched the ground she had been standing on, picked up some of the dust that had been touched by her sandals, and then brought it reverentially to his forehead; a mark of respect for a great leader.
‘Chhoti Maa is in the kopa bhavan!’ exclaimed a surprised Ram, referring to his stepmother, Kaikeyi.
‘Yes,’ said Vashishta.
Ram had earlier been informed that his father would announce the ascension of the prince to the throne the next day. He had determined his next course of action. He was planning to abdicate the throne and install Bharat as king instead. He would then leave for the forest. But Ram had misgivings about this plan as it would, in effect, mean publicly dishonouring his father’s wishes.
Therefore, when Vashishta came in and told Ram about his stepmother’s move, his first reaction was not negative.
Kaikeyi had lodged herself in the kopa bhavan, the house of anger. This was an institutionalised chamber created in royal palaces many centuries ago, once polygamy became a common practice among the royalty. Having multiple wives, a king was naturally unable to spend enough time with all of them. A kopa bhavan was the assigned chamber a wife would go to if angry or upset with her husband. This would be a signal for the king that the queen needed redressal for a complaint. It was believed to be inauspicious for a husband to allow his wife to stay overnight in the kopa bhavan.
Dashrath had no choice but to visit his aggrieved spouse.
‘Even if her influence has reduced, if there’s one person who can force my father to change his mind, it would be Chhoti Maa,’ said Ram.
‘It looks like your wish will come true after all.’
‘Yes. And, if ordered so, Sita and I will leave immediately.’
Vashishta frowned. ‘Isn’t Lakshman going with you?’
‘He wants to, but I don’t think that’s necessary. He needs to stay here, with his wife, Urmila. She is delicate. We should not impose a harsh forest-life on her.’
Vashishta nodded in agreement. Then he leaned over and spoke earnestly. ‘I will spend the next fourteen years preparing the ground for you.’
Ram smiled at his guru.
‘Remember your destiny. You will be the next Vishnu, regardless of what anyone else says. You have to rewrite the future of our nation. I will work towards that goal and make sure that we are ready for you when you return. But you have to ensure that you remain alive.’
‘I will certainly try my best.’
FlyLeaf.ORG
Chapter 28
FlyLeaf.ORG
Dashrath stepped out of the palanquin with assistance and hobbled into the kopa bhavan. He seemed to have aged a decade; the stress of the last few days had been immense. He sat on his usual rocking chair and dismissed the attendant with a wave of his hand.
He raised his eyes and observed his wife; Kaikeyi had not acknowledged his entry into the room. She sat on a divan, her hair undone, unkempt. Not a speck of jewellery on her person, her angvastram lay on the ground. She wore a white dhoti and blouse, and sat with an appearance of calm that belied the fury that raged within; he knew her well; he also knew what was going to happen and that he couldn’t say no.
‘Speak,’ said
Dashrath.
Kaikeyi looked at him with sorrow-filled eyes. ‘You may not love me anymore, Dashrath, but I still love you.’
‘Oh, I know you love me. But you love yourself more.’
Kaikeyi stiffened. ‘And are you any different? Are you going to teach me about selflessness? Seriously?’
Dashrath smiled ruefully. ‘Touché.’
Kaikeyi seethed with the anger of a woman scorned.
‘You were always the smartest of all my wives. I enjoyed my verbal battles with you the way I enjoyed duelling with a warrior. I miss those sharp, acerbic words that could even draw blood.’
‘I can bleed you with a sword, too.’
Dashrath laughed. ‘I know.’
Kaikeyi leaned back on the divan, trying to slow down her breathing, trying to control herself. But the hurt still showed through. ‘I dedicated my life to you. I nearly died for you. I disfigured myself in saving your life. I never ever humiliated you in public, unlike your precious Ram.’
‘Ram has never—’
Kaikeyi interrupted Dashrath. ‘He has, now! You know that he will not follow your order tomorrow. He will dishonour you. And Bharat would never—’
It was Dashrath’s turn to interrupt. ‘I am not choosing between Bharat and Ram. You know they have no problems with each other.’
Kaikeyi leaned forward and hissed, ‘This is not about Ram and Bharat. This is about Ram and me. You have to choose between Ram and me. What has he ever done for you? He saved your life once. That’s it. I have saved your life every day, for the last so many years! Do my sacrifices count for nothing?’
Dashrath refused to succumb to her emotional blackmail.
Kaikeyi laughed contemptuously. ‘Of course! When you don’t have any counter argument, all you do is clam up!’
‘I do have an answer, but you will not like it.’
Kaikeyi laughed harshly. ‘All my life, I have tolerated things that I don’t like. I submit to the insults of my father. I tolerate your selfishness. I live with my son’s disdain for me. I can tolerate a few words. Tell me!’
‘Ram offers me immortality.’
Kaikeyi was confused. And it showed on her face. She had always managed to get large quantities of Somras for Dashrath, repeatedly haranguing Raj Guru Vashishta for the legendary drink of the Gods. It dramatically increased the life-spans of those who consumed it. For some reason, it had not worked its wonders on Dashrath.
Dashrath explained. ‘Not immortality for my body. The last few days have made me fully aware of my mortality. I’m talking about immortality for my name. I know that I have wasted my life and my potential. People compare me to my great ancestors and find me wanting. But Ram… He will go down in history as one of the greatest ever. And he will redeem my name. I will be remembered as Ram’s father for all time to come. Ram’s greatness will rub off on me. He has already defeated Raavan!’
Kaikeyi burst out laughing. ‘That was pure luck, you fool. It was sheer chance that Guru Vishwamitra happened to be there with the Asuraastra!’
‘Yes, he got lucky. That means the Gods favour him.’
Kaikeyi cast him a dark look. This was getting nowhere. ‘The hell with this. Let’s get this over with. You know you cannot refuse me.’
Dashrath sat back and smiled sadly. ‘Just when I was beginning to enjoy our conversation…’
‘I want my two boons.’
‘Both of them?’ asked Dashrath, surprised. He had expected only one of them to be called.
‘I want Ram banished from the Sapt Sindhu for fourteen years. You can announce at court that this is because he broke Lord Rudra’s law. You will be praised for it. Even the Vayuputras will applaud you.’
‘Yes, I know how concerned you are about my prestige!’ said Dashrath caustically.
‘You cannot say no!’
Dashrath sighed. ‘And the second?’
‘You will declare Bharat the crown prince tomorrow.’
Dashrath was shocked. This was unexpected. The implication was obvious. He growled softly, ‘If Ram is killed in exile, people will lynch you.’
Kaikeyi was aghast. She shouted, ‘Do you really think I could shed royal blood? The blood of Raghu?’
‘Yes, I think you could. But I know that Bharat won’t. I will warn him about you.’
‘You do what you want. Just honour my two boons.’
Dashrath stared at Kaikeyi with anger. He suddenly looked towards the door. ‘Guards!’
Four guards rushed in with Dashrath’s attendant.
‘Order my palanquin,’ said Dashrath, brusquely.
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ said his attendant, as they all scurried out.
As soon as they were alone, Dashrath said. ‘You can leave the kopa bhavan. You will get your two boons. But I am warning you, if you do anything to Ram, I will…’
‘I will not do anything to your precious Ram!’ screamed Kaikeyi.
The royal court assembled in the massive Great Hall of the Unconquerable in the second hour of the second prahar. Dashrath sat on his throne, visibly tired and unhappy, but dignified. Not one of the queens was present. Vashishta, the raj guru, sat on the throne to the right of the emperor. The court was packed with not just the nobility, but also as many of the common people as could be accommodated in the hall.
Except for a few, most were unaware of what was to transpire that morning. They simply couldn’t understand why Ram should be punished for defeating Raavan. In fact, the crown prince deserved to be commended for restoring Ayodhya’s glory and washing away the taint on his birth.
‘Silence!’ announced the court crier.
Dashrath sat with heartbreaking majesty upon the throne, as if seeking honour from his son. Ram stood in the middle of the great hall, directly in his line of sight. The emperor coughed softly as his eyes fell on the lion-shaped armrest. He tightened his hold around it as he felt an overpowering temptation to change his mind. Realising the futility of the sentiment, he closed his eyes in resignation.
How do you save someone who thinks that doing so is an act of dishonour?
Dashrath looked straight into the eyes of his insanely virtuous son. ‘The law of Lord Rudra has been broken. Some good did come of it, for Raavan’s bodyguard corps was destroyed. By all accounts, he is licking his wounds in Lanka!’
The audience broke into a loud cheer. Everybody hated Raavan; almost everybody.
‘Mithila, the kingdom of our Princess Sita, the wife of my beloved son Ram, was saved from annihilation.’
The crowd cheered once again, but it was more muted this time. Very few knew Sita, and most did not understand why their crown prince had forged an alliance with a deeply spiritual but powerless kingdom.
Dashrath’s voice shook as he continued. ‘But the law has been broken. And Lord Rudra’s word has to be honoured. His tribe, the Vayuputras, have not yet asked for Ram to be punished. But that will not stop the Raghuvanshis from doing the right thing.’
A hushed silence descended on the hall. The people felt a dread as they steeled themselves to hear what they now feared their king would say to them.
‘Ram has accepted the punishment that must be his. He will leave Ayodhya, for I banish him from the Sapt Sindhu for fourteen years. He will return to us after cleansing himself with the fire of penance. He is a true follower of Lord Rudra. Honour him!’
A loud cry rent the air: of dismay from the commoners and shock from the nobility.
Dashrath raised his hands and the crowds fell silent. ‘My other beloved son, Bharat, will now be the crown prince of Ayodhya, the kingdom of Kosala and the Sapt Sindhu Empire.’
Silence. The mood in the hall had turned sombre.
Ram held his hands together in a formal namaste as he spoke in a loud and clear voice. ‘Father, even the Gods in the sky marvel at your wisdom and justice today!’
Many among the common folk were openly crying now.
‘The golden spirit of the greatest Suryavanshi, Ikshvaku himself, lives strong
in you, my father!’ said Ram loudly. ‘Sita and I will leave Ayodhya within a day.’
In the far corner of the hall, standing unobtrusively behind a pillar, was a tall, unusually fair-skinned man. He wore a white dhoti and angvastram; he seemed visibly uncomfortable in the dhoti, though — perhaps it wasn’t his normal attire. His most distinguishing features were his hooked nose, beaded full beard, and drooping moustache. His wizened face creased into a smile as he heard Ram’s words.
Guru Vashishta has chosen well.
‘I must say that I am surprised by the emperor,’ said the fair-skinned man with the hooked nose, adjusting his uncomfortable dhoti.
He sat with Vashishta in the raj guru’s private chamber.
‘Do not forget where the real credit lies,’ said Vashishta.
‘I think that’s obvious. I must say you have chosen well.’
‘And will you play your role?’
The fair-skinned man sighed. ‘You know we cannot get involved too deeply, Guruji. It is not our decision to make.’
‘But…’
‘But we will do all that we can. That is our promise. And you know that we don’t break our promises.’
Vashishta nodded. ‘Thank you, my friend. That is all I ask. Glory to Lord Rudra.’
‘Glory to Lord Parshu Ram.’
Bharat walked into Ram and Sita’s sitting room even as he was being announced. They had already changed into the garb of hermits, made from rough cotton and bark. It made Bharat wince.
‘We have to dress the way forest people do, Bharat,’ said Sita.
Tears sprang into his eyes. He looked at Ram as he shook his head. ‘Dada, I don’t know whether to applaud you or try and knock some sense into you.’
‘You needn’t do either,’ said Ram, smiling. ‘Just embrace me and wish me goodbye.’