PRINCE IN EXILE (114 page)

‘This is the base of Mount Rishimukha,’ Rama replied, his eyes still gazing across the valley. ‘We are at the threshold of King Sugreeva’s domicile in exile. We await his permission to proceed further.’ 

Lakshman was about to respond to that, but thought better of it. He bent to pluck the arrow out of the ground. It was firmly embedded in the dense earth and he had to crouch and bend it this way, then that, trying to work it out. He applied more pressure than he intended and it snapped off sharply. He flung the broken shaft aside in disgust. They were short enough on missiles without his wasting a perfectly good one. He used his hands to dig out the arrowhead, cleaned the mud off, and was reaching up to put it into his quiver when he saw the creature standing before them. His hand flashed to his bow at once, even as his lips formed his brother’s name. 

Rama’s hand on his shoulder stopped him short. ‘Easy, Lakshman. He is a friend.’ 

‘Greetings, Princes of Ayodhya,’ said the burly, fur-covered creature. ‘Welcome to Mount Rishimukha.’ 

And then, to Lakshman’s astonishment, he stooped and prostrated himself before Rama’s feet, kissing them profusely. 

‘Well met, Hanuman.’ Rama’s voice was kinder than Lakshman had heard in days. A faint twinge tweaked Lakshman’s heart—not jealousy, for how could he be jealous of a being he did not know at all?—but of sadness, for want of a better word, sadness that Rama had changed so much in so short a time that even a few kind words from his lips should now seem as welcome as rain in a parched desert. ‘Meet my brother, Lakshman. Lakshman, this is the good man I spoke to you of, Anjaneya Maruti Whiteleaf, though he goes by the name of Hanuman by choice.’ 

Man
? Lakshman did a namaskar, feeling indescribably odd doing so. ‘Well met, Hanumanji.’ The
ji
slipped out through sheer habit. 

Without warning, Hanuman touched and kissed Lakshman’s feet as well. ‘It is my grace to have met you, great Lakshman. I have watched you battle the demon hordes for so long that I feel I know you well already. I am blessed to receive two such great yoddhas on the same day.’ 

‘Um, yes, we are too,’ Lakshman said self-consciously.
Watched you battle
…
for so long
? How long had this vanar been spying on them? Months? Seasons? Years? Lakshman prayed that Rama was not making a grave mistake by bringing them here. 

He glanced at his brother. He was surprised to see Rama’s eyes watching him. They showed complete understanding of everything Lakshman was thinking and feeling. He started to look away, awkward at having doubted his own brother, but Rama’s eyes softened and he nodded once very slightly. That little gesture was greatly reassuring and comforting: it showed him that Rama was still conscious of his feelings and cared enough to allay his misgivings. At that, Lakshman’s doubts melted away and he resolved to suspend all his suspicions and doubts for the present time. After all, he agreed wholeheartedly with Rama on one account: they needed help. And if this being, this vanar that Rama honoured by calling a
man
, could somehow help them recover Sita from the clutches of Ravana, then Lakshman was willing to trust him as well. For the time being. 

TWO 

At the first sight of King Sugreeva, Rama was sorely reminded of his father. Not in features or aspect. Sugreeva was a vanar and his furry pelt, long limbs, stooped back, and his tail left no doubt about that. But there was a sense of gravitas about him that was distinctly regal. An aspect that Rama had seen on the faces of many kings, both in person as well as in the larger than life portraits on the walls of Suryavansha Hall. A look about the eyes that suggested that they had witnessed more things than any one person ought to see in a single lifetime. A sombreness in the lines of the face that suggested much deep thinking and difficult decision-making. And overlaying it all, a particular look that developed over time and linked all those disparate kings across the ages—and in this case, across species as well. 

What was that line his mother had once quoted to him, written by her favourite poet? ‘
I have seen the souls of men grow older than their faces
.’ No, it was not his mother who had said that line, he recalled now as he greeted Sugreeva with all the usual formalities, it was Guru Vashishta. Over eight hundred years spent serving dozens of generations of Ayodhyan maharajas, the sage had certainly seen every facet of kingship displayed on that great royal dais. Looking at Sugreeva, Rama felt he might as well be looking at his own father’s visage, aged beyond his years by the weight of his responsibilities and decisions. 

The vanars completed the ritual formalities, which were not very different from those of mortals, except for a little business involving raising one’s tail. As fellow princes, Rama and Lakshman would not have been expected to bow or prostrate themselves before a king—unless they desired to do so for some specific reason—and it was not required of them here as well, it seemed. If anything, he got the impression that the vanars deferred to Lakshman and him rather than the other way round. 

He glanced around at the assembly that surrounded them, in the shade of a massive peepal tree. There were perhaps twenty-five vanars around them in a rough semicircle, with Sugreeva at the head, his back to the tree trunk, Rama and Lakshman directly before him, and Hanuman standing to one side. There was utter silence on the mountaintop, something Rama would not have believed possible under the circumstances. By his very rough estimate, there were some thousands of vanars watching them from every tree branch and rock in view. Yet such was their respect for their king, that not one of those watching made a single sound. Not so much as a dry leaf accidentally rustled. 

Coming up the mountainside, led by Hanuman, who had escorted them with such great pride that Rama suspected had he had the necessary resources at his disposal, Hanuman would have provided a full welcoming parade, complete with trumpeteers and acrobats, Rama and Lakshman had been amazed at the sheer prolificity of the vanars. The very excitement rippling through the hordes of goggle-eyed vanars that had watched them from every treetop the entire way, several leaping from tree to tree to follow their progress up the mountain, had been welcome enough. Their open-hearted inquisitiveness, devoid of any suspicion or hostility, was also unusual. It was, he mused, not unlike entering a realm occupied by only children, wide-eyed, innocent of fear or malice. Even amongst the high-ranking vanars ranged around the king Sugreeva now, he could see that curiosity far outweighed their futile attempts to present the dignified detachment that was becoming under the circumstances. Several of the king’s companions were gazing at him and Lakshman with frank interest. Something about their aspect and the intensity of their faces suggested to Rama that they were all military commanders, generals with a lifetime of training and self-discipline, rather than the ministers and nobles one usually found collected around a liege. Were they having a war council, he wondered. It would seem so. 

Only one vanar he could not easily place. He was much too young to be a commander or general, quite clearly the youngest of the whole group. A vanar with striking features and a strong body, he was staring straight at Rama with an aspect that bordered on sullen insolence. Rama met his eyes calmly, allowing himself the smallest nod of greeting. The vanar blinked, as if disarmed by Rama’s eye contact, glanced down briefly, then looked up again, hesitantly, his sullen expression a little less defiant. A prince then, Rama guessed. Not an altogether bad one, just a tad distrustful. Then again, which prince wouldn’t be distrustful after being exiled by his own uncle. Rama felt certain that this was Prince Angad, son of Sugreeva, whom Hanuman had mentioned at their first encounter. 

King Sugreeva finished conferring with the three or four older vanars who had been whispering into his ears. He raised a gold-ringed paw, commanding silence. One of the elders tried to add something, but was cut off by another warning gesture. 

The vanar king rose to his feet, and with him, the twenty-odd seated vanars also assumed their feet. With a visible effort, the king straightened his back slowly, with a stiff, unnatural grimace that betrayed the effort required to achieve the upright posture. The other vanars followed their liege’s example, the older ones going through visible pain to straighten their naturally curved spines. Rama understood at once that this was the vanar way of showing respect to an honoured guest: the equivalent of a human bow. 

The straightest of them all, he noted, was Hanuman, standing to Rama’s right. Their vanar friend held his back ramrod straight, with no sign of strain. Even as King Sugreeva relaxed his posture and the other vanars followed suit with visible relief, Hanuman retained his upright posture. Rama caught a glimpse of the young intense-looking vanar shooting a sharp glance at Hanuman, as if resenting the way he was showing off by maintaining his man-like posture for so long. Hanuman seemed not to notice; he remained frozen in his attitude of upright supplication as if lost in the moment. 

Into the ensuing silence, the vanar king spoke slowly, in a measured neutral voice that betrayed no emotion. 

‘Welcome to Kiskindha, Kausalya-putra Rama Chandra and Sumitra-putra Lakshmana. Your arrival here is unexpected yet not unwelcome. I regret that I cannot offer you the hospitality of my palace in Pampakshetra or even so much as a roof over your heads, but my circumstances are reduced from their former luxury to this present state of privation. Yet, whatever few comforts we possess are yours for the having, for the duration of your stay here. Our only request, humbly made in your own best interests, is that you partake of your refreshment and rest and continue your passage at the earliest. For the time you have chosen to take passage through Kiskindha is not the best suited for travels through our kingdom. As a friend and well-wisher, I would strongly advise you to turn back at once and return beyond the redmist ranges, to the aranya from whence you came. In a few days, this kingdom will be racked by a terrible civil war. I would not wish that you get caught up in this conflict.’ 

Rama replied politely, more warmly than Sugreeva. ‘Thank you for your kind invitation, my lord. My brother and I are not unfamiliar with matters of war and strife.’ He indicated Hanuman. ‘Perhaps our mutual friend, young Anjaneya here, has given you some account of our experiences in the aranya called Dandaka.’ 

At this, the young intense vanar beside Sugreeva glanced sharply at Rama, then at Hanuman. He took a step to his right and spoke briefly into the king’s ear. Sugreeva nodded. 

‘Indeed, Prince Rama, young Hanuman here has brought us word of your exploits from time to time. He has told us all about your troubles with the rakshasas. He has given us elaborate, stirring accounts of your wars and battles, and your great valour in every one of those encounters. He has also told us something of your personal history, which he gathered, I assume, from eavesdropping on conversations amongst your people. You will, I am sure, forgive him for surreptitiously trespassing upon your privacy thus. He is a scout and as such, it is his duty to keep us informed of all martial activities in this part of the world.’ 

At the mention of his name, first by the honoured guest then by his king, Hanuman’s posture seemed to grow even straighter, if such a thing was possible. The pinkish twinges of a blush began spreading from his protruding mouth down to his neck and the top of his bare chest. 

‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Rama said. ‘Our spasas do far more to gather intelligence. They mingle with foreign peoples and even impersonate them, thereby gaining their trust and learning far more than they could by simply eavesdropping. It is considered acceptable in the interests of maintaining peace.’ 

Sugreeva raised an eyebrow. ‘An interesting concept. Spasas, you say? I have not come across the word before.’ 

‘
Spies
,’ said the young vanar whom Rama was certain was Prince Angad. He spat out the diminutive as if it wasn’t fit to be held in his mouth an instant longer. ‘Infiltrators who will stoop at nothing to get information.’ He addressed the king but his words were directed at Rama, his tone containing an oblique challenge. ‘I have heard they even commit adultery and murder to conceal their false identities.’ 

The look of aggrievement on Sugreeva’s face was also achingly familiar. Rama recognised it at once as the face of a royal father confronted by his overly aggressive son. ‘The ways of mortals are not our ways, Angad. It is not meet for either of our species to judge one another based on our individual codes of dharma. Besides,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘the mortals have been pressed into waging long and terrible conflicts with the asura races. Such prolonged hostilities can give rise to actions that may seem immoral to an outsider. War compels people to do strange things, not all good.’ 

He glanced around at his council as if sending them a silent message. From the way several of them looked down or away, it was evident that their opinion and their king’s differed on the subject of war. Rama took that as his cue. 

‘King Sugreeva speaks wisely,’ Rama said, addressing all at large. He heard a strange rustling sound, not unlike a wind passing through dry trees in summer, even though there was no wind right now. He knew what it meant. Their words were being conveyed across the mountainside by a chain of whispers, as would be done in any Arya sabha hall during a public conference. ‘My father always said that war was the last resort of desperate minds, and the first refuge of foolish ones.’