PRINCE IN EXILE (45 page)

The two strangers were clad in the garb of sudra hunters. Animal pelts were their only clothing, worn diagonally over their shoulders and around their waists. Necklaces of animal teeth – at least Sita hoped they were animal teeth – and assorted small bones hung in layers around their necks. One of them had small, straight bones piercing his nose laterally, and both had several other metal and bone piercings on their ears, brows, arms, navels, and everywhere else visible. Among hunters, the body piercings indicated status. These two were no ordinary men; they were village panchs at the very least, part of the five-person village committee that constituted the basis of Arya rural self-governance. They were strong and well built in appearance, not in the oiled and muscled manner of rakshaks or the austere leanness of trained military men, but rather in the vigorous manner of naturally robust men who worked hard, lived well, and enjoyed their meat and drink as well. They were short by Arya standards, both no more than Sita’s height and perhaps half a foot shorter than Rama and Lakshman. 

They turned as Rama approached, and Sumantra introduced them at once. ‘These are Neelkant and Ninaad, tribe-chiefs of the Vegrath-Nisadas.’ 

The hunters came forward to greet Rama, bowing their heads but not their knees in respect. As freemen, they were not strictly bound by Arya law, and so did not consider Rama or any other Arya royalty as above them. They gripped Rama’s hand first in a double-handed clasp, then embraced him warmly before repeating the welcome with Lakshman. 

‘On behalf of the Nisada free peoples, we welcome you to Sringaverapura,’ said the one named Ninaad. ‘There is no doubt that Chief Guha will be most pleased to offer you the hospitality of his clan-house.’ 

They said nothing about the banishment or Ayodhya, which, Sita thought, was a welcome thing. 

They crossed the river with the Nisadas on fishing boats that smelled richly of fresh and stale catches alike. Halfway across, Sita realised that the ‘stool’ she had been sitting on was a turtle shell, and that the turtle in question was very much alive. Her squawk of alarm when the amphibian moved elicited smiles from the Nisadas. Only Rama and Lakshman remained expressionless, their lack of visible emotion barely concealing the pain she knew they must feel at their father’s passing. 

The Nisadas brought their chariot and horse-team across on pull-rope rafts but without the kind of mishaps Rama and his companions had suffered crossing the Tamasa. Sita was charmed by the way the men and women accompanying the horses seemed to speak gently to the beasts, soothing them expertly. It was only when one of the women made a comment about how just one of the horses would make a grand feast that she remembered that the Nisadas only bred animals for their meat, never as beasts of burden. She wondered if strong-headed Kamabha, set to browsing on the rich green grassy bank, knew that he was being eyed as a possible main course for tonight’s evening meal. She thought not, or the horse would not be munching so calmly. 

It was a long walk through the woods, since Nisada law did not permit wheeled or mounted travellers in their heartland. Along the way, Sita saw several of the forest folk going about their daily work. 

Chief Guha was a large man, not only in girth but in voice and manner as well. He roared with pleasure at the sight of Sumantra, greeting him like a long-lost friend, embracing the poor distraught pradhan-mantri in a bone-crushing grasp. He was disproportionately taller than the rest of his people, towering at least three heads higher than the other Nisada men around him, and a head higher than Sumantra as well. Bearlike in appearance, his chest and limbs matted with a dense profusion of black hair tinged only slightly with strands of white, he resembled the predators his people hunted and for which they were renowned. His jaw was wolf-like, his mane of hair leonine, his eyes glittering like the beady orbs of a cobra, his arms simian like a gorilla’s, and his overall look that of wildness. Sita half expected to find roots sprouting from his feet, snaking into the earth. 

Heads poked out of the huts sprawled about the clearing and nestled among the trees, stretching as far in every direction as Sita could see. There were even dwellings in the trees, round platforms made of wood and bamboo and hemp rope, and people seemed to live or work on these as well. She was taken aback by the sheer profusity of the population; she had always assumed that the Nisadas were little more than a hamlet of a few hundred folk. As Chief Guha performed the arghya ritual for Rama and Lakshman, he himself volunteered the information, proudly, that the Nisadas now numbered over five hundred thousand. 

‘And growing by the hour,’ he said, winking boldly at Rama before breaking out into yet another forest-shaking burst of throaty laughter. 

A great feast was prepared in their honour within the hour, with every conceivable kind of flesh served up on huge wooden platters, steaming and sizzling in fragrant juices. After looking at the long table piled high with the flesh of assorted species, Sita felt she would rather continue to fast than eat any of it. In the end, she followed Rama’s example and took a little of this and that, pretending to eat out of sheer politeness while actually breaking her hunger-fast with simple fruits. Moving the food around on her plate with the cores and remnants of the eaten fruits, she thanked their host for the sumptuous meal. 

After the meal, Guha and the rest of his highest-ranked men and women listened with rapt attention as Sumantra told them of the events preceding their exodus from Ayodhya. When he came to the part where Rama stopped their chariot on the ghats and said that he had sensed Dasaratha’s passing, Guha’s face darkened and he slammed his fist on the rickety wooden table, knocking food and plates off. 

‘Who will light the maharaja’s pyre now?’ he said, shaking his wild mane. ‘His eldest son sits here in Sringaverapura, a long way from Ayodhya. What will happen to the funeral rites of Dasaratha when Rama is no longer there to even put flame to his bier?’ 

Nobody answered him. The Nisada chief raised his hands to the skies. ‘Everyone calls us savages, because we make our living hunting and killing the beasts of the land. Indeed, we are savages, for you cannot catch wild predators by acting in a civilised fashion! But then what does that make the Arya nations? What has our world come to when a father banishes his son to exile at the behest of a jealous wife?’ 

Guha gestured with one large hairy hand, indicating the women and children sitting to one side of the table. ‘I have a hundred wives, or perhaps two hundred, I lose count. Thrice as many children. If I were to listen to every one of my wives who wishes her first-born declared clan chieftain after my passing, I would be banishing one or two sons into exile every day!’ 

He laughed at that, and was echoed by the other Nisadas. He pointed to Rama. 

‘Here is what I have to say on your banishment by Dasaratha, my young prince of Ayodhya. I say that when Kaikeyi told Dasaratha to send you into exile, your father should have slapped her hard and sent both her and her milk-fed son away instead!’ 

This also elicited much laughter, especially from the smaller children, who were gnawing toothlessly on joints that were almost as large as themselves. 

Sita glanced at Rama and saw him sitting rigidly upright, in that expressionless way that made it clear he disapproved of Guha’s words and manner of speech. 

Rama spoke stiffly after the laughter died down. ‘My father is an honourable man. He owed his second wife two boons for having saved his life. When she demanded that he honour his word, he had no choice but to comply.’ 

Guha laughed scornfully. ‘A man always has a choice!’ He winked at Sita openly. ‘Perhaps a woman sometimes does not, but a man, he can always choose. Am I right or am I right, my pretty princess?’ 

There were sniggers and smirks from the men and giggles from the women. Sumantra looked unhappy at the comment, 

while Lakshman actually started to rise to respond to the innuendo that would be considered offensive in civilised Arya society.
But we’re not in civilised Arya society any more
, Sita reminded herself.
We’re amongst the jungle clans now. They are rough people, with rough talk and rougher ways. Chief Guha does not mean to offend, only to provoke an honest response
. 

Sita stopped Lakshman with a hand placed on his arm, and responded undaunted. ‘Perhaps among the forest clans, Chief Guha. But in Ayodhya or Mithila, a woman has every right to say no. Men and women, young and old, all have equal rights under Manu’s Law.’ 

Guha gazed at her keenly, his beady eyes glinting in the firelight. It had grown dark as they feasted, and night had fallen while they talked. ‘All except prince-heirs? Is that what Manu’s Law says? That the eldest son can be deprived of his birthright, or his … what is that word you civilised Aryas use? His dharma! Is that acceptable under Arya law then?’ 

Rama replied quietly. People leaned forward, straining to hear his words, the gathering quietening the instant he spoke. Sita glimpsed mothers hushing their children as they listened intently to Rama. There was more than idle interest in the eyes and body language of the younger, unmarried tribal women, she noted. One particularly attractive specimen, her bare torso bedecked strikingly with bronze and copper body-pierce jewellery, was clearly trying to catch Rama’s eye with her sinuous movements and adoring sighs. But Rama’s eyes were fixed on his host as he spoke. 

‘My father was oathbound to my clan-mother Kaikeyi. She had saved his life on the battlefield a long time ago. He had promised her two boons for her acts, one for each time she had saved his life. When Kaikeyi demanded that he fulfil his oath and grant her those two boons, he was honour-bound to do so. Any honourable man would do the same.’ 

Rama emphasised the word
honourable
in a manner that could only be termed provocative. 

Guha frowned slowly, reading the unmistakable challenge in the words. He glared at Rama from across the table. ‘Are you saying I am not honourable?’ 

‘I do not comment on you or your ways, Chief Guha,’ Rama said quietly. ‘I would be most grateful if you do not comment on mine.’ 

There was silence in the clearing for a moment. Sita could hear the distant chittering of bats high above the trees, and the chirring and clicking of insects around them. 

Guha sat absolutely still. His entire clan seemed to hold their breath as they waited for his response to this acrid comment, easily possible to interpret as an insult, or at the very least a challenge to the chief’s own honour. 

In the deathly silence Sita heard the angry cry of a peacock deep in the forest. It was followed almost immediately by another answering cry, as angry as the first. A mating fight. 

The Nisada chief rose to his feet. His enormous belly struck the edge of the table, setting it to a shudder that almost knocked it over. He stood, towering over his guests, glaring down at Rama. Then, just as Sita was certain that he was about to give the order for them to be trussed and executed summarily, he threw his arms out. 

Rama stared at the chief’s outstretched arms for a moment, uncomprehendingly. Then he rose and came forward in response. Guha embraced Rama in the bear-like manner with which he had greeted Sumantra earlier, clapping him hard on the back. Rama’s slender form seemed to vanish into the hirsute folds of the tribal chieftain’s enormous body. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Guha released Rama. Flashing a wide, toothy grin, he called out to the expectant spectators, still waiting uneasily for some verbal confirmation of the chief’s response. ‘Look well at him, my people. Look long and hard. For here is a son who honours his father even after being cast out of his house. Who among the forest clans … ‘ He stopped and shook his mane. ‘Nay, who among all mankind would turn his back on his inheritance, his regal right, his entire kingdom, just to uphold his father’s honour and his own dharma? No man I know of. Can you name any such man … or woman, for that matter? Even one living soul who would sacrifice so much only for the honour of his parent?’ 

He looked around, waiting for a response. There was none. He nodded, indicating Rama again. 

‘Hence I say, feast your eyes upon a true prince, not only of Ayodhya, but of all mankind. A prince of dharma! And repeat after me, Siyavar Rama Chandra ki jai!’ 

Praised be Rama Chandra, husband of Sita
. 

With one gruff, booming voice, the entire clan leapt to their feet, repeating lustily after their chief, ‘Siyavar Rama Chandra ki jai!’ 

They repeated it thrice, each time louder than before, until Sita’s ears rang with the resounding echoes. Birds, disturbed from their night roosts, flew up in alarm everywhere, roused by the stentorian cries of fifty thousand voices. 

Guha embraced Rama yet again, then he all but shouted above the echoes and cries of complaining birds, ‘Son of my friend, now my friend as well, I am humbled by your loyalty to your father. Accept my apologies if my words have caused any offence. I am a rough-spoken man.’ 

‘No apology is needed, good Guha,’ Rama said, as the echoes died away. ‘Your heart is true. And as soft and tender as your words are rough and coarse.’ 

Guha laughed with delight, clapping Rama hard on the back. ‘My friend. Now I know truly that Dashrath was a wise and great king. I know this because he has fathered a great and wise son!’ 

Rama bowed his head silently, smiling even though Sita knew how painful it must be for him to endure all this needless talk. She wished she could tell Guha to shut up and leave them be. She wanted to be alone with Rama. She needed to lay her hot cheek on his cool shoulder and take comfort in his strength. It was all she could do to keep her senses about her.