Prince of Dharma (29 page)

‘And so the war resumed, fiercer than ever.’ Vishwamitra gave Rama the benefit of a smile. ‘Still, it is good to find a Kshatriya prince who speaks of peace, young Rama Chandra. If only there was a way to end this war without violence.’ He sighed. ‘Sadly, there isn’t.’ 

Rama noticed that his father was favouring one leg slightly; Dasaratha had an old war injury on his left thigh that troubled him in times of illness and weakness. He looked at Guru Vashishta to see if he had noticed. Vashishta looked sorrowful and compassionate. His father’s condition was worsening but nothing could be done about it. 

Vishwamitra went on: ‘Ever since I entered Ayodhya, I have sensed spirals and wisps of kala jaadu in the ether. It saddens me to see the presence of evil in the heart of such a noble city.’ 

‘Brahmarishi Vishwamitra,’ Bharat said respectfully, his taut expression betraying his inability to control his anger any longer, ‘respected father, great Guru Vashishta, we must root out this evil at once. Let me lead the hunt for these treacherous rats. I will wash the gutters of the city with their black blood and cleanse our great capital of this evil intrusion.’ 

Guru Vashishta raised his palm. ‘Shantam, my prince. Control your emotions. Angry haste is not the way to deal with this problem.’ He gestured fluidly at Vishwamitra. ‘Our illustrious visitor has interrupted his two-hundred-and-forty-year penance for the precise purpose of aiding us in this new war.’ 

Rama happened to be looking in his father’s direction when the guru said the word ‘war’. He saw Dasaratha blanch visibly. Rama’s heart went out to his father. Maharaja Dasaratha had never recovered wholly from that final campaign. His most fervent prayer had always been that his sons would never have to experience similar horrors. 

‘I wish it were not so,’ Rama said, speaking for his father. ‘Better that this conflict had never begun.’ 

Vishwamitra looked at Rama. Their eyes met for a moment, and Rama could feel that it was the great seer-mage who had been scrutinising him moments ago, using his supernatural power of secret observation. 

‘Well spoken once again, young prince. Nevertheless, this conflict was begun, though not by your hand or ours. All that is within our power is the chance to end it.’ 

‘End it?’ Dasaratha said suddenly. ‘Impossible! Even the gods could not end the asura wars. And not for want of trying. You have just said so yourself, great one. How can we mere mortals do what the gods cannot?’ 

‘Nevertheless, Dasaratha, we cannot stop trying. Even the impossible must be attempted, if only in the hope of eventual success.’ He chanted a Sanskrit sloka: ‘Karmanye swahikaaraste mahaphaleshua.’
Perform your dharmic duty and do not think of the fruits of your labour. 

Bharat spoke up again, his anger still evident. 

‘Then as Kshatriyas and defenders of the Arya peoples, we must act. That is our dharmic duty, is it not, mahadev?’ He seemed to regard the question as rhetorical because he went on without waiting for a response. ‘Besides, we have no choice in the matter. The asuras made the first move. They violated the truce and infiltrated our city. We can’t just stand by and wait for them to invade and destroy our kingdom. We must go to war now.’ 

‘NO!’ 

Dasaratha’s voice was cracked and hoarse, but there was power in it. Power which surely cost him much vital energy. Rama’s earlier anger at his father’s past mistakes had given way to a deep concern. He worried now about the toll this debate was taking on Dasaratha’s dangerously weakened constitution. 

‘There will be no talk of war in my lifetime.’ The maharaja’s hand shook as he raised it to point at Kaikeyi’s son. ‘Bharat, my son, you know the price we paid—nay, are still paying—for the Last War. I swore a vow then that that was the last time we would pitch our war tents and go to battle against the asuras. If you honour me, then respect and uphold that vow.’ 

‘But Father, these demons—’ 

‘These demons are demons. They will act as demons. We can still act as humans.’ 

‘But these intrusions. The rakshas who infiltrated the city—’ 

Dasaratha rose to his feet, face red with anger. ‘Enough! No more argument from you. There will be no talk of war here today or any day from this day onwards.’ 

Bharat fell sullenly silent. Shatrugan and Lakshman kept their eyes on the ground, knowing that there was no point in arguing with their father at such times. Only Rama kept his eyes on the maharaja, watching his father for any signs of an imminent collapse. Had Vishwamitra not been present, Rama would have asked Dasaratha to call an end to these discussions. But it would be insulting to tell his father to lie down and rest before a venerated guest. 

Dasaratha resumed his seat, sinking heavily into the cushioned throne. He spoke hoarsely but passionately. ‘I will not see those dark ages return to this land, not as long as there is still breath in my body.’ He curled his hand into a fist, which he brought down heavily on the arm of his throne. ‘I have said this to you a hundred times already, sage. Why do you not relent?’ 

Vishwamitra spoke into the uncomfortable silence that followed. 

‘Maharaja, you have made your views clear. Yet my dharma is as clearly defined as your own. As much as I dislike war and the horrors that attend its passing, I must repeat my request.’ 

‘And I must deny it yet again!’ 

The seer’s voice softened. ‘Dasaratha, be reasonable. What I offer is an antidote to war. An end to the endless cycle of karmic violence and bloodshed that has plagued us since the beginning of time. A permanent peace in the three worlds of patal, prithvi and swarga-lok.’ 

Dasaratha uttered a sound that was half a laugh and half a cry. ‘Your antidote is worse than the venom it seeks to cure, mahadev. I have told you already, it is unthinkable to give you what you demand. Ask anything else of me and you shall have it.’ 

‘Ayodhya-naresh, your decision is not a wise one. I ask you yet again, reconsider. Or else you will commit the mortal sin of violating the sacred law of dharma!’ 

TWENTY-EIGHT 

Dasaratha coughed harshly, hacking into his fist. He tried to speak, but choked on another fit of coughing. Sumantra quickly provided a spittoon for his use, then offered Dasaratha a goblet to sip on. The maharaja used both before replying in a voice hoarser than before. Beside him, Rama sensed his brothers exchanging worried glances—none of them had any illusions about their father’s state of health, but none of them knew how to alleviate the current stress that he was under. As fascinating as the debate was, Rama felt anxious that it end for his father’s sake. 

Dasaratha’s eyes gleamed in the torchlight. ‘Honoured one, even another hundred years—were I blessed enough to live that long, which I doubt—would not make me reconsider my decision. What I said before is final and binding.’ 

Vishwamitra was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was deathly quiet. ‘It is not in the nature of seers, let alone a brahmarishi, to repeat oneself. Nor should you deny your clan-oaths and defy the code of the Kshatriya. But because the Suryavansha dynasty and the Ikshvaku clan whence you spring are so renowned for their service to the seers, I repeat my request one more time for the benefit of your sons, these fine and proud young princes of Ayodhya.’ 

He turned slightly, pitching his words slightly louder for the benefit of Rama and his brothers. ‘Hear me, O Lord and Ruler of Ayodhya, seat of mighty Kosala, greatest of the Arya nations of the world. Grant me the dakshina I demand by right. And we may yet pull out the thorn before the bush grows beyond our reach.’ 

Dasaratha’s head bowed wearily. ‘Sage, I cannot sacrifice the life of my son at the altar of your faith.’ 

‘You would rather sacrifice the lives of your people instead?’ Vishwamitra’s voice was sharp. 

‘If such be the will of the gods, so be it.’ Dasaratha’s voice was cantankerous, edgy with fatigue and brain-weariness. Rama knew that in the next instant, both men would be trading insults and then the fat would really hit the fire. If Brahmarishi Vishwamitra took offence at Dasaratha’s comments, this debate would end with a curse rather than a decision. 

‘Father, mahaguru, shama.’ 

Both Dasaratha and the visitor stared in surprise at Rama as he stepped forward, kneeling before the throne while simultaneously bending his neck before the seer. The seer acknowledged Rama’s apology for the interruption. Rama rose to his feet and looked up at his father, who was frowning down at him. 

‘Father, forgive my naivety. But may I ask what exactly is this dakshina that Brahmarishi Vishwamitra desires? And why do you break the code of the Kshatriya by refusing to grant him his dakshina?’ 

Although his brothers didn’t say a word, Rama felt their solidarity with him. What exactly was at stake here? 

Maharaja Dasaratha bowed his head again, shutting his red-rimmed eyes. Sumantra stepped forward, peering at him anxiously, but Dasaratha waved him away weakly. After a moment, he opened his eyes once more, speaking hoarsely but clearly. 

‘He wishes to conduct a great yagna. This is the culmination of his two hundred and forty years of penance. But each time his purohits prepare the sacred altar for the yagna, rakshasas defile its sanctity and disrupt the preparations. Even as we speak, the propitious time for the completion of the yagna is wasting. He must complete the ritual within the next seven days in order to achieve his spiritual goal. To this end, he interrupted his penance and came to Ayodhya today to request protection against the rakshasas.’ 

Rama was baffled. ‘But Father, this is the essence of the Kshatriya code: to protect those who cannot, will not, or must not fight. We are sworn to protect the seers and Brahmin classes with our lives, just as they are sworn to teach us all knowledge and guide us spiritually. Why do you refuse such a request?’ 

Dasaratha shook his head. ‘You do not understand, Rama. I have already offered him the services of my best warriors, my Purana Wafadar battalion; my entire army is at his disposal if he desires its services … I can do no less, for as you say, it is our sacred duty to protect and to serve the holy men. Yet the brahmarishi rejects all my offers and insists on his own choice of protector.’ Dasaratha shook his head in despair. ‘He insists on having you, my son, even though he knows full well that even my mighty army was once routed by this king of demons. Indeed, I would not be sitting here before you today were it not for the intervention of your clan-mother Kaikeyi, who saved my life not once but twice on that same battlefield. This Ravana is no ordinary rakshas, Rama, as my own wounds testify.’ 

Second Queen Kaikeyi, then Princess Kaikeyi of the western kingdom of Kaikeya, had ridden in her father’s stead at the head of his host, accompanied by Maharaja Dasaratha, Kaikeya’s closest ally during the asura wars. 

Dasaratha had faced Ravana himself in single combat, sustaining a wound that would have been mortal had Kaikeyi not intervened and spirited Dasaratha away to safety in her own chariot. Later, at the close of the battle, Dasaratha’s chariot was destroyed by the Lord of Lanka. Kaikeyi put her own chariot between them and held out long enough for Sumantra to come to their rescue with reinforcements. Eventually the combined armies of Kosala and Kaikeya had pushed the asuras back, and Dasaratha had always claimed that had Kaikeyi not saved his life twice, who knew what the outcome might have been. 

Before Rama could speak aloud, Bharat stepped forward with his customary eagerness. ‘Let me go then, Father. I shall protect the brahmarishi and see his yagna completed successfully. Offer him my sword and service.’ 

Dasaratha smiled indulgently at his second oldest. ‘You are brave and bold as your namesake, Bharat. Well did I name you after the founder of the Arya nations, great Bharata himself. But alas, this is not acceptable to the brahmarishi either. He wants Rama, and Rama alone, to accompany him back to the forest.’ 

Rama felt everybody turn to look at him as he spoke. ‘Then let me go with him. I will be blessed to perform such a great service.’ 

Vishwamitra wheeled around, his piercing eyes finding Rama and pinning him with an expression of ferocious pleasure. ‘You see, Dasaratha? Even he is willing to go with me. Now, you have no argument left to oppose me!’ 

Dasaratha rose to his feet, his fist trembling. ‘He does not understand, sage! He is young and inexperienced. You are one of the Seven Seers. The asuras can no more harm you than they can harm the flow of Brahman itself. You are virtually immortal and invulnerable, shielded by mandalas, mantras and dev-astras, divine weapons and shields given to you by the devas themselves. But my Rama is merely a mortal boy. He is no match for asuras sent by the Lord of Lanka. He does not even have the full measure of these demons!’ 

Vishwamitra replied calmly: ‘And they do not have his measure.’