Prince of Dharma (33 page)

Vishwamitra’s voice was a calming balm. 

‘Fear not, Ayodhya. This was but an illusion. A vision of what might be. One possible future that lies in store for you. If the Dark Lord of Lanka has his way, then this vision will become reality within the year, just before winter falls, when Ayodhya is most vulnerable to siege. He has prepared for this day for years, even centuries, for he whom the gods named Ravana is no ordinary rakshas, as you know. He is destined to become ruler of the three worlds one day.’ 

He cut off the startled protests with an upraised hand. ‘Hold steady, brave Ayodhya. The wisdom of the devas is infinite. For every Ravana they allow to seep into creation like a pus-boil on a diseased animal, they also create an antidote. This is why we proud inhabitants of the land of the Aryas have been blessed with an infinite number of avatars of the One True God. The progeny of the devas are limitless in number and power. Ravana can and must be defeated. As your noble maharaja has said, he and your kingdom’s rulers will find a way to combat the asura menace before it reaches the banks of the Sarayu and threatens the Arya nations. This too has been prophesied.’ 

A ripple of relief passed across the crowd. Vishwamitra continued without pause. 

‘But before we can even address that issue of Ravana, we must first show him that he has met a foe more formidable than any he has ever fought before. Today, he issued a challenge to your honour. He sent one of his most trusted aides, his own uncle no less, into the heart of this great city. His mission, it can only be surmised, was to wreak havoc and slaughter in the royal family.’ 

Angry murmurs now. Feelings ran strong about the morning’s intrusion. Feelings strengthened now by the sorcerous vision. 

‘This was no mere intrusion. It was a test and a challenge. Ravana wishes to know if we are prepared to withstand him. Or to simply roll over like a meek pup and beg his mercy. What do you think, Ayodhya? What would be your response to the Lord of Lanka? Fright or fight?’ 

The answer boomed like thunder across the assembled hordes. ‘FIGHT!’ 

The seer-mage nodded, pleased. ‘I thought no less. And yet it is important to give Ravana this answer in a manner that befits his asking of the question. To gather up an army and march to Lanka would be an overreaction. Perhaps that is even what he hopes for, because then he would have the upper hand, as he had before during the last asura war. No, that would be too strong and premature a response. He sent a single champion into our midst. We must do the same.’ 

There was silence now as everyone contemplated his meaning. A single champion? Into the midst of Lanka? Was that what the brahmarishi meant? 

‘Not into Lanka,’ he said, as if reading their collective consciousness as easily as chalk letters on a child’s slate. ‘Into the Southwoods, the dread Bhayanak-van, which he has created and maintained as a barrier between the Arya nations and the great southern sub-continent. For millennia he has curbed the progress of the Aryas at this geographical barrier, by creating an environment so hostile and threatening to mortals that even the greatest warriors of lore have rarely returned alive from its depths.’ 

He paused, scanning their silent upturned faces. ‘You wonder, then, if the Bhayanak-van is so dangerous, how would our champion survive it? But this is precisely my point. If one of our Kshatriyas can enter the Bhayanak-van and wreak damage on the ranks of Ravana’s vile hordes, then we will have sent a powerful message to the Lord of Lanka. We will have shown him that not only do we not fear him, we are stronger than he believes. Behold, we shall say, just one of our Kshatriyas, a young and untried warrior at that, can inflict such destruction upon your numbers. Imagine, then, you vile creature of hell, what an entire army of Arya Kshatriyas could do.’ 

The crowd began to nod, whispering, understanding his point at last. Several began to break out into exclamations of agreement and support. Lakshman observed that these were mainly Kshatriyas rather than Brahmins. He was impressing even the warriors with his war strategy, the old seer. After all, he was once a great warrior-king. 

‘Now, you ask, who then shall we send? Which young, untested warrior do I speak of? Who can undertake this deadly mission and accomplish it successfully? I ask you in turn, Ayodhya, if Ravana could risk his own blood-uncle, can we do any less? You must send no less than your greatest son of all. Your prince and just titled prince-heir. Rama Chandra.’ 

The silence was deafening. Lakshman could hear the wind whispering through the ranks of Ayodhyans for hundreds of yards around. He could hear the distant calling of cuckoos and parrots in the mango grove downriver. He could smell the odour of food roasting in the pavilions, waiting for the feast to begin. 

Then a flurry of arguments and queries broke out. Vishwamitra answered each one painstakingly but briefly, with devastating logic and unshakeable conviction. 

Senapati Maheshwari asked why it would not be better to send a full akshohini contingent into the Southwoods rather than a single warrior. That would be less than an army, yet more capable of victory than a single Kshatriya. 

Vishwamitra replied patiently: ‘Maharaja Dasaratha has already offered me his entire army, his greatest warriors, his most accomplished champions. But I say nay to all these. What will Ravana think if we send a whole army to fight his small force of berserkers? Or even our best champions? The rakshasas of Bhayanak-van are dangerous, true, but Ravana has other champions far greater and deadlier. His own eldest son is not named Indrajit without reason: the boy earned the title when he defeated mighty Indra, king of the devas, during the asura invasion of Indraprastha, the capital city of the gods. Nay, only a single warrior can send the message we wish to give Ravana.’ 

Mantri Ashok asked reasonably how a single warrior could be expected to face an entire forest filled with demoniac asuras. 

Vishwamitra nodded sagely. ‘Young Rama will not be alone. I will be beside him every step of the way. I shall prepare him en route to face the perils ahead. I shall gift him the most potent maha-mantras ever created for martial combat. When he enters the Bhayanak-van, he will be alone, true, but he will have the power of a thousand Kshatriya veterans. When we have cleared the Bhayanak-van of Ravana’s vile filth, the rajkumar and I shall proceed to my ashram, where he shall defend my purohits and myself as we conduct the yagna of which I spoke earlier. 

Thereby we shall sanctify that forbidden land and make it hospitable at long last for Arya habitation. Bear in mind, people, I do not ask you this favour idly. I know well of what I speak. It is a seemingly impossible task, I admit. Yet sometimes, a single man can do what vast nations cannot.’ 

Finally, the arguments wound down, and the brahmarishi reached his conclusion. 

‘And so I ask you, as is my right according to the code of the Kshatriyas and Brahmins: give me Prince Rama Chandra as my guru-dakshina, and I will give you a champion. Give me your crown-heir for this mission, and I will help strike an important first blow in this new war against the asuras. Give me this boy-warrior to wield as a weapon against the berserkers who threaten my yagna, and I will prove to you as well as to Ravana that under the guidance and tutelage of a brahmarishi such as myself, even a single inexperienced Kshatriya can defeat a horde of rakshasas. Grant me this guru-dakshina, for Ayodhya’s future, and humankind’s sake.’ 

And the brahmarishi joined his palms together and bowed his head before the people, waiting for their reply. 

It was not long in coming. 

Later, there would be much debate about the finer points of the matter. People would ask: ‘But can a young stripling truly face a force of berserker rakshasas?’ And others would answer indignantly: ‘Under the tutelage of Brahmarishi Vishwamitra, even a carpenter could face them.’ 

And they would add, sniffing: ‘Not just any young stripling, mind. It’s Prince Rama he speaks of.’ 

A dhobi seated with his wife and six children, his head covered in the white roughcloth turban of his class, heard his wife say anxiously from beneath her sari’s head-cover, ‘God forbid that the prince should come to any harm. But even if he were to die fighting the demons, it would be a noble sacrifice for a good cause.’ 

The dhobi turned and glared at his wife, reflexively raising his palm, withered and creased by years of washing, and threatened her with a slap that would rock her head. But slowly, he lowered his hand, acknowledging the truth of what she said, then rose and spoke, expressing what all the gathered assemblage had only been able to think nervously until now. 

‘If a son of Ayodhya must go, better it should be our proudest son. If Maharaja Dasaratha agrees to send his own scion, then no father in the Arya nations will hesitate to send his own heirs into battle against the asuras.’ 

As the dhobi sat down, Lakshman glanced at his father. Dasaratha’s face was drained of all colour. The dhobi’s simple logic was unassailable. If the maharaja refused the seer now, every parent would have a ready excuse to refuse to draft his children into the coming war. 

‘Yatha raja tatha praja.’ 

The dhobi was the first to take up the chant. In moments, the entire crowd was thundering the words. 

‘Yatha raja tatha praja, yatha raja tatha praja, yatha raja tatha praja!’ 

Dasaratha came to his feet, unable to ignore the call of his own people. The people whom he was sworn to rule and govern, by the second law of Manu and by his own conscience. 

The people’s answer was crystal clear. 

As does the king, so shall the people. 

Rama must go. 

THIRTY-THREE 

On Guru Vashishta’s advice, they rode discreetly to the palace, using simple chariots rather than the elaborate royal entourage. It was the guru who suggested they do their leave-taking at the rear gate of the palace rather than the parade grounds. After that, the brahmarishi and the rajkumar could take the old road out of the city, thereby bypassing the crowds of exuberant Holi revellers. It was not that they wished to avoid the people, but if they took their leave of all of Ayodhya, it would be days before they left the city. Kausalya would have liked to see Rama to the first gate, but the guru as well as Sumantra advised against it— security was still a concern. 

Only after they reached the palace and were behind barred gates did Captain Drishti Kumar withdraw his men to a discreet distance to allow the royal family space for a private moment. 

Kaikeyi was conspicuous by her absence, as was Manthara: Bharat had seen both the second queen and her aide leave the parade abruptly after the brahmarishi’s amazing demonstration, hurrying angrily back to the palace. They were probably within the Second Queen’s Palace even now, seething with anger over the coronation announcement. 

But Bharat was there, as were Shatrugan and Sumitra-maa. The third queen was already in tears, less in control of her emotions than the more stoic Kausalya, even though it was Kausalya’s son who was leaving. 

Everyone stood around for a moment, uncomfortable and nervous, except for the two seers, who remained as impassive as ever. 

Lakshman was the first to end the awkward pause. 

‘Father,’ he said, kneeling before Dasaratha. ‘I beg your leave to go with my brother on his sacred mission.’ 

Dasaratha blanched. ‘My son, how can you even ask such a thing of me? It is Rama’s karma to go, I understand and accept that now, as I have accepted the will of the people and the desire of the great brahmarishi. But do not ask me to sacrifice another son to this terrible task! It is perilous enough for one Kshatriya, yet with the blessings of the devas, I pray that he shall return victorious. But with two of you, the chances of mortal harm increase twofold. I cannot brook such a thought. Please, Lakshman, don’t ask this of me.’ 

Lakshman looked up at his father with an expression filled with all the sorrow and longing of youth. 

‘Father, I have never asked you for anything. But you know that from the time I could stand, I stood beside Rama. When he would not eat, I starved. When he laughed, I was happy. We have never been separated for a moment, by any force. Do not separate us now.’ 

Dasaratha’s face was a mask of conflicting emotions. He passed a hand wearily across his brow, trying to find a way to convince his son. 

Rama spoke quietly. ‘Father, forgive me for speaking out of turn. But I wish to say something to Lakshman. My brother, stay. The shadow of the asura threat hangs over Ayodhya still. Your bow will be needed here should any more intruders come. You saw the brahmarishi’s warning of what might come to pass.’ 

Lakshman turned his head. ‘But Rama, you heard him yourself. The reason he wishes to take you into the Bhayanakvan is to prevent that invasion from taking place! By going with you, I will help prevent it more effectively than staying here. Besides, one bow more or less in Ayodhya will not matter much. While in the forest, it would double the chances of success.’