RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA (35 page)

Rama raised a hand. “She means no disrespect, Dharmarajan.”

Yama waved his objection away. “None taken. She is upset. That is only to be expected. And she is not entirely wrong. This is an illusion at present. One conjured up by an ingenious combination of brahman shakti along with a deft manipulation of the laws of the universe.” He sighed. “It would seem more real if I were to ask you to step through the Vortal.”

Hanuman started. “But, sire, you said no creature could pass through that doorway!”

“My good Maruti Anjaneya, I said I placed it in such a spot that would make it highly unlikely that any creature in this world could pass through. It is most definitely possible to pass through the Vortal. That is its whole purpose and the reason why it is named so. It is a portal of sorts, but one that is directly linked with countless other similar portals – a vertical integration, as it shall be termed in future ages – and any being passing through a Vortal in their world must maintain the Balance.”

“The Balance?” The vanar inclined his head quizzically.

“The Balance is the inescapable law that governs the infinite worlds of the Vortal. It states that the quantum of matter in any world, or all worlds, must remain exactly the same, neither increasing nor decreasing, merely changing form. Think of the Vortal as a series of doorways connecting an infinite number of chambers in a great house. There is a certain number of beings in each chamber. That number always remains the same. So if one being steps from one chamber into a second chamber, another being from that chamber must step into the first chamber to take the first being’s place. Do you follow now?”

The vanar nodded slowly. “And so if I pass through this Vortal?” he pointed at the glassy archway above the Sarayu with a shudder that made clear his question was merely rhetorical and that he feared passing through the supernatural doorway more than anything else, “a being from that world must pass through into this one, to take my place?”

“Indeed,” Yamadev said, visibly pleased at Hanuman’s quick grasp of the concept. “But not merely any being. Hanuman himself. Your counterpart in that world.”

Hanuman’s golden eyes widened, filling with shock as he contemplated the possibility of another Hanuman beyond that doorway and what that implied. “And there are infinite worlds connected by such Vortals?”

“Infinite,” Yama agreed. “One could go on crossing from Vortal to Vortal without ever reaching an end. Of course, there is an end to the number, but what makes it impossible to count them through in reality is the complication that results from physically crossing over. Each time any being crosses over through the Vortal from their world to another world, the worlds themselves change in subtle, unpredictable ways. Therefore, while we may compute the number of possible worlds reachable through the Vortal and arrive at a finite number quite definitively, in actual practice, we can never confirm that number because each time we attempt to verify it by passing through the Vortal, we alter the Balance and a chain effect results, altering all the known worlds in unknowable ways.”

Hanuman scratched the back of his head. “Yet surely if we have a hand’s worth of bananas, then whether the bananas turn rotten or ripe or raw, there should still be a hand’s worth, no more, no less, should there not?” The vanar held up one hand to show five fur-backed digits.

Yama nodded. “Very astutely noted, Anjaneya. Yet that is the difference between the Vortal and the natural universe. You see, the Vortal itself possesses energy, and that energy is also a part of Creation within which the Vortal exists. Therefore, merely passing through the Vortal, changes the very meaning of a hand’s worth,” Yama raised one hand, showing five digits again, then wiggled his fingers till they became seven, then four, then eight, then six. He waggled the hand one more time, and the fingers changed back to five as before. “The Vortal alters the very nature of reality itself. Or perhaps it only alters the perception of reality as viewed by a sentient living being. Either way, the result is the same: The Balance remains inscrutable and immutable. We cannot manipulate it or play with it in any fashion. It is the one fixed constant in the infinite worlds of the Vortal. Every being must obey the Law of Balance. So if this Rama and Sita,” Yamadev indicated the King and Queen of Ayodhya, standing with arms around each other’s waists, listening silently through the exchange, “were to cross through the Vortal, then that Rama and Sita we see there shall have no choice but to cross over into this world. Except that the very act of passing through the Vortal shall alter both Ramas and both Sitas, for such an enormous flux of energy cannot but alter the universe in some way be it ever so subtle or grossly obvious.”

“I still do not see why you need to show us these terrible things,” Sita said reproachfully. “With nothing but respect, Yamadev, I ask why you brought us here, and why you speak to us of these matters. We accept that there are great and wonderful things in the universe, many of which we not only do we fail to understand but are wholly incapable of ever understanding. An elephant watches a light pass across the sky and cannot tell from that passing what effect that might have on his future, so also we are mere mortals. We live, we love, we struggle, we die. What purpose does it serve to show us such things that we cannot control, use or manipulate to any good use? What good does it serve except to torture us by showing us plays depicting things we might have said, or might well say someday—” She paused to glance at Rama, swallowed hard, then went on, “—but might never say at all? It is no different from soothsaying or predictions and prophecies to that same elephant. What good are such predictions to him, chewing the high stalks of his favourite tree?”

Yama sighed. He gestured, turning the Vortal opaque once more. “To the elephant, no good at all. That is true. But to you, my great Queen of Ayodhya, a great deal of good. For you are no ordinary living being. Neither is Rama. Nor is Hanuman. You are no more ordinary than I am merely a man who rides a black buffalo and carries a thin noose.” He was referring to the legends and classical depictions in which Yama was portrayed as a man riding a black buffalo and carrying a worn burlap bag with a length of thin rope inside it, tied in the shape of a noose.

Sita shook her head. “We are Sita and Rama, that is all. And all we now desire is to be left alone in peace to enjoy our years of peace together.”

Yama nodded. “I do understand that desire, my lady Sita. After all you have been through, together as well as apart, it is only natural. Yet I did not bring you here this fine morning to torture you with what might have been, could be or will not be. The events you glimpsed briefly through the Vortal just now are things that have inevitably come to pass. The peace you long for, richly deserved though it is, still does not lie within your grasp. I wish it could be otherwise, but it cannot. It never shall be. For better or worse, you and Rama are destined to struggle, fight, battle, wage war, until the very end of your days here on this mortal realm.”

Yama gestured at the Vortal, now a shimmering archway with a slowly rolling rainbow-hued effect, like a still pond reflecting clouds passing overhead. “That is what your good friend and fellow member of the Holy and Powerful Trimurti attempted to warn you about. When devas descend upon earth, they endanger the Balance in ways that mere mortals never can. Each moment you spend here, you attract more violence towards yourselves, those around you and against those you encounter. It is only a matter of time before your lives will be filled with warring once again.”

“So you feel that mortalkind’s inevitable state is a state of war?” Sita demanded with some insouciance. “That peace is an impossible dream? That we should merely accept the state of events and keep our swords busy as long as we live?”

“No,” Yama replied quietly. “On the contrary. As you know full well, my lady, it is peace, not war that is the natural state of the world. Even in the deepest jungle, the predator hunts only when absolutely necessary, and the vast majority of nature’s beings live out their entire lives with almost no show of aggression nor any need for it. Struggling to survive is one thing, killing to eat is equally understandable and tolerated by nature; but wilful violence against other living beings is an aberration, a sickness, a disease. If mortalkind’s natural state is to be at war, then the species would not survive long! Nay, the reason it survives and flourishes and continues its spread unabated across this mortal realm is because it does so mainly through peaceful means. It is the device of the asura race to create this delusion that violence is the only way, that all living beings thrive on violence and that aggression is the only way to profit and progress. As all devas and enlightened mortals are well aware, there is no Absolute Good and Evil in the universe. But there is delusion. And the delusion that war, violence and aggression are natural, necessary and even desirable is the saddest one of all, for any mortal that subscribes to that delusionary view is a sick being desperately in need of help and education.”

“Then why can we not be in a state of peace?” Sita demanded, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with passion. “Why cannot Ayodhya? Why cannot the entire mortal race? Why cannot you simply leave us alone to be at peace? Why do you leave your rightful work in the nether realms and come here to harangue us and show us sights of lives unlived, things unsaid, words that ought never be spoken.”

Yama nodded as if he had expected her to say just that. “Because you and Rama are not mere mortals. You are devas. Lord Vishnu the Preserver. And His eternal Paramour Lakshmi, who is Herself a form of the Eternal Sri, She Who Created the Universe Entire. You know this to be true. Within your hearts and minds, you have always known it to be true. Just as you know that your rightful places are in your own celestial plane Vaikunta. Not here on the mortal plane Prithviloka. With every additional day you spend here you disrupt the Balance. And by doing so you are playing into the very hands of the one who conceived all this and opened the Vortal in the first place, in order to avenge himself upon you. This is all part of his great plan. And by staying here and denying your true nature, you are feeding into his plans, making possible the true vengeance of Ravana.”

He turned and gestured at the Vortal. “See for yourself.”

TWELVE

“Rama!” Sita cried, a world of anguish audible in that single word. “Why do you speak to me thus harshly? Why do you accuse me like some common criminal brought before your court of dharma in the raj sabha? Do you truly believe that my father Janaka and I would connive in such a deception? That we would conceal my true parentage from you? My poor father never knew whose child I was. All he knew was that he found me in a furrow in a field while ploughing, and hence named me
furrow
. Sita! He is innocent in all this, a man of peace and learning. Please do not sully his fine name in this manner.”

Rama’s eyes were dark and forbidding, his tone relentless: “It is good that you take full responsibility for this deception yourself. I was loath to accuse the great and sagacious Janaka of Mithila, for the Chandravanshis are no less honourable in the upholding of dharma than we Suryavanshis. By admitting your own guilt and absolving your father, you display his fine upbringing and education that he has imparted you.”

“My father Janaka is great indeed, and loves dharma no less than your father the late great Dasaratha did!” she said. “But I am not admitting to my guilt! I do not believe I
have
any guilt to declare in this matter! The first I heard of this outrageous lie was when Atikaya first spoke it aloud outside the gate! And then it was echoed by his mother Mandodhari. But I did not believe it then and do not believe it now.”

“Really?” Rama said, and his expression verged on a sneer, but was crueller. “Yet you were able to withstand the spellsong of the moon-sword and retain your ability to move freely even when we were all frozen into immobility. How would that be possible were it not for your sharing the same blood as Atikaya? The bloodline of Ravana himself!”

Sita was at a loss. “I do not know. Perhaps because I am a Chandravanshi? Hence the power of the moon-sword would not be effective against me?”

Rama smiled darkly. “Yet it seemed quite effective enough when used aggressively. And you admit of your own accord that you are not a true Chandravanshi by blood. No, woman, stop lying now. Admit the truth. You knew all along that you were Ravana’s daughter. Child of Mandodhari. Deliberately carried from Lanka to this subcontinent and artfully placed in a field that Janaka had begun to plough, so he would be certain to discover it. All this was planned ever so carefully. Your being raised by Janaka as his own daughter. Ravana’s appearance at the swayamvara and his pitch-perfect performance there, deliberately provoking me into contesting against him and winning – an obvious set-up, for he being a devout servant of Shiva, he could have won had he desired to do so, but he could hardly win his own daughter’s hand in marriage; then later, when the time was right, his alleged abduction and spiriting away of you back to Lanka, whereas in fact you went quite willingly and happily, knowing that since you were not only my wife but also mother-to-be of my unborn sons, therefore the lineage of Ayodhya and the honour of the entire Suryavanshi Ikshwaku clan rested upon my retrieving you, no matter what the cost in lives or dharma.”

“I never asked you to wage a war for me,” she cried. “And I was kidnapped, brutally and cruelly. Treated with great harshness and put through hardship. You know this! You saw me. Your servant Hanuman saw me as well! Ask him if you do not believe me!”