RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA (76 page)

Rama was silent a long moment. Even the birds in the forest seemed to have fallen silent as if listening and waiting now for Rama’s response. The entire army, arrayed out for yojanas behind Rama’s royal chariot, waited silently as well, word of mouth having passed on the urgency and import of what was being discussed here. The world itself waited. 

Finally, with head bowed, Rama sobbed a single sob and said two simple words, “I cannot.”

Sita was silent for a long moment, even longer than the time Rama had taken to respond. Finally, she raised her head, lifting her hands from the shoulders of her two sons who looked anxiously up at her. And she said in a voice that cracked like thunder: “
Then be a broken god forever!
”

ELEVEN

The earth heaved and cracked beneath Sita’s feet. Luv and Kush cried out and stumbled, reaching out for their mother, not asking for her help but in order to help
her
. To their surprise, Maatr pushed them away with a firm but not unkind gesture. They staggered back even as the entire section of ground on which Sita stood broke free of the surrounding earth and rose up high into the earth, as if shoved by an invisible fist from below. Everybody around her fell back, staggering and stumbling away from the rising fist of ground. Debris and stones fell, and packed dirt crumbled and spilled over as the ground split. Everybody moved back, away from the heaving earth. A great gaping hole opened in the ground, cracking in a rough circle over three yards wide that forced everybody to move back. Then the cremation pyres heaved and lurched, and fell into the gaping hole! At once, fire leaped up, huge gouts of flame blazing up, as if the smoldering pyres had ignited some underground fuel. The fire roared over a dozen yards high, rising steadily. 

Luv and Kush went berserk with panic. “Maatr!” they cried out together, scrambling to their feet. They ran forward, halting at the crumbling edge of the rough circle that had appeared and which separated them from the fist of risen earth upon which Sita still stood. Flames roared upward from the circular gash in the earth and dirt and pebbles crumbled and fell away from beneath their scrambling feet. Nakhudi saw the danger and leaped forward, grasping hold of one of them with each meaty arm. She held them tight, pulling them back. Great archers they were and gifted with the power of brahman, but when it came to simple muscular strength, they were no match for Nakhudi’s wrestler bulk. 

Still, they struggled mightily. “MAATR!” they cried, young boyish voices almost girlish in their panic. 

Sita turned and raised a hand, palm outwards, to comfort them. “Do not fear for me, my sons,” she said affectionately, “I am safe in my mother’s arms.” 

As the other ashramites moved back out of the way, guided by Dumma and the other rishis, Rama and his brothers came forward to try to help. Bejoo and Somasra came forward as well. But the distance was too far to leap, the flames too ferocious and each time anyone came close to the edge, the flames seemed to leap higher, almost as if forbidding anyone from trying to save Sita. 

“Stay back, my friends,” she said, her voice clearly audible to all in the ashram clearing. Word of what was transpiring was constantly being passed on from soldier to soldier through the long lines of Ayodhya’s army. Those who were within viewing were gawking with amazement, unable to comprehend what was happening. “Prithvi-maa, the earth herself is my birth mother. It was she who was seeded by Ravana resulting in my birth. That is why Maharaja Janak of Mithila found me while ploughing his field. I was literally born of the earth in a furrow. And now, to that same earth I shall return.”

“MAATR!” cried her sons. Nakhudi’s powerful arms strained to hold them back as they fought and kicked and struggled to break free. Had she let go, there was no doubt they would have tried to leap across the cleft to rescue their Maatr—and would surely have died trying.  

“Sitey,” said Rama from beside them. “Sitey, forgive me! I know I have transgressed against you. I came here today to try to make amends.”

“And you failed, Rama,” she said sorrowfully. “You failed utterly. That is why you will always be a broken god. Revered and worshipped, honored and admired, but also doubted and despised. Each time someone speaks of your great works and exploits, another will remind them of your banishment of your wife and ask what god would do such a thing and question your divinity? Today you had a chance to answer them once and for all, to silence those doubters, and you failed yet again. Now, for as long as your memory shall live, you shall be adored as a deva yet doubted as a man.”

“I
am
a man,” he said, dropping to his knees before the fiery pit. “Just a man. Know me as a man. Understand me as a man. Not as a god.”

She shook her head sadly. “That is the eternal dilemma of heroes and those who worship them. How can greatness have flaws? How can perfection contain a blemish? How can a deva do wrong? And eternally, in answer to those questions, people shall answer a single name:
Rama
. They shall offer you prayers, yes. But they shall do so knowing that they are prayers offered to a broken god.”

“Come to me, Janaki,” he said, tears rolling from his eyes. “Join with me again. Make me whole.”

“Don’t you want your agni-pariksha?” she asked bitterly. And the flames roared up, engulfing her. 

“Maatr,” her sons cried. 

“Cry not for me, my sons,” her voice said from within the flames. “These fires shall not burn me, nor the earth suffocate. The heat of the sun will not blacken my skin, nor the cold of winter freeze my blood. My bones will not turn to dust with the passing of time nor will my hair shrivel and come undone. I shall return to the earth and shall be eternally present in her every aspect. Think of me every time you see a flower bloom, a tree offer you shade, or the ground provide you with sustenance. I go home to my mother’s bosom. For that is our sanskriti. When a woman is not accepted at her husband’s home, she must go back to her mother’s house. And this is home to me. From whence I came, thither I return. Before I go, witness my agni-pariksha, tell all in Ayodhya of me, for even in parting, I remain Rama’s wife, and lest a single finger be raised in accusation or a single gossiping tongue speak with doubt, let all see and bear testimony that the sacred agni did not singe a hair on my head or harm me. Pure, did you say, Pradhan Mantri Jabali? Is this pure enough for you? Or do you need to ladle ghee upon my body to satisfy yourself further? Perhaps what men like you truly desire is to cremate women alive rather than accept that they are flesh and blood and human as you are. If Rama is a broken god it is because of this one flaw: he could not accept his own wife without questioning her purity!”

And the flames shot up impossibly high, reaching for the sky, until the pillar of flame was visible all across the land, across the length and breadth of the kingdom, and every man, woman and children paused and stared skywards, and saw upon the top of the pillar of flame, the figure of their long banished but beloved queen Sita Janaki of Mithila, standing on that searing flame, yet untouched and unharmed. And every heart went out to her and every voice spoke in veneration. “Devi-Maa,” they said, the highest exaltation possible. Mother Goddess. And if she had not been until then, she became in that moment, Mother Goddess Sita. Then and now and forever. 

The pillar fell. It descended as suddenly as it had risen, and plunged deep into the earth. As Sita returned to ground level, the pillar paused, as if her mother Earth permitted her daughter one final goodbye. And she reached out to her weeping sons and blessed them. “Ayushmaanbhavya, sons, rule as one, live as one, and  follow this one law at all times: One dharma for all.”

And then she descended into the earth and was swallowed whole. The flames were sucked in and vanished. The cracked earth heaved again and moved together, with a grinding sound that resembled a great stone sil-butta being churned. The broken pieces fit together as perfectly as a china pot fitted back together. And a moment later, the ground was as it had been before, without a single crack or wisp of flame or trace of anything that had happened. 

Only the absence of the cremation pyres served as reminder that indeed, Sita had been here only moments earlier. And was gone now. 

SAMAPTAM

The doe leaped out of Rama’s arms. He had enfolded her in a gentle embrace, careful not to grip her too hard, and when he sensed her muscles tensing for the leap, he made no attempt to stop her. She jumped upwards and away, bounding across the grassy knoll in the direction of the river. Reaching the rim of the knoll, she paused and turned her head. Her ears flicked as she looked back with wide alarmed eyes. He smiled and rose to his feet, speaking softly, his voice barely audible below the sound of the river. 

‘Did I scare you? That was not my intention, little beauty. I was only eager to be your friend. Will you not come back and speak to me again?’ 

The doe watched him from the edge of the precipice, her body still turned towards the path that led down to the river, only her head twisted back towards him. She made no move to return, yet she did not flee immediately. 

Rama took a step towards her, then another. She did not run. He took several steps more, but when he was within twenty paces or so, her flank rippled and her ears flickered at a faster rate. 

So he stopped again. He called to her. She stayed where she was, watching him. For a long moment, they stayed that way, the man and the doe, watching each other, the river rushing along, the sun breasting the top of the northern hills to shine down in its full glory. In the distance, the city caught the light of the new day and sent back a thousand glittering reflections. Towers and spires, windows and arches, domes and columns, glass and brass, silver and gold, copper and bronze, crystal and shell, bead and stone, all were illuminated at once, and Ayodhya blazed like a beacon of gold fire, filling the valley with a luminous glow. In the light of this glorious new day, it was easy to dismiss the nightmare as just that, a bad dream. And yet … he could still hear the sound of Sita’s voice, hear her last words, see her engulfed by the pillar of fire as it descended into the embrace of the earth— 

He stopped and sighed.  

He straightened and stared at the city. His beloved Ayodhya resplendent in the sunlight of a new day, a new season, a new harvest year. He walked forward, eyes fixed on the blazing city. Before they had grown old enough to be sent to gurukul, he and his brothers had spent any number of days here in the shade of this mango grove. Playing, fighting, racing, all the things that young boys and young princes alike were wont to do. He had come here today hoping these nostalgically familiar environs would cleanse his mind of the nightmare that life itself seemed to have become. So far he hadn’t been entirely successful. He hadn’t expected to be. 

His feet found the edge of the knoll and he stopped, poised ten yards or more above the raging river. It was the point where the Sarayu roared around a bend in the valley, tumbling over rocks and boulders with the haste and energy of a river still in the first stage of its lengthy course. The sound was thunder sustained. He spread his arms, raised his face to the warm golden sunlight, and laughed. Droplets of spray drifted up slowly, catching his hair and simple white dhoti, like diamonds glittering in the sunlight. 

“Bhai.”

He turned to see Lakshman standing behind him. Clad in a white anga-vastra as was Rama. 

“It is time.”

They walked down together to the riverbank. There were great numbers of people lined along the bank on either side. The lines stretched back to the raj-marg and all along its length back to the city itself. Tens of thousands upon thousands…lakhs…millions in fact. The entire population of the city. He looked at the city one last time, intending to fix it in his memory. But from this angle, the overhang of the bank on the far side obstructed the view. The deep red light of the setting sun in the west obscured what little was visible. Perhaps it was better that way. To have seen those familiar towers and archs, the palace, the walls, the Seer’s Eye…perhaps they were better remembered in his mind’s eye as they were. As all things were. In memory, evergreen. Perfect. Immutable. 

Maharishi Valmiki had agreed to preside over the ritual. The other purohits of the city were present as well. At his nod, all the brahmins began chanting the ritual Sanskrit shlokas together, their voices rising to rival the roar of the river. Yet as Rama walked towards the edge of the bank, the Sarayu’s song was louder by far. She was calling to him.
Come to me, my son. Come and sleep awhile. A season of rest.
 

Perhaps Sita would be waiting for him there, beyond the river’s end, beyond sleep. 

He entered the river. The water was icy cold but that was good. The shock awakened his senses, made him aware of every sensation. The wind on his fevered scalp. The fading sunlight on his cheek and ear. The smell of jasmine blossoms on the evening air. The sound of parrots or monkeys or both squabbling in the trees. 

The brahmin’s chanting reached a crescendo. Everybody had joined their palms together and was chanting along. Rama saw Hanuman looking at him, hands joined together in supplication. The vanar’s eyes were shedding tears freely. Rama smiled sadly at him. Hanuman did not smile back: vanars could not smile. Yet they could cry. Strange, wasn’t it? 

Rama stepped further into the river. So this was samadhi. The ritual immersion into flowing water as a voluntary end to one’s life. A literal crossing over to another state of being. What had his karma in this and previous lifetimes earned him thus far? The right to be reborn as another mortal or some other species? The right to moksha, that final liberation from the cycle of birth and rebirth? He saw Luv and Kush, faces drawn and severe, standing with Nakhudi and Bejoo, who was now elevated to Minister of Peace, a new post he had instated before stepping down from the throne. Nakhudi was personal bodyguard to the twins, Captain of the new King’s Guardians. With the help of Saprem Senapati Shirisha Kumar, great-grandson of Senapati Dheeraj Kumar and grandson of Senapati Drishti Kumar, perhaps they might usher in a new era for Kosala and Ayodhya. An age of peace. He hoped the twins would learn more from their newly discovered adoptive grandfather Janak of Mithila than from himself. Ram Rajya was a great period in the city-kingdom’s history, but its time was past. Perhaps there had never been a time for it at all. 

He took another step and the water embraced him like a cold lover. She swirled around him, dancing and rushing and washing over him with icy tendrils. He felt his extremities grow colder, his heartbeat slow, his pulse slow, his brow feel more feverish, almost burning hot. 

The decision to take samadhi had been his own. His brothers had insisted on following in his steps. None of them wished to rule in his stead. And the entire populace had chosen to follow as well. He had considered issuing some kind of a writ or diktat, forbidding everyone from doing as he did but it would be pointless once he was gone. Besides,
yatha raja tatha praja.
They had lived by that law and now they were willing to die by it. 

Except that this was not death. Not exactly. It was transmogrification. They believed that by following their god-like emperor into the afterlife they would be achieving transmogrification of their mortal souls into eternal states of being. Who was he to disprove their belief? The truth was even he did not know what lay beyond. All he knew was that there was nothing left in this world for him to live for. He had come to his senses in the nick of time, but had Sita and her sons not intervened and Jabali and his evil cronies Aarohan and his men not tried to hasten things by force and manipulation, he might have authorized a war against Videha. And after Videha, perhaps even the other Arya nations. And after that, what? Then what would be the difference between Rama and Ravana except a few syllables? 

Samadhi ensured that he sought a higher plane of existence. It was an honorable way to pass on. He could not have endured the idea of vanaprasthashrama, forest retirement, as was the custom among kings of his line. For he had already spent the better part of his life in forest retirement—
forced
retirement, that too, without so much as a pension. Nor did he wish to remain in Ayodhya and watch his sons rule—every moment with them would lead to questions of whether to do things Rama’s way or their way. Now, nobody could raise that question. There would be only their way, and that was the way it ought to be. He would have liked to watch them grow to manhood but each day with them would have been a day without Sita. And in their eyes he could still see the reflected flames of Sita’s final agni-pariksha reflected, burning deep in their hearts, just as his own youthful anger at his mother’s treatment had burned in his eyes when he had looked at his father Dasaratha in days gone by. Because he had been a son himself, he knew what they felt. Because he had seen his mother suffer his father’s mistakes, he knew how they felt about him, their father. And he could not live with that knowledge nor could he make things right with them. That moment had passed. That opportunity was lost forever. 

The only way ahead for him was to seek other worlds, other lives. 

Samadhi. 

He took another step and the water closed completely over his head, submerging him. He heard a collective gasp from the assembled crowd and the word was passed on that Rama had gone under the river. He heard no more except the gurgling of the water and the buffeting of the tide which felt oddly like a powerful wind. The water was crystal clear and he could still see the evening sky. Birds flew overhead, silhouetted against the evening redness. He saw faces and bodies moving, heard the murmur of voices—or perhaps they were only the voices of the river speaking to him. 

His feet found the bottom of the river. He was yards underwater now. The sky was no longer visible, the rushing water overhead obscuring all vision. He heard and felt a splash beside him and saw another man’s form sink slowly to land on the bottom of the river beside him. It was Lakshman, his eyes open as well, still holding his breath. He gestured at Rama. Rama nodded and gestured, indicating that they should move forward. 

Then a strange thing happened. 

A great blue light blazed up from the depths of the river, like a standing rectangle of deep midnight-blue illumination glowing brightly. Like a doorway without any substance, just inky blue light spilling through. From where? How? 

He did not know. The inky blue light shaped like a doorway stood ahead on the floor of the river. Behind it was pitch darkness as if the river itself ended there, although he knew that was impossible. 

Vortal. That is a Vortal.
The name came to him unbidden. He had no idea what it meant. 

I have been expecting you, Ayodhya-naresh. Come towards the Vortal. 

He did not look around to see who had spoken. The voice was in his mind. He glanced at Lakshman and saw from his brother’s face that he had heard the voice too. It had spoken in Lakshman’s mind as well. 

Two more splashes behind them: Bharat and Shatrugan. They came up beside Lakshman and Rama saw that they were looking at the Vortal too. They had heard the voice as well. 

Yes, this is the way. You are to go through the Vortal now. One by one. Come. 

They looked at one another. 

Do not fear. This is inevitable. It was ordained for you from eons before your birth on this realm. 

Rama nodded to his brothers then walked towards the Vortal. If this was what he was meant to do then he may as well do it. In any case, he had come here seeking something. He had not known what. It seemed he had found it. 

At the place where the blue light met the Sarayu’s water, the effect was most peculiar. As if the water and light met…and merged. There was a point where he could see that the molecules were neither entirely water nor entirely light. They were…something else. 

Brahman. Pure brahman.
 

Yes, Vaikunta-naresh. The Vortal is composed of pure brahman. It is a portal between possible worlds. Go on through. It is the reason why you chose this way to end your mortal existence in this plane. 

Rama stood before the Vortal. He felt Lakshman come up behind him, waiting. 

Rama stepped through. It felt like stepping through water into…

Light. Bright infinite light. Light of no color. Perfect. Extending in every direction. Originating from nowhere. 

He felt a strange sensation within himself, then a repetition of the sensation, then another. It happened thrice in all. 

When he looked back, his brothers were gone. As was the Vortal. As was the river itself. 

The entire mortal world had vanished. 

And so had his brothers. 

Because here we are all one being…I. 

His voice sounded strange in his own mind. 

He heard a fluttering from above and looked up to see a great magnificent being descending. He knew instinctively that this was Garuda, his friend and carrier.