Scion Of Ikshvaku Part 9

Ram shook his head. They must have turned everyone against them.'

Exactly! And when circ.u.mstances changed, as they invariably do, the Asuras had no allies. The Devas, on the other hand, were always divided and hence did not attempt to force their ways on others. How could they? They could not even agree among themselves on what their own way of life was! Fortuitously then, they were spoilt for choice when it came to allies. All the non-Asuras were tired of the constant provocation and violence from the Asuras. They joined forces with their enemies, the Devas. Ironically, many Asuras themselves had begun to question this over-reliance on violence. They too changed allegiance and moved over to the other side. Is it any surprise that the Asuras lost?'

Ram shook his head. That is a major risk with the masculine way, isn't it? Exclusivist thought can easily lapse into intolerance and rigidity, especially in times of trouble. The feminine way will not face this problem.'

Yes, rigid intolerance creates mortal enemies with whom negotiation is impossible. But the feminine way has other problems; most importantly, of how to unite their own behind a larger cause. The followers of the feminine way are usually so divided that it takes a miracle for them to come together for any one purpose, under a single banner.'

Ram, who had seen the worst of the divisions and inefficiencies of the feminine way of life in the India of today, appeared genuinely curious about the masculine order. The masculine way needs to be revived. The way of the Asuras is a possible answer to India's current problems. But the Asura way cannot and should not be replicated. Some improvements and adjustments are necessary. Questioning must be encouraged. And, it has to be tailored to suit our current circ.u.mstances.'

Why not the feminine way?' asked the guru.

I believe leaders of the feminine way tend to shirk responsibilities. Their message to their followers is: "It's your decision". When things go wrong, there's no one who can be held accountable. In the masculine way, the leader has to a.s.sume all the responsibility. And only when leaders a.s.sume responsibility can society actually function. There is clear direction and purpose for society as a whole. Otherwise, there is endless debate, a.n.a.lysis and paralysis.'

Vashishta smiled. You are oversimplifying things. But I will not deny that if you want quick improvements, the masculine way works better. The feminine route takes time, but in the long run, it can be more stable and durable.'

The masculine way can also prove to be stable, if we learn lessons from the past.'

Are you willing to forge such a new path?'

I will certainly try,' said Ram with disarming honesty. It is my duty to my motherland; to this great country of ours.'

Well, you are welcome to revive the masculine way. But I suggest you don't name it Asura. It is such a reviled name today that your ideas will be doomed from the very beginning.'

Then what do you suggest?'

Names don't matter. What matters is the philosophy underlying them. There was a time when the Asuras represented the masculine way and the Devas, the feminine. Then, the Asuras were destroyed and only the Devas survived. The Suryavanshis and Chandravanshis are descendants of the Devas; both representatives of the feminine. But, for all you know, if you achieve what I think you can, the Suryavanshis could end up representing the masculine way of life and the Chandravanshis could carry forward the legacy of their ancestors, the Devas. Like I said, names don't matter.'

Ram looked down again at the inscription as he pondered over the unknown person who had carved this message long ago. It seemed like an act of impotent rebellion. Shukracharya's name had been banned across the land. His loyal followers were not even allowed to speak his name. Perhaps this was their way of applying a salve to their conscience at not being able to publicly honour their guru.

Vashishta put his hand on Ram's shoulder. I will tell you more about Shukracharya, his life and his philosophy. He was a genius. You can learn from him and create a great empire. But you must remember that while you can certainly learn from the successes of great men, you can learn even more from their failures and mistakes.'

Yes, Guruji.'

Chapter 9.

We will not be meeting for a long time after this, Guruji,' said the Naga.

A few months had elapsed since Ram and Vashishta's conversation on Shukracharya in the temple of Lord Indra. The formal education of the princes in the gurukul was complete, and the boys would be returning home for good the following day. Lakshman had decided to go riding one last time, late in the night. While trying to return undetected, he came upon a replay of the meeting between his guru and the suspicious Naga.

They had met under the bridge, once again.

Yes, it will be difficult,' agreed Vashishta. People in Ayodhya do not know about my other life. But I will find ways to communicate.'

The outgrowth from his lower back flicked like a tail as the Naga spoke. I have heard that your former friend's alliance with Raavan grows stronger.'

Vashishta closed his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking softly. He will always remain my friend. He helped me when I was alone.'

The Naga narrowed his eyes, his interest piqued. You have to tell me this story sometime, Guruji. What happened?'

Vashishta gave the hint of a wry smile. Some stories are best left untold.'

The Naga realised he had ventured into painful territory and decided not to pry any further.

But I know what you've come for,' said Vashishta, changing the topic.

The Naga smiled. I have to know...'

Ram,' said Vashishta, simply.

The Naga seemed surprised. I thought it would be Prince Bharat...'

No. It's Ram. It has to be.'

The Naga nodded. Then, Prince Ram it is. You know you can count on our support.'

Yes, I know.'

Lakshman felt his heartbeat quicken as he continued to listen, soundlessly.

Dada, you really do not understand the world,' cried Lakshman.

In the name of Lord Ikshvaku, just go back to sleep,' mumbled an exasperated Ram. You see conspiracies everywhere.'

But...'

Lakshman!'

They have decided to kill you, Dada! I know it.'

When will you believe that n.o.body is trying to kill me? Why would Guruji want me dead? Why would anyone want me dead, for crying out loud?!' exclaimed Ram. n.o.body was trying to kill me then, when we were out riding. And, n.o.body is trying to kill me now. I am not so important, you know. Now go to sleep!'

Dada, you're just so clueless! At this rate, I don't know how I'm supposed to protect you.'

You will protect me forever, somehow,' said Ram, softening and smiling indulgently as he pulled his brother's cheek. Go back to sleep now.'

Dada...'

Lakshman!'

Welcome home, my son,' cried Kaushalya.

Unable to suppress her tears of joy, the queen looked proudly at her son as he held her awkwardly, slightly embarra.s.sed by her open display of emotion. Like his mother, the eighteen-year-old eldest prince of the Raghu clan of Ayodhya had a dark, flawless complexion, which perfectly set off his sober white dhoti and angvastram. His broad shoulders, lean body and powerful back were a testimony to his archery skills. Long hair tied neatly in an una.s.suming bun, he wore simple ear studs and a string of Rudraaksh beads around his neck. The studs were shaped like the sun with streaming rays, which was symbolic of the Suryavanshi rulers, descendants of the sun. The Rudraaksh, brown, elliptical beads derived from the tree of the same name, represented Lord Rudra, who had saved India from Evil some millennia ago.

He stepped away from his mother as she finally stopped crying. He went down on one knee, bowing his head with respect towards his father. A hushed silence descended on the court, in full attendance during this ceremonial occasion. The impressive Great Hall of the Unconquerable hadn't seen a gathering like this in nearly two decades. This royal court hall, along with the palace, had been built by the charismatic warrior-king Raghu, the great-grandfather of Ram. He had famously restored the power of the Ayodhya royalty through stunning conquests, so much so that the t.i.tle of the House of Ayodhya had been changed from the Clan of Ikshvaku', to the Clan of Raghu'. Ram did not approve of this change, for to him it was a betrayal of his lineage. Howsoever great one's achievements were, they could not overshadow those of one's ancestors. He would have preferred the use of Clan of Ikshvaku' for his family; after all, Ikshvaku was the founder of the dynasty. But few were interested in Ram's opinions.

Ram continued to kneel, but the official acknowledgment was not forthcoming. Vashishta, the raj guru, sat to the right of the emperor, looking at him with silent disapproval.

Dashrath seemed lost in thought as he stared blankly into s.p.a.ce. His hands rested on golden armrests shaped like lions. A gold-coloured canopy, embedded with priceless jewels, was suspended over the throne. The magnificent court hall and the throne were symbolic of the power and might of the Ayodhyans; or at least, they had been so, once upon a time. Peeling paint and fraying edges spoke volumes of the decline of this once-great kingdom. Precious stones from the throne had been pulled out, probably to pay the bills. The thousand-pillared hall still appeared grand, but an old eye would know that it had seen better days in years past, when vibrant silk pennants hung from the walls, separating engraved figures of ancient rishis - seers and men of knowledge. The figures could have certainly done with a thorough cleaning.

Palpable embarra.s.sment spread in the hall as Ram waited. A murmur among the courtiers reaffirmed what was well known: Ram was not the favoured son.

The son remained still and unmoved. Truth be told, he was not the least bit surprised. Used to disdain and calumny, he had learnt to ignore it. Every trip back home from the gurukul had been torture. Almost by design, most people found some way to constantly remind him of the misfortune of his birth. The taint of 7,032', the year of his birth according to the calendar of Manu, would not be forgotten. It had troubled him in his childhood, but he found himself wryly recalling what the man he admired as a father, Guru Vashishta, had said to him once.

Kimapi Nu Janaahaa Vadishyanti. Tadeva Kaaryam Janaanaam.

People will talk nonsense. It is, after all, their job.

Kaikeyi walked up to her husband, went down on her knees and placed Dashrath's partially paralysed right leg on the foot stand. Carefully displaying the dutiful and submissive gesture for public consumption, she brought her aggression into full play in private, as she hissed her command. Acknowledge Ram. Remember, descendant, not protector.'

A flicker of life flashed across the emperor's face. He raised his chin imperiously as he spoke. Rise, Ram Chandra, descendant of the Raghu clan.'

Vashishta narrowed his eyes with disapproval and cast a glance at Ram.

Adorned in rich finery and heavy gold ornaments, prominent among the first row of n.o.bility, was a fair-skinned woman with a bent back. Her face was scarred by an old disease, and along with the hunched back, she had a menacing presence. Turning slightly to the man standing beside her, she whispered, Hmm, did you understand, Druhyu? Descendant, not protector.'

Druhyu bowed his head in deference as he addressed the wealthiest and most powerful merchant of the Sapt Sindhu, Yes, Mantharaji.'

That Dashrath had avoided the word protector' was a clear indication to all who were present that Ram would not be accorded what was the birthright of the first-born. Ram did not show disappointment as he rose to his feet with stoic decorum. Folding his hands together in a namaste, he bowed his head and spoke with crisp solemnity, May all the G.o.ds of our great land continue to protect you, my father.' He then stepped back to take his position in single file along with his brothers.

Standing beside Ram, Bharat, though shorter, was heavier in build. Years of hard work showed in his musculature, while the scars he bore gave him a fearsome yet attractive look. He'd inherited his mother's fair complexion and had set it off with a bright blue dhoti and angvastram. The headband that held his long hair in place was embellished with an intricate, embroidered golden peac.o.c.k feather. His charisma, though, lay in his eyes and face; a sharp nose, strong chin and eyes that danced with mischief. At this moment though, they displayed sadness. He cast a concerned look at his brother Ram before turning to Dashrath, visibly angry.

Bharat marched forward with studied nonchalance and went down on one knee. Shockingly for the a.s.semblage, he refused to bow his head. He stared at his father with open hostility.

Kaikeyi had remained standing next to Dashrath. She glared at her son, willing him into submission. But Bharat was too old for such efforts at intimidation. Imperceptibly, unnoticed by anyone, Kaikeyi bowed her head and whispered to her husband. Dashrath repeated what was told to him.

Rise, Bharat, descendant of the Raghu clan.'

Bharat smiled delightedly at not being accorded the t.i.tle of the protector' either. He stood up and spoke with casual aplomb, May Lord Indra and Lord Varun grant you wisdom, my father.'

He winked at Ram as he quickly walked back to where his brothers stood. Ram was impa.s.sive.

It was then Lakshman's turn. As he stepped forward, those a.s.sembled were struck by his gigantic frame and towering height. Though usually dishevelled, his mother Sumitra had ensured that the fair-complexioned Lakshman had turned up dressed neatly for the ceremony. Much like his beloved brother Ram, Lakshman too avoided wearing jewellery, save for the ear studs and the threaded Rudraaksh beads around his neck. His ceremony was completed without fuss, and he was soon followed by Shatrughan. The diminutive youngest prince was meticulously attired as always, his hair precisely tied, his dhoti and angvastram neatly pressed, his jewellery sober and minimal. The completion of his ceremony marked his acknowledgement, too, as a descendant of Raghu.

The court crier brought the proceedings of the court to an end. Kaikeyi stepped up to a.s.sist Dashrath, signalling an aide who stood next to the emperor. Dashrath placed his hand on the attendant's shoulder as his eyes fell on Vashishta, who had also risen from his seat. Dashrath folded his hands together into a namaste. Guruji.'

Vashishta raised his right hand and blessed the king. May Lord Indra bless you with a long life, Your Majesty.'

Dashrath nodded and cast a cursory look towards his sons, standing firmly together. His eyes rested on Ram; he coughed irritably, turned and hobbled away with a.s.sistance. Kaikeyi followed Dashrath out of the court.

The crier then announced that the emperor had left the court and the courtiers immediately began filing out of the hall.

Manthara remained rooted to her spot, staring intently at the four princes in the distance.

What is it, My Lady?' whispered Druhyu.

The man's submissive demeanour was a clear indication of the dread he felt for the lady. It was rumoured that Manthara was even wealthier than the emperor. Added to this, she was believed to be a close confidante of the most powerful person in the empire, Queen Kaikeyi. The mischievous even suggested that the demon-king Raavan of Lanka was an ally; the reasonable, however, dismissed the last as fanciful.

The brothers are close to each other,' whispered Manthara.

Yes, they appear to be...'

Interesting... Unexpected, but interesting...'

Druhyu cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, and then murmured. What are you thinking, My Lady?'

I have been thinking about this for some time. I'm not sure we can write Ram off. If, after all the hatred and vilification that he has been subjected to for eighteen years, he is still standing strong, we must a.s.sume that he is made of sterner stuff. And Bharat, very obviously, is spirited and devoted to his brother.'

So, what should we do?'

They are both worthy. It's difficult to decide which one to bet on.'

But Bharat is Queen Kaikeyi's-'

I think,' said Manthara, cutting off her aide mid-sentence, I will find some way to make Roshni increase her interaction with them. I need to know more about the character of these princes.'

Druhyu was taken aback. My Lady, please accept my sincere apologies, but your daughter is very innocent, almost like Kanyak.u.mari, the Virgin G.o.ddess. She may not be able to-'

Her innocence is exactly what we need, you fool. Nothing disarms strong men like a genuinely innocent and decent woman. It's the fascination that all strong men have for the Virgin G.o.ddess, who must always be honoured and protected.'

Chapter 10.

Thank you,' smiled Bharat, as he held up his right hand and admired the exquisite golden-thread rakhi tied around his wrist. A pet.i.te young woman stood by his side; she answered to the name of Roshni.

A few weeks had lapsed since the recognition ceremony of the Ayodhya princes. Lakshman and Shatrughan already wore the rakhi thread, signifying a promise of protection made by a brother to his sister. In a break from tradition, Roshni had chosen to tie the rakhi threads first to the youngest and then move on, age-wise, towards the eldest. They sat together in the magnificent royal garden of the main Ayodhya palace. Situated high on a hill, the palace afforded a breathtaking view of the city, its walls and the Grand Ca.n.a.l beyond. The garden had been laid out in the style of a botanical reserve, filled with flowering trees from not only the Sapt Sindhu but other great empires around the world as well. Its splendid diversity was also the source of its beauty, reflecting the composite character of the people of the Sapt Sindhu. Winding paths bordered what should have been a carefully laid out lush carpet of dense gra.s.s in geometric symmetry. Alas, the depleting resources of Ayodhya had taken a toll on the maintenance of the garden, and ugly bald patches dotted the expanse.

Roshni applied the ceremonial sandalwood paste on Bharat's forehead. Manthara's daughter had inherited her mother's fair complexion, but in all other ways the dissimilarity could not be more obvious. Dainty and small-boned, she was soft-spoken, gentle and childlike. The simplicity of her attire was a subtle rejection of the opulence afforded by her family's wealth: a white upper garment coupled with a cream-coloured dhoti. Tiny studs and a bracelet made from Rudraaksh beads gave a hint of festive gaiety to a solemn face framed by long, wavy hair that was tied, as usual, in a neat ponytail. Her most magical attribute, though, was her eyes: overflowing with innocent tenderness and the unconditional, compa.s.sionate love of a true yogini; one who had discovered union with G.o.d.

Bharat pulled out a pouch full of gold coins from his waistband and held it out to Roshni. Here you go, my sister.'

Roshni gave the slightest of frowns. It had become fashionable of late for brothers to offer money or a gift to sisters during the rakhi ceremony. Women like Roshni did not approve of this trend. They believed that they were capable of doing the work of Brahmins, Vaishyas and Shudras: disseminating knowledge, trading or performing physical labour. The only task that sometimes proved challenging for them was that of a Kshatriya. They simply did not possess the physical strength and proclivity for violence. Nature had blessed them with other attributes. They believed that accepting anything besides the promise of physical protection during the rakhi ceremony was an admission of the inferiority of women. Equally, though, Roshni didn't want to be rude.

Bharat, I'm elder to you,' smiled Roshni. I don't think it's appropriate for you to give me money. But I most willingly accept your promise of protection.'