Ram looked at Lakshman with irritation. ‘I will be back soon. Please tell Guruji that I have to—’
Lakshman interrupted his elder brother. ‘Dada, Maharishi Vishwamitra is here! He is asking for you; specifically for you.’
Ram stared at Lakshman, stunned.
Vishwamitra was the chief of the Malayaputras, the mysterious tribe left behind by the previous Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram. They represented the sixth Vishnu, tasked with carrying forward his mission on earth. The legendary powers of the Malayaputras instilled a sense of awe among the people of the Sapt Sindhu. This effect was further enhanced by Vishwamitra’s fearsome reputation. Born as Kaushik, a Kshatriya, he was the son of the great King Gaadhi. Despite being a brave warrior in his youth, his nature drove him towards becoming a rishi. Against all odds, he succeeded. Thereafter, he reached the pinnacle of Brahmin ascension when he became the chief of the Malayaputras. After taking over as the chief, he had changed his name to Vishwamitra. The Malayaputras were tasked with assisting the next Mahadev, when he appeared. They believed their primary reason for existing, however, was to give rise to the next Vishnu when the time came.
Ram looked down at Dhenuka’s body and then at his brother, torn between the two calls of duty. Lakshman dismounted and caught him by his elbow.
‘Dada, you can come back to this,’ insisted Lakshman, ‘but Maharishi Vishwamitra should not be kept waiting. We have all heard about his legendary temper.’
Ram relented. ‘My horse,’ he ordered.
One of the officers quickly fetched his horse. Ram mounted and swiftly tapped the animal into action; Lakshman followed him. As the horses galloped towards the city, Ram recalled the odd conversation he had had with Vashishta a few days earlier.
Someone is on his way here… I cannot stop it…
‘What can Maharishi Vishwamitra possibly want from me?’ whispered Ram to himself.
…you serve a purpose for him too…
Ram brought his attention back to the present and made a clicking noise, urging the horse to move quicker.
‘Are you saying no to me, Your Highness?’ asked Vishwamitra in a mellifluous voice. But the underlying threat was unmistakable.
As if his position and reputation were not fearsome enough, Maharishi Vishwamitra’s towering persona added to his indomitable aura. He was almost seven feet in height, of gigantic proportions, with a large belly offset by a sturdy, muscular chest, shoulders and arms. His flowing white beard, Brahmin knotted tuft of hair on an otherwise shaven head, large limpid eyes and the holy janau, sacred thread, tied over his shoulder, stood in startling contrast to the numerous battle scars that lined his face and body. His dark complexion was enhanced by his saffron dhoti and angvastram.
Emperor Dashrath and his three queens had received the maharishi in the king’s private office. The maharishi had come straight to the point. One of his ashrams was under attack and he needed Ram’s help to defend it; that was it. No explanations were offered as to the nature of the attack, and how exactly the young prince would defend the mighty Malayaputras, who were reputed to have one of the most feared militias in India within their ranks. The great chief of the Malayaputras would not be questioned or denied.
Dashrath swallowed nervously. Even at the peak of his powers, he would have been afraid to take on Vishwamitra; he was frankly terrified now, though thoroughly confused. He had grown increasingly fond of Ram over the last few months and he did not want to part with him. ‘My Lord, I’m not suggesting that I do not want to send him with you. It’s just that, I feel General Mrigasya should be equal to the task. My entire army is at your disposal and…’
‘I want Ram,’ said Vishwamitra, his eyes boring into Dashrath’s, unnerving the emperor of the Sapt Sindhu. ‘And, I also want Lakshman.’
Kaushalya did not know what to make of the offer from Vishwamitra. While, on the one hand, she was delighted with the possibility that Ram would have a chance to get closer to the great sage, on the other, she was concerned that Vishwamitra would simply use Ram’s martial skills for his own ends and then discard him. Moreover, Kaikeyi could easily grab the opportunity presented by Ram’s absence to have Bharat installed as the crown prince. Kaushalya responded the only way she could when faced with such situations: she shed silent tears.
Kaikeyi felt no such conflict. She already found herself regretting having agreed to Manthara’s plotting, and wished her son was here. ‘Maharishiji,’ said Kaikeyi, ‘I would be honoured to send Bharat to accompany you. We may just have to—’
‘But Bharat is not in Ayodhya,’ said Vishwamitra. It seemed that there was nothing he did not know.
‘You are right, Maharishiji,’ said Kaikeyi. ‘That’s what I was about to say. We may have to wait for a few weeks. I can send a message immediately to have Bharat recalled.’
Vishwamitra stared into Kaikeyi’s eyes. A nervous Kaikeyi looked down, feeling inexplicably as if her secrets had been suddenly exposed. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Vishwamitra’s booming voice filled the room. ‘I want Ram, Your Highness; and Lakshman, of course. I don’t need anyone else. Now, are you sending them with me or not?’
‘Guruji,’ said Sumitra, ‘I offer my sincere apologies for interrupting the conversation. But I think that there has been a big protocol blunder. You have already been with us for a while, but our venerated raj guru, Maharishi Vashishta, has still not had the pleasure of meeting you. Should we send word to him to grace us with his presence? We will carry on our discussion once he’s here.’
Vishwamitra laughed. ‘Hmm! What I’ve heard is true, after all. The third and junior-most queen is the smartest of them all.’
‘Of course I’m not the smartest, Maharishiji,’ said Sumitra, feeling her face redden with embarrassment. ‘I was just suggesting that protocol…’
‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘Follow your protocol. Bring your raj guru. We shall then talk about Ram.’
The king and his wives rushed out of the room, leaving the maharishi alone with some petrified attendants.
Vashishta entered the private royal office alone and dismissed the attendants. No sooner did they leave than Vishwamitra stood up with a sneer, ‘So what arguments will you use to keep him away from me, Divodas?’
Vishwamitra had purposely used the gurukul name of Vashishta, a name that the sage had had when he was a child in school.
‘I am not a child anymore, Maharishi Vishwamitra,’ said Vashishta, with deliberate politeness. ‘My name is Vashishta. And I would prefer it if you addressed me as Maharishi Vashishta.’
Vishwamitra stepped close. ‘Divodas, what are your arguments? Your royal family is a divided house, in any case. Dashrath does not want to part with his sons. Kaushalya is confused, while Kaikeyi definitely wants Bharat to be the one who accompanies me. And Sumitra, smart Sumitra, is happy come what may, for one of her sons will be aligned to whoever wins. You have done quite a job here, haven’t you, Raj Guru?’
Vashishta ignored the barb. It was clear to him that there was little he could do. Ram and Lakshman would have to go with Vishwamitra, regardless of the arguments he could make.
‘Kaushik,’ said Vashishta, using Vishwamitra’s childhood name, ‘it looks like you will force your way once again; no matter how unfair it is.’
Vishwamitra took one more step towards Vashishta, looming large over the raj guru. ‘And it looks like you will run away, once again. Still scared of a fight, eh, Divodas?’
Vashishta closed his fist tight, but his face remained deadpan. ‘You will never understand why I did what I did. It was for—’
‘For the greater good?’ sniggered Vishwamitra, stopping him mid-sentence. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that? There is nothing more pathetic than people hiding their cowardice behind seemingly noble intentions.’
‘You haven’t lost any of your haughty Kshatriya ways, have you? It’s amazing that you actually have the temerity to imagine that you represent the great Lord Parshu Ram, the one
who destroyed Kshatriya arrogance!’
‘Everyone is aware of my background, Divodas. At least I don’t hide anything.’ Vishwamitra glared at the shorter man. ‘Should I reveal your true origin to your precious little boy? Tell him what I did to—’
‘You didn’t do me any favour!’ shouted Vashishta, finally losing control.
‘I may just do one now,’ smiled Vishwamitra.
Vashishta turned around and stormed out of the room. Despite the passage of time, he felt he still owed the arrogant Vishwamitra a modicum of courtesy for the memory of the friendship they once had.
FlyLeaf.ORG
Chapter 16
FlyLeaf.ORG
A week later, Ram and Lakshman stood at the balustrade of the ship of the chief of Malayaputras as it sailed down the Sarayu. They were on their way to one of Vishwamitra’s several ashrams on the banks of the Ganga River.
‘Dada, this massive ship belongs to Maharishi Vishwamitra, as do the two that are following us,’ whispered Lakshman. ‘There are at least three hundred trained and battle-hardened warriors aboard. I have heard stories about thousands more at his secret capital, wherever that is. What in Lord Parshu Ram’s name does he need us for?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ram, as he looked into the dark expanse of water. Everyone aboard kept a safe distance from them. ‘This makes no sense. But Father has ordered us to treat Maharishi Vishwamitra as our guru and that is—’
‘Dada, I don’t think Father had a choice.’
‘And neither do we.’
A few days later, Vishwamitra ordered the ships to drop anchor. Boats were quickly lowered and fifty people rowed across to the shore, Ram and Lakshman included.
As the boats banked, the Malayaputras jumped ashore onto the narrow beach and began to prepare the ground for a puja.
‘What are we planning to do here, Guruji?’ asked Ram politely as he folded his hands into a namaste.
‘Hasn’t your raj guru taught you anything about this place?’ asked Vishwamitra, his eyebrows furrowed together, a sardonic smile on his face.
Ram would not say anything uncomplimentary about his guru, Vashishta. But Lakshman had no such compunctions.
‘No Guruji, he hasn’t,’ said Lakshman, shaking his head vigorously.
‘Well, this is where Lord Parshu Ram offered a prayer to the fifth Vishnu, Lord Vaaman, before he set out to battle Kaartaveerya Arjun.’
‘Wow,’ said Lakshman, as he looked around with newfound respect.
‘He also performed the Bal-Atibal puja here,’ continued Vishwamitra, ‘which bestowed upon him health, and freedom from hunger and thirst.’
‘May I request you, Guruji,’ said Ram, his hands held together in respect before Vishwamitra, ‘to teach us as well.’
Lakshman became distinctly uncomfortable. He had no desire to be free of hunger and thirst. He quite liked his food and drink.
‘Of course,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘Both of you can sit beside me as I conduct the puja. The effect of the puja reduces your hunger and thirst for at least one week. The impact on your health is life-long.’
Within a few weeks, the convoy of ships reached the confluence of the Sarayu and the Ganga, after which they steered westwards up the Ganga. They dropped anchor a few days later and secured the vessels to a makeshift jetty. Leaving a skeletal staff behind, Vishwamitra, Ram and Lakshman set off on foot along with two hundred warriors. The entourage finally reached the local ashram of the Malayaputras after a four-hour march in a south-easterly direction.
Ram and Lakshman had been told that they were being brought to the ashram to bolster the efforts to protect it from enemy attacks. But what they saw was a complete surprise to the brothers. The ashram was not designed for any kind of serious defence. A rudimentary fence of hedge and thorny creepers would probably suffice to keep out some animals, but was certainly not enough to stave off well-armed soldiers. The shallow stream near the ashram had not been adequately barricaded to prevent a determined attack on the camp. There was no area cleared, either outside or inside the fence, to afford a line of sight. The mud-walled, thatch-roofed huts in the ashram were clustered together; a serious fire hazard. All one needed to do was set fire to a single hut, and the blaze would quickly spread through the ashram. Even the animals had been housed in the innermost circle of the camp, instead of near the boundary, from where their instinct would provide a timely warning of an attack.
‘Something is not right, Dada,’ Lakshman spoke under his breath. ‘This camp looks like it’s a new settlement; recent, in fact. The defences are, quite frankly, useless and…’
Ram signalled him with his eyes to keep quiet. Lakshman stopped talking and turned around to find Vishwamitra walking up to them. The maharishi was slightly taller than even the gigantic Lakshman.
‘Have your lunch, princes of Ayodhya,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘Then we will talk.’
The Ayodhyan princes sat by themselves, ignored by the denizens of the camp who scurried about, implementing the instructions of Arishtanemi, the legendary military chief of the Malayaputras and Vishwamitra’s right-hand man. Vishwamitra sat in sukhaasan under a banyan tree: his legs folded in a simple cross-legged position, with each foot tucked beneath the opposite knee. His hands lay on his knees, palms down; his eyes were closed; the relaxed yogic aasan for non-rigorous meditation.
Lakshman observed Arishtanemi speaking to an aide as he pointed towards the princes. Within moments, a woman dressed in a saffron dhoti and blouse approached Ram and Lakshman with two plantain leaves. She spread them out in front of the princes and sprinkled ritual water on them. She was followed by a couple of young students bearing food bowls. Food was served under the able supervision of the woman.
She smiled, folded her hands together into a namaste and said, ‘Please eat, princes of Ayodhya.’
Lakshman looked suspiciously at the food and then at Vishwamitra in the distance. A banana leaf had been placed in front of the maharishi as well, on which was placed a solitary jambu fruit: the fruit that had been consecrated with the ancient name of India, Jambudweep.
‘I think they are trying to poison us, Dada,’ said Lakshman. ‘As guests we have been served all this food, while Maharishi Vishwamitra is eating just one jambu fruit.’
‘That fruit is not for eating, Lakshman,’ said Ram, as he tore a piece of the roti and scooped some vegetables with it.
‘Dada!’ said Lakshman, as he grabbed Ram’s hand, preventing him from eating.
Ram smiled. ‘If they wanted to kill us, they had better opportunities on the ship. This food is not poisoned. Eat!’
‘Dada, you trust every—’
‘Just eat, Lakshman.’
‘This is where they attacked,’ said Vishwamitra, pointing to the partially-burnt hedge fencing.
‘Here, Guruji?’ asked Ram, astonished as he cast a quick look at Lakshman before turning his attention back to Vishwamitra.
‘Yes, here,’ said Vishwamitra.
Arishtanemi stood behind Vishwamitra in silence.
Ram’s incredulity was well founded. It didn’t look like much of an attack. A two-metre wide strip of the hedge fencing had been partially burnt. Some miscreants seemed to have poured paraffin and set it on fire; they must not have had sufficient quantities of it, for practically the whole fence was still intact. The vandals must have struck at night time, when dew formation on the hedge had thwarted their amateur attempts at arson.
These were clearly not professionals.
Ram stepped out of the boundary through the small breach in the fencing and picked up a partially burnt piece of cloth.
Lakshman quickly followed his brother, took the cloth from Ram and sniffed it, but detected no flammable substance. ‘It’s a piece of cloth from an angvastram. One of them must have accidentally set his own clothes on fire. Idiot!’
Lakshman’s eyes fell on a knife; he examined it closely before handing it to his brother. It was old and rusty, though well sharpened; it clearly did not belong
to a professional soldier.
Ram looked at Vishwamitra. ‘What are your orders, Guruji?’
‘I need you to find these attackers who disrupt our rituals and other ashram activities,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘They must be destroyed.’
An irritated Lakshman butted in. ‘But these people are not even…’
Ram signalled for silence. ‘I will follow your orders, Guruji, because that is what my father has asked me to do. But you need to be honest with me. Why have you brought us here when you have so many soldiers at your command?’
‘Because you have something that my soldiers do not possess,’ answered Vishwamitra.
‘What is that?’
‘Ayodhya blood.’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘The attackers are the Asuras of the old code.’
‘They’re Asuras?!’ exclaimed Lakshman. ‘But there are no more Asuras left in India. Those demons were killed by Lord Rudra a long time ago.’
Vishwamitra looked at Lakshman with exasperation. ‘I’m talking to your elder brother.’ Turning back to Ram, he said, ‘The Asuras of the old code would not dream of attacking an Ayodhyan.’
‘Why, Guruji?’
‘Have you heard of Shukracharya?’
‘Yes, he was the guru of the Asuras. He is, or was, worshipped by the Asuras.’
‘And do you know where Shukracharya was from?’
‘Egypt.’
Vishwamitra smiled. ‘Yes, that is technically true. But India has a big heart. If a foreigner comes here and accepts our land as his motherland, he is a foreigner no more. He becomes Indian. Shukracharya was brought up here. Can you guess which Indian city was his home town?’
Ram’s eyes widened with amazement. ‘Ayodhya?!’
‘Yes, Ayodhya. The Asuras of the old code will not attack any Ayodhyan, for that land is sacred to them.’
Ram, Lakshman and Arishtanemi rode out of the ashram the following day, at the first hour of the second prahar. Accompanied by fifty soldiers, they moved in a southward direction. The local Asura settlement was believed to be a little more than a day’s ride away.