Scion of Ikshvaku

  As Bharat stepped back, Ram said, ‘Don’t worry. Sweet are the fruits of adversity. I will return with more sense knocked into me, I assure you.’

  Bharat laughed softly. ‘One of these days, I’ll stop speaking to you for the fear of being understood.’

  Ram laughed as well. ‘Rule well, my brother.’

  There were some who believed that Bharat’s emphasis on liberty was more suited to the temperament of Ayodhya citizens, indeed the people of the Sapt Sindhu.

  ‘I won’t lie that I did not want it,’ said Bharat. ‘But not this way … not this way…’

  Ram put his hands on Bharat’s strong muscular shoulders. ‘You will rule well. I know that. Make our ancestors proud.’

  ‘I don’t care what our ancestors think.’

  ‘Then make me proud,’ said Ram.

  Bharat’s face fell, along with a fresh stream of tears. He embraced his brother again and they held each other for a long time. Ram overcame his natural reserve as he held on to Bharat. He knew his brother needed this.

  ‘Enough,’ said Bharat, pulling back, wiping his tears and shaking his head. He turned to Sita. ‘Take care of my brother, Bhabhi. He does not know how unethical this world is.’

  Sita smiled. ‘He knows. But he still tries to change things.’

  Bharat sighed. Then he turned towards Ram as an idea struck him. ‘Give me your slippers, Dada.’

  Ram frowned as he looked down at his simple hermit slippers.

  ‘Not these,’ said Bharat. ‘Your royal slippers.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just give them to me, Dada.’

  Ram walked to the side of the bed, where his recently discarded royal garments lay. On the floor was a pair of gold-coloured slippers, with exquisite silver and brown embroidery. Ram picked them up and handed them to Bharat.

  ‘What are you going to do with these?’ asked Ram.

  ‘When the time comes, I will place these rather than myself on the throne,’ said Bharat.

  Ram and Sita immediately understood the implication. With this one gesture, Bharat would effectively declare that Ram was the king of Ayodhya and that he, Bharat, was only a caretaker in his elder brother’s absence. Any attempts to murder the king of Ayodhya would invite the wrath of the mighty empire of the Sapt Sindhu. This was mandated by the treaties between the various kingdoms of the Sapt Sindhu. Added to the cold reality of treaty obligations was the superstition that it was bad karma to kill kings and crown princes, except in battle or open combat. It would offer a powerful shield of protection to Ram, though it would severely undercut Bharat’s own authority and power.

  Ram embraced his Bharat again. ‘My brother…’

  ‘Lakshman?’ said Sita. ‘I thought I’d told you…’

  Lakshman had just entered Ram and Sita’s sitting room. He wore the same attire that his elder brother and sister-in-law did: one of a forest hermit.

  Lakshman dared Sita with determination blazing in his eyes. ‘I’m coming, Bhabhi.’

  ‘Lakshman…’ pleaded Ram.

  ‘You will not survive without me, Dada,’ said Lakshman. ‘I’m not letting you go without me.’

  Ram laughed. ‘It’s touching to see the faith my family has in me. No one seems to trust me to be able to keep myself alive.’

  Lakshman laughed too, but turned serious in a flash. ‘You’re free to laugh or cry about it, Dada. But I am coming with you.’

  An excited Urmila greeted Lakshman as he entered his private chamber. She was dressed in simple, yet fashionable attire. Her dhoti and blouse were dyed in the common colour brown, but an elegant gold border ran along its edges. She wore simple, modest gold jewellery, unlike what she normally favoured.

  ‘Come, my darling,’ said Urmila, smiling with childlike enthusiasm. ‘You must see this. I have single-handedly supervised the packing and most of it is done already.’

  ‘Packing?’ asked a surprised Lakshman, with a fond smile.

  ‘Yes,’ said Urmila, taking his hand and pulling him into the wardrobe room. Two massive trunks made of teak were placed in the centre. Urmila quickly opened both. ‘This one has my clothes and that one has yours.’

  Lakshman stood nonplussed, not knowing how to react to his innocent Urmila.

  She pulled him into their bed chamber, where lay another trunk, packed and ready. It was full of utensils. A small container in one corner caught her attention. Urmila opened it to reveal small packets of spices. ‘See, the way I understand it, we should be able to get meat and vegetables easily in the jungle. But spices and utensils will be difficult. So…’

  Lakshman stared at her, bemused and a trifle dismayed.

  Urmila moved towards him and embraced her husband, smiling fondly. ‘I will cook the most divine meals for you. And for Sita Didi and Ram Jijaji also, of course. We will return fat and healthy from our fourteen-year holiday!’

  Lakshman returned his wife’s embrace gently; her head reached his muscular barrel-chest. Holiday?

  He looked down at his excited wife, who was obviously trying very hard to make the best of what was a bewildering situation for her. She has been a princess all her life. She assumed that she would be living in an even more luxurious palace in Ayodhya. She is not a bad soul. She just wants to be a good wife. But is it right of me, her husband, to agree to her following me into the jungle, even if she wants to do so? Isn’t it my duty to protect her, just like it is my duty to protect my Ram Dada?

  She will not last a day in the jungle. She won’t.

  A heavy weight settled on Lakshman’s heart as it became obvious what he had to do. But he knew he must do so gently so it would not break his Urmila’s tender heart.

  Keeping one arm around her, he raised her chin with his other hand. Urmila gazed at him lovingly with her childlike innocence. He spoke tenderly, ‘I’m worried, Urmila.’

  ‘Don’t be. We’ll handle it together. The forest will be…’

  ‘It’s not about the forest. I’m worried about what will happen here, in the palace.’

  Urmila arched her spine and threw her head back so she could get a better look at her extremely tall husband. ‘In the palace?’

  ‘Yes! Father’s not keeping too well. Chhoti Maa Kaikeyi will be controlling everything now. And, frankly, I don’t think Bharat Dada can stand up to her. My mother will at least have Shatrughan to look after her. But who will look after Badi Maa Kaushalya? What will happen to her?’

  Urmila nodded. ‘True…’

  ‘And if Chhoti Maa Kaikeyi can do this to Ram Dada, can you imagine what she will do to Badi Maa?’

  Urmila’s open face was guileless.

  ‘Someone has to protect Badi Maa,’ Lakshman repeated, as if to drive home his point.

  ‘Yes, that’s true, but there are so many people in the palace. Hasn’t Ram Dada made any arrangements?’ asked Urmila.

  Lakshman smiled sadly. ‘Ram Dada is not the most practical of men. He thinks everyone in the world is as ethical as he is. Why do you think I’m going with him? I need to protect him.’

  Urmila’s face fell as she finally understood what Lakshman was trying to say. ‘I’m not living here without you, Lakshman.’

  He pulled his wife close. ‘It will be for a short time, Urmila.’

  ‘Fourteen years? No, I’m not…’ Urmila burst into helpless tears as she hugged him tight.

  Lakshman eased his hold as he gently raised her chin again. He wiped away her tears. ‘You are a Raghuvanshi now. We hold duty above love; we uphold honour, even at the cost of happiness. This is not a matter of choice, Urmila.’

  ‘Don’t do this, Lakshman. Please. I love you. Don’t leave me.’

  ‘I love you too, Urmila. And I cannot force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I am only requesting you. But before you give me your answer, I want you to think of Kaushalya Maa. Think of the love she has showered upon you over the last few days. Didn’t you tell me that after a long time, you felt as if you had a mother again, in Kaushalya Maa
? Doesn’t she deserve something in return?’

  Urmila burst out crying and embraced Lakshman tightly again.

  A cool evening breeze blew through the palace at the fifth hour of the third prahar, as Sita walked towards Lakshman and Urmila’s private chambers. The guards immediately stood at attention. As they turned to announce her, they were halted by a pensive Lakshman emerging from the chambers. Sita felt a lump in her throat as she looked at his face.

  ‘I’ll sort this out,’ said Sita sternly, as she attempted to walk past him and enter her sister’s chambers.

  Lakshman stopped her, holding her hand with a pleading expression in his eyes. ‘No, Bhabhi.’

  Sita looked at her giant brother-in-law, who suddenly seemed so vulnerable and alone.

  ‘Lakshman, my sister listens to me. Trust me—’

  ‘No, Bhabhi,’ interrupted Lakshman, shaking his head. ‘Forest life will not be easy. We will face death every day. You know that. You are tough, you can survive. But she is…’ Tears welled up in his eyes. ‘She wanted to come, Bhabhi, but I don’t think she should. I convinced her not to… This is for the best.’

  ‘Lakshman…’

  ‘This is for the best, Bhabhi,’ repeated Lakshman, almost as though he was convincing himself. ‘This is for the best.’

  FlyLeaf.ORG

  Chapter 29

  FlyLeaf.ORG

  It had been an eventful six months since Ram, Lakshman and Sita had left Ayodhya. Word that Dashrath had passed away had made Ram repeatedly curse his fate for not being able to perform the duties of an eldest son and conduct the funeral rites of his father. It broke Ram’s heart that he had discovered his father so late in his life. Returning to Ayodhya was not possible, but he had performed a yagna in the forests for the journey his father’s soul had undertaken. Bharat had remained true to his word. He had placed Ram’s slippers on the throne of Ayodhya, and had begun governing the empire as his brother’s regent. It could be said that Ram was appointed emperor in absentia. It was an unorthodox move but Bharat’s liberal and decentralising style of governance made the decision palatable to the kingdoms within the Sapt Sindhu.

  Ram, Lakshman and Sita had travelled south, primarily walking by the banks of rivers, moving inland only when necessary. They had finally reached the borders of the Sapt Sindhu, near the kingdom of South Kosala, ruled by Ram’s maternal grandfather.

  Ram went down on both knees and touched the ground with his forehead; this was the land that had nurtured his mother. As he straightened, he looked at his wife and smiled, as if he knew her secret.

  ‘What?’ asked Sita.

  ‘There are people who have been shadowing us for weeks,’ said Ram. ‘When do you plan to tell me who they are?’

  Sita shrugged delicately and turned to the forest line in the distance, where she knew Jatayu and his soldiers walked stealthily. They had remained out of sight, though close enough to quickly move in if the need arose. Evidently, they were not as discreet as she would have liked them to be; more likely, she had underestimated her husband’s abilities and keen awareness of his surroundings. ‘I will tell you,’ said Sita, with a broad smile, ‘when the time is right. For now, know that they are here for our protection.’

  Ram gave her a piercing look, but let it go for now.

  ‘Lord Manu banned the crossing of the Narmada,’ said Lakshman. ‘If we cross, then we cannot return, according to the law.’

  ‘There is a way,’ said Sita. ‘If we travel south along Maa Kaushalya’s father’s kingdom, we may not have to “cross” the Narmada. The entire kingdom of South Kosala lies to the east of the origin of the Narmada River. And the river itself flows west. If we simply keep travelling south, we will reach the Dandakaranya without “crossing” the Narmada. So, we would not be violating Lord Manu’s ban, right?’

  ‘That’s a technicality, Bhabhi, and you know it. It may work for you and me, but it won’t for Ram Dada.’

  ‘Hmm, should we travel east and leave the Sapt Sindhu by boat then?’ asked Ram.

  ‘We can’t do that,’ said Sita. ‘The seas are ruled by Raavan. He has dotted the Indian peninsula with port-forts. It is common knowledge that he dominates the western coast, but the fact is, he has outposts on the eastern coast as well. That rules out the sea routes. But Raavan doesn’t hold sway in the hinterland. We will be safe south of the Narmada, in the forests of Dandak.’

  ‘But Bhabhi,’ argued Lakshman, ‘Lord Manu’s laws clearly state—’

  ‘Which Lord Manu?’

  Lakshman was shocked. Didn’t Bhabhi know who Lord Manu was? ‘The founder of the Vedic way of life, Bhabhi. Everyone knows…’

  Sita smiled indulgently. ‘There have been many Manus, Lakshman, not just one. Each age has its own Manu. So when you speak of the laws of Manu, you will have to also specify which Lord Manu.’

  ‘I didn’t know this…’ said Lakshman.

  Sita shook her head, as she teased the men affectionately. ‘Did you boys learn anything at all in your gurukul? You know very little.’

  ‘I knew that,’ Ram protested. ‘Lakshman never paid attention in class. Don’t lump me with him.’

  ‘Shatrughan was the one who knew everything, Dada,’ said Lakshman. ‘All of us depended on him.’

  ‘You more than the others,’ joked Ram, as he stretched his back.

  Lakshman laughed as Ram turned to Sita. ‘Okay, I concede your point. But it was the Manu of our age who decreed that we cannot cross the Narmada. And, that if we do, we cannot return. So…’

  ‘It wasn’t a law. It was an agreement.’

  ‘An agreement?’ asked Ram and Lakshman together, surprised.

  Sita continued. ‘I’m sure you’re aware that Lord Manu was a prince from the kingdom of Sangamtamil, deep in the south of India. He led many of his own people, and those of Dwarka, up north into the Sapt Sindhu, when their own lands were swallowed by the rising sea.’

  ‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ said Ram.

  ‘But all the people from these two lands did not leave with Lord Manu. The majority remained behind in Sangamtamil and Dwarka. Lord Manu had radical ideas about how a society should be organised, which many did not agree with. He had his share of enemies. He was allowed to leave with his followers, from both Sangamtamil and Dwarka, on the condition that he would never venture back. In those days, Narmada formed the upper boundary of Dwarka, with Sangamtamil of course being in the deep south. In effect, they promised to leave each other in peace and part ways. The Narmada was to be the natural boundary under the agreement. It was not a law, but an agreement.’

  ‘But if we are his descendants, then we need to honour the agreement that he made,’ said Ram.

  ‘Valid point,’ said Sita. ‘But tell me, what does an agreement require at the very least?’

  ‘It needs two parties to agree on something.’

  ‘And, if one of the parties doesn’t exist anymore, is the agreement still valid?’

  Ram and Lakshman were stumped.

  ‘Many parts of Sangamtamil were already submerged by the time Lord Manu left. The rest went underwater soon after. The seas rose rapidly. Dwarka survived for longer. Progressively though, as the seas rose, the large land mass of Dwarka that had been attached to India was reduced to a long, lonely island.’

  ‘Dwaravati?’ asked Ram, incredulously.

  Dwaravati had been a long, narrow island off the coast of western India, running north to south for nearly five hundred kilometres. The island was swallowed by the sea over three thousand years ago. The survivors from Dwaravati dispersed all over the mainland, and frankly, no one took their claims of being the descendants of the original Dwarkans seriously. This was mainly because the Yadavs, belonging to a powerful kingdom based near the banks of the Yamuna, stridently claimed that they were the sole direct descendants of the Dwarkans. The truth was that the intermingling among the different tribes across India had been so widespread, everybody could claim descent from both the Sangamtamils and the Dwark
ans.

  Sita nodded. ‘The island of Dwaravati was home to the true survivors of Dwarka. Today, they exist among us all.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘So the pure descendants of the Sangamtamils and Dwarkans are long gone. The only ones around are us, their common descendants. How will we breach an agreement we made with ourselves? There’s no other party anymore!’

  The logic was irrefutable.

  ‘So, Bhabhi,’ said Lakshman, ‘should we be heading south and staying in the forests of Dandak?’

  ‘Well, yes. It is the safest place for us.’

  Ram, Lakshman and Sita stood on the southern banks of the Narmada River. Ram went down on one knee and reverentially picked up a fistful of soil. He smeared it across his forehead in three horizontal lines, like the followers of Lord Rudra did with the holy ashes consecrated by the Gods. He whispered, ‘May the land of our ancestors … the soil that was witness to great karma … bless us.’

  Sita and Lakshman followed Ram’s example as they smeared a tilak across their foreheads.

  Sita smiled at Ram. ‘You do know what Lord Brahma said about this land, right?’

  Ram nodded. ‘Yes; more often than not, whenever India faces an existential crisis, our regeneration emerges from the Indian peninsula, from the land that is to the south of the Narmada.’

  ‘Do you know why he said that?’

  Ram shook his head.

  ‘Our scriptures tell us that the south is the direction of death, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Death is believed to be inauspicious in some foreign lands to the west of us; to them it signifies the end of everything. But nothing ever really dies. No material can ever truly escape the universe. It just changes form. In that sense, death is actually also the beginning of regeneration; the old form dies and a new form is born. If the south is the direction of death, then it is also the direction of regeneration.’

  Ram was intrigued by this thought. ‘The Sapt Sindhu is our karmabhoomi, the land of our karma. And the land to the south of the Narmada is our pitrbhoomi, the land of our ancestors. This is the land of our regeneration.’