RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  “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 coul
d 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!”

  Rama gestured dismissively. “It was all deception. You played your part well, I grant you that. No doubt your father rehearsed you well, your true father. For try as you might, you cannot deny that fact. Ravana is your father, and your unborn children his grandchildren.”

  “They are your children, Rama,” she said. “Dasaratha’s grandchildren. Kausalya’s grandchildren. Heirs to the Suryavansha empire. Claimants to the sunwood throne.”

  “Ah,” he said, “now you come to the quick. Claimants to the throne of Ayodhya. And in time, all Aryavarta. That was ever your father’s wily scheme. That is the reason why you hid the truth of your being with child when we were in exile.”

  “I did not hide it, I was about to tell you that very day! But that monster abducted me, forcibly. You know this to be true. You were there! How can you say these things, accuse me of such terrible crimes? I am your wife. I stayed with you fourteen years in jungle exile! Why would I do that if not for love of you?”

  “Or for love of your father,” Rama said. “You were only a tool in his master plan. A minor piece in his great game of chaupar, to be moved at will across the board as he pleased, sacrificed without a second thought.”

  “I fought rakshasas with you!” she said fiercely. “Killed them! We slaughtered them by the thousands!” She turned to Valmiki. “Tell him, ! You were there too. Would I have slaughtered rakshasas had I known I was descended from their line?”

  Valmiki was about to answer when Rama raised a hand, stopping him. “No need to debate this further. Whether or not you knew then is irrelevant—.”

  “Irrelevant? You accuse me of being a liar and of having deceived you all these years! How can you call that irrelevant?”

  “It is irrelevant to me,” Rama said coldly. “Either way, the truth is out now. This is where we stand. You are the progeny of Ravana, placed into my innermost circle of trust in order to destabilize not just me but my family, my lineage, my dynasty and all Aryavarta. For all this is part of the master plan devised by your illustrious father.”

  “No!” Sita said. “I will not accept what you say. It is untrue, grossly untrue. No such plan was devised. Nor was I party to any act of treachery to you or your family. It is my family too, Rama! My children are your children. I share your bed, your table, your life. Does that not mean anything to you? After a lifetime together, would you reject me out of hand based on mere conjecture and speculation?”

  Rama turned to look at her. The hardness of his features was frightening to behold. It was his war face, the face he had showed only to his bitter enemies on the battlefield, before he struck them down with sword or arrow. Never before had that face been directed at her. Yet there it was now, looking at her with such unforgiving cruelty that she could scarcely believe this was Rama, her Rama.

  No, not my Rama. Not anymore.

  She had no idea how a bond that had withstood every test until now could be snapped so suddenly, so cruelly. It shook her to the very core, caused her to feel a sadness so overwhelming, she felt she would drown in it. Be washed away by its power. It surged and roared inside her head, warring with the disbelief, shock and horror that swam inside her, nauseating her and and making her wish that the earth itself would open up and swallow her whole. Better dead than to face such a moment, live through this, endure such abuse and unfair treatment from the one person she had trusted above all, trusted with her very life. Why? How?

  “Enough of your lies and denials, woman,” Rama said with a tone so bitter, he might have been condemning a stranger to death for an unspeakable crime. “It is pointless to lie thusly when the engineer of this great plot himself stands before us. Let us ask Ravana himself to confirm or deny your complicity!”

  Rama turned to face Lord Shiva once more.

  Sita turned to look as well.

  She saw that Shiva had gone, vanished through the great doorway that had brought him here, presumably, for the doorway shimmered and glowed with strange, alien hues and reflections even now, just as it had before the Three-Eyed One had stepped through it to enter their world.

  Now only Ravana remained there, still kneeling as he had been before. He began to raise himself up now, heaving his great rack of heads and mighty torso upon his powerful legs as he stood to his full height, glowering down at them with unmitigated expressions of pleasure, delight and glee showing on all his ten faces.

  “It is as Rama says,” Ravana boomed. “Every word of it. Though I am a different Ravana from the one you speak of – a Ravana come here from a past time, long before even Ayodhya existed – yet even now, I cannot deny that I have planned and put into motion the seeds of the great plan that will lead eventually to the fruition that is unfolding here and now in the mortal plane. All that has happened on this morning in Ayodhya has been according to a well-ordered plan by me. As my erstwhile uncle Kala-Nemi has surely said to you already, everything you thought you knew until now is a lie. The ease with which Rama slew me upon the battlefield of Lanka was only possible because I permitted myself to be slain that easily. How else could he defeat the One whom even the devas could not overpower in a millennia of conflict? Rama knew this too. Just as he knew that everything he did was essential to my scheme too. Yes. Rama himself was aware that he was merely playing his part in a greater play. As were you, my dear daughter. How well you played your role! How splendid an actor you have been in this role of Sita Janaki! It is no good your pretending further. The time has come for us all to unite and take the next, final step in the greater game that is now afoot. For when Kala-Nemi, Atikaya, Mandodhari, or even Rama referred to my vengeance, they did not mean something as puerile and obvious as the destruction of Ayodhya. The vengeance of Ravana is a far greater plan, one that will impact all worlds, all dimensions, all planes of existence, and change all things known and unknown, through all eternity to come!”

  Ravana raised himself to his full height, a formidable specimen, his ten heads all displaying different expressions.

  “Behold!”

  He spread his arms wide, all six pairs of them, green fire crackling from all his taloned fingertips. And behind him the Vortal opened again, like the eye of some great primordial beast and with a grinding scream that drove everyone to their knees, blinding light exploded outwards from the archway as it expanded to fill the entire universe.

  “Rama!” Hanuman bellowed as he struggled to maintain his footing. The light blasting out of the archway was unbearable. Rama and Sita had both winced instinctively at first, and then been forced to bend over, toppling to their knees too.

  For though we may be born of divinity yet in this mortal world, we are mortal too and subject to all the frailties of mortal flesh, Rama thought as he endured the shrieking agony that seared his brain.

  Hanuman cried out again, as always more concerned about his master than about his own wellbeing. Finally, he too was unable to withstand the immensity of the shakti pouring out from the doorway, and slumped to his haunches, crouched a moment, then toppled over onto his knees, bending over till his head touched the ground. He was weeping with frustration, for since his own powers had been awakened in Rama’s service, he had believed himself capable of anything.

  Today he is learning that everyone, no matter how powerful, has a limit. Nobody is greater than the shakti of Brahm
an itself. I’m sorry, my friend, but it is a necessary lesson.

  Almost as if he heard Rama’s thoughts, Hanuman’s struggles subsided and the vanar settled into a crouched submission.

  Beside Rama, Sita knelt on the ground, head bowed as well. Accepting the frailty of her form and the superior shakti that blasted them and the surrounding landscape.

  Rama forced himself to look around. The entire world was bathed in blinding white light. So bright, he could just barely make out the fact that where it touched anything, it was tinged with intense blue. It looked like the world was being blasted by a hurricane of epic intensity, yet he knew the shakti would not actually harm or damage anything or being. He did not know how he knew this; he simply knew. The phenomenon was akin to a great tunnel of shakti rushing towards them rather than them rushing through the tunnel. The intensity and epic nature of the shakti as well as the disconcerting effect of the shakti rushing at them with such ferocious velocity and power was what made the experience unbearable.

  Yamadev alone remained standing, unmoved by the hurricane of brahman light. After all, he was a deva. Yet even he looked downwards, unwilling to stare directly at the effulgence, or perhaps simply showing humility before the force that made up and worked the universe itself, showing respect. He saw Rama looking towards him and made an infinitesimal movement of acknowledgement. Rama heard his voice within his head and knew that Sita and Hanuman did so too.