RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  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 Sh
atrugan. 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.

  Garuda bowed down before him.

  Rama climbed aboard.

  Garuda flapped his wings and rose up into the air, into the infinite light without beginning or end, origin or limit.

  Take me home, Garuda, Vishnu heard himself say. My heart longs to see my Devi Lakshmi again. I have been too long away from her, playing this game of gods and demons. My work there on earth is done for now. Take me home.

  His voice no longer sounded strange to himself. It sounded natural as it had always sounded.

  The bird-carrier rose up into the infinite light, carrying the being named Vishnu who had once been Rama.

  In a flash of an eye-wink they were lost to human sight and mind, passing beyond the extent of mortal understanding or knowledge.

  Jai Shri Vishnu.

  Jai Shri Lakshmi.

  Jai Shri Hindmata.

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