PRINCE OF DHARMA

by AKB eBOOKS Ashok K. Banker

  Rama nodded. ‘I did what I thought was right at the time. I’m sorry if I hurt your pride, Lakshman. It won’t happen again.’

  Lakshman’s anger faded. There was more to this than Rama was telling him, he knew.

  ‘Rajkumars.’

  Vishwamitra’s face glowed with a new intensity. The brahmarishi had visibly gained strength during the yagna and now he looked and moved like a man who had shed fifty years— or five hundred, considering his age. He fed them both the prasadam from the yagna with his own hands. Lakshman let go of his questions and doubts as he received the sanctified fruits of the sacrifice and repeated the ritual thanks.

  ‘Your service has come to an end, rajkumars,’ the brahmarishi said with a smile. ‘You have fulfilled your dharma with great success.’ He glanced at Lakshman. ‘And great sacrifice. Soon, we will return to Ayodhya where you will resume your lives as royal princes of your illustrious line. Your father will be proud of how well you conducted yourselves on this your first spiritual mission. And the people will rejoice in the knowledge that you accomplished the cleansing of the dreaded Bhayanak-van. No more will Aryas fear to enter those fearsome woods again. In a generation or two, they will be the site of cities as great as Ayodhya and Mithila. And you made all this possible, my young shishyas. You have done me proud.’

  The sage beckoned to the Vajra commander, who was standing in line awaiting his turn to receive prasadam.

  ‘Vajra Commander Bejoo insists on accompanying us back on our return journey, and I have consented to allow him to fulfil his orders.’

  Bejoo acknowledged the sage’s generosity with a namaskar and a bow.

  ‘His associate Bheriya will ride back to the capital to inform Maharaja Dasaratha of the good news, so that when you return home, you will be welcomed back with full pomp and ceremony as befits two victorious princes of Ayodhya.’

  He gestured to his rishis, who handed the prasadam to Bejoo. ‘Kshatriya, on behalf of all at Siddh-ashrama, I thank you for your service in the duty of your rajkumars. Even though you disobeyed my wishes by following us, your sacrifices in Bhayanak-van more than absolved you of your error.’

  Bejoo seemed about to say something, then changed his mind. He bowed his head as he accepted the prasadam.

  ‘You are too kind, mahadev. Will the rajkumars and yourself start your return journey today?’

  ‘Yes, good man. But we shall not be returning directly to Ayodhya. We shall be visiting Mithila first.’

  Bejoo blinked. ‘But that will take us a full two days out of our way. Rajkumar Rama Chandra is to be crowned prince-heir on his sixteenth naming day, less than eight days from now.’

  ‘And he shall return in time for the coronation. But this detour is unavoidable. I have important business in Mithila and I would prefer that the rajkumars attend me. After all, do not forget that they are still oathsworn to me until such time as I hand them over personally to their father the maharaja.’

  The commander wrestled with his thoughts for a moment, then sighed. ‘As you say, mahadev. With your permission, I shall dispatch my associate to Ayodhya at once with this news as well as the earlier information. Aagya, gurudev?’

  He bowed to the brahmarishi, then to the princes.

  ‘Thank you for your service, commander,’ Rama said formally. To Bheriya, standing to one side deferentially, he added: ‘Good journey.’

  Bheriya thanked them with a namaskar and both Bejoo and he retreated to the waiting chariots. Bejoo put his arm around the younger man, giving him his last instructions.

  ‘Rama,’ Lakshman said. ‘Why does Bejoo-chacha look at me so strangely, as if I’ve grown four ears or something? I just don’t understand it. He used to be so nice to me back when we were boys.’

  Rama shrugged. ‘People change.’

  Lakshman wanted to argue that point but Rama had already turned back to the seer.

  ‘Gurudev,’ Rama asked. ‘If you will pardon my asking, what business requires your presence in Mithila?’

  The brahmarishi nodded agreeably, relaxed and contented after the yagna. ‘I must attend a marriage.’

  ‘A marriage? Whose marriage, gurudev?’

  Vishwamitra smiled cryptically. ‘Yours.’

  SAMAPTAM

  ONE

  Bheriya sensed the attack an instant before it came. He and his men were on the dirt path that led up to the cliff. A few yojanas and they would reach the plateau overlooking the Sarayu valley, within sight of Ayodhya. The path was narrow and overgrown, his arms and face criss-crossed with scratches inflicted by some of the more intrusive branches and bushes, yet he rode as fast as the available light and the way would permit, eager to reach Ayodhya and convey his news.

  The rajkumars are safe; their mission was a success. All of Ayodhya would cheer when they heard his tidings; the maharaja would be overjoyed. Then Bheriya could go home to his new bride and they would resume where they had left off celebrating their suhaag raat. He was thinking of just how that particular celebration would go when he saw the movement on the boulder up ahead.

  The path wound uphill and turned sharply, following the curve of the cliffside. At the turning, a large lohit-stone boulder protruded, looming over the path. The ambush came from atop the boulder.

  At first Bheriya thought it was a deer of some sort. He glimpsed speckled downy fur and large doe-like eyes. Then the creature rose up to its full height, silhouetted against the light of the almost full moon, and he saw its skin ripple, changing in seconds to something quite un-deer-like.

  ‘Rakshas!’ he shouted instantly. ‘Savdhaan! Enemy above! On the rock!’

  His men reacted at once. The moment he yelled, they left the path and began to fan out, separating and encircling the boulder in question, arms at the ready. Bheriya stayed on the path, his spear ready and poised even before the creature moved.

  As the rakshasi leaped off the boulder, roaring with rage, Bheriya threw the spear. It sped through the air headed directly for the creature’s chest. But at the last instant, the rakshasi twisted and dodged the flying missile in mid-air. She fell into the thick undergrowth, vanishing from his sight.

  ‘Surround and destroy!’ he ordered. ‘Be alert for more enemies!’

  He reached for another spear, hefting it expertly as he guided his horse forward. It had been a rakshasi, he was sure of it. He had seen the ugly horned head and the gaping teeth and the unmistakable bulge of its feminine chest. But why had he mistaken it for a deer at first? It didn’t matter. What concerned him now was finding the beast and killing it swiftly. And making sure it was alone.

  He assumed it was a straggler that had survived the battle in the Bhayanak-van. The Southwoods had been still blazing fiercely when he had left Siddh-ashrama earlier this afternoon, and his party had had to take a wide detour to avoid the enormous swathe of the fire. This creature had undoubtedly escaped both the battle and the fire and was crazed and confused, blindly seeking to avenge its fallen companions. He would soon dispatch it to join those companions.

  The sounds of bestial howls and human cries exploded from the thick undergrowth up ahead.

  He had seen a pair of chariot cutting through the bush on his orders, running to the right.

  Those were four of his best men. Then the human cries broke off with chilling abruptness, and he knew that the rakshasi had drawn first blood.

  ‘Jai Shani-deva!’ he cried, riding into the bush. His horse thrashed through the scrub and trees, and he swatted aside flailing tree limbs.

  He came upon the chariots and stopped. They were all dead, slaughtered. Not just the chariot riders and the bowmen; the horses too.

  Cursing, he backed his horse to the path, calling to his men to regroup around him. He realised too late that the tactic he had chosen had been the wrong one under the circumstances. It would have worked had there been a whole herd of rakshasas. But because there was only one, the thick brush gave it cover from which to strike and flee, while blocking his men.

  ‘To
me! Vajra, come to me!’

  He found the path again and turned his horse around, reeling round in circles, trying to find his men or the rakshasi, either of them. All about him, the undergrowth was exploding with screams and cries of pain and terror. Could one rakshasi be doing so much damage? How could she move so fast? She had been relatively small, barely seven feet high, and slender, lithely muscled. But then he remembered her bared fangs as she had leaped from the boulder, gleaming in the moonlight. And those claws, yes, those claws.

  He wheeled about, trying to get a fix on her position. He crashed through the undergrowth, finding men unhorsed, their throats slashed, bellies cut, horses disembowelled. All around him, from every direction at once it seemed, the cries of terror continued unabated.

  ‘To me, Vajra!’ He was angry now, furious at being duped so easily by a single asura. How had she known they would separate and fan out? Could a rakshasi know a Vajra’s military tactics? Surely that was impossible!

  He broke through the bush, finding the path yet again. And stopped.

  She was standing in the middle of the path, waiting for him. Her talons and mouth dripped dark viscous fluids in the silvery moonlight. She was crouching like a bear in a river waiting to catch a fish.

  The sounds of his men had ceased. They were all dead, he realised.

  He hefted the spear in order to judge the throw perfectly. He waited for her to make the first move, determined this time to strike his target. A Vajra Kshatriya never missed twice.

  Yet he did miss.

  And she didn’t.

  ***

  Supanakha licked herself clean. The mortal blood tasted salty and acidic. She spat it out in disgust. She had lost the taste for blood long ago. But there was no way to avoid swallowing some when ripping out throats and slashing bellies. It was that part about killing mortals she disliked, the vile saline taste of them.

  The whole ambush had taken only a few minutes. It had been easier than she’d expected. The Vajra Kshatriyas had been ill-prepared for the attack, and their leader was disoriented by her part-doe part-rakshasi appearance at first sight. He had acted exactly as she had known he would; she had fought Vajra Kshatriyas before. For all their so-called unconventional tactics, Aryas were far too predictable for a truly experienced asura. She had seen Vajra Kshatriyas try the same separate-andsurround tactic as much as three hundred years ago. The outcome of that fight had been the same as this one.

  She climbed back up on to the boulder, her claws rasping on the craggy lohit-stone. The moon illuminated her bloody fur, making it glisten wetly. She would sit here a while and bask in the moonlight. Her cousin would probably contact her again tonight, to find out if she had carried out his orders.

  Just a few hours away from Rama, and she already missed him. She had followed him down the river yesterday, all the way into the Bhayanak-van. During the battle she had transformed into a langur and climbed a tree, staying high enough to be hidden, low enough to watch.

  Seeing him slaughter her fellow asuras had aroused her powerfully. It had been a thrill to watch a mortal who could stand up to so many of her brothers and sisters and slay them so efficiently. While staying alive and unharmed himself, of course. She had watched and grown more attracted to him than before.

  She had a plan. She would speak to her cousin when he contacted her later tonight. Convince Ravana that Rama was now immune to any assassination attempt. That even Kala-Nemi wouldn’t be able to get close to him now. With the power of the maha-mantras, the guidance of the sage, and the dev-astras in his possession, Rama was all but invulnerable.

  But he could be reached by a woman. Because of her part-mortal parentage, Supanakha could take the form of a mortal woman so convincingly, even the brahmarishi wouldn’t know for certain that she wasn’t one. That was how she had been able to follow them so closely all the way to the Bhayanak-van. And before that, she had been able to observe them in Anangaashrama undetected.

  Yes. Where an assassin would surely fail, a woman might succeed. A beautiful young Arya woman who was in some distress, whom they happened to come across while on their journey to Mithila. She already knew they would set out tomorrow at daybreak. She could race ahead of them, just as she had raced ahead of this Vajra company tonight. And ambush them just as effectively. Using deception and disguise rather than surprise and shock.

  Supanakha smiled, her teeth flashing brightly in the moonlight. Yes, that was a fine plan. Now all she had to do was convince Ravana. Her smile faded. That was easier said than done. But she would manage it somehow. She simply had to get close to Rama, touch his smooth young body again, feel his heart beating against her breast once more.

  Even if she had to tear out that heart a moment later.

  After all, she was a rakshasi. And among her kind, there was very little difference between mating and murder.

  In fact, she had often found that the latter was far more pleasurable than the former.

  She raised her head and howled at the moon, exulting in her recent victory and her forthcoming conquest. The sound carried for yojanas on the still night air.

  She waited for Ravana to come to her and hear her plan.

  TWO

  Sumitra-maa was the last to arrive. She had never been to the seal room before and had taken two wrong turns getting here. She scurried in, murmuring apologies for her lateness, and took a seat between Kausalya and Bharat. Shatrugan was the only one standing, his axe slung at his waist even though it was the middle of the night and he was indoors. Sumitra frowned at him, trying to show her displeasure at his wearing a weapon beneath his father’s roof. He shrugged.

  She sighed and looked around at Kausalya.

  ‘Why did the guruji call us here?’ she asked, whispering.

  Kausalya shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. All Sumantra would tell me was that the guru had something important to discuss with us.’

  Sumitra looked around. Except for the four of them, there was nobody else in the room. The seal room was an administrative chamber; the kingdom’s official seals were stored here. By day, clerks worked at these tables, copying out official writs and proclamations in preparation for the maharaja to apply his official royal seal. Of course, it was usually Pradhan-Mantri Sumantra who did the actual applying, but he consulted with the maharaja. To Sumitra, who had little interest in administrative matters, it was just a large musty room full of big desks covered with scrolls and parchments and writing materials.

  ‘Where are they then?’ she asked. ‘Guruji and Sumantra, I mean?’

  Before Kausalya could answer, the doors swung open again and Guru Vashishta entered, followed by Pradhan-Mantri Sumantra. The guru was clad in his customary white robes, a rudraksh mala around his neck, but was without his trademark staff. Sumitra marvelled at how the guru’s clothes could appear so clean and fresh even at this hour of night; surely he couldn’t have donned fresh clothes just for this meeting?

  Vashishta waited for Sumantra to shut the doors, then he gestured in the air with one hand, reciting a mantra very quickly. Sumitra felt a strange dampening sensation in her ears, as if she had been listening to very loud bells clanging and they had abruptly fallen silent. She saw Shatrugan and Bharat put their fingers in their ears and shake them, as if they felt the exact same sensation.

  ‘A masking mantra,’ the guru explained shortly. ‘To keep our words from being overheard.’

  ‘You suspect spies within the palace, gurudev?’ Kausalya sounded shocked.

  Vashishta looked at Kausalya grimly. Even by the light of the mashaals, Sumitra thought she saw new lines of age on the guru’s face. He looked as though he had aged several years since she had seen him last. But that was just this afternoon, when we bade goodbye to Rama and Lakshman. The thought of Rama and Lakshman brought a lump to her throat and she tried to keep her mind clear of all thoughts, the better to concentrate on what was being discussed.

  ‘Not just spies, First Queen. Traitors too.’ He turned to look at each one of them
in turn.

  Sumitra shifted uncomfortably as his hawklike eyes stayed on her a moment. ‘This is why I have called you here tonight. To warn you.’

  ‘Who are these traitors?’ Shatrugan’s voice was soft but his tone was unmistakably angry. ‘Show them to us, guruji. We’ll cut them down like ripe wheat.’

  The guru nodded kindly at Shatrugan. ‘Your eagerness for action is understandable, Rajkumar Shatrugan. But these traitors cannot be dealt with as easily as you would like.’

  ‘Why not?’ Bharat asked. ‘After all, they’re mortal, aren’t they? We caught and imprisoned thirteen spies in the city dungeon. Why can’t we root out and imprison these ones as well?’

  Guru Vashishta raised a hand. ‘Patience, good Bharat. Hear me out first. I have just had a very disturbing encounter in that same city dungeon. And that is what prompts my speaking to you at this unearthly hour.’