PRINCE OF DHARMA
Page 48
Sumitra noticed Pradhan-Mantri Sumantra shuddering at the guru’s words. ‘What happened in the dungeon, guruji?’ she asked mildly. ‘We have heard all sorts of rumours. Is it true that those prisoners melted into milky fluid and vanished down a crack in the floor?’
The guru sighed wearily. ‘Rani Sumitra. The truth might be more than you can stand to hear. Especially at the end of a day fraught with so much stress. I understand that the maharaja has regained consciousness.’
‘Yes,’ Kausalya replied.
‘But he is not yet fully in his senses?’
Kausalya paused before replying. ‘He is disturbed. It is probably a result of his deteriorating condition. He has been having strange dreams.’
The guru nodded grimly. ‘I will go to him when we are done here. But I wish you all to promise me that not a word of what we speak here will reach his ears.’
They all looked at each other uncertainly.
‘Guruji,’ Bharat asked respectfully. ‘How can we conspire behind my father’s back?’
‘Conspire?’ The guru issued a wan smile. ‘This is not conspiracy, young Bharat. Conspiracy is what our enemies are brewing right now, even as we speak. But to set your mind at rest, let me remind you that with your father incapacitated, the onus of the kingdom falls on the shoulders of Pradhan-Mantri Sumantra, First Queen Kausalya-maa, and yourself.’
‘Me?’ Bharat looked incredulous.
‘Yes, Dasaratha-putra. For until your brother Rama returns home safe and sound, you must be regarded as the prince-inwaiting.’ The guru paused. ‘I would not like to explain that part further; I believe you understand it well enough.’
‘What did you learn in the dungeon, guruji?’ Kausalya’s voice was quiet but urgent. ‘You learned something from the spies that made you call us together, is it not so? What was it?’
Guru Vashishta turned his ancient eyes on the first queen. ‘You are wise beyond your years, Kausalya. The devas have gifted you with an acute analytical mind. Kosala could do worse than to have you reigning as regent after the maharaja passes on.’
Kausalya blinked several times, clearly taken aback at this unexpected compliment. ‘I only use common sense, guruji.’
‘And you use it wisely.’ The guru became suddenly businesslike. ‘You are quite right. I learned something in the dungeon that alarmed me greatly. I thought I had the measure of the current crisis. I regret to say I had only part measure of the whole situation. The rot that Brahmarishi Vishwamitra and I sensed is riper than we believed. The Demon Lord of Lanka has his claws far deeper in the body of this great Arya nation than either of us thought.’
Bharat and Shatrugan exchanged glances.
Shatrugan shuffled his feet uneasily. ‘Shama, guruji. I don’t understand your meaning.’
‘I mean only to say that Ravana’s influence is far greater than any of us suspected. Not only has he planted spies in the royal court, he has gained influence over the throne of Ayodhya itself!’
Sumitra rose to her feet, gasping. ‘Impossible! That would mean—’
‘That one of the royal family is secretly loyal to Ravana,’ Kausalya said slowly. She reached out and caught Sumitra’s hand, firmly drawing her back to her seat. ‘Can it be true then, guruji? Can such a thing really have happened?’
Bharat and Shatrugan looked bewildered and angry, respectively. Shatrugan had kept his hand on the shaft of his axe all through the discussion. Now he lifted it helplessly.
‘But that would mean … that one of us is a traitor!’ Shatrugan looked around. ‘How can that be possible?’
Guru Vashishta spread his hands. ‘And yet it is so. After my encounter in the dungeon, I know this to be true. One of the royal family is a traitor to the Arya nations and a supporter of the king of the asuras, plotting and conspiring to destroy us all and aid Ravana in his scheme to ravage and conquer the mortal world.’
Sumitra’s hands flew to her chest. Her heart was thumping so loud, she was certain everyone else could hear it clearly in the dead silence that followed the guru’s words.
She looked around the room. ‘But how could any of us be—’ She broke off, realisation dawning.
‘It’s not one of us! None of us would do such a thing. That’s why you called us here tonight, to take us into your confidence and warn us. That means that the traitor must be—’
‘Kaikeyi-maa,’ Bharat said. His face was an inscrutable mask. ‘She’s the only one left. And the only one with a motive to conspire against the throne. Because she seeks to overturn Rama’s ascension and make me maharaja after my father’s passing.’
He waved a fist in the air. ‘And I would sooner die than see her succeed in her intentions. My mother she is and for that I shall always show her respect. But on this matter I will not support her. Either Rama will become maharaja or Ayodhya will remain kingless. This I swear in the presence of my guru.’
Guru Vashishta spoke quietly. ‘Bravely spoken, young Bharat. But you have all jumped too quickly to your conclusions. I fear that the greatest threat to the kingdom and to the mortal world at large shall come not from your mother or any other member of the royal family. The danger shall come from Maharaja Dasaratha himself!’
THREE
Jatayu’s wings had never ached so much. But then, the vulture had never before flown such a great distance without a break. It would demand a feast from the lord of the asuras for flying so long without rest or nourishment.
The bird descended from the thick moisture-laden clouds, its inbuilt sense of direction and distance telling it that the destination was close by. As the vulture emerged from the bank of dark monsoon clouds into the clear sky above the ocean, it screeched happily. Its instincts had been correct as usual.
Lanka lay directly below.
As it circled lower, descending by stages on the wind currents it needed to support its enormous bulk, its keen eyes flickered with disbelief. The sight before it banished even its screaming hunger.
A war fleet was massed offshore of Lanka.
Jatayu had spent half a thousand years scouring the air above Prithvi and had seen countless wars and battles. But never before had it seen a fleet this vast and impressive.
There were ships reaching far out to sea, in endless anchored lines, linked closely to one another with cleverly wrought ladders, like an enormous chain stretching to the horizon and beyond.
Jatayu estimated tens of thousands of them, perhaps hundreds of thousands—what did the humans call a hundred thousand? Ah yes, lakhs. More than lakhs, millions. It was impossible to take in the entire size of the fleet; even a bird’s yojanas-long gaze couldn’t see the end of the chains. And each ship was large enough to carry hundreds of asuras. Different-shaped ships for different species, hence the variety of sizes and structures of the vessels.
As it flew lower, Jatayu saw something even more mindnumbing than the sheer size of the fleet.
The ships were loaded. It could see the dark, inhuman shapes of rakshasas, Yaksas, Pisacas, Nagas, Uragas, gandharvas and every other asura species, crowded on those endless decks, all armed and armoured for battle.
Jatayu wheeled barely a few hundred yards above the island now, hovering in the dark thundercloud-shadowed gloom of the Lankan sky, all eagerness to land forgotten. The shores of the island-kingdom were seething with hordes of asuras waiting their turn to board the remaining ships. The embarking was nearly done. The fleet was almost ready to set sail. As the wind changed, the sound of the hordes came up to the vulture, an overwhelming roaring, like a typhoon at sea. And the stench, the unbelievable, indescribable stench.
There was no doubt about where this vast armada was headed, and Jatayu spoke the name of the place aloud, adding its own voice and foul breath to the malodorous cacophony of the largest asura army ever assembled.
‘Ayodhya.’
Its voice was a shrill piercing cry that cut through the gloom of the stormy night.
As if in response, at just that moment the clouds huddled ab
ove thundered and began to release their burden of rain. In an instant, the ocean was besieged by a brackish downpour that seemed almost crimson in the gaudy light of the nearly full moon.
It was a fitting metaphor for the rain of hordes that would soon besiege Ayodhya. And the ocean of mortal blood that would be spilled by Ravana’s invasion.
Jatayu cawed in exultation, and began a slow, victorious descent to the fortress-kingdom of its lord and master.
The epic adventure continues!
THE RAMAYANA SERIES®
PRINCE OF DHARMA
PRINCE OF AYODHYA & SIEGE OF MITHILA
PRINCE IN EXILE
DEMONS OF CHITRAKUT & ARMIES OF HANUMAN
PRINCE AT WAR
BRIDGE OF RAMA & KING OF AYODHYA
KING OF DHARMA
VENGEANCE OF RAVANA & SONS OF SITA
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AKB eBOOKS
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SIEGE OF MITHILA
Ashok K. Banker
RAMAYANA SERIES®
Book 2
AKB eBOOKS
Invocation
Ganesa, lead well this army of words
Dedication
For Biki and Bithika Banker,
The Gemini twins.
One saved my life,
The other gave me
Two new ones.
For Ayush Yoda Banker,
Friend, son, Jedi Master.
When you were born,
I was born again.
For Yashka Banker,
Devi, daughter, princess.
You made me believe in luck again,
And, more important, in love.
Epigraph
Om Bhur Bhuvah Swah:
Tat Savitur Varenyam
Bhargo Devasya Dhimahi
Dhiyo yo nah prachodayat
Maha-mantra Gayatri
(whispered into the ears of newborn
infants at their naming ceremony)
INTRODUCTION
Adi-kavya: The first retelling
Some three thousand years ago, a sage named Valmiki lived in a remote forest ashram, practising austerities with his disciples. One day, the wandering sage Narada visited the ashram and was asked by Valmiki if he knew of a perfect man. Narada said, indeed, he did know of such a person, and then told Valmiki and his disciples a story of an ideal man.
Some days later, Valmiki happened to witness a hunter killing a kraunchya bird. The crane’s partner was left desolate, and cried inconsolably. Valmiki was overwhelmed by anger at the hunter’s action, and sorrow at the bird’s loss. He felt driven to do something rash, but controlled himself with difficulty.
After his anger and sorrow subsided, he questioned his outburst. After so many years of practising meditation and austerities, he had still not been able to master his own emotions. Was it even possible to do so? Could any person truly become a master of his passions? For a while he despaired, but then he recalled the story Narada had told him. He thought about the implications of the story, about the choices made by the protagonist and how he had indeed shown great mastery of his own thoughts, words, deeds and feelings. Valmiki felt inspired by the recollection and was filled with a calm serenity such as he had never felt before.
As he recollected the tale of that perfect man of whom Narada had spoken, he found himself reciting it in a particular cadence and rhythm. He realized that this rhythm or metre corresponded to the warbling cries of the kraunchya bird, as if in tribute to theloss that had inspired his recollection. At once, he resolved to compose his own version of the story, using the new form of metre, that others might hear it and be as inspired as he was.
But Narada’s story was only a bare narration of the events, a mere plot outline as we would call it today. In order to make the story attractive and memorable to ordinary listeners, Valmiki would have to add and embellish considerably, filling in details and inventing incidents from his own imagination. He would have to dramatize the whole story in order to bring out the powerful dilemmas faced by the protagonist.
But what right did he have to do so? After all, this was not his story. It was a tale told to him. A tale of a real man and real events. How could he make up his own version of the story?
At this point, Valmiki was visited by Lord Brahma Himself.
The Creator told him to set his worries aside and begin composing the work he had in mind. Here is how Valmiki quoted Brahma’s exhortation to him, in an introductory passage not unlike this one that you are reading right now:
Recite the tale of Rama … as you heard it told by Narada. Recite the deeds of Rama that are already known as well as those that are not, his adventures … his battles … the acts of Sita, known and unknown. Whatever you do not know will become known to you. Never will your words be inappropriate. Tell Rama’s story … that it may prevail on earth for as long as the mountains and the rivers exist.
Valmiki needed no further urging. He began composing his poem.
He titled it, Rama-yana, meaning literally, The Movements (or Travels) of Rama.
Foretelling the future
The first thing Valmiki realized on completing his composition was that it was incomplete. What good was a story without anyone to tell it to? In the tradition of his age, a bard would normally recite his compositions himself, perhaps earning some favour or payment in coin or kind, more often rewarded only with the appreciation of his listeners. But Valmiki knew that while the form of the story was his creation, the story itself belonged to all his countrymen. He recalled Brahma’s exhortation that Rama’s story must prevail on earth for as long as the mountains and the rivers exist.
So he taught it to his disciples, among whose number were two young boys whose mother had sought sanctuary with him years ago. Those two boys, Luv and Kusa, then travelled from place to place, reciting the Ramayana as composed by their guru.
In time, fate brought them before the very Rama described in the poem. Rama knew at once that the poem referred to him and understood that these boys could be none other than his sons by the banished Sita. Called upon by the curious king, Valmiki himself then appeared before Rama and entreated him to take back Sita.
Later, Rama asked Valmiki to compose an additional part to the poem, so that he himself, Rama Chandra, might know what would happen to him in future. Valmiki obeyed this extraordinary command, and this supplementary section became the Uttara Kaand of his poem.
Valmiki’s Sanskrit rendition of the tale was a brilliant work by any standards, ancient or modern. Its charm, beauty and originality can never be matched. It is a true masterpiece of world literature, the ‘adi-kavya’ which stands as the fountainhead of our great cultural record. Even today, thousands of years after its composition, it remains unsurpassed.
And yet, when we narrate the story of the Ramayana today, it is not Valmiki’s Sanskrit shlokas that we recite. Few of us today have even read Valmiki’s immortal composition in its original. Most have not even read an abridgement. Indeed, an unabridged Ramayana itself, reproducing Valmiki’s verse without alteration or revisions, is almost impossible to find. Even the most learned of scholars, steeped in a lifetime of study of ancient Sanskrit literature, maintain that the versions of Valmiki’s poem that exist today have been revised and added to by later hands. Some believe that the first and seventh kaands, as well as a number of passages within the other kaands, were all inserted by later writers who preferred to remain anonymous.
Perhaps the earliest retelling of Valmiki’s poem is to be found in the pages of that vast ocean of stories we call the Mahabharata. When Krishna Dwaipayana-Vyasa, more popularly known today as Ved Vyasa, composed his equally legendary epic, he retold the story of the Ramayana in one passage. His retelling differs in small but significant ways.
Sometime later, the burgeoning Buddhist literature, usually composed in the Pali dialect, also included stories from the Ramayana, recast in a somewhat different light. I
ndeed, Buddhist literature redefined the term dharma itself, restating it as dhamma and changing the definition of this and several other core concepts.
In the eleventh century, a Tamil poet named Kamban undertook his own retelling of the Ramayana legend. Starting out with what seems to have been an attempt to translate Valmiki’s Ramayana, Kamban nevertheless deviated dramatically from his source material. In Kamban’s Ramayana, entire episodes are deleted, new ones appear, people and places are renamed or changed altogether, and even the order of some major events is revised. Most of all, Kamban’s Ramayana relocates the entire story in a milieu that is recognizably eleventh-century Tamil Nadu in its geography, history, clothes, customs, etc., rather than the north Indian milieu of Valmiki’s Sanskrit original. It is essentially a whole new Ramayana, retold in a far more passionate, rich and colourful idiom.