by Amish
Vashishtha looked again at his modest gurukul. This was where the great Rishi Shukracharya had moulded a group of marginalised Indian royals into leaders of one of the greatest empires the world had ever seen: the AsuraSavitr, the Asura Sun.
A new great empire shall rise again from this holy ground. A new Vishnu shall rise from here.
Vashishtha had still not made up his mind. He wasn’t sure which of the two — Ram or Bharat — he would push for as the next Vishnu. One thing was certain; the Vayuputras supported him. But there were limits to what the tribe of Lord Rudra could do. The Vayuputras and Malayaputras had their fields of responsibility; after all, the Vishnu was supposed to be officially recognised by the Malayaputras. And the chief of the Malayaputras … His former friend …
Well …
I’ll manage it.
‘Guruji.’
Vashishtha turned. Ram and Bharat had quietly approached him.
‘Yes,’ said Vashishtha. ‘What did you find out?’
‘They are not there, Guruji,’ said Ram.
‘They?’
‘Not only Chief Varun, but many of his advisers are also missing from their village.’
Varun was the chief of the tribe that managed and maintained this ashram, situated close to the westernmost point of the River Shon’s course. His tribe, the Valmikis, rented out these premises to gurus from time to time. Vashishtha had hired this ashram to serve as his gurukul for the duration that the four Ayodhya princes were with him.
Vashishtha had hidden the true identity of his wards from the Valmikis. But of late he had begun to suspect that perhaps the tribe knew who the students were. It also seemed to him that the Valmikis had their own carefully kept secrets.
He had sent Ram and Bharat to check if Chief Varun was in the village. It was time to have a talk with him. Vashishtha would then decide whether to move his gurukul or not.
But Varun had left. Without informing Vashishtha. Which was unusual.
‘Where have they gone?’ asked Vashishtha.
‘Apparently, Mithila.’
Vashishtha nodded. He knew that Varun was a lover and seeker of knowledge, especially the spiritual kind. Mithila was a natural place for such a person.
‘All right, boys,’ said Vashishtha. ‘Get back to your studies.’
‘We heard that the Vishnu blood oath has been taken,’ said Radhika.
‘Yes,’ answered Sita. ‘In Guru Shvetaketu’s gurukul. A few years ago.’
Radhika sighed.
Sita frowned. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, Maharishi Vishwamitra is a little … unorthodox.’
‘Unorthodox? What do you mean?’
‘Well, for starters, the Vayuputras should have been present.’
Sita raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t know that …’
‘The tribes of the Vishnu and the Mahadev are supposed to work in partnership.’
Sita looked up as she realised something. ‘Guru Vashishtha?’
Radhika smiled. ‘For someone who hasn’t even begun training, you have picked up quite a lot already!’
Sita shrugged and smiled.
Radhika held her friend’s hand. ‘The Vayuputras do not like or trust Maharishi Vishwamitra. They have their reasons, I suppose. But they cannot oppose the Malayaputra chief openly. And yes, you guessed correctly, the Vayuputras support Maharishi Vashishtha.’
‘Are you telling me that Guru Vashishtha has his own ideas about who the Vishnu should be?’
Radhika nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Why do they hate each other so much?’
‘Very few know for sure. But the enmity between Guru Vishwamitra and Guru Vashishtha is very old. And, very fierce …’
Sita laughed ruefully. ‘I feel like a blade of grass stuck between two warring elephants.’
‘Then you wouldn’t mind another species of grass next to you for company while being trampled upon, I suppose!’
Sita playfully hit Radhika on her shoulders. ‘So, who is this other blade of grass?’
Radhika took a deep breath. ‘There are two, actually.’
‘Two?’
‘Guru Vashishtha is training them.’
‘Does he plan to create two Vishnus?’
‘No. Father believes Guru Vashishtha will choose one of them.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The princes of Ayodhya. Ram and Bharat.’
Sita raised her eyebrows. ‘Guru Vashishtha has certainly aimed high. The family of the emperor himself!’
Radhika smiled.
‘Who is better among the two?’
‘My father prefers Ram.’
‘And who do you prefer?’
‘My opinion doesn’t matter. Frankly, father’s opinion doesn’t count either. The Vayuputras will back whomsoever Guru Vashishtha chooses.’
‘Is there no way Guru Vashishtha and Guru Vishwamitra can be made to work together? After all, they are both working for the greater good of India, right? I am willing to work in partnership with the Vishnu that Guru Vashishtha selects. Why can’t they partner each other?’
Radhika shook her head. ‘The worst enemy a man can ever have is the one who was once his best friend.’
Sita was shocked. ‘Really? Were they friends once?’
‘Maharishi Vashishtha and Maharishi Vishwamitra were childhood friends. Almost like brothers. Something happened to turn them into enemies.’
‘What?’
‘Very few people know. They don’t speak about it even with their closest companions.’
‘Interesting …’
Radhika remained silent.
Sita looked out of the window and then at her friend. ‘How do you know so much about Guru Vashishtha?’
‘You know that we host a gurukul close to our village, right? It is Guru Vashishtha’s gurukul. He teaches the four princes in the ashram we have rented out.’
‘Can I come and meet Ram and Bharat? I’m curious to know if they are as great as Guru Vashishtha thinks they are.’
‘They are still young, Sita. Ram is five years younger than you. And, don’t forget, the Malayaputras keep track of you. They follow you everywhere. We cannot risk revealing the location of Guru Vashishtha’s gurukul to them …’
Sita was constrained to agree. ‘Hmm.’
‘I will keep you informed about what they are doing. I think father intends to have an honest conversation with Guru Vashishtha in any case. Perhaps, even offer his help.’
‘Help Guru Vashishtha? Against me?’
Radhika smiled. ‘Father hopes for the same partnership that you do.’
Sita bent forward. ‘I have told you much of what I know. I think I deserve to know … Who is your father?’
Radhika seemed hesitant.
‘You would not have spoken about the Ayodhya princes had your father not allowed you to do so,’ said Sita. ‘And, I am sure that he would have expected me to ask this question. So, he wouldn’t have sent you to meet me unless he was prepared to reveal his true identity. Tell me, who is he?’
Radhika paused for a few moments. ‘Have you heard of Lady Mohini?’
‘Are you serious?’ asked Sita. ‘Who hasn’t heard of her, the great Vishnu?’
Radhika smiled. ‘Not everyone considers her a Vishnu. But the majority of Indians do. I know that the Malayaputras revere her as a Vishnu.’
‘So do I.’
‘And so do we. My father’s tribe is the one Lady Mohini left behind. We are the Valmikis.’
Sita sat up straight. Shocked. ‘Wow!’ Just then another thought struck her. ‘Is your uncle, Vayu Kesari, the father of Hanu bhaiya?’
Radhika nodded. ‘Yes.’
Sita smiled. ‘That’s why …’
Radhika interrupted her. ‘You are right. That is one of the reasons. But it’s not the only one.’
Chapter 13
‘Chief Varun,’ said Vashishtha, as he came to his feet and folded his hands into a respectful Namaste.
V
arun had just returned from Mithila. And, Guru Vashishtha had been expecting a visit from him.
Vashishtha was much taller than Varun. But far thinner and leaner compared to the muscular and sturdy tribal chief.
‘Guru Vashishtha,’ said Varun, returning Vashishtha’s greeting politely. ‘We need to talk in private.’
Vashishtha was immediately wary. He led the chief out to a quieter spot.
Minutes later, they sat by the stream that flowed near the ashram, away from the four students, as well as others who might overhear them.
‘What is it, Chief Varun?’ asked Vashishtha, politely.
Varun smiled genially. ‘You and your students have been here for many years, Guruji. I think it’s time we properly introduce ourselves to each other.’
Vashishtha stroked his flowing, snowy beard carefully, feigning a lack of understanding. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean … for example, the princes of Ayodhya do not have to pretend to be the children of some nobles or rich traders anymore.’
Vashishtha’s thoughts immediately flew to the four boys. Where were they? Were they being rounded up by Varun’s warriors? Chief Varun’s tribe was not allowed, according to their traditional law, to help any Ayodhyan royals.
Perhaps, I wasn’t so clever after all. I thought we would be safe if we just stayed away from the areas under Lankan or Malayaputra influence.
Vashishtha leaned forward. ‘If you are concerned about your laws, you must also remember the one that states that you cannot harm the people you accept as your guests.’
Varun smiled. ‘I intend no harm either to you or your students, Guruji.’
Vashishtha breathed easy. ‘My apologies, if I have offended you. But I needed a place that was … safe. We will leave immediately.’
‘There is no need to do that either,’ said Varun, calm. ‘I do not intend to kick you out. I intend to help you, Guruji.’
Vashishtha was taken aback. ‘Isn’t it illegal for you to help the Ayodhya royalty?’
‘Yes, it is. But there is a supreme law in our tribe that overrides every other. It is the primary purpose of our existence.’
Vashishtha nodded, pretending to understand, though he was confused.
‘You must know our war cry: Victory at all costs … When war is upon us, we ignore all the laws. And a war is coming, my friend …’
Vashishtha stared at him, completely flummoxed.
Varun smiled. ‘Please don’t think I am unaware that my Vayuputra nephew steals into your ashram regularly, late at night, thinking we wouldn’t notice. He thinks he can fool his uncle.’
Vashishtha leaned back, as a veil seemed to lift from his eyes. ‘Hanuman?’
‘Yes. His father is my cousin.’
Vashishtha was startled, but he asked in an even tone. ‘Is Vayu Kesari your brother?’
‘Yes.’
Varun was aware of the bond that Hanuman and Vashishtha shared. Many years ago, the guru had helped his nephew. He chose not to mention it. He knew the situation was complicated.
‘Who are you?’ Vashishtha finally asked.
‘My full name is Varun Ratnakar.’
Suddenly, everything fell into place. Vashishtha knew the significance of that second name. He had found allies. Powerful allies. By pure chance.
There was only one thing left to do. Vashishtha clasped his right elbow with his left hand and touched his forehead with the clenched right fist, in the traditional salute of Varun’s tribe. Respectfully, he uttered the ancient greeting. ‘Jai Devi Mohini!’
Varun held Vashishtha’s forearm, like a brother, and replied, ‘Jai Devi Mohini!’
Indians in the Sapt Sindhu have a strange relationship with the Sun God. Sometimes they want him, at other times, they don’t. In summer, they put up with his rage. They plead with him, through prayers, to calm down and, if possible, hide behind the clouds. In winter, they urge him to appear with all his force and drive away the cold fury of the season.
It was on one such early winter day, made glorious by the energising sun, when Sita and Samichi rode out into the main palace garden. It had been refurbished recently on Sita’s orders. The two had decided on a private competition — a chariot race. It was a sport Sita truly enjoyed. The narrow lanes of the garden would serve as the racing track. They had not raced together in a long time. And, they had never done so in the royal garden before.
The garden paths were narrow, hemmed in with trees and foliage. It would require considerable skill to negotiate them in a chariot. The slightest mistake would mean crashing into trees at breakneck speed. Dangerous … And, exhilarating.
The risk of it, the thrill, made the race worthwhile. It was a test of instinct and supreme hand-eye coordination.
The race began without any ceremony.
‘Hyaah!’ screamed Sita, whipping her horses, instantly urging them forward.
Faster. Faster.
Samichi kept pace, close behind. Sita looked back for an instant. She saw Samichi swerving her chariot to the right. Sita looked ahead and pulled her horses slightly to the right, blocking Samichi’s attempt to sneak past her at the first bend.
‘Dammit!’ screamed Samichi.
Sita grinned and whipped her horses. ‘Move!’
She swung into the next curve without reining her horses in. Speeding as her chariot swerved left. The carriage tilted to the right. Sita expertly balanced her feet, bending leftwards to counter the centrifugal forces working hard on the chariot at such fast speeds. The carriage balanced itself and sped ahead as the horses galloped on without slowing.
‘Hyaah!’ shouted Sita again, swinging her whip in the air.
It was a straight and narrow path now for some distance. Overtaking was almost impossible. It was the best time to generate some speed. Sita whipped her horses harder. Racing forward. With Samichi following close behind.
Another bend lay farther ahead. The path broadened before the curve, giving a possible opportunity for Samichi to forge ahead. Sita smoothly pulled the reins to the right, guiding the horses to the centre, leaving as little space as possible on either side. Samichi simply could not overtake.
‘Hyaah!’
Sita heard Samichi’s loud voice. Behind her. To the left. Her voice was much louder than normal. Like she was trying to announce her presence.
Sita read her friend correctly.
A few seconds later, Sita quickly swerved. But, unexpectedly, to the right, covering that side of the road. Samichi had feigned the leftward movement. She had actually intended to overtake from the right. As Sita cut in, that chance was lost.
Sita heard a loud curse from Samichi.
Grinning, Sita whipped her horses again. Taking the turn at top speed. Ahead of the curve, the path would straighten out. And become narrower. Again.
‘Hyaah!’
‘Sita!’ screamed Samichi loudly.
There was something in her voice.
Panic.
As if on cue, Sita’s chariot flipped.
Sita flew up with the momentum. High in the air. The horses did not stop. They kept galloping.
Instinctively, Sita tucked in her head and pulled her legs up, her knees close to her chest. She held her head with her hands. In brace position.
The entire world appeared to flow in slow motion for Sita.
Her senses alert. Everything going by in a blur.
Why is it taking so long to land?
Slam!
Sharp pain shot through her as she landed hard on her shoulder. Her body bounced forward, in the air again, hurled sickeningly with the impact.
‘Princess!’
Sita kept her head tucked in. She had to protect her head.
She landed on her back. And was hurled forward, repeatedly rolling on the tough ground, brutally scraping her body.
A green blur zipped past her face.
Wham!
She slammed hard against a tree. Her back felt a sharp pain. Suddenly stationary.
But to
her eyes, the world was still spinning.
Dazed, Sita struggled to focus on her surroundings.
Samichi brought her chariot to a halt, dismounted rapidly, and ran towards the princess. Sita’s own chariot was being dragged ahead. Sparks flew in the air due to the intense friction generated by the chariot metal rubbing against the rough road. The disoriented horses kept galloping forward wildly.
Sita looked at Samichi. ‘Get … my … chariot …’
And then, she lost consciousness.
It was dark when Sita awoke. Her eyelids felt heavy. A soft groan escaped her lips.
She heard a panic-stricken squeal. ‘Didi … Are you alright …? Talk to me …’
It was Urmila.
‘I’m alright, Urmila …’
Her father gently scolded the little girl. ‘Urmila, let your sister rest.’
Sita opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. The light from the various torches in the room flooded in. Blinding her. She let her eyelids droop. ‘How long … have I been …’
‘The whole day, Didi.’
Just a day? It feels longer.
Her entire body was a mass of pain. Except her left shoulder. And her back. They were numb.
Painkillers. May the Ashwini Kumars bless the doctors.
Sita opened her eyes again. Slowly. Allowing the light to gently seep in. Allowing her pupils to adjust.
Urmila stood by the bedside, clutching the bedsheet with both hands. Her round eyes were tiny pools of water. Tears streamed down her face. Her father, Janak, stood behind his younger daughter. His normally serene face was haggard, lined with worry. He had just recovered from a serious illness. The last thing he needed was this additional stress.
‘Baba …’ said Sita to her father. ‘You should be resting … You are still weak …’
Janak shook his head. ‘You are my strength. Get well soon.’
‘Go back to your room, Baba …’
‘I will. You rest. Don’t talk.’
Sita looked beyond her family. Samichi was there. As was Arishtanemi. He was the only one who looked calm. Unruffled.
Sita took a deep breath. She could feel her anger rising. ‘Samichi …’
‘Yes, princess,’ said Samichi, as she quickly walked up to the bed.
‘My chariot …’
