Scion of Ikshvaku (2 page)

Acknowledgements

I don’t agree with everything that John Donne wrote, but he was right on one count: ‘No man is an island’. I am lucky to be connected to many others who keep me from being ‘rifted’. For creativity has no greater sustenance than the love and support of others. I’d like to acknowledge some of them.

Lord Shiva, my God, for blessing me with this life and all there is in it. Also, for bringing Lord Ram (who my grandfather, Pandit Babulal Tripathi, was a great devotee of) back into my life.

Neel, my son, my blessing, my pride, my joy. He gives me happiness by simply being who he is.

Preeti, my wife; Bhavna, my sister; Himanshu, my brother-in-law; Anish and Ashish, my brothers, for all their inputs to the story. My sister Bhavna deserves special mention for her dedication and the time she gave while advising me on the philosophies in the book. My wife Preeti deserves my eternal gratefulness, as always, for her brilliant marketing advice.

My family: Usha, Vinay, Meeta, Donetta, Shernaz, Smita, Anuj, Ruta. For their consistent faith and love.

Sharvani, my editor. We have a strange relationship. Fun and laughter in normal times; we fight with each other passionately when we edit. It’s a match made in heaven!

Gautam, Krishnakumar, Preeti, Deepthi, Satish, Varsha, Jayanthi, Vipin, Senthil, Shatrughan, Sarita, Avani, Sanyog, Naveen, Jaisankar, Gururaj, Sateesh and the fantastic team at Westland, my publishers. They have been partners from the beginning.

Anuj, my agent. Big man with an even bigger heart! The best friend an author could have.

Sangram, Shalini, Parag, Shaista, Rekha, Hrishikesh, Richa, Prasad and the team at Think WhyNot, the advertising agency for the book. They made the cover, which I think is fantastic! They also made most of the marketing material for the book, including the trailer. They are among the best ad agencies in the country.

Hemal, Neha and the Oktobuzz team, the social media agency for the book. Hardworking, super smart and intensely committed. They are an asset to any team.

Jaaved, Parthasarthy, Rohit and the rest of the production team of the trailer film. Brilliant guys. Trust me, the world will soon be their oyster.

Mohan, a friend, whose advice on communication matters is something I always treasure.

Vinod, Toral, Nimisha and the great team at Clea PR for the work that they did on the PR efforts for the book.

Mrunalini, a Sanskrit scholar, who works with me. My discussions with her are stimulating and enlightening. I learn a lot from her.

Nitin, Vishal, Avani and Mayuri for their hospitality in Nashik where I wrote parts of this book.

And last, but certainly not the least, you, the reader. Thank you from the depths of my being for the support you’ve given to the Shiva Trilogy. I hope I don’t disappoint you with this book, the first in a new series. Har Har Mahadev!

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Chapter 1
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3400 BCE, somewhere near the Godavari River, India

Ram crouched low as he bent his tall, lean and muscular frame. He rested his weight on his right knee as he held the bow steady. The arrow was fixed in place, but he knew that the bowstring should not be pulled too early. He didn’t want his muscles to tire out. He had to wait for the perfect moment.
It must be a clean strike
.

‘It’s moving,
Dada
,’ whispered Lakshman to his
elder brother
.

Ram didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on the target. A light breeze played with the few strands of hair that had escaped the practical bun atop his head. His shaggy, unkempt beard and his white
dhoti
gently fluttered in the breeze. Ram corrected his angle as he factored in the strength and direction of the wind. He quietly cast his white
angvastram
aside to reveal a battle-scarred, dark-skinned torso.
The cloth should not interfere with the release of the arrow.

The deer suddenly came to a standstill as it looked up; perhaps instinct had kicked in with some warning signals. Ram could hear its low snort as it stomped its feet uneasily. Within a few seconds it went back to chewing leaves as silence prevailed. The rest of the herd was a short distance away, hidden from view by the dense foliage of the forest.

‘By the great Lord Parshu Ram, it ignored its instincts,’ said Lakshman softly. ‘Thank the Lord. We need some real food.’

‘Quiet…’

Lakshman fell silent. Ram knew they needed this kill. Lakshman and he, accompanied by his wife Sita, had been on the run for the last thirty days. A few members of the
Malayaputra
tribe, the
sons of Malaya
, led by their captain, Jatayu, were also with them.

Jatayu had urged flight well before the inevitable retaliation came. The botched meeting with Shurpanakha and Vibhishan would certainly have consequences. They were, after all, the siblings of Raavan, the wrathful demon-king of Lanka. Raavan was sure to seek vengeance. Lankan royal blood had been shed.

Racing east through the
Dandakaranya
, the dense
forest of Dandak
, they had travelled a reasonable distance parallel to the Godavari. They were fairly reassured now that they wouldn’t be easily spotted or tracked. Straying too far from the tributary rivers or other water bodies would mean losing out on the best chance of hunting animals. Ram and Lakshman were princes of Ayodhya, inheritors of the proud Kshatriya tradition of the
Raghukul
, the
descendants of Raghu
. They would not survive on a diet of herbs, fruit and leaves alone.

The deer remained stationary, lost in the pleasure of grazing on tender shoots. Ram knew this was the moment. He held the composite bow steady in his left hand as he pulled the string back with his right, till it almost touched his lips. His elbow was held high, almost perfectly parallel to the ground, exactly the way his guru, Maharishi Vashishta, had taught him.

The elbow is weak. Hold it high. Let the effort come from the back muscles. The back is strong.

Ram pulled the string a notch further and then released the arrow. The missile whizzed past the trees and slammed into the deer’s neck. It collapsed immediately, unable to even utter a bleat as blood flooded its lungs. Despite his muscular bulk, Lakshman rushed forward stealthily. Even as he moved, he pulled out a knife from the horizontal scabbard tied to the small of his back. Within moments he reached the deer and quickly plunged the blade deep in between the animal’s ribs, right through to its heart.

‘Forgive me for killing you, O noble beast,’ he whispered the ancient apology that all hunters offered, as he gently touched the deer’s head. ‘May your soul find purpose again, while your body sustains my soul.’

Ram caught up with Lakshman as his brother pulled the arrow out, wiped it clean and returned it to its rightful owner. ‘Still usable,’ he murmured.

Ram slipped the arrow back into his quiver as he looked up at the sky. Birds chirped playfully and the deer’s own herd displayed no alarm. They had not sensed the killing of one of their own. Ram whispered a short prayer to Lord Rudra, thanking him for what had been a perfect hunt. The last thing they needed was for their position to be given away.

Ram and Lakshman made their way through the dense jungle. Ram walked in front, carrying one end of a long staff on his shoulder, while Lakshman walked behind, holding up the other end. The deer’s carcass dangled in the middle, its feet having been secured to the staff with a sturdy rope.

‘Aah, a decent meal after so many days,’ said Lakshman.

Ram’s face broke into a hint of a smile, but he remained silent.

‘We can’t cook this properly though, right
Dada
?’

‘No, we can’t. The continuous line of smoke will give our position away.’

‘Do we really need to be so careful? There have been no attacks. Maybe they have lost track of us. We haven’t encountered any assassins, have we? How would they know where we are? The forests of Dandak are impenetrable.’

‘Maybe you’re right, but I’m not taking any chances. I’d rather be safe.’

Lakshman held his peace even as his shoulders drooped.

‘It’s better than eating leaves and herbs,’ said Ram, without turning to look at his brother.

‘That it certainly is,’ agreed Lakshman.

The brothers walked on in silence.

‘There is some conspiracy afoot,
Dada
. I’m unable to pin down what it is. But there’s something going on. Perhaps Bharat
Dada
…’

‘Lakshman!’ rebuked Ram sternly.

Bharat was the second oldest after Ram, and had been anointed crown prince of Ayodhya by their father Dashrath following Ram’s banishment. The youngest, Shatrughan and Lakshman, were twins separated by differing loyalties. While Shatrughan remained in Ayodhya with Bharat, Lakshman unhesitatingly chose a life of hardship with Ram. The impulsive Lakshman was sceptical of Ram’s blind trust in Bharat. He considered it his duty to warn his excessively ethical eldest brother about what appeared to him as Bharat’s underhand dealings.

‘I know you don’t like hearing this,
Dada
,’ Lakshman persisted. ‘But I’m certain that he’s hatched a plot against—’

‘We’ll get to the bottom of it,’ reassured Ram, interrupting Lakshman. ‘But we first need allies. Jatayu is right. We need to find the local Malayaputra camp. At least they can be trusted to help us.’

‘I don’t know whom to trust anymore,
Dada
. Maybe the vulture-man is helping our enemies.’

Jatayu was a Naga, a class of people born with deformities. Ram had come around to trusting Jatayu despite the fact that the Nagas were a hated, feared and ostracised people in the
Sapt Sindhu
,
the Land of the Seven Rivers,
which lay north of the Narmada River.

Jatayu, like all Nagas, had been born with inevitable deformities. He had a hard and bony mouth that extended out of his face in a beak-like protrusion. His head was bare, but his face was covered with fine, downy hair. Although he was human, his appearance was like that of a vulture.

‘Sita trusts Jatayu,’ said Ram, as though that explained it all. ‘I trust Jatayu. And so will you.’

Lakshman fell silent. And the brothers walked on.

‘But why do you think it’s irrational to think Bharat
Dada
could—’

‘Shhh,’ said Ram, holding his hand up to silence Lakshman. ‘Listen.’

Lakshman strained his ears. A chill ran down his spine. Ram turned towards Lakshman with terror writ large on his face. They had both heard it.
A forceful scream!
It was Sita. The distance made faint her frantic struggle. But it was clearly Sita. She was calling out to her husband.

Ram and Lakshman dropped the deer and dashed forward desperately. They were still some distance away from their temporary camp.

Sita’s voice could be heard above the din of the disturbed birds.

‘… Raaam!’

They were close enough now to hear the sounds of battle as metal clashed with metal.

Ram screamed as he ran frantically through the forest. ‘Sitaaaa!’

Lakshman drew his sword, ready for battle.

‘… Raaaam!’

‘Leave her alone!’ shouted Ram, cutting through the dense foliage, racing ahead.

‘… Raaam!’

Ram gripped his bow tight. They were just a few minutes from their camp. ‘Sitaaa!’

‘… Raa…’

Sita’s voice stopped mid-syllable. Trying not to imagine the worst, Ram kept running, his heart pounding desperately, his mind clouded with worry.

They heard the loud whump, whump of rotor blades. It was a sound he clearly remembered from an earlier occasion. This was Raavan’s legendary
Pushpak Vimaan
, his
flying vehicle
.

‘Nooo!’ screamed Ram, wrenching his bow forward as he ran. Tears were streaming down his face.

The brothers broke through to the clearing that was their temporary camp. It stood completely destroyed. There was blood everywhere.

‘Sitaaa!’

Ram looked up and shot an arrow at the
Pushpak Vimaan,
which was rapidly ascending into the sky. It was a shot of impotent rage, for the flying vehicle was already soaring high above.

‘Sitaaa!’

Lakshman frantically searched the camp. Bodies of dead soldiers were strewn all over. But there was no Sita.

‘Pri… nce… Ram…’

Ram recognised that feeble voice. He rushed forward to find the bloodied and mutilated body of the Naga.

‘Jatayu!’

The badly wounded Jatayu struggled to speak. ‘He’s…’

‘What?’

‘Raavan’s… kidnapped… her.’

Ram looked up enraged at the speck moving rapidly away from them. He screamed in anger, ‘SITAAAA!’

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