Scion of Ikshvaku (7 page)

The ancient Emperor Bharat had united the warring Suryavanshis and Chandravanshis under one banner. Notwithstanding the occasional skirmishes, they had learnt to live in relative peace; a peace that held. It was exemplified today by the Emperor Dashrath, a Suryavanshi, having two queens who traced their lineage to Chandravanshi royalty, Kaushalya and Kaikeyi. Ashwapati, the father of Kaikeyi and the Chandravanshi king of Kekaya, was in fact the emperor’s closest advisor.

One of the two names will surely serve my purpose.

He looked at Lord Parshu Ram again, drawing strength from the image.

I know they will think I’m wrong. They may even curse my soul. But you were the one who had said, My Lord, that a leader must love his country more than he loves his own soul.

Vashishta reached for his scabbard, hidden within the folds of his
angvastram
. He pulled out the knife and beheld the name that had been inscribed on the hilt in an ancient script: Parshu Ram.

Inhaling deeply, he shifted the knife to his left hand and pricked his forefinger, puncturing deep to draw out blood. He pressed the finger with his thumb, just under the drop of blood, and let some droplets drip into the canal.

By this blood oath, I swear on all my knowledge, I will make my rebellion succeed, or I will die trying.

Vashishta took one last look at Lord Parshu Ram, bowed his head as he brought his hands together in a respectful namaste, and softly whispered the cry of the followers of the great Vishnu.
‘Jai Parshu Ram!’

Glory to Parshu Ram!

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Chapter 5
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Kaushalya, the queen, was happy; Kaushalya, the mother, was not. She understood that Ram should leave the Ayodhya palace. Emperor Dashrath had blamed him for the horrific defeat he’d suffered at the hands of Raavan, on the day that Ram was born. Till that fateful day, he had never lost a battle; in fact, he’d been the only unbeaten ruler in all of India. Dashrath was convinced that Ram was born with bad karma and his birth was the undoing of the noble lineage of Raghu. There was little the powerless Kaushalya could do to change this.

Kaikeyi had always been the favourite wife, and saving the emperor’s life in the Battle of Karachapa had only made her hold over Dashrath absolute. Kaikeyi and her coterie had speedily let it be known that Dashrath believed Ram’s birth was inauspicious. Soon the city of Ayodhya shared its emperor’s belief. It was widely held that all the good deeds of Ram’s life would not succeed in washing away the ‘taint of 7,032’, the year that, according to the calendar of Lord Manu, Dashrath was defeated and Ram was born.

It would be best if Ram left the palace with Raj Guru Vashishta, Kaushalya knew. He would be away from the Ayodhya nobility, which had never accepted him anyway. Furthermore, he would stand to gain from the education he’d receive at Vashishta’s
gurukul. Gurukul
meant the
guru’s family,
but in practice it was the
residential school
of gurus. He would learn philosophy, science, mathematics, ethics, warfare and the arts. He would return, years later, a man in charge of his destiny.

The queen understood this, but the doting mother was unable to let go. She held on to her child and wept. Ram stood stoic as he held his mother, who hugged and smothered him with kisses; even at this tender age, he was an unusually calm boy.

Bharat, unlike Ram, was crying hysterically, refusing to let his mother go. Kaikeyi glared at her son with exasperation. ‘You are my son! Don’t be such a sissy! Behave like the king you will be one day! Go, make your mother proud!’

Vashishta watched the proceedings and smiled.

Passionate children have strong emotions that insist on finding expression. They laugh loudly. They cry even more loudly.

He observed the brothers as he wondered whether his goal would be met through stoic duty or passionate feeling. The twins, Lakshman and Shatrughan, the youngest of the four sons of Dashrath, stood at the back with their mother, Sumitra. The poor three-year-olds seemed lost, not quite understanding what was going on. Vashishta knew it was too soon for them, but he couldn’t leave them behind. Ram and Bharat’s training would take a long time, maybe even a decade, if not more. He could not risk the twins being in the palace during this period, for the political intrigue among the nobility would lead to the younger princes being co-opted into camps. This malicious nobility was already bleeding Ayodhya dry with its scheming and plotting to enrich itself; the emperor was weak and distracted.

The princes would return home for two
nine-day
holidays, twice a year, during the summer and winter solstices. The ancient
navratra
festival, which commemorated the six-monthly change in the direction of the Sun God’s north-south journey across the horizon, was celebrated with great vigour. Vashishta believed those eighteen days would suffice to console the bereft mothers and sons. The autumn and spring
navratras
, aligned with the two equinoxes, would be commemorated at the
gurukul
.

The raj guru turned his attention to Dashrath.

The last six years had taken their toll on the emperor. Parchment-like skin stretched thinly over a face that was worn out by grief, his eyes sunken, his hair grey. The grievous battle wound on his leg had long since turned into a permanent deformity, depriving him of the hunting and exercising that he so loved. Seeking refuge in drink, his bent body gave little indication of the strong and handsome warrior he’d once been. Raavan had not just defeated him on that terrible day. He continued to defeat him every single day.

‘Your Highness,’ said Vashishta, loudly. ‘With your permission.’

A distracted Dashrath waved his hand, confirming his order.

It was a day after the winter solstice and the princes were in Ayodhya on their half-yearly holiday. It had been three years since they first left for the
gurukul
.
Uttaraayan
, the northward movement of the sun across the horizon, had begun. Six months later, in peak summer, Lord Surya would reverse his direction and
Dakshinaayan
, the southward movement of the sun, would begin.

Ram spent most of his time, even on holiday, with Guru Vashishta, who had moved back to the palace with the boys
;
Kaushalya could not do much besides complain. Bharat, on the other hand, was strictly confined to Kaikeyi’s chambers, subjected to incessant tutoring and interrogation by his forceful mother. Lakshman had already started riding small ponies, and he loved it. Shatrughan … just read books!

Lakshman was rushing to his mother Sumitra after one such riding lesson when he stopped short, hearing voices outside her chamber. He peeped in from behind the curtains.

‘You must understand, Shatrughan, that your brother Bharat may make fun of you, but he loves you the most. You should always stay by his side.’

Shatrughan was holding a palm-leaf booklet in his hand, desperately trying to read as he pretended to pay attention to his mother.

‘Are you listening to me, Shatrughan?’ asked Sumitra, sharply.

‘Yes Mother,’ Shatrughan said, looking up, sincerity dripping from his voice.

‘I don’t think so.’

Shatrughan repeated his mother’s last sentence. His diction was remarkably clear and crisp for his age. Sumitra knew that her son hadn’t been paying attention, and yet she couldn’t do anything about the fact that he’d not been genuinely listening to her at all!

Lakshman smiled as he ran up to his mother, yelping with delight as he leapt onto her lap.

‘I will li
th
en to you,
Maa
!’ he said with his childish lisp.

Sumitra smiled as she wrapped her arms around Lakshman. ‘Yes, I know you will always listen to me. You are my good son!’

Shatrughan glanced briefly at his mother before going back to his palm-leaf booklet.

‘I will do whatever you tell me to do,’ said Lakshman, his earnest eyes filled with love. ‘Alway
th
.’

‘Then listen to me,’ said Sumitra, leaning in with a clownish, conspiratorial expression, the kind she knew Lakshman loved. ‘Your elder brother Ram needs you.’ Her expression changed to compassionate wistfulness as she continued. ‘He is a simple and innocent soul. He needs someone who can be his eyes and ears. No one really likes him.’ She focused on Lakshman once again and murmured, ‘You have to protect him from harm. People always say mean things about him behind his back, but he sees the best in them. He has too many enemies. His life may depend on you…’

‘Really?’ asked Lakshman, his eyes widening with barely-understood dread.

‘Yes! And believe me, I can only count on you to protect him. Ram has a good heart, but he’s too trusting of others.’

‘Don’t worry,
Maa
,’ said Lakshman, stiffening his back and pursing his lips, his eyes gleaming like a soldier honoured with a most important undertaking. ‘I will alway
th
take care of Ram
Dada
.’

Sumitra hugged Lakshman again and smiled fondly. ‘I know you will.’

‘
Dada
!’ shouted Lakshman, banging his little heels against the pony’s sides, willing it to run faster. But the pony, specially trained for children, refused to oblige.

Nine-year-old Ram rode ahead of Lakshman on a taller, faster pony. True to his training, he rose gracefully in his saddle at every alternate step of the canter, in perfect unison with the animal. On this vacant afternoon, they’d decided to practise by themselves the art of horsemanship, at the royal Ayodhya riding grounds.

‘
Dada
!
Th
op!’ screamed Lakshman desperately, having abandoned by now any pretence at following vaguely-learnt instructions. He kicked and whipped his pony to the best of his ability.

Ram looked back at the enthusiastic Lakshman and smiled as he cautioned his little brother, ‘Lakshman, slow down. Ride properly.’

‘
Th
op!’ yelled Lakshman.

Ram immediately understood Lakshman’s frantic cry and pulled his reins as Lakshman caught up and dismounted rapidly. ‘
Dada
, get off!’

‘What?’

‘Get off!’ shouted an agitated Lakshman as he grabbed Ram’s hand, trying to drag him down.

Ram frowned as he got off the horse. ‘What is it, Lakshman?’

‘Look!’ Lakshman exclaimed, as he pointed at the billet strap that went through the buckle on the girth strap; the girth, in turn, kept the saddle in place. The buckle had almost come undone.

‘By the great Lord Rudra!’ whispered Ram. Had the buckle released while he was riding, he would have been thrown off the dislodged saddle, resulting in serious injury. Lakshman had saved him from a terrible accident.

Lakshman looked around furtively, his mother’s words echoing in his brain. ‘
Th
omeone tried to kill you,
Dada
.’

Ram carefully examined the girth strap and the attached buckle. It simply looked worn out; there were no signs of tampering. Lakshman had certainly saved him from an injury, though, and possibly even death.

Ram embraced Lakshman gently. ‘Thank you, my brother.’

‘Don’t worry about any con
th
pira
th
ie
th
,’ said Lakshman, wearing a solemn expression. He was now certain about his mother’s warnings. ‘I will protect you,
Dada
. Alway
th
.’

Ram tried hard to prevent himself from smiling. ‘Conspiracies, huh? Who taught you such a big word?’

‘
Th
atrughan,’ said Lakshman, looking around again, scanning the area for threats.

‘Shatrughan,
hmm
?’

‘Ye
th
. Don’t worry,
Dada
. Lakh
th
man will protect you.’

Ram kissed his brother’s forehead and reassured his little protector. ‘I feel safe already.’