The Ramayana (13 page)

Rama stood before him and did not utter a word. When Dasaratha had finished, he touched his father's feet and left his presence.

Sita had come to the king's palace now, and Rama went with her to meet his mother Kausalya. They found her in the prayer room. Her eyes shut, she sat before an idol of Lakshmi, Goddess of fortune. She had heard her son was to be crowned yuvaraja. Sumitra and Lakshmana were there, as well, waiting for her since they heard the news. And they had waited for quite some time, while she prayed.

When Kausalya opened her eyes, Rama and Sita prostrated themselves before her. Rama said, “My father told me I am to become the yuvaraja tomorrow. I came for your blessing.”

Her gracious face lit up. Laying her mother's hands on his head, she blessed him. Raising him up, Kausalya said, “Live long, my child, and may your enemies perish. Narayana heard all my prayers when I was childless, that I have a son like you. Great gifts are not given easily and I waited years before I had you. Bless you, Rama, and you, Sita. May you both always be a joy to your mothers.” Sumitra blessed Rama and Sita as they lay at her feet.

Rising with a smile, Rama put his arm around Lakshmana and said, “Rule the world with me, Lakshmana; you shall be yuvaraja as much as I.”

But then, it was not to be so simple.

 

4. Preparations for a crowning

When Rama had left his presence, Dasaratha called his guru Vasishta, and said, “You must see that Rama and Sita take diksha tonight, and keep a fast. So my son will have wealth, fame, and prosperity.”

Vasishta was a trikalagyani; he saw into the dim future and the deep past. But he said nothing of what he saw. He went out and climbed into the chariot that waited to take him to Rama's palace.

Rama received his kulaguru, and they sat in an airy courtyard on silk-covered chairs. Vasishta called Sita and initiated the young couple into the fast for the next day's coronation. He sat with them awhile, then left them. The people milled outside to see Rama, and the prince's friends and many others of importance in Ayodhya waited for him.

Vasishta moved through the festive crowds in the streets. The city was in flower with blooms of every color. The main roads, the streets and alleys, the arches, erected hastily and festooned, the houses, the towers and ramparts, the terraces and great pillars had all burst into a heady spring of garlands. Joy, that Rama would be yuvaraja, burned through Ayodhya like soft fire.

Rama stood briefly on his terrace. He waved to the people and they sang out his name and Sita's in a million voices. It was dusk by now, and the sky grew dark as the sun sank in the west. It was time he went in and performed the Narayana puja.

Later, Rama and Sita lay side by side on an ascetic bed of darbha grass. Until they fell asleep, they gazed into each other's eyes by the moonlight flowing through the window. They were not allowed even to touch tonight, and they did not break that vow. Outside, the festivities continued through the night.

Well before dawn, Rama and Sita were roused by the sutas chanting the vabdya magadha. Rama rose and bathed. Facing east, he recited the Gayatri mantra. He put on white silks and worshipped his gurus.

Outside, when the first rays of the sun sprang above the horizon, the songs took up again. The singers had rested for just an hour before sunrise so they could be fresh for the morning of moment.

But in Dasaratha's palace, all was not well.

 

5. A queen's mind is poisoned

She stood like an old vulture on the terrace of the king's palace. She was Kaikeyi's maid, born with more than just her back bent almost in two. Manthara's spirit was twisted. She stood glowering down at the celebrations below: the flower-strewn streets of Ayodhya, bursting with music and dancing at the news that Rama was to become yuvaraja tomorrow. Her tiny eyes smoldered.

She seldom came up here onto the marble terrace, white as moonbeams. But this evening either the singing below or the quieter and more persuasive voice of fate made her labor painfully up the stairs. Nobody had bothered to tell Manthara what the celebrations were about; no one thought it would interest her. She was such a lone creature, and had no love for anybody. No one spoke much to Manthara. She had a foul temper, a worse tongue, and you could never tell what would set both off.

But now, she saw a young maid she knew skimming by with some flowers in a silver vase, singing to herself. Manthara called to the girl and asked, as sweetly as she could, in her croak of a voice, “What are the celebrations for, my dear? No one tells an old woman anything these days.”

The young thing replied, “Haven't you heard? Rama is to be crowned yuvaraja tomorrow.”

And she was away, humming a snatch of the song wafted up from the street, walking on air like the rest of Ayodhya. The girl quite missed the spasm of hatred that convulsed Manthara's coarse features. The hunchback stood on the terrace for a long time, and her cold mind plotted treachery.

Finally she hobbled down the smooth steps with remarkable alacrity, and sped ungainly through the corridors she knew so well: passages she had haunted like some ghastly specter since Dasaratha had first brought his third wife to his palace. She came to Kaikeyi's apartment. The old fiend had been with the queen since she was a little princess in her father's house. Without knocking, she burst into the room, where the lovely Kaikeyi lay on her bed of down, covered by a silken sheet. She lay languidly between sleep and waking, soft dreams in her eyes.

“Get up, foolish woman!” cried Manthara. “Only you could be asleep when doom is so near you. Blind queen arise, or you are lost.”

Kaikeyi, who knew the crooked hag well, sighed in annoyance at being disturbed. But Manthara raged on, “The love of kings, dear imbecile, is like a summer stream:
short-lived.
”

Lazily, Kaikeyi propped herself up on a long, smooth arm. She asked, “What is it, Manthara? Who has wronged you now? Or are you ill? Your face is blanched; have you a fever?”

“No, I am not ill. But your husband means to crown Rama yuvaraja tomorrow. You are a simple woman, Kaikeyi, and innocent as a child. The king deceives you with honeyed words, while he saves the gifts of his deeds for Kausalya. Ah, he is a serpent. Look how cunningly he sent Bharata away to your father, so Rama's investiture would find no opposition. Wake up, Kaikeyi! Save yourself before it is too late; save your son's future. Dasaratha means to destroy you both.”

But to Manthara's disgust, Kaikeyi did not hear anything beyond “your husband means to crown Rama yuvaraja.” Dasaratha's third queen loved Rama like her own son, and she undid the necklace at her throat and pressed it into Manthara's hands.

Kaikeyi cried, “What wonderful news you of all people have brought me today! My son will become the yuvaraja tomorrow.”

Manthara flung the priceless thing from her with a growl. She breathed, “Only a fool will rejoice at her husband's love for another woman. Don't you see it is Kausalya he has always loved? While you he keeps to indulge his old body. Oh, what would I tell your mother if I stood before her today? At least think of your son, woman. Think that Bharata will spend the rest of his life as Rama's slave.”

But Kaikeyi said steadily, “Rama is a prince of dharma. Why, he loves me more than he does Kausalya. And he loves his brothers so much, that Ayodhya shall belong to all four princes when Rama is king. He is Dasaratha's eldest son; when he has ruled for a hundred years, he will crown Bharata king.”

Choking with frustration, Manthara said, “A sea of sorrow has risen to drown you, Kaikeyi, and you don't even see it. After Rama, his son will rule Ayodhya. Bharata will be an underling, a servant: because his mother loves another woman's prince more than her own.”

She shook her ugly head that anyone could be so stupid. “I bring you news of Kausalya's triumph and you reward me with a necklace! But I have lived many years more than you, young Kaikeyi. I saw you when you were born and love you as the daughter I never had. I love your son as if he were my grandchild.”

She hissed her next words like an aged serpent: “I tell you, once Rama sits on the throne he will either banish Bharata or seek his death. That has been the way of kings with their brothers through the ages. Rama will keep Lakshmana close to him, because he is no threat to him; but not Bharata. Kaikeyi, send word to your son never to return to Ayodhya. For Ayodhya is no longer a safe place for him.”

Manthara waited a moment. Seeing she had Kaikeyi's attention, she came out with what she had saved for the end of her tirade.

“All these years you were the king's favorite and you ignored Kausalya. Because your head was swollen, you insulted her time and again. And she bore it all patiently, biding her time. But think of the revenge she will have when she is the queen mother tomorrow. She will destroy what is most precious to you: she will have Bharata's life.”

Kaikeyi's eyes grew round and Manthara saw that at last her poison had pierced the queen's heart, Kaikeyi's face was flushed; little gasps of outrage came from her at what she heard from her crooked maid. Her delicate body quivered with suspicion, and at last she whispered, “You are right and I thank you for opening my eyes. But if I have my way, it is Rama who will be banished and Bharata who will be crowned. But how, Manthara, how? Think, old woman, think hard! Or everything is lost.”

Manthara smiled grimly: Kaikeyi was won; the rest would be easy. The hunchback said slowly, “I thank the Gods for opening your eyes to the danger that threatens you. But listen, I know how you can have Bharata crowned and Rama exiled. There is something you have forgotten, which I remember: once, many years ago, the king granted you two boons because you saved his life.”

Spoiled, impulsive Kaikeyi, who had by now inexorably chosen the path of evil for herself, remembered. It was a war between Deva and Asura, between Indra and Sambara, the great Demon of those times. Indra was embattled and asked Dasaratha to come to fight at his side. A young man then, Dasaratha had gone at once. It was soon after he married his third and most beautiful wife, Kaikeyi. He could not bear to be apart from her, nor she from him; he had taken her with him.

But no dharma bound the Asuras. They attacked Dasaratha's camp in stealth one night and killed most of his guard. Dasaratha faced them single-handedly and took great toll of the demons. But he was outnumbered and, sorely wounded with dark arrows, fell unconscious. Kaikeyi ran out from her tent; with strength more than a woman has, she lifted her husband in her arms and carried him from the battle while Asura barbs whistled around her ears. Then the Devas arrived and the demons were driven away.

Kaikeyi nursed Dasaratha back to health. When he was well and knew what had happened, he said to her, “I grant you two boons, my love, whatever you want. Even my life, because you have saved it.”

But Kaikeyi, so much in love, had laughed, “That you are alive is my greatest boon and that will do for me just now. But perhaps one day, when I am in need, I will remind you of your promise.”

From that day, she had been Dasaratha's favorite queen. When they came home from war, Kaikeyi told her twisted maid, lightheartedly, how she saved Dasaratha's life and what he had promised her. Manthara had also laughed with her then; but she carefully stored what she heard in her black heart. Knowing life, and how long it is, she knew the two boons could prove useful one day. Kaikeyi had forgotten all about them; until now, when Manthara reminded her.

The queen's eyes flashed, and Manthara wheezed gleefully, “One boon will send Rama into the jungle and the other will see Bharata crowned.”

Kaikeyi embraced the old monster, crying, “What would I do without you?”

Manthara said, “Make haste now. The king will come shortly to give you his great news. Enter the chamber of sorrow. Put on soiled clothes, stain your face with tears, and let him find you crying on the ground. Don't speak to him at first, but show him your woman's anger. He loves you, Kaikeyi, and you must take advantage of that tonight if Bharata is to be king. This will be a trial by fire. Pass through the flames and your victory will be long and sweet; falter, and you and your son shall be lost forever. Remember, Bharata's life depends on what you do tonight.

“Dasaratha will try to win you over with sweet words of love, and with gifts. Do not be moved, Kaikeyi. Be silent until he promises you anything you ask for. Then remind him of the boons. Call his word as a kshatriya to stand before you in dharma, and tell him what you want: that Rama be banished and Bharata crowned yuvaraja.

“You must not weaken, child; this night is for strength. Let your heart be made of stone tonight, and let your purpose govern what you say and do.”

Kaikeyi nodded when Manthara had finished. Evil had taken hold of her completely, and it was doubly sad because it was well known in Ayodhya how this queen adored Rama.
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But now cunning fate darkened her mind, so she hardly knew what she did. And Manthara, evil's agent or fate's, ruled her weakness.

Kaikeyi hugged the hunchback again. “My beautiful Manthara, no one loves me as you do. Your body is bent, but your heart is full of light. I will always remember this. When my Bharata is king I will adorn your hump with golden ornaments.”

Manthara hissed, “There is no time for all that now. The task is at hand.”

Kaikeyi went into the krodhagraha, the chamber of anger. She tore the silks from her lissom body. She ripped the flowers from her hair, the jewelry from her throat and her arms, in a frenzy, and flung them from her. She wept at will and black kohl ran down her fair cheeks.

She threw herself on the floor and cried to her deformed woman, “There is no question of faltering, Manthara. If Rama does not go to the forest and if Bharata is not crowned, I will kill myself.”

Kaikeyi lay sobbing. She was like a lovely kinnara woman, her punya exhausted, who had been cast down into the mortal world.