Scion of Ikshvaku (12 page)

‘But that would not add up to a recipe for victory and dominance. So how did they succeed so spectacularly?’

‘The ones who hate them say they succeeded because they were barbaric warriors.’

‘But you obviously disagree with them.’

‘Well, the Devas weren’t cowards either. It was the Age of Kshatriya, warrior-like qualities were highly sought after. They were probably as good as the Asuras in the art of warfare, if not better. The Asuras succeeded because they were united by a common purpose, unlike the Devas who had too many divisions.’

‘Then why did the Asuras eventually decline? Did they become soft? How were the Devas able to defeat them?’

‘As it often happens, the very reason for your success, over a prolonged period of time, can lead to your downfall. Shukracharya united the Asuras with the concept of the
Ekam
, the
One God.
All who worshipped the One God were equal in His eyes.’

Ram frowned. ‘But that was hardly a new idea! Even the
Rig Veda
refers to
Ekam
, the
One Absolute
. To this day we call him the
Sum of all Souls
, the
Parmatma
. Even the followers of the feminine principle, like the Devas, believed in the
Ekam
.’

‘There is a nuance that you’re missing, Sudas. The
Rig Veda
states clearly that while the
Ekam
is the One God, He comes to us in many forms, as many Gods, to help us grow spiritually, in the hope that we will eventually understand Him in His original form. After all, variety is what surrounds us in nature; it is what we relate to. Shukracharya was different. He said that all other manifestations of the
Ekam
were false, leading us into
maya
, the
illusion
. The
Ekam
was the only True God, the only Reality, so to speak. It was a radical thought for that period. Suddenly, there was no hierarchy in the spiritual journey of both, the one who knew no scripture, as well as the one who was an expert on them, simply because they both believed in the
Ekam
.’

‘This would make all human beings equal.’

‘True. And, it worked well for some time for it obliterated all divisions within the Asuras. Furthermore, the dispossessed and oppressed among other groups like the Devas began to join the Asuras; it suddenly raised their social status. But like I’ve said many times, every idea has a positive and a negative. The Asuras thought that everyone who believed in their
Ekam
was equal. And what did they think of those who did not believe in their
Ekam
?’

‘That they were not equal to them?’ asked Ram, tentatively.

‘Yes. All efforts to impose the concept of the One God upon minds that do not respect diversity will only result in intolerance. The
Upanishads
contain this warning.’

‘Yes, I remember the hymn. Especially this couplet:
Giving a sharp sword to a child is not an act of generosity, but irresponsibility.
Is that what happened with the Asuras?’

‘Yes. Shukracharya’s immediate students, having been chosen by him, were intellectually and spiritually equipped to understand the seemingly radical concept of the
Ekam
. But the Asura Empire inevitably expanded, including within its folds increasing multitudes of people. As time went by, these believers held on to their faith in the
Ekam
but became exclusionist, demanding undivided devotion; their God was true, the other Gods were false. They grew to hate those who didn’t believe in their One God, and ultimately began to kill them.’

‘What?’ Ram asked flabbergasted. ‘That’s preposterous! Doesn’t the hymn on the
Ekam
also state that the only marker as to whether one truly understands the One God is that it becomes impossible to hate anyone? The
Ekam
exists in everybody and everything; if you feel any hatred at all towards anything or anyone, then you hate the
Ekam
Himself!’

‘Yes, that’s true. Unfortunately, the Asuras genuinely believed they were doing the right thing. As their numbers grew, their storm troopers let loose a reign of terror, tearing down temples, smashing idols and shrines, slaughtering those who persisted with the practice of worshipping other Gods.’

Ram shook his head. ‘They must have turned everyone against them.’

‘Exactly! And when circumstances changed, as they invariably do, the Asuras had no allies. The Devas, on the other hand, were always divided and hence did not attempt to force their ways on others. How could they? They could not even agree among themselves on what their own way of life was! Fortuitously then, they were spoilt for choice when it came to allies. All the non-Asuras were tired of the constant provocation and violence from the Asuras. They joined forces with their enemies, the Devas. Ironically, many Asuras themselves had begun to question this over-reliance on violence. They too changed allegiance and moved over to the other side. Is it any surprise that the Asuras lost?’

Ram shook his head. ‘That is a major risk with the masculine way, isn’t it? Exclusivist thought can easily lapse into intolerance and rigidity, especially in times of trouble. The feminine way will not face this problem.’

‘Yes, rigid intolerance creates mortal enemies with whom negotiation is impossible. But the feminine way has other problems; most importantly, of how to unite their own behind a larger cause. The followers of the feminine way are usually so divided that it takes a miracle for them to come together for any one purpose, under a single banner.’

Ram, who had seen the worst of the divisions and inefficiencies of the feminine way of life in the India of today, appeared genuinely curious about the masculine order. ‘The masculine way needs to be revived. The way of the Asuras is a possible answer to India’s current problems. But the Asura way cannot and should not be replicated. Some improvements and adjustments are necessary. Questioning must be encouraged. And, it has to be tailored to suit our current circumstances.’

‘Why not the feminine way?’ asked the guru.

‘I believe leaders of the feminine way tend to shirk responsibilities. Their message to their followers is: “It’s your decision”. When things go wrong, there’s no one who can be held accountable. In the masculine way, the leader has to assume all the responsibility. And only when leaders assume responsibility can society actually function. There is clear direction and purpose for society as a whole. Otherwise, there is endless debate, analysis and paralysis.’

Vashishta smiled. ‘You are oversimplifying things. But I will not deny that if you want quick improvements, the masculine way works better. The feminine route takes time, but in the long run, it can be more stable and durable.’

‘The masculine way can also prove to be stable, if we learn lessons from the past.’

‘Are you willing to forge such a new path?’

‘I will certainly try,’ said Ram with disarming honesty. ‘It is my duty to my motherland; to this great country of ours.’

‘Well, you are welcome to revive the masculine way. But I suggest you don’t name it Asura. It is such a reviled name today that your ideas will be doomed from the very beginning.’

‘Then what do you suggest?’

‘Names don’t matter. What matters is the philosophy underlying them. There was a time when the Asuras represented the masculine way and the Devas, the feminine. Then, the Asuras were destroyed and only the Devas survived. The Suryavanshis and Chandravanshis are descendants of the Devas; both representatives of the feminine. But, for all you know, if you achieve what I think you can, the Suryavanshis could end up representing the masculine way of life and the Chandravanshis could carry forward the legacy of their ancestors, the Devas. Like I said, names don’t matter.’

Ram looked down again at the inscription as he pondered over the unknown person who had carved this message long ago. It seemed like an act of impotent rebellion. Shukracharya’s name had been banned across the land. His loyal followers were not even allowed to speak his name. Perhaps this was their way of applying a salve to their conscience at not being able to publicly honour their guru.

Vashishta put his hand on Ram’s shoulder. ‘I will tell you more about Shukracharya, his life and his philosophy. He was a genius. You can learn from him and create a great empire. But you must remember that while you can certainly learn from the successes of great men, you can learn even more from their failures and mistakes.’

‘Yes, Guru
ji
.’

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Chapter 9
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‘We will not be meeting for a long time after this, Guru
ji
,’ said the Naga.

A few months had elapsed since Ram and Vashishta’s conversation on Shukracharya in the temple of Lord Indra. The formal education of the princes in the
gurukul
was complete, and the boys would be returning home for good the following day. Lakshman had decided to go riding one last time, late in the night. While trying to return undetected, he came upon a replay of the meeting between his guru and the suspicious Naga.

They had met under the bridge, once again.

‘Yes, it will be difficult,’ agreed Vashishta. ‘People in Ayodhya do not know about my other life. But I will find ways to communicate.’

The outgrowth from his lower back flicked like a tail as the Naga spoke. ‘I have heard that your former friend’s alliance with Raavan grows stronger.’

Vashishta closed his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking softly. ‘He will always remain my friend. He helped me when I was alone.’

The Naga narrowed his eyes, his interest piqued. ‘You have to tell me this story sometime, Guru
ji
. What happened?’

Vashishta gave the hint of a wry smile. ‘Some stories are best left untold.’

The Naga realised he had ventured into painful territory and decided not to pry any further.

‘But I know what you’ve come for,’ said Vashishta, changing the topic.

The Naga smiled. ‘I have to know…’

‘Ram,’ said Vashishta, simply.

The Naga seemed surprised. ‘I thought it would be Prince Bharat…’

‘No. It’s Ram. It has to be.’

The Naga nodded. ‘Then, Prince Ram it is. You know you can count on our support.’

‘Yes, I know.’

Lakshman felt his heartbeat quicken as he continued to listen, soundlessly.

‘
Dada
, you really do not understand the world,’ cried Lakshman.

‘In the name of Lord Ikshvaku, just go back to sleep,’ mumbled an exasperated Ram. ‘You see conspiracies everywhere.’

‘But…’

‘Lakshman!’

‘They have decided to kill you,
Dada
! I know it.’

‘When will you believe that nobody is trying to kill me? Why would Guru
ji
want me dead? Why would
anyone
want me dead, for crying out loud?!’ exclaimed Ram. ‘Nobody was trying to kill me then, when we were out riding. And, nobody is trying to kill me now. I am not so important, you know. Now go to sleep!’

‘
Dada
, you’re just so clueless! At this rate, I don’t know how I’m supposed to protect you.’

‘You will protect me forever, somehow,’ said Ram, softening and smiling indulgently as he pulled his brother’s cheek. ‘Go back to sleep now.’

‘
Dada
…’

‘Lakshman!’

‘Welcome home, my son,’ cried Kaushalya.

Unable to suppress her tears of joy, the queen looked proudly at her son as he held her awkwardly, slightly embarrassed by her open display of emotion. Like his mother, the eighteen-year-old eldest prince of the Raghu clan of Ayodhya had a dark, flawless complexion, which perfectly set off his sober white
dhoti
and
angvastram
. His broad shoulders, lean body and powerful back were a testimony to his archery skills. Long hair tied neatly in an unassuming bun, he wore simple ear studs and a string of Rudraaksh beads around his neck. The studs were shaped like the sun with streaming rays, which was symbolic of the Suryavanshi rulers, descendants of the sun. The Rudraaksh, brown, elliptical beads derived from the tree of the same name, represented Lord Rudra, who had saved India from Evil some millennia ago.

He stepped away from his mother as she finally stopped crying. He went down on one knee, bowing his head with respect towards his father. A hushed silence descended on the court, in full attendance during this ceremonial occasion. The impressive Great Hall of the Unconquerable hadn’t seen a gathering like this in nearly two decades. This royal court hall, along with the palace, had been built by the charismatic warrior-king Raghu, the great-grandfather of Ram. He had famously restored the power of the Ayodhya royalty through stunning conquests, so much so that the title of the House of Ayodhya had been changed from the ‘Clan of Ikshvaku’, to the ‘Clan of Raghu’. Ram did not approve of this change, for to him it was a betrayal of his lineage. Howsoever great one’s achievements were, they could not overshadow those of one’s ancestors. He would have preferred the use of ‘Clan of Ikshvaku’ for his family; after all, Ikshvaku was the founder of the dynasty. But few were interested in Ram’s opinions.

Ram continued to kneel, but the official acknowledgment was not forthcoming. Vashishta, the raj guru, sat to the right of the emperor, looking at him with silent disapproval.

Dashrath seemed lost in thought as he stared blankly into space. His hands rested on golden armrests shaped like lions. A gold-coloured canopy, embedded with priceless jewels, was suspended over the throne. The magnificent court hall and the throne were symbolic of the power and might of the Ayodhyans; or at least, they had been so, once upon a time. Peeling paint and fraying edges spoke volumes of the decline of this once-great kingdom. Precious stones from the throne had been pulled out, probably to pay the bills. The thousand-pillared hall still appeared grand, but an old eye would know that it had seen better days in years past, when vibrant silk pennants hung from the walls, separating engraved figures of ancient
rishis
—
seers
and
men of knowledge
. The figures could have certainly done with a thorough cleaning.

Palpable embarrassment spread in the hall as Ram waited. A murmur among the courtiers reaffirmed what was well known: Ram was not the favoured son.

The son remained still and unmoved. Truth be told, he was not the least bit surprised. Used to disdain and calumny, he had learnt to ignore it. Every trip back home from the
gurukul
had been torture. Almost by design, most people found some way to constantly remind him of the misfortune of his birth. The ‘taint of 7,032’, the year of his birth according to the calendar of Manu, would not be forgotten. It had troubled him in his childhood, but he found himself wryly recalling what the man he admired as a father, Guru Vashishta, had said to him once.

Kimapi Nu Janaahaa Vadishyanti. Tadeva Kaaryam Janaanaam.

People will talk nonsense. It is, after all, their job.

Kaikeyi walked up to her husband, went down on her knees and placed Dashrath’s partially paralysed right leg on the foot stand. Carefully displaying the dutiful and submissive gesture for public consumption, she brought her aggression into full play in private, as she hissed her command. ‘Acknowledge Ram. Remember, descendant, not protector.’

A flicker of life flashed across the emperor’s face. He raised his chin imperiously as he spoke. ‘Rise, Ram Chandra, descendant of the Raghu clan.’

Vashishta narrowed his eyes with disapproval and cast a glance at Ram.

Adorned in rich finery and heavy gold ornaments, prominent among the first row of nobility, was a fair-skinned woman with a bent back. Her face was scarred by an old disease, and along with the hunched back, she had a menacing presence. Turning slightly to the man standing beside her, she whispered, ‘Hmm, did you understand, Druhyu? Descendant, not protector.’

Druhyu bowed his head in deference as he addressed the wealthiest and most powerful merchant of the Sapt Sindhu, ‘Yes, Manthara
ji
.’

That Dashrath had avoided the word ‘protector’ was a clear indication to all who were present that Ram would not be accorded what was the birthright of the first-born. Ram did not show disappointment as he rose to his feet with stoic decorum. Folding his hands together in a namaste, he bowed his head and spoke with crisp solemnity, ‘May all the Gods of our great land continue to protect you, my father.’ He then stepped back to take his position in single file along with his brothers.

Standing beside Ram, Bharat, though shorter, was heavier in build. Years of hard work showed in his musculature, while the scars he bore gave him a fearsome yet attractive look. He’d inherited his mother’s fair complexion and had set it off with a bright blue
dhoti
and
angvastram
. The headband that held his long hair in place was embellished with an intricate, embroidered golden peacock feather. His charisma, though, lay in his eyes and face; a sharp nose, strong chin and eyes that danced with mischief. At this moment though, they displayed sadness. He cast a concerned look at his brother Ram before turning to Dashrath, visibly angry.

Bharat marched forward with studied nonchalance and went down on one knee. Shockingly for the assemblage, he refused to bow his head. He stared at his father with open hostility.

Kaikeyi had remained standing next to Dashrath. She glared at her son, willing him into submission. But Bharat was too old for such efforts at intimidation. Imperceptibly, unnoticed by anyone, Kaikeyi bowed her head and whispered to her husband. Dashrath repeated what was told to him.

‘Rise, Bharat, descendant of the Raghu clan.’

Bharat smiled delightedly at not being accorded the title of the ‘protector’ either. He stood up and spoke with casual aplomb, ‘May Lord Indra and Lord Varun grant you wisdom, my father.’

He winked at Ram as he quickly walked back to where his brothers stood. Ram was impassive.

It was then Lakshman’s turn. As he stepped forward, those assembled were struck by his gigantic frame and towering height. Though usually dishevelled, his mother Sumitra had ensured that the fair-complexioned Lakshman had turned up dressed neatly for the ceremony. Much like his beloved brother Ram, Lakshman too avoided wearing jewellery, save for the ear studs and the threaded Rudraaksh beads around his neck. His ceremony was completed without fuss, and he was soon followed by Shatrughan. The diminutive youngest prince was meticulously attired as always, his hair precisely tied, his
dhoti
and
angvastram
neatly pressed, his jewellery sober and minimal. The completion of his ceremony marked his acknowledgement, too, as a descendant of Raghu.

The court crier brought the proceedings of the court to an end. Kaikeyi stepped up to assist Dashrath, signalling an aide who stood next to the emperor. Dashrath placed his hand on the attendant’s shoulder as his eyes fell on Vashishta, who had also risen from his seat. Dashrath folded his hands together into a namaste. ‘Guru
ji
.’

Vashishta raised his right hand and blessed the king. ‘May Lord Indra bless you with a long life, Your Majesty.’

Dashrath nodded and cast a cursory look towards his sons, standing firmly together. His eyes rested on Ram; he coughed irritably, turned and hobbled away with assistance. Kaikeyi followed Dashrath out of the court.

The crier then announced that the emperor had left the court and the courtiers immediately began filing out of the hall.

Manthara remained rooted to her spot, staring intently at the four princes in the distance.

‘What is it, My Lady?’ whispered Druhyu.