Scion of Ikshvaku (28 page)

The city of Mithila became increasingly more visually appealing as one moved beyond the main market to the enclaves of the upper classes. This was where Ram and Lakshman had decided to walk, late the following evening.

‘It’s pretty, isn’t it,
Dada
?’ remarked Lakshman, as he looked around in appreciation.

Ram had been noting the sudden change in Lakshman’s attitude towards Mithila since the previous day. The road they were on was relatively broad but meandering, much like village roads. Trees and flower beds lined dividers made of stone and mortar, around three to four feet in height. Beyond the road edge were an array of trees, gardens and the stately mansions of the wealthy. Idols of various personal and family deities were placed above the boundary walls of the mansions. Incense sticks and fresh flowers were placed as offerings to the deities, indicating the spiritual inclinations of the citizens; Mithila was a bastion of the devout.

‘Here we are,’ pointed Lakshman.

Ram followed his brother into a narrow, circuitous lane on the right. The sidewalls being higher, it was difficult to see what lay beyond.

‘Should we just jump over?’ asked Lakshman, grinning mischievously.

Ram frowned at him and continued walking. A few metres ahead lay an ornate wrought-iron gate. Two soldiers stood at the entrance.

‘We have come to meet the prime minister,’ said Lakshman, handing over a ring that had been given to him by Samichi.

The guard examined the ring, was seemingly satisfied, and signalled to the other to help him open the gates.

Ram and Lakshman quickly walked into the resplendent garden. Unlike the royal gardens of Ayodhya, this one was less variegated; it only contained local trees, plants and flower beds. It was a garden whose beauty could be attributed more to the ministrations of talented gardeners than to the impressive infusion of funds. The layout was symmetrical and well-manicured. The thick green carpet of grass was thrown into visual relief by the profusion of flowers and trees of all shapes and colours. Nature expressed itself in ordered harmony.

‘Prince Ram,’ Samichi walked up to them from the shadows behind a tree. She bowed low with a respectful namaste.

‘Namaste,’ said Ram, as he folded his hands together.

Lakshman too returned Samichi’s greeting and then handed the ring back to her. ‘The guards recognise your mark.’

‘As they should,’ said the police chief, before turning to Ram. ‘Princesses Sita and Urmila await you. Follow me, princes.’

Lakshman beamed with delight as he followed Ram and Samichi.

Ram and Lakshman were led into a clearing at the back of the garden; below their feet was plush grass, above them the open evening sky.

‘Namaste, princess,’ said Ram to Sita.

‘Namaste, prince,’ replied Sita, before turning to her sister. ‘May I introduce my younger sister, Urmila?’ Gesturing towards Ram and Lakshman, Sita continued, ‘Urmila, meet Prince Ram and Prince Lakshman of Ayodhya.’

‘I had occasion to meet her yesterday,’ said Lakshman, grinning from ear to ear.

Urmila smiled politely at Lakshman, with her hands folded in a namaste, then turned towards Ram and greeted him.

‘I would like to speak with the prince privately, once again,’ said Sita.

‘Of course,’ said Samichi immediately. ‘May I have a private word before that?’

Samichi took Sita aside and whispered in her ear. Then she cast a quick look at Ram before walking away, leading Urmila by the hand. Lakshman followed Urmila.

Ram felt as if his interview from yesterday would proceed from where they had left off. ‘Why did you want to meet me, princess?’

Sita made sure that Samichi and the rest had indeed left. She was about to begin when her eyes fell on the red thread tied around Ram’s right wrist. She smiled. ‘Please give me a minute, prince.’

Sita went behind a tree, bent and picked up a very long package covered in cloth. She walked back to Ram. He frowned, intrigued. Sita pulled the cloth back to reveal an intricately carved, unusually long bow. An exquisite piece of weaponry, it was a composite bow with recurved ends, which must give it a very long range. Ram carefully examined the carvings on the inside face of the limbs, both above and below the grip of the bow. It was the image of a flame, representative of Agni, the God of Fire. The first hymn of the first chapter of the
Rig Veda
was dedicated to the deeply revered deity. However, the shape of this particular flame seemed familiar to Ram, in the way its edges leapt out.

Sita pulled a flat wooden base platform out of the cloth bag and placed it on the ground ceremonially. She looked up at Ram. ‘This bow cannot be allowed to touch the ground.’

Ram frowned, wondering what made it so important. Sita placed the lower limb of the bow on the platform, steadying it with her foot. She used her right hand to pull down the other end with force. Judging by the strain on her shoulder and biceps, Ram knew it was a very strong bow with tremendous resistance. With her left hand, Sita pulled the bowstring up and quickly strung it. She let the upper limb extend up and relaxed as she let out a long breath. The mighty bow adjusted to the constraints of the potent bowstring. She held the bow with her left hand and pulled the bowstring with her fingers, letting it go with a loud twang.

Ram knew from the sound of the string that this bow was special. It was the strongest he had ever heard. ‘Wow. That’s a good bow.’

‘It’s the best.’

‘Is it yours?’

‘I cannot own a bow like this. I am only its caretaker, for now. When I die, someone else will be deputed to take care of it.’

Ram narrowed his eyes as he closely examined the image of the flames around the grip of the bow. ‘These flames look a little like—’

Sita interrupted him. ‘This bow once belonged to the one whom we both worship. It still belongs to him.’

Ram stared at the bow with a mixture of shock and awe, his suspicion confirmed.

Sita smiled. ‘Yes, it is the
Pinaka
.’

The
Pinaka
was the legendary bow of the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra, considered the strongest bow ever made. Legend held that it was a composite, a mix of many materials, which had been given a succession of specific treatments to arrest its degeneration. It was also believed that maintaining this bow was not an easy task. The grip, the limbs and the recurved ends needed regular lubrication with special oil. Sita was obviously up to the task, for the bow was as good as new.

‘How did Mithila come into the possession of the
Pinaka
?’ asked Ram, unable to take his eyes off the beautiful weapon.

‘It’s a long story,’ said Sita, ‘but I want you to practice with it. This is the bow which will be used for the
swayamvar
competition tomorrow.’

Ram took an involuntary step back. There were many ways in which a
swayamvar
was conducted, two of them being: either the bride could directly select her groom; or she could mandate a competition. The winner would marry the bride. But this was unorthodox, to say the least: for a groom to be given advance notice and help
.
In fact, it was against the rules.

Ram shook his head. ‘It would be an honour to even touch the
Pinaka,
much less hold the bow that Lord Rudra himself graced with his touch. But I will only do so tomorrow. Not today.’

Sita frowned. ‘I thought you intended to win my hand.’

‘I do. But I will win it the right way. I will win according to the rules.’

Sita smiled, shaking her head as she experienced a peculiar sense of fear mixed with elation.

‘Do you disagree?’ asked Ram, seeming a bit disappointed.

‘No, I don’t. I’m just impressed. You are a special man, Prince Ram.’

Ram blushed. His heart, despite his mental admonishments, picked up pace once again.

‘I look forward to seeing you fire an arrow tomorrow morning,’ said Sita.

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Chapter 23
FlyLeaf.ORG

The
swayamvar
was held in the Hall of
Dharma
instead of the royal court. This was simply because the royal court was not the biggest hall in Mithila. The main building in the palace complex, which housed the Hall of
Dharma
, had been donated by King Janak to the Mithila University. The hall hosted regular debates and discussions on various esoteric topics: the nature of
dharma
, karma’s interaction with
dharma
, the nature of the divine, the purpose of the human journey… King Janak was a philosopher-king who focused all his kingdom’s resources on matters that were spiritual and intellectual.

The Hall of
Dharma
was in a circular building, built of stone and mortar, with a massive dome; quite rare in India. The delicate elegance of the dome was believed to represent the feminine, while the typical temple spire represented the masculine. The Hall of
Dharma
embodied King Janak’s approach to governance: an intellectual love of wisdom and respectful equality accorded to all points of view. The hall, therefore, was circular. All
rishis
sat as equals, without a moderating ‘head’, debating issues openly and without fear; freedom of expression at its zenith.

However, today was different. There were no manuscripts lying on low tables, or
rishis
moving to the centre in a disciplined sequence, to deliver speeches or debate their points. The Hall of
Dharma
was set to host a
swayamvar
.

Temporary three-tiered spectator stands stood near the entrance. At the other end, on a wooden platform, was placed the king’s throne. A statue of the great King Mithi, the founder of Mithila, stood on a raised pedestal behind the throne. Two thrones, only marginally less grand, were placed to the left and right of the king’s throne. A circle of comfortable seats lined the middle section of the great hall, where kings and princes, the potential suitors, would sit.

The spectator stands were already packed when Ram and Lakshman were led in by Arishtanemi. Most contestants too had taken their seats. Not many recognised the two princes of Ayodhya, dressed as they were as hermits. A guard gestured for them to move towards the base platform of a three-tiered stand, occupied by the nobility and rich merchants of Mithila. Arishtanemi informed the guard that he accompanied a competitor. The guard was surprised but he did recognise Arishtanemi, the lieutenant of the great Vishwamitra, and stepped aside to let them proceed. After all, it would not be unusual for the devout King Janak to invite even Brahmin
rishis
, not just Kshatriya kings, for his daughter’s
swayamvar
.

The walls of the Hall of
Dharma
were decorated by portraits of the greatest
rishis
and
rishikas
of times past: Maharishi Satyakam, Maharishi Yajnavalkya, Maharishika Gargi, and Maharishika Maitreyi, among others. Ram mused:
How unworthy are we, the descendants of these great ancestors.
Maharishikas Gargi and Maitreyi were rishikas, and today there are fools who claim that women are not to be allowed to study the scriptures or to write new ones.
Maharishi Satyakam was the son of a Shudra single mother. His profound knowledge and wisdom is recorded in our greatest Upanishads; and today there are bigots who claim that the Shudra-born cannot become rishis.

Ram bowed his head and brought his hands together, paying obeisance to the great sages of yore.
A person becomes a Brahmin by karma, not by birth.

‘
Dada
,’ said Lakshman, touching Ram’s back.

Ram followed Arishtanemi to the allotted seat.

He seated himself as Lakshman and Arishtanemi stood behind him. All eyes turned to them. The contestants wondered who these simple mendicants were, who hoped to compete with them for Princess Sita’s hand. A few, though, recognised the princes of Ayodhya. A conspiratorial buzz was heard from a section of the contestants.

‘Ayodhya…’

‘Why does Ayodhya want an alliance with Mithila?’

Ram, however, was oblivious to the stares and whispers of the assembly. He had eyes only for the centre of the hall; placed ceremonially on a table top was the bow. Next to the table, at ground level, was a large copper-plated basin.

Ram’s eyes first lingered on the
Pinaka
. It was unstrung. An array of arrows was placed by the side of the bow.

Competitors were first required to pick up the bow and string it, which itself was no mean task. But it was then that the challenge truly began. The contestant would move to the copper-plated basin. It was filled with water, with additional drops trickling in steadily from the rim of the basin, attached to which was a thin tube. Excess water was drained out of the basin by another thin tube, attached to the other side. This created subtle ripples within the bowl, which spread out from the centre towards the edge. Agonisingly, the drops of water were released at irregular intervals, making the ripples, in turn, unpredictable.

A hilsa fish was nailed to a wheel, fixed to an axle that was suspended from the top of the dome, a hundred metres above the ground. The wheel, thankfully, revolved at a constant speed. The contestants were required to look at the reflection of the fish in the unstill water below, disturbed by ripples generated at irregular intervals, and use the
Pinaka
bow to fire an arrow into the eye of the fish, fixed on the revolving wheel high above them. The first to succeed would win the hand of the bride.

‘This is too simple for you,
Dada
,’ said Lakshman, mischievously. ‘Should I ask them to make the wheel revolve at irregular intervals, too? Or twist the feather-fletching on the arrow? What do you think?’

Ram looked up at Lakshman, narrowed his eyes and glared at his brother.

Lakshman grinned. ‘Sorry,
Dada
.’

He stepped back as the king was announced.

‘The Lord of the Mithi clan, the wisest of the wise, beloved of the
rishis
, King Janak!’

The court arose to welcome their host, Janak, the king of Mithila. He walked in from the far end of the hall. Interestingly, in a deviation from tradition, he followed Vishwamitra, who was in the lead. Behind Janak was his younger brother, Kushadhwaj, the king of Sankashya. Even more interestingly, Janak requested Vishwamitra to occupy the throne of Mithila, as he moved towards the smaller throne to the right. Kushadhwaj walked towards the seat on the left of the great maharishi. A flurry of officials scuttled all over the place, for this was an unexpected breach of protocol.

A loud buzz ran through the hall at this unorthodox seating arrangement, but Ram was intrigued by something else. He turned towards Lakshman, seated behind him. His younger brother verbalised Ram’s thought. ‘Where is Raavan?’

The court crier banged his staff against the large bell at the entrance of the hall, signalling a call for silence.

Vishwamitra cleared his throat and spoke loudly. The superb acoustics of the Hall of
Dharma
carried his voice clearly to all those present. ‘Welcome to this august gathering called by the wisest and most spiritual of rulers in India, King Janak.’

Janak smiled genially.

Vishwamitra continued. ‘The princess of Mithila, Sita, has decided to make this a
gupt swayamvar
. She will not join us in the hall. The great kings and princes will, on her bidding, compete—’

The maharishi was interrupted by the ear-splitting sounds of numerous conch shells; surprising, for conch shells were usually melodious and pleasant. Everyone turned to the source of the sound: the entrance of the great hall. Fifteen tall, muscular warriors strode into the room bearing black flags, with the image of the head of a roaring lion emerging from a profusion of fiery flames. The warriors marched with splendid discipline. Behind them were two formidable men. One was a giant, even taller than Lakshman. He was corpulent but muscular, with a massive potbelly that jiggled with every step. His whole body was unusually hirsute — he looked more like a giant bear than human. Most troubling, for all those present, were the strange outgrowths on his ears and shoulders. He was a Naga. Ram recognised him as the first to have emerged from the
Pushpak Vimaan
.

Walking proudly beside him was Raavan, his head held high. He moved with a minor stoop; perhaps a sign of increasing age.

The two men were followed by fifteen more warriors, or more correctly, bodyguards.

Raavan’s entourage moved to the centre and halted next to the bow of Lord Rudra. The lead bodyguard made a loud announcement. ‘The king of kings, the emperor of emperors, the ruler of the three worlds, the beloved of the Gods, Lord Raavan!’

Raavan turned towards a minor king who sat closest to the
Pinaka
. He made a soft grunting sound and flicked his head to the right, a casual gesture which clearly communicated what he expected. The king immediately rose and scurried away, coming to a standstill behind another competitor. Raavan walked to the chair, but did not sit. He placed his right foot on the seat and rested his hand on his knee. His bodyguards, including the giant bear-man, fell in line behind him. Raavan finally cast a casual glance at Vishwamitra. ‘Continue, great Malayaputra.’

Vishwamitra, the chief of the Malayaputras, was furious. He had never been treated so disrespectfully. ‘Raavan…’ he growled.

Raavan stared at Vishwamitra with lazy arrogance.

Vishwamitra managed to rein in his temper; he had an important task at hand. He would deal with Raavan later. ‘Princess Sita has decreed the sequence in which the great kings and princes will compete.’

Raavan began to walk towards the
Pinaka
while Vishwamitra was still speaking. The chief of the Malayaputras completed his announcement just as Raavan was about to reach for the bow. ‘The first man to compete is not you, Raavan. It is Ram, the prince of Ayodhya.’

Raavan’s hand stopped a few inches from the bow. He looked at Vishwamitra, and then turned around to see who had responded to the sage. He saw a young man, dressed in the simple white clothes of a hermit. Behind him stood another young, though gigantic man, next to whom was Arishtanemi. Raavan glared first at Arishtanemi, and then at Ram. If looks could kill, Raavan would have certainly felled a few today. He turned towards Vishwamitra, Janak and Kushadhwaj, his fingers wrapped around the macabre, finger-bone pendant that hung around his neck. He growled in a loud and booming voice, ‘I have been insulted!’

Ram noticed that the giant bear-man, who stood behind Raavan’s chair, was shaking his head imperceptibly; seemingly rueing being there.

‘Why was I invited at all if you planned to make unskilled boys compete ahead of me?!’ Raavan’s body shook with fury.

Janak looked at Kushadhwaj with irritation before turning to Raavan and interjecting weakly, ‘These are the rules of the
swayamvar
, Great King of Lanka…’

A voice that sounded more like the rumble of thunder was finally heard; it was the giant bear-man. ‘Enough of this nonsense!’ He turned towards Raavan. ‘
Dada
, let’s go.’

Raavan suddenly bent and picked up the
Pinaka
. Before anyone could react, he had strung it and nocked an arrow on the string. Everyone sat paralysed as Raavan pointed the arrow directly at Vishwamitra. Lakshman was forced to acknowledge the strength as well as the skill of this man.

The crowd gasped collectively in horror as Vishwamitra stood up, threw his
angvastram
aside, and banged his chest with his closed fist. ‘Shoot, Raavan!’

Ram was stunned by the warrior-like behaviour of this
rishi
. Raw courage in a man of knowledge was a rarity. But then, Vishwamitra had been a warrior once.

The sage’s voice resounded in the great hall. ‘Come on! Shoot, if you have the guts!’

Raavan released the arrow. It slammed into the statue of Mithi behind Vishwamitra, breaking off the nose of the ancient king. Ram stared at Raavan; his fists were, uncharacteristically, clenched. This insult to the founder of the city was not challenged by a single Mithilan.

Raavan dismissed King Janak with a wave of his hand as he glared at King Kushadhwaj. He threw the bow on the table and began to walk towards the door, followed by his guards. In all this commotion, the giant bear-man stepped up to the table, unstrung the
Pinaka,
and reverentially brought it to his head as he held it with both hands; almost like he was apologising to the bow. He turned around and briskly walked out of the room, behind Raavan. Ram’s eyes remained pinned on him till he left the room.

As the last of the Lankans exited, the people within the hall turned in unison from the doorway to those seated at the other end of the room: Vishwamitra, Janak and Kushadhwaj.

What are they going to do now?

Vishwamitra spoke as if nothing had happened. ‘Let the competition begin.’