Scion of Ikshvaku (29 page)

The people in the room sat still, as if they had turned to stone, en masse. Vishwamitra spoke once again, louder this time. ‘Let the competition begin. Prince Ram, please step up.’

Ram rose from his chair and walked up to the
Pinaka
. He bowed with reverence, folded his hands together into a namaste, and softly repeated an ancient chant: ‘
Om Rudrāya Namah.
’
The universe bows to Lord Rudra. I bow to Lord Rudra.

He raised his right wrist and touched both his eyes with the red thread tied around it. He felt a charge run through his body as he touched the bow. Was this his devotion towards Lord Rudra, or did the bow unselfishly transmit its accumulated power to the prince of Ayodhya? Those seeking only factual knowledge would analyse what happened. Those in love with wisdom would simply enjoy the moment. Ram savoured the moment as he touched the bow again. He then brought his head down and placed it on the bow; he asked to be blessed.

He breathed steadily as he lifted the bow with ease. Sita, hidden behind a latticed window next to Kushadhwaj, looked at Ram intently with bated breath.

Ram placed one arm of the bow on a wooden stand placed on the ground. His shoulders, back and arms strained visibly as he pulled down the upper limb of the
Pinaka
, simultaneously pulling up the bowstring. His body laboured at the task, but his face remained serene. He bent the upper limb farther with a slight increase in effort as he tied the bowstring. His muscles relaxed as he let go of the upper limb and held the bow at the grip. He brought the bowstring close to his ear and plucked; the twang was perfect.

He picked up an arrow and walked to the copper-plated basin with deliberate, unhurried footsteps. He went down on one knee, held the bow horizontally above his head and looked down at the water; at the reflection of the fish that moved in a circle above him. The rippling water in the basin danced as if to tantalise his mind. Ram focused on the image of the fish to the exclusion of all else. He nocked the arrow on the string of the bow and pulled slowly with his right hand, his back erect, the core muscles activated with ideal tension. His breathing was steady and rhythmic. As was his consciousness, so was the response from the universe. He handed himself over to a higher force as he pulled the string all the way back and released the arrow. It shot up, as did the vision of each person in the room. The unmistakable sound of a furiously speeding arrow crashing into wood reverberated in the great hall. It had pierced the right eye of the fish, and lodged itself into the wooden wheel. The wheel swirled rhythmically as the shaft of the arrow drew circles in the air. Ram’s mind reclaimed its awareness of the surroundings as his eyes continued to study the rippling water; he smiled. Not because he had hit the target. He had, in fact, earned a sense of completion of his being, with that shot. From this moment on, he was no longer alone.

He whispered, in the confines of his mind, a tribute to the woman he admired; Lord Rudra had said the same words to Lady Mohini, the woman he loved, many many centuries ago.

I have become alive. You have made me alive.

FlyLeaf.ORG

Chapter 24
FlyLeaf.ORG

The wedding was a simple set of solemn rituals, observed in the afternoon of the day that Ram won the
swayamvar
. To Ram’s surprise, Sita had suggested that Lakshman and Urmila get married in the same auspicious hour of the day. To Ram’s further disbelief, Lakshman had enthusiastically agreed. It was decided that while both the couples would be married in Mithila — to allow Sita and Urmila to travel with Ram and Lakshman to Ayodhya — a set of grand ceremonies would be held in Ayodhya as well; ones befitting the scions of the clan of Raghu.

Sita and Ram were alone at last. They sat on floor cushions in the dining hall, their dinner placed on a low stool. It was late in the evening, the sixth hour of the third
prahar
. Despite the fact that their relationship had been sanctified by
dharma
a few hours earlier, there was an awkwardness that underlined their ignorance of each other’s personalities.

‘Umm,’ said Ram, as he stared at his plate.

‘Yes, Ram?’ asked Sita. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘I’m sorry, but … the food…’

‘Is it not to your liking?’

‘No, no, it’s good. It’s very good. But…’

‘Yes?’

‘It needs a bit of salt.’

Sita immediately pushed her plate aside, rose and clapped her hands. An attendant came rushing in.

‘Get some salt for the prince, please.’ As the attendant turned, Sita ordered with emphasis, ‘Quickly!’

The attendant broke into a run.

Ram cleaned his hand with a napkin as he waited for the salt. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you.’

Sita frowned as she resumed her seat. ‘I’m your wife, Ram. It’s my duty to take care of you.’

Ram smiled. ‘Umm, may I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Tell me something about your childhood.’

‘You mean, before I was adopted? You do know that I was adopted, right?’

‘Yes… I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if it troubles you.’

Sita smiled. ‘No, it doesn’t trouble me, but I don’t remember anything. I was too young when I was found by my adoptive parents.’

Ram nodded.

Sita answered the question that she thought was on his mind. ‘So, if you ask me who my birth-parents are, the short answer is that I don’t know. But the one I prefer is that I am a daughter of the earth.’

‘Birth is completely unimportant. It is just a means of entry into this
world of action
, into this
karmabhoomi
. Karma is all that matters. And your karma is divine.’

Sita smiled. Ram was about to say something when the attendant came rushing in with the salt. Ram added some to his food and resumed eating as the attendant retreated from the room.

‘You were saying something,’ said Sita.

‘Yes,’ said Ram, ‘I think that…’

Ram was interrupted again, this time by the doorkeeper announcing loudly, ‘The chief of the Malayaputras, the
Saptrishi Uttradhikari
, the protector of the way of the Vishnus, Maharishi Vishwamitra.’

Sita frowned and looked at Ram. Ram shrugged, clearly conveying he did not know what this visit was about.

Ram and Sita rose as Vishwamitra entered the room, followed by Arishtanemi. Sita gestured to her attendant to get some washing bowls for Ram and herself.

‘We have a problem,’ said Vishwamitra, not feeling the need to exchange pleasantries.

‘What happened, Guru
ji
?’ asked Ram.

‘Raavan is mobilising for an attack.’

Ram frowned. ‘But he doesn’t have an army. What’s he going to do with ten thousand bodyguards? He can’t hold a city of even Mithila’s size with that number. All he’ll achieve is getting his men killed in battle.’

‘Raavan is not a logical man,’ proffered Vishwamitra. ‘His ego is hurt. He may lose his bodyguard corps, but he will wreak havoc on Mithila.’

Ram looked at Sita, who shook her head with irritation and addressed Vishwamitra. ‘Why in Lord Rudra’s name was that demon invited for the
swayamvar
? I know it was not my father.’

Vishwamitra took a deep breath as his eyes softened. ‘That’s water under the bridge, Sita. The question is, what are we going to do now?’

‘What is your plan, Guru
ji
?’

‘I have with me some important material that was mined at my
ashram
by the Ganga. I needed it to conduct a few science experiments at Agastyakootam. This was why I had visited my
ashram
.’

Agastyakootam was the capital of the Malayaputras, deep in the south of India, beyond the Narmada River. In fact, it was very close to Lanka itself.

‘Science experiments?’ asked Ram.

‘Yes, experiments with the
daivi astras
.’

Sita drew a sharp breath for she knew the power and ferocity of the
divine weapons
. ‘Guru
ji
, are you suggesting that we use
daivi astras
?’

Vishwamitra nodded in confirmation as Ram spoke up. ‘But that will destroy Mithila as well.’

‘No, it won’t. This is not a traditional
daivi astra
. What I have is the
Asuraastra
.’

‘Isn’t that a biological weapon?’ asked Ram, deeply troubled now.

‘Yes. Poisonous gas and a blast wave from the
Asuraastra
will incapacitate the Lankans, paralysing them for days on end. We can easily imprison them in that state and end this problem.’

‘Just paralyse, Guru
ji
?’ asked Ram. ‘I have learnt that, in large quantities, the
Asuraastra
can kill as well.’

Vishwamitra knew that only one man could have possibly taught this to Ram. None of the other
daivi astra
experts had ever met this young man. He was immediately irritated. ‘Do you have any better ideas?’

Ram fell silent.

‘But what about Lord Rudra’s law?’ asked Sita.

Lord Rudra, the previous Mahadev who was the Destroyer of Evil, had banned the unauthorised use of
daivi astras
many centuries ago. Practically everyone obeyed this diktat from the fearsome Lord Rudra. Those who broke the law he had decreed would be punished with banishment for fourteen years. Breaking the law for the second time would be punishable by death.

‘I don’t think that law applies to the use of the
Asuraastra
,’ said Vishwamitra. ‘It is not a weapon of mass destruction, just mass incapacitation.’

Sita narrowed her eyes. Clearly, she wasn’t convinced. ‘I disagree. A
daivi astra
is a
daivi astra
. We cannot use it without the authorisation of the Vayuputras, Lord Rudra’s tribe. I am a Lord Rudra devotee. I will not break his law.’

‘Do you want to surrender, then?’

‘Of course not! We will fight!’

Vishwamitra laughed derisively. ‘Fight, is it? And who, please explain, will fight Raavan’s hordes? The namby-pamby intellectuals of Mithila? What is the plan? Debate the Lankans to death?’

‘We have our police force,’ said Sita quietly.

‘They’re not trained or equipped to fight the troops of Raavan.’

‘We are not fighting his troops. We are fighting his bodyguard platoons. My police force is enough for them.’

‘They are not. And you know that.’

‘We will not use the
daivi astras
, Guru
ji
,’ said Sita firmly, her face hardening.

Ram spoke up. ‘Samichi’s police force is not alone. Lakshman and I are here, and so are the Malayaputras. We’re inside the fort, we have the double walls; we have the lake surrounding the city. We can hold Mithila. We can fight.’

Vishwamitra turned to Ram with a sneer. ‘
Nonsense!
We are vastly outnumbered. The double walls…’ He snorted with disgust. ‘It seems clever. But how long do you think it will take a warrior of Raavan’s calibre to figure out a strategy that works around that obstacle?’

‘We will not use the
daivi astras
, Guru
ji
,’ said Sita, raising her voice. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have a battle to prepare for.’

It was late at night; the fourth hour of the fourth
prahar
. Ram and Sita had been joined by Lakshman and Samichi on top of the Bees Quarter, close to the inner wall edge. The entire Bees Quarter complex had been evacuated as a precautionary step. The pontoon bridge that spanned the moat-lake had been destroyed.

Mithila had a force of four thousand policemen and policewomen, enough to maintain law and order for the hundred thousand citizens of the small kingdom. Notwithstanding the strategic advantage of the double walls, would they be able to thwart an attack from the Lankan bodyguards of Raavan? They were outnumbered five to two.

Ram and Sita had abandoned any plans of securing the outer wall. They wanted Raavan and his soldiers to scale it and launch an assault on the inner walls; the Lankans would, then, be trapped between the two walls, which the Mithilan arrows would convert into a killing field. They expected a volley of arrows from the other side, in preparation for which the police had been asked to carry their wooden shields, normally used for crowd control within Mithila. Lakshman had taught them some basic manoeuvres with which they could protect themselves from the arrows.

‘Where are the Malayaputras?’ Lakshman asked Ram.

The Malayaputras had, much to Ram’s surprise, not come to the battle-front. Ram whispered, ‘I think it’s just us.’

Lakshman shook his head and spat. ‘Cowards.’

‘Look!’ said Samichi.

Sita and Lakshman looked in the direction that Samichi had pointed. Ram, on the other hand, was drawn to something else: a hint of nervousness in Samichi’s voice. Unlike Sita, she appeared troubled. Perhaps she was not as brave as Sita believed her to be. Ram turned his attention to the enemy.

Torches lined the other side of the moat-lake that surrounded the outer wall of Mithila. Raavan’s bodyguards had worked feverishly through the evening, chopping down trees from the forest and building rowboats to carry them across the lake.

Even as they watched, the Lankans began to push their boats into the moat-lake. The assault on Mithila was being launched.

‘It’s time,’ said Sita.

‘Yes,’ said Ram. ‘We have maybe another half hour before they hit our outer wall.’

Conch shells resounded through the night, by now recognised as the signature sound of Raavan and his men. As they watched in the light of the flickering flames of torches, the Lankans propped giant ladders against the outer walls of Mithila.

‘They are here,’ said Ram. Messages were relayed quickly down the line to the Mithila police-soldiers. Ram expected a shower of arrows now from Raavan’s archers. The Lankans would fire their arrows only as long as their soldiers were outside the outer wall. The shooting would stop the moment the Lankans climbed over. The archers would not risk hitting their own men.

A loud whoosh, like the sudden onrush of a gale, heralded the release of the arrows.

‘Shields!’ shouted Sita.

The Mithilans immediately raised their shields, ready for the Lankan arrows that were about to rain down on them. But Ram was perturbed. Something about the sound troubled him. It was much stronger than the sound of a thousand arrows being fired. It sounded like something much bigger. He was right.