Scion of Ikshvaku (9 page)

Ram put the sword down, clasped his right elbow with his left hand and touched his forehead with the clenched right fist, in the traditional salute typical of the tribe of Matsya, showing respect to the
noble
forest-dweller. ‘It was an honour to battle with you, great
Arya
.’

Matsya smiled and folded his hands into a namaste. ‘No, young man, the honour was mine. I look forward to seeing what you do with your life.’

Varun turned to Vashishta. ‘You have a good student here, Guru
ji
. Not only is he a fine swordsman, he is also noble in his conduct. Who is he?’

Vashishta smiled. ‘You know I’m not going to reveal that, Chief.’

Meanwhile, Matsya and Ram had walked to the edge of the platform. They chucked their swords into a water tank, allowing the paint to wash off. The swords would then be dried, oiled and hammered, ready to be used again.

Varun turned to another warrior of his tribe. ‘Gouda, you are next.’

Vashishta signalled Bharat, addressing him by his
gurukul
name. ‘Vasu!’

Gouda touched the ground with reverence, seeking its blessings before stepping onto the platform. Bharat did no such thing. He simply sprang up and sprinted towards the box that contained the swords. He’d marked a sword for himself already; the longest. It negated the advantage of reach that his opponent, a fully grown man, had.

Gouda smiled indulgently; his opponent was a child after all. The warrior picked up a wooden sword and marched to the centre, surprised to not find Bharat there. The intrepid child was already at the far end of the platform where the red dye and paintbrush brooms were stored. He was painting the edges and point of his sword.

‘No practice?’ asked a surprised Gouda.

Bharat turned around. ‘Let’s not waste time.’

Gouda raised his eyebrows in amusement; he walked up and painted his sword edges as well.

The combatants walked to the centre of the platform. Keeping with tradition, they bowed to each other. Gouda waited for Bharat to state his personal credo, expecting a repeat of that of his elder brother’s.

‘Live free or die,’ said Bharat, thumping his chest with gusto.

Gouda couldn’t contain himself now, and burst into laughter. ‘Live free or die?
That
is your slogan?’

Bharat glared at him with unvarnished hostility. Still smiling broadly, the tribal warrior bowed his head and announced his credo. ‘Victory at all costs.’

Gouda was again taken aback, now by Bharat’s stance. Unlike his brother, he faced his enemy boldly, offering his entire body as target. His sword arm remained casually by his side, his weapon held loose. He wore a look of utter defiance.

‘Aren’t you going to take position?’ asked Gouda, worried now that he might actually injure this reckless boy.

‘I am always battle ready,’ whispered Bharat, smiling with nonchalance.

Gouda shrugged and got into position.

Bharat waited for Gouda to make the first move as he observed the tribal warrior lazily.

Gouda suddenly lunged forward and thrust his sword into Bharat’s abdomen. Bharat smoothly twirled around and brought his sword in from a height, landing a sharp blow at Gouda’s right shoulder. Gouda smiled and retreated, careful not to reveal any pain.

‘I could have disembowelled you,’ said Gouda, drawing the boy’s attention to the red mark smeared across his abdomen.

‘Your arm would be lying on the floor before that,’ said Bharat, pointing at the red mark his wooden sword had made on Gouda’s shoulder.

Gouda laughed and charged in again. To his surprise, Bharat suddenly leapt high to his right, bringing his sword down from a height once again. It was an exquisite manoeuvre. Gouda could not have parried that strike from such height, especially since the attack was not on the side of the sword-arm. It could only have been blocked by a shield. However, Bharat was not tall enough to successfully pull off this ingenious manoeuvre. Gouda leaned back and struck hard, using his superior reach.

Gouda’s sword brutally hit the airborne Bharat’s chest, throwing him backwards. Bharat fell on his back, a kill-wound clearly marking his chest, right where his heart lay encased within.

Bharat immediately got back on his feet. The blood capillaries below the skin had burst, forming a red blotch on his bare chest. Even with a wooden sword, the blow must have hurt. To Gouda’s admiration, Bharat disregarded the pain. He stood his ground, staring defiantly at his opponent.

‘That was a good move,’ said Gouda. ‘I haven’t seen it before. But you need to be taller to pull it off.’

Bharat glared at Gouda, his eyes flashing with anger. ‘I will be taller one day. We will fight again.’

Gouda smiled. ‘We certainly will, boy. I look forward to it.’

Varun turned to Vashishta. ‘Guru
ji
, both are talented. I can’t wait for them to grow up.’

Vashishta smiled with satisfaction. ‘Neither can I.’

Dusk had fallen as a contemplative Ram sat by the stream, which flowed a little away from the
ashram
. Spotting him from a distance as he set out for his evening walk, the guru walked up to his student.

Hearing the quick footsteps of his guru, Ram rose immediately with a namaste. ‘Guru
ji
.’

‘Sit, sit,’ said Vashishta, and then lowered himself beside Ram. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘I was wondering why you did not reveal our identity to Chief Varun,’ said Ram. ‘He seems like a good man. Why do we withhold the truth from him? Why do we lie?’

‘Withholding the truth is different from lying!’ Vashishta remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

‘Not revealing the truth is lying, isn’t it, Guru
ji
?’

‘No, it isn’t. Sometimes, truth causes pain and suffering. At such times, silence is preferred. In fact, there may be times when a white lie, or even an outright lie, could actually lead to a good outcome.’

‘But lying has consequences, Guru
ji
. It’s bad karma.’

‘Sometimes, the truth may also have consequences that are bad. Lying may save someone’s life. Lying may bring one into a position of authority, which in turn may result in an opportunity to do good. Would you still advocate not lying? It may well be said that a true leader loves his people more than he loves his own soul. There would be no doubt in the mind of such a leader. He would lie for the good of his people.’

Ram frowned. ‘But Guru
ji
, people who compel their leaders to lie aren’t worth fighting for…’

‘That’s simplistic, Ram. You lied for Lakshman once, didn’t you?’

‘It was instinct. I felt I had to protect him. But I’ve always felt uneasy about it. That’s the reason why I needed to talk to you about it, Guru
ji
.’

‘And, I am repeating what I said then. You needn’t feel guilty. Wisdom lies in moderation, in balance. If you lie to save an innocent person from some bandits, is that wrong?’

‘One odd example, out of context, doesn’t justify lying, Guru
ji
,’ Ram wouldn’t give up. ‘Mother lied once to save me from Father’s anger; Father soon discovered the truth. There was a time when he would visit my mother regularly. But after that incident, he stopped seeing her completely. He cut her off.’

The guru observed his student with sadness.
Truth be told,
Emperor Dashrath blamed Ram for his defeat at the hands of Raavan. He would have found some excuse or the other to stop visiting Kaushalya, regardless of the incident.

Vashishta measured his words carefully. ‘I am not suggesting that lying is good. But sometimes, just like a tiny dose of a poison can prove medicinal, a small lie may actually help. Your habit of speaking the truth is good. But what is your reason for it? Is it because you believe it’s the lawful thing to do? Or, is it because this incident has made you fear lying?’

Ram remained silent, almost thoughtful.

‘Now, I am sure you are wondering what this has to do with Chief Varun.’

‘Yes, Guru
ji
.’

‘Do you remember our visit to the chief’s village?’

‘Of course, I do.’

The boys had once accompanied their guru to Varun’s village. With a population of fifty thousand, it was practically a small town. The princes were enchanted by what they saw. Streets were laid out in a semi-urban, well-organised living area in the form of a square grid. The houses were made of bamboo, but were strong and sturdy; they were exactly the same, from the chief’s to the ordinary villager’s. Houses were without doors, each with an open entrance, simply because there was no crime. The children were raised communally by the elders, not just by their own parents.

During their visit, the princes had had a most interesting conversation with an assistant to the chief. They had wanted to know who the houses belonged to: the individual living in that unit, or to the chief, or to the community as a whole. The assistant had answered with the most quizzical response:
‘How can the land belong to any of us? We belong to the land!’

‘What did you think about the village?’ asked Vashishta, bringing Ram back to the present.

‘What a wonderful way to live. They lead a more civilised life than we city-dwellers do. We could learn so much from them.’

‘Hmm, and what do you think is the foundation of their way of life? Why is Chief Varun’s village so idyllic? Why have they not changed for centuries?’

‘They live selflessly for each other, Guru
ji
. They don’t have a grain of selfishness in them.’

Vashishta shook his head. ‘No, Sudas, it is because at the heart of their society are simple laws. These laws can never be broken, and must be followed, come what may.’

Ram’s eyes opened wide, like he had discovered the secret to life. ‘Laws…’

‘Yes, Ram. Laws! Laws are the foundation on which a fulfilling life is built for a community. Laws are the answer.’

‘Laws…’

‘One might believe that there’s no harm in occasionally breaking a minor law, right? Especially if it’s for the Greater Good? Truth be told, I too have occasionally broken some rules for a laudable purpose. But Chief Varun thinks differently. Their commitment to the law is not based on traditions alone. Or the conviction that it is the right thing to do. It’s based on one of the most powerful impressions in a human being: the childhood memory of guilt. The first time a child breaks a law in their society, however minor and inconsequential it may be, he’s made to suffer; every child. Any recurrent breach of the law results in further shaming. Just like you find it difficult to lie even when it benefits someone because of what your mother suffered, Varun finds it impossible to do the same.’

‘So, not revealing our identity is in some way linked to their laws? Will knowing who we are mean that they’re breaking their laws?’

‘Yes!’

‘What law?’

‘Their law prevents them from coming to the aid of the Ayodhya royalty. I don’t know why. I’m not sure if even they know why. But this law has held for centuries. It serves no purpose now but they follow it strictly. They don’t know where I’m from; I sometimes think they do not want to know. All they know is that my name is Vashishta.’

Ram seemed troubled. ‘Are we safe here?’

‘They are duty-bound to protect those who are accepted into this
gurukul
. That is also their law. Now that they’ve accepted us, they cannot harm us. However, they might expel us if they discover who the four of you are. We’re safe here, though, from other more powerful enemies who are a threat to our cause.’

Ram fell into deep contemplation.

‘So, I haven’t lied, Sudas. I’ve just not revealed the truth. There’s a difference.’

FlyLeaf.ORG

Chapter 6
FlyLeaf.ORG

Dawn broke over the
gurukul
at the fifth hour of the first
prahar
, to the chirping of birds. Even as the nocturnal forest creatures returned to their daytime shelters, others emerged to face the rigours of another day. The four Ayodhyan princes though, had been up and about for a while. Having swept the
gurukul
, they had bathed, cooked and completed their morning prayers. Hands folded in respect, they sat composed and cross-legged in a semi-circle around Guru Vashishta. The teacher himself sat in
padmaasan
, the
lotus position
, on a raised platform under a large banyan tree.

In keeping with tradition, they were reciting the
Guru Stotram
, the
hymn in praise of the teacher,
before the class commenced.

As the hymn ended, the students rose and ceremoniously touched the feet of their guru, Vashishta. He gave them all the same blessing: ‘May my knowledge grow within you, and may you, one day, become my teacher.’

Ram, Bharat, Lakshman and Shatrughan took their allotted seats. Thirteen years had passed since the terrible battle with Raavan. Ram was thirteen years old, and both Bharat and he were showing signs of adolescence. Their voices had begun to break and drop in pitch. Faint signs of moustaches had made an appearance on their upper lips. They’d suddenly shot up in height, even as their boyish bodies had begun to develop lean muscle.

Lakshman and Shatrughan had now begun combat practice, though their pre-adolescent bodies made fighting a little difficult for them. They’d all learnt the basics of philosophy, science and mathematics. They had mastered the divine language, Sanskrit. The ground work had been done. The guru knew it was time to sow the seed.

‘Do you know the origins of our civilisation?’ asked Vashishta.

Lakshman, always eager to answer but not well read, raised his hand and began to speak. ‘The universe itself began with—’

‘No, Paurav,’ said Vashishta, using Lakshman’s
gurukul
name. ‘My question was not about the universe but about us, the Vedic people of this
yug
.’

Ram and Bharat turned to Shatrughan in unison.

‘Guru
ji
,’ began Shatrughan, ‘it goes back to Lord Manu, a prince of the Pandya dynasty, thousands of years ago.’

‘Teacher’s pet,’ whispered Bharat, indulgently. While he teased Shatrughan mercilessly for his bookish ways, he appreciated the fearsome intellect of his youngest brother.

Vashishta looked at Bharat. ‘Do you have something to add?’

‘No, Guru
ji
,’ said Bharat, immediately contrite.

‘Yes, Nalatardak,’ said Vashishta, turning his attention back to Shatrughan and using his
gurukul
name. ‘Please continue.’

‘It is believed that thousands of years ago, swathes of land were covered in great sheets of ice. Since large quantities of water were frozen in solid form, sea levels were a lot lower than they are today.’

‘You are correct,’ said Vashishta, ‘except for one point. It is not a belief, Nalatardak. The “Ice Age” is not a theory. It is fact.’

‘Yes, Guru
ji
,’ said Shatrughan. ‘Since sea levels were a lot lower, the Indian landmass extended a lot farther into the sea. The island of Lanka, the demon-king Raavan’s kingdom, was joined to the Indian landmass. Gujarat and Konkan also reached out into the sea.’

‘And?’

‘And, I believe, there were—’

Shatrughan stopped short as Vashishta cast him a stern look. He smiled and folded his hands into a namaste. ‘My apologies, Guru
ji
. Not belief, but fact.’

Vashishta smiled.

‘Two great civilisations existed in India during the Ice Age. One in south-eastern India called the Sangamtamil, which included a small portion of the Lankan landmass, along with large tracts of land that are now underwater. The course of the river Kaveri was much broader and longer at the time. This rich and powerful empire was ruled by the Pandya dynasty.’

‘And?’

‘The other civilisation, Dwarka, spread across large parts of the landmass, off the coast of modern Gujarat and Konkan. It now lies submerged. It was ruled by the Yadav dynasty, the descendants of Yadu.’

‘Carry on.’

‘Sea levels rose dramatically at the end of the Ice Age. The Sangamtamil and Dwarka civilisations were destroyed, their heartland now lying under the sea. The survivors, led by Lord Manu, the father of our nation, escaped up north and began life once again. They called themselves the people of
vidya
,
knowledge
; the Vedic people. We are their proud descendants.’

‘Very good, Nalatardak,’ said Vashishta. ‘Just one more point. The Ice Age came to an abrupt end in the time-scale that Mother Earth operates in. But in human terms, it wasn’t abrupt at all. We had decades, even centuries, of warning. And yet, we did nothing.’

The children listened with rapt attention.

‘Why did the Sangamtamil and Dwarka, clearly very advanced civilisations, not take timely corrective actions? Evidence suggests that they were aware of the impending calamity. Mother Earth had given them enough warning signs. They were intelligent enough to either possess or invent the technology required to save themselves. And yet, they did nothing. Only a few survived, under the able leadership of Lord Manu. Why?’

‘They were lazy,’ said Lakshman, as usual jumping to conclusions.

Vashishta sighed. ‘Paurav, if only you’d think before answering.’

A chagrined Lakshman fell silent.

‘You have the ability to think, Paurav,’ said Vashishta, ‘but you’re always in a hurry. Remember, it’s more important to be right than to be first.’

‘Yes, Guru
ji
,’ said Lakshman, his eyes downcast. But he raised his hand again. ‘Were the people debauched and careless?’

‘Now you’re guessing, Paurav. Don’t try to pry open the door with your fingernails. Use the key.’

Lakshman seemed nonplussed.

‘Do not rush to the “right answer”,’ clarified Vashishta. ‘The key, always, is to ask the “right question”.’

‘Guru
ji
,’ said Ram. ‘May I ask a question?’

‘Of course, Sudas,’ said Vashishta.

‘You said earlier that they had decades, even centuries of warning. I assume their scientists had decoded these warnings?’

‘Yes, they had.’

‘And had they communicated these warnings to everyone, including the royalty?’

‘Yes, they had.’

‘Was Lord Manu the Pandyan king or a prince, at the time? I have heard conflicting accounts.’

Vashishta smiled approvingly. ‘Lord Manu was one of the younger princes.’

‘And yet, it was he and not the king who saved his people.’

‘Yes.’

‘If anyone other than the king was required to lead the people to safety, then the answer is obvious. The king wasn’t doing his job. Bad leadership, then, was responsible for the downfall of Sangamtamil and Dwarka.’

‘Do you think a bad king is also a bad man?’ asked Vashishta.

‘No,’ said Bharat. ‘Even honourable men sometimes prove to be terrible leaders. Conversely, men of questionable character can occasionally be exactly what a nation requires.’

‘Absolutely! A king need be judged solely on the basis of what he achieves for his people. His personal life is of no consequence. His public life, though, has one singular purpose: to provide for his people and improve their lives.’

‘True,’ said Bharat.

Vashishta took a deep breath. The time was ripe. ‘So, does that make Raavan a good king for his people?’

There was stunned silence.

Ram wouldn’t answer. He hated Raavan viscerally. Not only had the Lankan devastated Ayodhya, he had also ruined Ram’s future. His birth was permanently associated with the ‘taint’ of Raavan’s victory. No matter what he did, Ram would always remain inauspicious for his father and the people of Ayodhya.

Bharat finally spoke. ‘We may not want to admit it, but Raavan is a good king, loved by his people. He is an able administrator who has brought prosperity through maritime trade, and he even runs the seaports under his control efficiently. It is fabled that the streets of his capital are paved with gold, thus earning his kingdom the name “Golden Lanka”. Yes, he is a good king.’

‘And what would you say about a very good man, a king, who has fallen into depression? He has converted his personal loss to that of his people. They suffer because he does. Is he, then, a good king?’

It was obvious whom Vashishta was referring to. The students were quiet for a long time, afraid to answer.

It had to be Bharat who raised his hand. ‘No, he is not a good king.’

Vashishta nodded.
Trust the boldness of a born rebel.

‘That’s it for today,’ Vashishta brought the class to an abrupt end, leaving a lot unsaid. ‘As always, your homework is to mull over our discussion.’

‘My turn,
Dada,
’ whispered Bharat as he softly tapped Ram’s shoulder.

Ram immediately tied his pouch to his waistband. ‘Sorry.’

Bharat turned to the injured rabbit lying on the ground. He first anesthetised the animal and then quickly pulled out the splinter of wood buried in its paw. The wound was almost septic, but the medicine he applied would prevent further infection. The animal would awaken a few minutes later, on the road to recovery, if not immediately ready to face the world.

As Bharat cleaned his hands with medicinal herbs, Ram gently picked up the rabbit and wedged it into a nook in a tree to keep it away from predators. He glanced at Bharat. ‘It will wake up soon. It’ll live.’

Bharat smiled. ‘By the grace of Lord Rudra.’

Ram, Bharat, Lakshman and Shatrughan were on one of their fortnightly expeditions into the jungle, where they tended to injured animals. They did not interfere in a predator’s hunt; it was only its natural behaviour. But, if they came upon an injured animal, they assisted it to the best of their abilities.

‘
Dada
,’ said Shatrughan, standing at a distance, watching his elder brothers with keen concentration.

Ram and Bharat turned around. A dishevelled Lakshman was even farther away, behind Shatrughan. He was distractedly throwing stones at a tree.

‘Lakshman, don’t linger at the back,’ said Ram. ‘We are not in the
ashram
. This is the jungle. There is danger in being alone.’

Lakshman sighed in irritation and walked up to the group.

‘Yes, what is it, Shatrughan?’ asked Ram, turning to his youngest brother.

‘Bharat
Dada
put
jatyadi tel
on the rabbit’s wound. Unless you cover it with neem leaves, the medicine will not be effective.’

‘Of course,’ exclaimed Ram, tapping his forehead. ‘You’re right, Shatrughan.’

Ram picked up the rabbit as Bharat pulled out some neem leaves from his leather pouch.

Bharat looked at Shatrughan, grinning broadly. ‘Is there anything in the world that you do not know, Shatrughan?’

Shatrughan smiled. ‘Not much.’

Bharat applied the neem leaves on the rabbit’s wound, tied the bandage again, and placed him back in the nook.

Ram said, ‘I wonder if we actually help these animals on our bi-weekly medical tour or are we just assuaging our conscience?’

‘We are assuaging our conscience,’ said Bharat, with a wry smile. ‘Nothing more, but at least we aren’t ignoring our conscience.’

Ram shook his head. ‘Why are you so cynical?’

‘Why are you not cynical at all?’

Ram raised his eyebrows resignedly and began to walk. Bharat caught up with him. Lakshman and Shatrughan fell in line, a few steps behind.

‘Knowing the human race, how can you not be cynical?’ Bharat asked.

‘Come on,’ said Ram. ‘We’re capable of greatness, Bharat. All we need is an inspirational leader.’

‘
Dada
,’ said Bharat, ‘I’m not suggesting that there is no goodness in human beings. There is, and it is worth fighting for. But there is also so much viciousness that sometimes I think it would have been better for the planet if the human species simply did not exist.’