The Ramayana (21 page)

Bharata awoke with a cry, his bed drenched with the sweat of fear. Shatrughna was at his side, shaking him. “Bharata, wake up! You are having a bad dream.”

Bharata sat bolt upright in his bed, clutching his brother's hand. His eyes were wild; he panted like a hunted animal.

“I had such a nightmare, Shatrughna! I saw our father ride in a cart drawn by mules. You know what they say about dreaming of a mule cart.”

Shatrughna shook his head. Bharata's breathing had grown easier now. He said, “That smoke from the pyre of the one riding in the cart will quickly grace the sky. Something terrible has happened in Ayodhya. I fear for the king, and for Rama and Lakshmana. My body feels as if it is on fire and my eyes burn. Shatrughna, I hate myself strangely and I don't know why.”

The new day was just dawning when they heard the sound of horses' hooves in the courtyard below. Bharata jumped up and ran to the window. He saw his dream had been vindicated, and cried, “Messengers from Ayodhya!”

*   *   *

The exhausted messengers were received in Asvapati's sabha. Through Bharata, they presented the gifts they had brought. That prince was impatient to question the riders and hurried through the formalities.

Then he cried, “Is my father well? And my brothers and mothers? Have you come with bad news?”

The leader of those messengers gave a start; but he said with a quick smile, “Why do you expect bad news, my prince? All is well in Ayodhya. But your guru Vasishta sends urgently for you, saying you must return at once.”

“What has happened?” cried Bharata.

“We may not tell. But be sure Devi Lakshmi smiles on you.”

Bharata turned to Asvapati, “Pitama, my guru calls me and I must go. But send for me at any time and I will gladly come again.”

The old man's face grew sad. He rose from his throne and embraced Bharata. “Kaikeyi is fortunate to have a son like you. Bless you, my child. Take my blessings to your mother and your brothers, and my warm greetings to your noble father and your great guru.”

Asvapati ordered Bharata's chariot to be laden with gifts, and a train to follow his grandson to Ayodhya. But Bharata was so preoccupied he scarcely noticed the elephants and horses his grandfather sent, or the piles of silks and the treasures of jewels and golden ornaments.

The prince mounted his chariot and cried, “Fly, sarathy. My heart is full of fear; leave the others and fly ahead!”

 

25. Bharata

Past elegant and splendid cities, through virescent plains and violet valleys Bharata rode. But his eyes saw little of the lands he crossed; his thought remained drawn inward, because dread would not leave him. Four days they rode, before they came to the borders of Kosala. After another day, by the thin light of the rising sun they saw the golden turrets of Ayodhya.

Bharata's face lit up. Shatrughna stood up in the chariot and roared, “Home! How I have missed you, Ayodhya.”

But as they drew near the city the fear in Bharata's heart was stronger than ever. He clutched Shatrughna's arm. “Listen. I don't hear a sound. What happened to all the musicians, the dancers and the chess players? Where are the markets and the hawkers, and the gypsies? No scent of women's perfume hangs on the air. The streets are deserted, as if everyone in Ayodhya is dead.”

They came to the inner gate, the carved and painted one called Vaijayanta. Dry garlands hung from the triumphal arches overhead. And though the guards rose and cried as they always did,
“Jaya vijayi bhava!”
the welcome was far from warm.

Bharata saw the people begin to emerge from their homes and line the streets. It seemed to him they were all in mourning and looked at him coldly. His heart pounding, he came to the king's palace. He leaped down from the chariot, took the steps three at a time, and ran to his father's chambers, while the guards in the corridors stared strangely at him. His father was not in his rooms.

Bharata ran to his mother's apartment; he thought he would find the king there. Kaikeyi came out when she heard his step in the passage. When he saw his mother, he knelt at her feet; she raised him up and embraced him fiercely. He felt her tremble.

Kaikeyi asked in an even voice, “How are my father and my brother?”

“Well, mother. And they send their love and blessings to you. But what has happened here? Where is my father? Why was I sent for?”

Kaikeyi said, “Your father, the noble Dasaratha, a father to his people, has attained the condition that all the living find one day.”

Bharata's eyes rolled up and he fell. When he came to his senses, he sobbed, “There is nothing left to live for. Since I was a boy, whenever I came in here I saw my father on that couch. Now it is empty forever. My life is over. Oh, bring me to Rama; I need my brother.”

For a time, Kaikeyi stood watching while her maids ministered to him. They gave him water to drink and pressed wet cloths on his forehead, which he pushed away impatiently. Now Bharata's mother came to him. Running long fingers through his hair, she said, “Come, come, my son, it is unmanly to give in to grief like this.”

Like a wounded animal, Bharata cried, “What happened to him, mother? I thought I was perhaps coming home to Rama being crowned yuvaraja. And instead, I find this.” Slowly he rose and sat on the floor near Dasaratha's couch, stroking it as if his father's feet were there. He asked, “What were my father's last words to me?”

Without blushing, Kaikeyi replied, “He sobbed like a child when death drew near. But he cried only ‘Rama,' ‘Sita,' and ‘Lakshmana.' I did not hear him say your name once. His last words were, ‘Fortunate shall they be who live to see Rama return to Ayodhya with Sita and Lakshmana.'”

“Where were Rama and Lakshmana when my father died? Where is Rama now?”

Casually Kaikeyi said, “Rama has gone to the Dandaka vana with Lakshmana and Sita. Your father banished him.”

Her son cried out as if she had stabbed him. He shut his ears with his hands. “My father banished Rama to the forest? Why? Did he kill someone? Did he steal or seduce another man's wife? Tell me!”

Bharata held his mother by her arms and shook her like a doll. Kaikeyi cried to him to let her go. Then, embers of evil smoldering in her pale eyes, she hissed, “Listen to me, Bharata.”

Something in her tone stopped him still. He waited for her to speak. Kaikeyi drew a breath, and said, “Rama committed none of those sins. But when the king planned to crown him yuvaraja, I reminded him of the boons he had given me when I saved his life. I told him I wanted Rama banished for fourteen years and you crowned yuvaraja.”

She went nearer him. And so far from herself had Kaikeyi come, she did not notice her son recoil from her in horror. She caressed his face; her nails were long and painted like a queen mother's, rather than plain and clipped like a widow's. Clasping him to her, she said, “Your father loved Rama too much and he died when his son went away. But all that is the past. Bharata, the future of Ayodhya is in your hands. Set aside your boyishness; you must rule a kingdom now. From this moment, you must be a man and a king.”

Her eyes blazed. Now he saw the madness in them, the power lust, and he pushed her from him so she fell on Dasaratha's couch. He stood menacingly over her, his eyes glittering, and she cowered from him. His voice was calm when he spoke. All the sorrow was gone, and cold rage had taken its place.

“Monster, how will I live with myself knowing that I am your son? Why didn't you drink poison or hang yourself, before you had Rama banished? Why didn't you drown yourself or set yourself on fire?”

His hand strayed to his sword, “But never fear: if you cannot kill yourself, I will gladly do it for you.” But he paused when his weapon was half drawn from its sheath. He thrust it back, and sighed, “Rama would never look at me again if I killed you. Be thankful for the one you banished, evil woman; he stands guarantee for your life. Or I swear by my dead father, my sword would be buried in your treacherous breast.”

Kaikeyi backed away from him. Bharata said to her, “How have I wronged you that you decided to ruin my life?”

“I am your mother. I have your interest at heart, even if you do not know what is good for you. Put away this childishness. This is not your frivolous youth any more, but reality. Be a man, and take the throne I have won for you with such suffering.”

“Suffering! My father is dead, Rama sent away like some thief to the jungle and you speak of your suffering. Madwoman, devil, don't you realize you have ruined the House of Ikshvaku? Oh mother, how did you do this to Rama? Until the other day, you loved him so much I was sure you loved him more than me. I cannot believe the same woman has banished him. Tell me, who put you up to this? How could you think, even for a moment, that I would take the throne that belongs to my brother?”

He choked again. “Foolish woman, I would rather die. Never once in all the generations of Ikshvaku kings has a younger brother usurped his older brother's throne. Always the younger sons have served the older, and even so our line has flourished.

“Mother—my tongue turns to ashes to call you that—your ancestry is faultless, and that gives me some hope for myself. Otherwise, I should kill myself for being your son. Your father and your uncle are noble, and perhaps by a lifetime of penance I can expiate even your sin. As for your precious throne, for which you have caused all this misery, hear me clearly, serpent: I will leave immediately for the Dandaka vana and bring Rama back. For the rest of my life, I will be like a slave to my brother so your sin may be forgiven.”

Again his hand crept to his sword, as if the temptation to kill her was too much to resist. He moaned, “Don't you see what you have done to all of us? To Kausalya and Sumitra, to my brothers and to me. This is no ordinary sin you have committed. You have murdered your husband and banished your son for the sake of a worthless throne! In every age in this holy land, your name will be spat upon, and I fear mine as well for being your blood. Have you seen the way the people look at me? Bharata the usurper, they say in their hearts, those who once loved me second only to Rama.

“For this life and another you will suffer, wretched Kaikeyi, just for the grief you have caused Kausalya. But why do I stay here, wasting my time on a fiend while my real mothers languish and my Rama is in the jungle? I must go and fetch him home. Ayodhya must have a king.”

Red-eyed, with equal parts of grief and rage, Bharata stalked out of Kaikeyi's apartment. She stood staring after him, bemused.

 

26. Kausalya

Grimly, Bharata entered the king's sabha, followed by a shaken, tearful Shatrughna, who had heard the news by now. Vasishta and the other rishis and ministers awaited Bharata, wondering anxiously what he would do. Bharata strode in and stood as far from the throne as he could. He looked around at the worried faces that surrounded him and declared crisply, “I knew nothing of Kaikeyi's plotting and I do not want the throne. I have nothing further to do with her; I do not think of her as my mother any more. I will go to the forest and bring Rama back. But now, please tell the people what I have said and give me your leave. For I must go to my mother Kausalya.”

Sumitra had gone to Kausalya and informed her of Bharata's return. Rama's mother came out of her apartment to meet Kaikeyi's son. They met in a passage and, with a cry, Bharata ran to embrace her. But she stepped back from him and said coldly, “How easy your way to the throne has been, my clever prince. You are fortunate to have a mother as capable as yours. As for me, now nothing holds me back in Ayodhya. Sumitra and I will leave for the Dandaka vana tomorrow. Enjoy the kingdom and its wealth with your mother. But remember, it is over your father's dead body and your brother's exile that you have climbed to this height. And one day, you will pay for your sin.”

Bharata fell at Kausalya's feet and cried, “You must not think this of me! Rama is my God; I worship him. I knew nothing of Kaikeyi's scheming or none of this would have happened. May the sins of all mankind be upon my head alone, if what you think of me is true. Oh, I must have sinned horribly in lives gone by that you speak to me like this today. Rama, my brother, save me from this sea of sorrow I am drowning in!”

Clutching her feet as if they were his last hope, Bharata sobbed piteously. With a cry, Kausalya raised him up and embraced him. She kissed him and, wiping his tears, said, “Forgive me, Bharata; a hundred times over, forgive me for what I said. I meant no part of it. I am unhinged and it was only my sorrow speaking as anger. Don't cry, my son, or my burden will grow heavier. You are a noble prince and there will be a special place for you in heaven.”

She led him into her apartment. Sumitra, who had never doubted Bharata, embraced him. Shatrughna came there as well and all night the four of them sat together, speaking of the dead king and of Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana. The grace of compassion was upon them as they grieved together. It made their sorrow bearable.

 

27. Last rites

At dawn there came a soft knock at Kausalya's door. When Shatrughna opened it, he saw Vasishta standing outside. The son of Brahma had come to see Bharata. The rishi said, “Your father's body will begin to decay if you do not perform the last rites for him.”

Wordlessly, Bharata rose. He followed his guru into the embalming chamber, where Dasaratha's body lay in state, preserved in oils on a bed of darbha grass. Bharata saw the yellowed skin, the smile of surrender on his father's face. He wept again, brokenhearted.

He said, “Dasaratha, why have you left me with such a cruel burden? How could you have banished Rama? I am afraid, father; bring my brother back to me.”

Vasishta put an arm around him. “Compose yourself, my child. Sorrow weakens the mind, and you need your strength more than ever now. You must perform the rituals calmly, with courage. The people must not see you like this or they will panic.”