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tmp, page 46
“As if I could forget,” Rama said, and laughed.
It had been a disaster.
“I still don’t know,” Lakshmana said, “who started crying first.”
Rama rubbed his eyes. “It was probably me. Though I fancied myself a grown man. At eight years old, I felt quite empowered. The crying . . . I would like to blame Shatrugna.”
Even though Lakshmana was only a few minutes older, Shatrugna always had more leeway as the youngest.
“I think it was Shatrugna, actually,” Lakshmana said. “He couldn’t bear to see the fawn without its mother. The lord knows how we all doted on that deer.”
“Father didn’t spare us, though,” said Rama. “He said it was good that we felt kinship with the deer. The purpose of hunting was to prepare us to face humans in battle.”
“It is a warrior’s duty to kill,” Lakshmana recited, a mantra they had learned long before they handled lethal weapons.
“A king’s, to protect,” Rama said.
Since then, Rama and his brothers had gone hunting regularly, as part of their training.
Father had taught them to be aware of each life as it ended. The hides of the animals were harvested, and the meat offered to the goddess Kali.
The next morning as Rama strode out to greet the fifty kings, he decided to participate as an observer. The temptation was to use the hunting expedition to demonstrate one’s prowess. Many of the kings certainly had that agenda. Not all the kings had joined the hunt; Rama counted thirty-nine who did. The kings rode through the forest in stealth, forming natural clusters.
The joy of riding always released Rama’s spirit. He let his horse Tara move at her own pace; sometimes she cantered, other times she stopped to chew on leaves. Several of the kings watched him with disapproval, thinking no doubt that he could not control his own horse. Rama did not feel the need to join the fray. As the morning turned into day, the kings found plenty of game; Rama’s participation was not required, until he heard the roar of a feline. Rama urged Tara toward the sound. Lakshmana came riding toward him, the mane of his horse flying in the wind.
“They have surrounded a pride of lions,” Lakshmana cried.
When Rama and Lakshmana arrived on the scene, it was a battle of lions against men.
The male lion was protecting his pride of eighteen females. Three already lay dead, pierced by spears and arrows. Rama couldn’t count the cubs who were running about in distress.
The lion was surrounded by several kings, who were slashing at it with their swords and spears. One man lay dead, crushed under his horse. Several other kings were engaged in shooting the females who were herding away their cubs.
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Rama felt distaste rise in his throat. This was no hunt but a slaughter. The animals were not meted out the quick, merciful death they deserved. The lion king was bleeding profusely, his golden pelt soaked in red. Three kings continued to ride around him, goading him, laughing, and playing with him.
“Enough!” Rama roared, just as an arrow pierced one of the lion’s eyes.
The great beast shook its mane and meowed pitifully. The surrounding kings backed away when they saw Rama approach. Rama beheld the dying lion, seeing its life leave its body like the rays of the sun disappearing on the horizon. Other arrows flew past Rama into the lion’s neck. The lion collapsed onto the ground. His mates escaped, and several kings rode after them in pursuit.
Rama swung off Tara.
A low purr emanated from his own throat as he approached the dying beast. The lion scrutinized Rama unblinkingly with one yellow eye. With a swift tug, Rama pulled the arrow out of the other eye. He couldn’t stand to see it there. Rama growled softly to the beast, in the language he had learnt, placing his hand on the lion’s mane. The words he said were something like, “Go where the sun goes,” the lion’s way of farewell.
The lion’s eyes filled with energy. He got onto his feet, and the arrows fell out from his hide as if they had never pierced his skin. Before Rama could blink, the lion opened its jaws wide, letting out a thundering roar, and bounded away. His two yellow eyes gave Rama a lively look. Rama and the company of kings stared after the disappearing lion, which should have been dead.
The power of life and death surged in Rama’s fingertips. Rama did not roar out loud. But he had wanted the great beast to live, and it had. He knew that if he lifted his hand, whom-soever he pointed at would fall down dead. So he curled his hands tightly at his side as he turned around to the remaining kings.
“Who shot that arrow?” he asked.
He didn’t have to raise his voice. He had their attention.
“I did,” the king of Kashi said, with an arrogance that pulsated around him. “He was mine to kill.”
“You foreswore your right to be his killer,” Rama answered, “when you ignored his right to die with dignity.”
Kashi sneered. “The boy talks as though the animal were a human. Only a weakling makes such foolish judgments.”
Rama felt the hairs on his neck rise. Kashi had vowed to gain Shiva’s bow and destroy the Sun dynasty. He had failed the former but was still intent on the latter. The desire to murder Rama shone in Kashi’s eyes.
Kashi jumped off his horse, landing on the ground with an enormous thud. He smashed his fist against his palm. “Your blood is mine!”
“This is against the laws of the summit!” Lakshmana called out. “Challenges take place at the appointed time.”
“Shut your mouth,” Kashi called out without looking at Lakshmana.
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There was a stir of unease among the kings. Lakshmana was right. None of Rama’s guards were present; neither was Sumantra. Many things could go wrong. But Rama would not back down. He was staring into Kashi’s eyes. The inimical king was barely human. Killing was his sport, which he meted out cruelly and indiscriminately. He had killed women.
He had killed children. He had the smell of human blood on his lips, and he would not mind having a taste of Rama’s. Rama glanced at his bow, which was slung across Tara’s saddle.
“Don’t even think about your bow,” Kashi said. “I will smash your skull the moment you turn toward it.”
He would not honor the warrior code that forbid attacking a man’s back. Kashi gloated, smirking with satisfaction.
Rama understood. “You orchestrated this to separate me from my bow.”
“Always so intelligent,” Kashi said. “Always too late.”
“Don’t do this!” Lakshmana shouted—a telling sign of how menacing Kashi was. Lakshmana had not objected to his killing Tataka, a monster triple Kashi’s size.
Rama spread his fingers like stars, the power he had felt was still alive there. He could raise his hand and destroy Kashi with one thought. The energy pulsated from his soul into his palms. His hands lifted slightly. A fury that was larger than his body began to fill his form.
If he let this continue, his human form would shatter and in its place, another being would stand. Rama clenched his fists and clamped his arms to his side. He had to stay human at all costs. It was the strangest thought, the deepest conviction of his heart.
Kashi spat out insult after insult.
It gave Rama time. The prince took long, steadying breaths, quelling his anger.
The energy in his hands disappeared, and his eyes darted to his bow. What could he do without it?
Kashi jabbed his fists through the air, aiming directly at Rama’s skull. The fist flew by Rama’s ear. Rama ducked quickly, avoiding the blow. The king had no qualms about killing Rama under the sun today. There was no spark of honor in him. He brought forth a knife in each hand and began slashing at Rama. Loud protests erupted, since Rama was unarmed.
The prince invoked Bala and Atibala, who immediately wrapped around him protectively.
Lakshmana saw this and stopped protesting. Rama whistled for Tara.
“Coward!” Kashi howled.
Rama ran toward Tara and jumped onto her back, then stood up on her, a move that Kaikeyi had taught him. From there, he hurled himself against Kashi, toppling him to the ground. Rama quickly stood up, his foot on Kashi’s neck. It was disdainful to touch a person with the foot, and Rama showed what he thought of the king as he pressed Kashi down with a near lethal pressure. Lakshmana cheered. No one else did.
The king did not beg to be released. Even a small movement could render him voiceless forever or break his windpipe. Rama addressed the crowd of kings.
“Imbued with the authority of my father, I have won the first challenge against Ayodhya’s authority. Like my father, I will be kind and just. But I will not tolerate undue violence.”
He removed his foot from Kashi’s neck and mounted Tara again. He ignored Kashi and 372
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turned to the other kings. “I will meet you at the summit this evening. There, you may challenge me as you see fit.”
“I will not play your child’s games,” Kashi said. “I will kill you. I will destroy your pathetic father. I will enjoy your wife. I will even take your mother.”
Before Rama could respond to the insult, Kashi mounted his horse and galloped away.
When they returned to the summit, Kashi and his people were gone.
“Send scouts out in all four directions,” Rama told Sumantra. “Keep a lookout for Kashi’s return. Send a messenger to Father to have reinforcements ready.”
As evening came, the summit continued and the combats began.
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chapter 43
The Future in the Past
he palace was incredibly quiet. Sita did not normally mind silence, but now the Twhispering echoes spoke only of Rama’s absence. It was day ten without him.
There were, of course, maidservants and attendants prepared to amuse her and fulfill any whims or desires she had. But she had few desires now that Rama was not here. She walked from chamber to chamber, her hands trailing across the walls and pillars, playing with the flowing silks of the curtains and canopies. She examined objects that she had never noticed before: a leaflet of prayers containing the thousand names of Vishnu, a mirror with gold carvings that magnified the features of the face, a small carved wooden box full of golden nose rings with multicolored gems.
She lingered the longest at the statue of Kamadeva, his five arrows of love across his bow. She touched each of the tips, each one sharp to the touch, although they were depicted as flowers. Love had to be sharp, or it would never pierce its target.
Sita walked into her personal chamber, walking around the bed where she slept with Rama. She fluffed up the pillows and found a strand of Rama’s hair: thick and curly, almost coarse, like Kausalya’s. Sita’s own hair was straight and silky. Even though hair that was separated from the body was considered unclean, Sita held Rama’s strand of hair in her hand as she left the room.
Sita went to the gardens, feeling the welcome of the lush trees. Here, finally,
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she felt some measure of life return to her bleak heart. As she sat on one of the swings, the role of a princess and the idea of who she was floated away in the breeze. She left the attendants behind, to walk alone in the gardens. It was impossible to be here and not transform.
Step by step, she felt solid like the Earth, expansive like the sky, flowing like the waters, and fierce like the fire that glowed within the heart of every living being. She planted her feet into the earth, digging them into the soil as though they were tree roots. She closed her eyes and held her arms to the sky.
“Sister!” Urmila’s voice echoed through the trees, breaking Sita’s reverie.
She drew her feet out from the earth, shaking off the dirt.
“I knew I would find you here somewhere,” Urmila said.
She hooked her arm in Sita’s and said, “I feel lonely too.”
Together they walked through the gardens, Urmila guiding Sita back toward the palace.
“There is good news. Queen Kaikeyi has promised us riding lessons. She told me that I should not wait for Lakshmana’s approval, but rather seize the opportunity now that he is gone.”
Sita widened her eyes and smiled. It seemed like a harmless rebellion. Kaikeyi was a queen and their respected mother-in-law. Surely Lakshmana would not mind Urmila having that glorious skill.
“You will no doubt master it,” Sita said.
“You too!”
Sita shook her head. “No, Urmila. I’m not meant to be on horseback. I felt it deep in my bones.”
Urmila’s restless fingers and eyes spoke of her desire to begin her adventure. “I will tell you every single detail when I return.”
“Go, then,” Sita said. “I will see you this evening.”
One special treat that came with their husbands’ absence was that the sisters got to sleep together, like they did before they were married. This made for long nights of talking and exchanging secrets. Sita now knew where Lakshmana was ticklish, though she could not imagine him rolling on the floor laughing, as Urmila promised he did. Some nights, even Mandavi and Shrutakirti joined. There had been unstoppable laughter among them as they spoke about the brothers they had married. It was a closeness of sisters that Sita could not hope to share with anyone else.
Urmila drew Sita back into the palace. Aimlessly, she walked along the palace hallways, allowing her fingers to trail along the marble, gems, and mosaic patterns. Through her fingers, she sensed the life present within the inanimate structures. The architects and build-ers of the magnificent buildings had left a little piece of themselves within. Even the marble was alive under her feet.
Sita found herself within the royal library, the place where many of Rama’s lessons had taken place as a child. She sought Ayodhya’s records of its own history. After a brief search, she found the public documents of Dasharatha’s rule, beginning with his first epic battle when he had gained the name Dasharatha. Sita had read the records of her own father’s rule 376
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many times. It was fascinating to see the actions of a man documented, gaining a life of its own on the parchments. Dasharatha’s long rule did not disappoint. It contained many, many battles, along with meticulous documentation of the warriors who had fought with him and who among them had returned. Sita scanned these pages, having little taste for war scenes.
What interested Sita more was when the queens appeared on the pages—Dasharatha’s marriage records. Sita carefully read about Dasharatha’s acquisition of Kaikeyi and the bride-price he had promised. Eager to learn more about this love story, Sita turned the page.
What she read next drew her breath away. Ice filled her veins. She clutched the book to her chest and left the library. She stalked through the hallways, heedless of etiquette.
She carefully remained the witness of her emotion, but she did not stop until she reached her chamber. Ignoring Padmini’s questions and walking past Rani, Sita hid herself in her chamber.
She sat on the bed, letting the book fall into her lap. She was stunned by what she’d learned. She curled up on the divan, hiding her face in her arms. The book lay open, the story continuing to whisper terrible truths into her mind.
A small hand touched her cheek briefly. The touch was cool and firm. A mist of rose-scented water settled on her skin, rousing her from her despondency.
Sita opened her eyes and saw Rani standing over her. Rani had not touched the book that lay open at Sita’s feet. But she pointed at it and said in a quiet voice, “I was one of them.”
“Maharani,” Sita whispered back. The name stood out at once from the list she’d read.
Rani blinked rapidly but held Sita’s gaze.
“You are the girl who first came to Ayodhya heralding the return of the abducted women.”
Rani nodded. Sita’s heart hammered against her chest.
“Shall I tell you my story?” Rani asked.
Sita sat up and drew the little woman into her arms. Rani was no longer a servant or a woman older than Sita, but a child whom Sita had to soothe and protect.
“Tell me,” Sita said, releasing Rani. Tears ran down both their cheeks.
The two women looked at each other for a long time before Rani began.
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chapter 4 4
Kashi Attacks
ven though Kashi’s desertion was a portentous breach of the law, the sumEmit continued. Additional troops were called in from Ayodhya and stationed around the summit. Kashi’s attempt to kill Rama was unforgivable. The emperor himself would decide Kashi’s fate.
Rama was challenged to wrestle, debate, and battle with every kind of weapon—
and even sing. Rama quickly learned that there were two kinds of challenges. Most of them were competitive, the opponent set on defeating Rama. Some challenges, however, had another quality altogether.
Guha, king of the Nishadas, the largest forest tribe, was dark as night and sleek as a panther. As Rama and Guha wrestled bare-chested, Rama’s heart grew light.
Guha’s technique was impressive; when Rama had him in a tight lock, he found a way out. Soon both of them were laughing in each other’s arms, until finally they rolled apart, tightly clasping each other’s arms. The joy was in the technique of the martial arts and the competition to match offense with defense; neither of them had the thirst to win.
“You are the first kindred I have the pleasure to meet here,” Rama said, pulling Guha up from the ground.
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Like Rama, Guha had been sent in his father’s place. This was his first summit as king.
“I am not king yet,” Rama insisted.
“As you say, Your Majesty.” Guha smiled, his teeth startlingly white against his night-dark skin. “But the Nishadas are your servants now that you have defeated me.”
“But I didn’t,” Rama said.
“You did, in just the right way.”
Guha was older than Rama by several years, but over the next few days, they wrestled their way to the most amicable friendship.
Such delightful challenges were rare. As the days passed and the kings feasted and fought, Sumantra was at Rama’s side, advising him which challenges to accept. Rama had never before set his mind on proving his superiority. He was usually more intent on making his brothers shine. As he set his mind to win, however, he discovered that no one present was in his league at all. Not one among the fifty kings could match Rama’s power, skills, or knowledge.
