Scion of Ikshvaku Page 8

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  Chapter 7

  FlyLeaf.ORG

  Another one? Ram refrained from voicing his thoughts, trying to control his surprise. This is his fifth girlfriend.

  Seventeen years had gone by since Dashrath lost the Battle of Karachapa. At the age of sixteen, Bharat had discovered the pleasures of love. Charismatic and flamboyant as he was, girls liked Bharat as much as he liked them. Tribal traditions being liberal, the empowered women of the tribe of Chief Varun, the local hosts of the gurukul, were free to form relationships with whomever they pleased. And Bharat was especially popular.

  He walked up to Ram now, holding hands with an ethereally beautiful maiden who was clearly older than him, perhaps twenty years of age.

  ‘How are you, Bharat?’

  ‘Never been better, Dada,’ grinned Bharat. ‘Any better and it would be downright sinful.’

  Ram smiled politely and turned to the girl with grace.

  ‘Dada,’ said Bharat, ‘allow me to introduce Radhika, the daughter of Chief Varun.’

  ‘Honoured to make your acquaintance,’ said Ram, formally bringing his hands together in a polite namaste and bowing his head.

  Radhika raised her eyebrows, amused. ‘Bharat was right. You are ridiculously formal.’

  Ram’s eyes widened at her forthrightness.

  ‘I did not use the word “ridiculous”,’ protested Bharat, as he let her hand go. ‘How can I use a word like that for Dada?’

  Radhika ruffled Bharat’s hair affectionately. ‘All right, “ridiculous” was my own addition. But I find your formality charming. So does Bharat, actually. But I’m sure you know that already.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ram, straightening his angvastram stiffly.

  Radhika giggled at Ram’s obvious discomfort. Even Ram, relatively immune to feminine wiles, was forced to acknowledge that her laughter had a pleasing lilt, like that of the apsaras, celestial nymphs.

  Ram said to Bharat, careful to speak in old Sanskrit so that Radhika wouldn’t understand, ‘Saa Vartate Lavanyavati.’

  Though Bharat’s understanding of archaic Sanskrit was not as good as Ram’s, he understood the simple compliment. Ram had said, ‘She is exquisitely beautiful.’

  Before Bharat could respond, Radhika spoke. ‘Aham Jaanaami.’

  ‘I know.’

  An embarrassed Ram retorted, ‘By the great Lord Brahma! Your old Sanskrit is perfect.’

  Radhika smiled. ‘We may speak new Sanskrit these days, but the ancient scriptures can only be understood in the old language.’

  Bharat felt the need to cut in. ‘Don’t be fooled by her intelligence, Dada. She is also very beautiful!’

  Ram smiled and brought his hands together once again, in a respectful namaste. ‘My apologies if I offended you in any way, Radhika.’

  Radhika smiled, shaking her head. ‘No, you didn’t. Why would a girl not enjoy an elegant compliment to her beauty?’

  ‘My little brother is lucky.’

  ‘I’m not so unlucky myself,’ assured Radhika, ruffling Bharat’s hair once again.

  Ram could see that his brother was besotted. Clearly, this time it was different; Radhika meant a lot more to him than his previous girlfriends. But he was also aware of the traditions of the forest people. Their girls, no doubt, were liberated, but they did not marry outside their community. Their law simply forbade it. Ram did not understand the reason for this. It could be an effort to retain the sense of purity of the forest people, or it might even be that they considered city dwellers inferior for having moved away from Mother Nature. He hoped his brother’s heart would not be broken in the process.

  ‘How much butter will you eat?!’ Ram could never quite understand Bharat’s addiction.

  Evening time, the last hour of the third prahar, found Ram and Bharat relaxing under a tree at the gurukul. Lakshman and Shatrughan were using their free time for some riding practice; in fact, they were competing fiercely in the open ground. Lakshman, by far the best rider among the four, was beating Shatrughan hollow.

  ‘I like it, Dada,’ shrugged Bharat, butter smeared around his mouth.

  ‘But it’s unhealthy. It’s fattening!’

  Bharat flexed his biceps as he sucked in his breath and puffed up his chest, displaying his muscular and well-toned physique. ‘Do I look fat to you?’

  Ram smiled. ‘Girls certainly do not find you unappealing. So my opinion really is of no consequence.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Bharat chuckled, digging his hand into the clay pot and spooning some more butter into his mouth.

  Ram gently put his hand on Bharat’s shoulder. Bharat stopped eating as he read the concerned look on his brother’s face.

  Ram spoke softly. ‘Bharat, you do know—’

  Bharat interrupted him immediately. ‘It won’t happen, Dada.’

  ‘But Bharat…’

  ‘Dada, trust me. I know girls better than you do.’

  ‘You’re aware that Chief Varun’s people do not…’

  ‘Dada, she loves me as much as I love her. Radhika will break the law for me. She will not leave me. Trust me.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I am!’

  ‘But Bharat…’

  ‘Dada, stop worrying about me. Just be happy for me.’

  Ram gave up and patted him on his shoulder. ‘Well then, congratulations!’

  Bharat bowed his head theatrically, ‘Thank you, kind sir!’

  Ram’s face broke into a broad smile.

  ‘When will I get the opportunity to congratulate you, Dada?’ asked Bharat.

  Ram looked at Bharat and frowned.

  ‘Aren’t you attracted to any girl? Here or in Ayodhya? We have met so many on our annual holidays…’

  ‘Nobody is worth it.’

  ‘Nobody?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  Ram looked into the distance at the forest line. ‘I want a woman, not a girl.’

  ‘Aha! I always knew there was a naughty devil behind that serious exterior!’

  Ram rolled his eyes and punched Bharat playfully on his abdomen. ‘That’s not what I meant. You know that.’

  ‘Then what did you mean?’

  ‘I don’t want an immature girl. Love is secondary. It’s not important. I want someone whom I can respect.’

  ‘Respect?’ frowned Bharat. ‘Sounds boring.’

  ‘A relationship is not just for fun, it is also about trust and the knowledge that you can depend on your partner. Relationships based on passion and excitement do not last.’

  ‘Really?’

  Ram quickly corrected himself. ‘Of course, Radhika and you will be different.’

  ‘Of course,’ grinned Bharat.

  ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that I want a woman who is better than I am; a woman who will compel me to bow my head in admiration.’

  ‘You bow to elders and parents, Dada. A wife is the one you share your life and passions with,’ said Bharat, a crooked grin on his face, brows arched suggestively. ‘By the great Lord Brahma, I pity the woman you will marry. Your relationship will go down in history as the most boring of them all!’

  Ram laughed aloud as he pushed Bharat playfully. Bharat dropped the pot and pushed Ram back, then sprang to his feet and sprinted away from Ram.

  ‘You can’t outrun me, Bharat!’ laughed Ram, quickly rising to his feet and taking off after his brother.

  ‘Whom do you favour?’ asked the visitor.

  A mysterious stranger had made a quiet entry into the gurukul. In keeping with Vashishta’s desire to maintain the secrecy of this visit, he’d arrived late in the night. As luck would have it, the intrepid Lakshman was out riding at the same time, having broken the rule of being in the sleeping quarters at this time of the night. As he traced his way back, he came upon an unknown horse tied discreetly to a tree far from the ashram premises.

  He led his own animal quietly back into the stable. Th
e Ayodhyan prince then decided to inform his guru of a possible intruder. On finding Vashishta’s room empty, Lakshman grew suspicious. Unable to contain himself, he decided to investigate the goings-on. He finally spotted the sage under the bridge, conversing softly with the mysterious visitor. Lakshman crept close, hid behind the bushes, and eavesdropped on the conversation. ‘I haven’t made up my mind as yet,’ answered Vashishta.

  ‘You need to decide quickly, Guruji.’

  ‘Why?’

  Though unable to see the visitor clearly, Lakshman was barely able to contain the panic rising within him. Even the failing light couldn’t conceal the stranger’s unnaturally fair skin, giant size and rippling musculature. His body was covered with fur-like hair, and a peculiar outgrowth emerged from his lower back. Clearly he was a dangerous Naga, the mysterious race of the deformed, which was feared in all of the Sapt Sindhu. He made no attempt to conceal his identity, like most Nagas did, with a face mask or a hooded robe. Notably, his lower body was draped in a dhoti, in keeping with traditional Indian custom.

  ‘Because they are on to you,’ said the Naga, with a meaningful look.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Are you not afraid?’

  Vashishta shrugged. ‘Why should I be?’

  The Naga laughed softly. ‘There’s a thin line that separates courage from stupidity.’

  ‘And that line is only visible in retrospect, my friend. If I’m successful, people will call me brave. If I fail, I will be called foolish. Let me do what I think is right. I’ll leave the verdict to the future.’

  The Naga thrust his chin forward in a show of disagreement, but gave up the argument. ‘What would you have me do?’

  ‘Nothing for now. Just wait,’ answered Vashishta.

  ‘Are you aware that Raavan is—’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘And you still choose to remain here and not do anything?’

  ‘Raavan…’ murmured Vashishta, choosing his words carefully, ‘well, he has his uses.’

  Lakshman could barely control his shock. Yet, the teenager had the presence of mind to stay silent.

  ‘There are some who are convinced you are preparing for a rebellion against Emperor Dashrath,’ said the Naga, his tone clearly indicating his disbelief.

  Vashishta laughed softly. ‘There is no need to rebel against him. The kingdom is practically out of his hands anyway. He’s a good man, but he has sunk into the depths of depression and defeatism. My goal is bigger.’

  ‘Our goal,’ corrected the Naga.

  ‘Of course,’ smiled Vashishta, patting him on his shoulder. ‘Forgive me. It is our collective goal. But if people insist on thinking that our ambitions are limited to Ayodhya, I suggest we let them be.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Vashishta. ‘I have something to show you.’

  Lakshman let out a deep breath as the two men walked away. His heart was pounding desperately.

  What is Guruji up to? Are we safe here?

  Checking carefully that the coast was clear, Lakshman slipped away and rushed to Ram’s quarters.

  ‘Lakshman, go back to sleep,’ admonished an irritated Ram. He had been woken up by a hysterical Lakshman. He’d heard the panic-stricken report, and groggily decided that his brother was once again indulging his love for conspiracy.

  ‘Dada, I’m telling you, there’s something going on. It concerns Ayodhya, and Guruji is involved,’ insisted Lakshman.

  ‘Have you told Bharat?’

  ‘Of course not! He could be in on it too.’

  Ram glared at Lakshman. ‘He too is your dada, Lakshman!’

  ‘Dada, you are too simple. You refuse to see the den of conspiracies that Ayodhya is. Guruji is in on it. Others could be too. I trust only you. You are supposed to protect us all. I have done my duty by letting you know. Now, it is up to you to investigate this.’

  ‘There is nothing to investigate, Lakshman. Go back to your room and sleep.’

  ‘Dada…’

  ‘Back to your room, Lakshman! Now!’

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  Chapter 8

  FlyLeaf.ORG

  ‘What is the ideal way of life?’ asked Vashishta.

  In the early hours of the morning, the four Ayodhyan princes sat facing their guru, having just completed the Guru Stotram.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Vashishta, having been met with silence.

  He looked at Lakshman, expecting him to take the first shot. However, to Vashishta’s surprise, the boy sat tense, barely able to conceal his hostility.

  ‘Is there a problem, Paurav?’ enquired Vashishta.

  Lakshman cast an accusatory glance at Ram, then stared at the ground. ‘No, Guruji. There is no problem.’

  ‘Do you want to attempt an answer?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer, Guruji.’

  Vashishta frowned. Ignorance had never deterred Lakshman from attempting a response before. He spoke to Bharat. ‘Vasu, can you try and answer?’

  ‘An ideal way of life, Guruji,’ said Bharat, ‘is one where everyone is healthy, wealthy, happy, and working in consonance with his purpose in life.’

  ‘And, how does a society achieve this?’

  ‘It’s probably impossible! But if it were possible at all, it would only be through freedom. Allow people the freedom to forge their own path. They will find their way.’

  ‘But will freedom help each person realise his dreams? What if one person’s dream is in conflict with that of another’s?’

  Bharat gave that question some careful thought before replying. ‘You are right. A strong man’s effort will always overwhelm that of a weak man.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So the government has to ensure that it protects the weak. We cannot allow the strong to keep winning. It would create discontent among the masses.’

  ‘Why, Dada?’ asked Shatrughan. ‘I would say, allow the strong to win. Will that not be better for the society as a whole?’

  ‘But isn’t that the law of the jungle?’ asked Vashishta. ‘The weak would die out.’

  ‘If you call it the law of the jungle, then I say that this is the law of nature, Guruji,’ said Shatrughan. ‘Who are we to judge nature? If the weakest deer are not killed by tigers, the population of deer will explode. They will eat prodigious amounts of greens and the jungle itself may die out, in the long run. It is better for the jungle if only the strong survive — it is nature’s way of maintaining balance. The government should not interfere with this natural process. It should merely establish systems that ensure the protection of the weak, giving them a fair chance at survival. Beyond that, it must get out of the way and let society find its own path. It’s not the government’s job to ensure that all achieve their dreams.’

  ‘Then why even bother with a government?’

  ‘It’s needed for a few essentials that individuals cannot provide: an army to protect the borders from external attack, a system of basic education for all. One of the things that differentiates us from animals is that we do not kill our weak. But if the government interferes to such an extent that the weak thrive and the strong are oppressed, society itself will collapse over time. A society should not forget that it thrives on the ideas and performance of the talented among its citizens. If you compromise the prospects of the strong, and lean too much towards the interests of the weak, then your society itself goes into decline.’

  Vashishta smiled. ‘You have carefully studied the reasons for the decline of India under the successors of Emperor Bharat, haven’t you?’

  Shatrughan nodded. Bharat was a legendary Chandravanshi emperor who lived thousands of years ago. He was one of the greatest rulers since the great Indra of the Devas. He brought all of India under his rule and his government had been the most compassionate and nurturing of all times.

  ‘Why, then, did Bharat’s successors not change their ways when they could see that it wasn’t working anymore?’ asked Vashishta.

  ‘I don�
�t know,’ said Shatrughan.

  ‘It was because the philosophy that guided Emperor Bharat’s empire was itself a reaction to an equally successful, but radically different one which determined how society was organised earlier. Emperor Bharat’s empire could be described as the apogee of the feminine way of life — of freedom, passion and beauty. At its best, it is compassionate, creative and especially nurturing towards the weak. But as feminine civilisations decline, they tend to become corrupt, irresponsible and decadent.’

  ‘Guruji,’ said Ram, ‘are you saying there is another way of life? The masculine way?’

  ‘Yes. The masculine way of life is defined by truth, duty and honour. At its peak, masculine civilisations are efficient, just and egalitarian. But as they decline, they become fanatical, rigid and especially harsh towards the weak.’

  ‘So when feminine civilisations decline, the masculine way is the answer,’ said Ram. ‘And, as masculine civilisations decline, the feminine way should take over.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the teacher. ‘Life is cyclical.’

  ‘Can it be safely said that today’s India is a feminine nation in decline?’ asked Bharat.

  Vashishta looked at Bharat. ‘Actually, India is a confused nation today. It does not understand its nature, which seems to be a hotchpotch of the masculine and feminine way. But if you force me to choose, then I would state that, at this point in time, we’re a feminine culture in decline.’

  ‘Then the question is: is it time to move towards a masculine way of life or a revived feminine culture?’ argued Bharat. ‘I’m not sure India can live without freedom. We’re a nation of rebels. We argue and fight about everything. We can only succeed by walking down the path of femininity, of freedom. The masculine way may work for a short span of time, but it cannot last. We are simply not obedient enough to follow the masculine way for too long.’

  ‘So it seems today,’ said Vashishta. ‘But it wasn’t always so. There was a time when the masculine way of life characterised India.’

  Bharat was silenced into contemplation.

  But Ram was intrigued. ‘Guruji, you said that the feminine way of life established by Emperor Bharat was unable to change even when it needed to, because it was a reaction to the ills that an earlier masculine culture had degenerated into. Possibly, to them, the earlier way of life was stamped as evil.’