PRINCE IN EXILE (55 page)

Lakshman cocked his head, playfully pretending to contemplate the statement. ‘Well, yes. My brother and I are princes of Ayodhya. You are well informed in that respect, young sir. However, my sister-in-law would be more accurately referred to as a princess, if you please.’ 

That brought a great burst of laughter. 

The elder brahmacharya stepped forward, shushing the crowd sternly. ‘Shantam! Shantam! Is this how you treat royal visitors? Standing here and giggling like a gaggle of geese? Go and fetch the arghya implements! Quickly! And move aside. Make way for our honoured guests to enter the ashram!’ 

He greeted Rama and his companions with a namaskar and a deep bow. ‘Su-swagatam, my lords, my lady. I apologise for the frivolous words. Our young acolytes are unaccustomed to such princely visits. We are a humble kul, isolated and detached from the glamour of city living.’ 

‘No apologies are needed, rishi-dev,’ Rama said. ‘We are grateful to you for permitting us entry. It is our honour to be able to visit the famous hermitage of Maharishi Agastya.’ 

Another commotion ensued from within the compound. A larger group of brahmacharyas were approaching the gate. These sadhus were much older than the ones around the gate, several with grey hair matted in the style of ascetics - the same style in which Rama and Lakshman and Sita now wore their own hair, piled in coils atop their heads. Leading them was a gaunt, large-framed man with a complexion almost as dark as Rama’s, striking features, and an aura of great spiritual power. Undoubtedly Sage Agastya. Like all sages, he had shed his true name and family links the day he entered a life of spiritual penance. His name, the title by which he was thenceforth to be known, had been chosen by his gurus, based on his own intrinsic qualities. The name Agastya commanded respect and admiration. In keeping with his name, Agastya was truly august in every sense of the word; he approached with a dignity that transformed his simple walk across the ashram compound into a royal reception. 

‘Sadhu, sadhu,’ he said, greeting the visitors with a smile. ‘This is a great honour. Today a great follower of dharma graces Chitrakut ashram with his presence. Join me in greeting the legend-in-his-time Rama Chandra, heir to the throne of Ayodhya. Jai Shri Ram.’ 

Every single brahmacharya, all twenty score of them, said in perfect unison, ‘Jai Shri Ram!’ 

‘Om Shanti Shanti Shanti!’ chanted the senior rishis, sprinkling Rama, Lakshman and Sita with sacred Ganga water, as Sage Agastya himself bent to wash their feet in the arghya ritual. More ritual words were said, slokas recited, and the various spiritual obligations fulfilled. 

The ritual finished, Rama prostrated himself before the maharishi, taking his blessings. Lakshman and Sita followed his example. 

‘Sadhu,’ said the maharishi, touching their heads and uttering the appropriate benedictions. 

He then led the way to his own hut, at the rear of the ashram. Not surprisingly, it was neither the largest nor the most striking; in fact, it was no different from any of the twenty-odd other huts aligned in neat rows across the compound. Behind the huts was a small thicket that had been included in the fencing-in, and Rama was pleased to see tame deer roaming freely. One doe nibbled tentatively at what looked like a lettuce patch. An elderly rishi waved a stick unaggressively at the nibbling doe, and she skittered away a step or two before turning her large round eyes back on the enticing green leaves peeking out of the ground. The elder rishi shook his head despairingly; clearly, this was a fight he was accustomed to losing, and the doe, emboldened by his gentleness, snatched a quick mouthful of crisp green lettuce, munching contentedly. Rama and Sita both noticed the little theft and smiled. The elder rishi saw them and smiled back, sighing as if to say,
What to do? 

At the north-eastern wall of the compound was a row of immaculately maintained shrines dedicated to various deities. Rama glimpsed shrines honouring Brahma, Vishnu, Indra, Surya the sun god, Chandra the moon god, Bhaga, Kubera, Dhatr, Vidhatr and Vayu. He noticed Sita genuflecting as she saw the shrines. He made a note to make time to pray before they continued their journey to the Dandaka-van. 

‘My roof is yours,’ the sage said, gesturing them within the open uncurtained doorway of his hut. 

They entered, bowing their heads to duck below the low lintel. The interior was as Rama had expected: bare and devoid of all but the most essential requirements. Pallets of darbha grass for sleeping, a mud pot filled with water for drinking, and naught else. The unmistakable pungency of cow urine hung in the air. No doubt the floor had recently been sanitised by a good washing-down using the usual antiseptic mixture of cow urine and water. Rama glanced at his brother. If Lakshman had any response to the odour, he didn’t show it on his face. 

The sage indicated the floor, upon which had been placed straw mats. ‘Please. Sit.’ 

They made themselves as comfortable as was possible and were served water in clay cups by three visibly nervous young brahmacharyas. One of them was shaking so much with excitement, he spilled most of the contents of one cup on the floor before handing it to Rama. 

Barely had the brahmacharyas been dismissed when the maharishi spoke softly but with unmistakable urgency. ‘Words cannot express my great joy at your arrival, my lords. Since the day I heard the news of your journeying in this direction, I have said to my acolytes, indeed, mighty Brahma is magnificent in his vision. See how he turns two great princes out of their homes so harshly, and yet in doing so he provides us, the beleaguered ascetics of this region, with two great champions. Truly, rajkumars, we are greatly blessed that you have arrived here in time to save us from the evil menace that plagues Chitrakut vale.’ 

EIGHT 

Sage Agastya was about to continue when more acolytes entered the hut, bearing bowls of fruit, puffed rice, and similar simple fare. The maharishi commended the food to his guests, and they ate some gladly, for they had begun their journey at dawn on empty stomachs, taking only a little water from the Jamuna en route, and had traversed over three yojanas that morning alone. 

Rama sensed Lakshman’s curiosity to his left, and Sita’s concern to his right, and at the first available opportunity he asked politely, ‘Maha-dev, I do not follow your meaning. What evil menace plagues this place?’ 

An acolyte, no doubt the same one who had spilled the water earlier, almost dropped the bowl of puffed rice he was carrying. Lakshman’s hand shot out and caught it in the nick of time. The brahmacharya smiled nervously at Lakshman, who nodded and took the bowl from the boy’s nervous hands, setting it down on the mat. As the brahmacharya scurried out of the hut, Rama heard him saying, ‘Guru-dev is asking the rajkumars for help! Now we will be free of the menace at last!’ 

Agastya gestured at the food. ‘Pray, supply yourselves first. I know you have come a long way and must be sorely in need of rest and nourishment. We can speak of these matters later this evening, after you have rested. Or even on the morrow if you prefer.’ 

Rama glanced briefly at Lakshman, who was clearly bursting with curiosity. ‘Maha-dev, we thank you earnestly for your hospitality. The terms of our exile require us to live deep within Dandaka-van. If I am correctly informed, Chitrakut vale is on the outskirts of the forest proper. We still have further distance to travel before we reach the heart of the forest, and it is only our great desire to pay our respects to your holiness that caused us to divert our path briefly.’ 

The faintest trace of surprise touched the sage’s face. He blinked once, then recovered his equanimity. His gaunt cheekbones moved slowly above his white beard as he spoke. ‘I see. Then clearly I was mistaken in my impression. I believed that you had been sent here for another purpose altogether.’ He was silent for another moment, then shook his head, smiling broadly again. ‘It was my error then. No matter. You shall be provided with whatever you require, and I shall personally inform you as to the most efficacious route into the forest.’ 

One of the rishis made as if to speak but was silenced by a look from the sage. 

‘Maha-dev, do tell us what you were speaking of a moment ago. What is this evil menace you mentioned? Is it some wild predator that troubles your ashramites?’ 

Sage Agastya sighed. ‘It is no matter. You are honoured guests. I must not burden you with our petty troubles. Please, eat some more. We do not boast of a fine table as you princes and you, my lady, must be accustomed to. But the fruits of this region are renowned for their sweetness, and the melons are particularly good this time of year. They will nourish you and prepare you for the rest of your arduous journey.’ 

Faced with the maharishi’s insistence, Rama was unable to press the matter further. Controlling his curiosity, he ate some of the proffered melon - it was every bit as sweet as promised. Sita ate as well, pointing to the bowl of grapes to let him know discreetly that they were good too. He took some. They were sweet, and the large seeds were easy to remove. He would have wished for some jamuns, rasbhurries or ber, but none had been served and he didn’t want to ask for them. Well, they were going into the deep forest; surely they would find any number of berry and other fruits growing wild everywhere. Food for exiles. 

They spoke of minor matters for a while, mostly relating to Rama’s and Lakshman’s visits to Ananga-ashrama and Siddashrama, and Guru Vashishta and Brahmarishi Vishwamitra. Sage Agastya was very eager to know about various rituals and practices and how they were followed in Ayodhya. He also had questions about Mithila, especially about Sita’s father Maharaja Janak and his renowned patronage of Brahmanical studies. 

They had finished the meal and the bowls had been cleared away. Several of the senior rishis of the ashram were seated to one side of the hut by this time, listening unobtrusively to their conversation. Agastya urged Sita to speak more about her father, and several of the other rishis added their voices to his. 

To please them, Sita narrated an anecdote depicting her father’s dedication to the search for spiritual wisdom. ‘He had performed a lavish sacrifice once and distributed many gifts. Wise men from Kuru and Panchala attended the ceremony and my father wished to learn who among them all was the wisest. So he ordered his men to fasten ten gold coins between the horns of each of a thousand cows and had the cows driven into a pen. Then he told the venerable Brahmins that the one among them who could prove he was the wisest of all could drive home all the cows.’ 

As Rama watched Sita tell her tale, he felt eyes watching him intently. He glanced over at the part of the room where the other rishis were seated. All of them were listening intently to Sita, some of the older ones nodding their heads happily. Clearly they relished having visitors and hearing of such things. 

Except for one of the rishis, a relatively younger man, with only a little grey peppering his mostly black hair, and a face marred by an odd discoloration, like white-skin fungus, except that his skin had turned more pale green than white. The rishi was staring at Rama, and when Rama’s eyes found his, he blinked rapidly and lowered his gaze in deference to the honourable visitor. Yet, Rama observed, he did not look at Sita or pay much attention to her story. Rama continued to watch the rishi with the discoloured face without making his observation evident; after a while, the Brahmin’s eyes crept inevitably back to Rama. Rama felt a sense of disappointment issuing from the man. He had been one of those who had started to speak when Maharishi Agastya had turned the topic away from the initial mention of the evil menace. Something was definitely troubling him. 

Sita had reached the end of her story. ‘As Maharishi Yajnavalkya’s pupil, who was but a novice yet, began to lead away the cows, an outraged Brahmin shouted, “How presumptuous!” And yet another cried out, “Yajnavalkya, do you truly believe you are the wisest here?” Janak restored quiet and allowed Yajnavalkya to explain his pupil’s presumptiveness … The guru faced the hostile gathering calmly and said,’ and here Sita looked around with a coy smile. ‘“I salute the wisest. But I want those cows.”’ 

The rishis roared with laughter. Several slapped their thighs. One elderly rishi - Rama thought he was the same one who had been keeping the foragers away from the vegetable patch, and not doing a very good job of it - laughed so much he choked, and had to be given water to drink by his fellow rishis. ‘More, more,’ said the doe-challenged rishi when he had recovered his power of speech. Sita beamed. She would have obliged happily, Rama, knew, but the maharishi intervened. 

‘Rishiyon, we must not detain our guests further. You heard them say they wish to proceed towards Dandaka-van at the earliest. Let us now wish them a good voyage and see them off at the gates.’ 

Rama glanced at the rishis. The one with the discoloured face showed his disappointment clearly, looking down at the floor. Others seemed unhappy as well, yet unwilling to speak contrary to their guru. 

Agastya stood with a little difficulty, favouring his right hip. He sighed with the unmistakable weariness of age, and took hold of a staff laid against the wall of the hut. Rama glanced idly at the staff, and saw something unusual. 

At once he found his opening. 

Speaking with apparent nonchalance, he said, ‘Maha-dev, we city-dwellers have long heard tales of the dreaded Dandakavan. Since our childhood we have been told hair-raising stories of demons and supernatural beings prowling the woods.’ 

Lakshman understood what Rama was up to and added his own voice: ‘Indeed, maha-dev, we were told that the forest is infested with wild predators as well as asuras.’