Prince of Dharma (100 page)

When he saw the sage making his way towards the rajkumars, however, he stopped and waited. He was within hearing distance of the group and watched as all four young men rose at once at the sight of the seer-mage. They had finished their meal and their leaf-plates had been disposed of moments earlier. 

The rajkumars bowed and performed reverent namaskars to their guru. 

‘Pranaam, Guru-dev,’ Rajkumar Rama said. Lakshman echoed his brother. 

The sage’s voice was as serene as the idyllic valley in which they stood. ‘Pranaam, rajkumars. Have you eaten and rested well?’ 

‘Yes, Guru-dev.’ 

‘Good,’ the sage replied. ‘For we shall be leaving in moments.’ 

Rama looked surprised. ‘Leaving, Guru-dev?’ 

‘We shall travel by night to hasten our arrival at Mithila.’ 

‘Then we shall not be stopping at Visala en route?’ 

‘We shall indeed. Without visiting Visala our journey to Mithila would be fruitless.’ 

Rama and Lakshman exchanged a puzzled look. Bejoo noticed Janaki Kumar glancing at his companion as well, his eloquent eyes speaking silent words to the larger Kshatriya. 

‘Jaise aagya, Guru-dev,’ Rama replied. 

‘Very good, rajkumars. Now prepare yourselves for departure. We shall leave shortly.’ 

Bejoo stepped forward. This was all news to him. 

‘Maha-dev,’ he said, forcing a tone of polite reverence into his voice. ‘It would not be safe to travel by night. My Vajra—’ 

‘Your Vajra will slow us down, Captain Bejoo,’ Vishwamitra said calmly but firmly. ‘They must travel to Mithila by the rajmarg with the Siddh-ashrama procession. However, if you so wish, you may accompany us. But you must hurry and give your men last instructions. My company will not wait for stragglers.’ 

Stragglers? Who did the mage think he was talking to? Bejoo swallowed his indignation and said in as level a voice as he could manage, ‘But Guru-dev, I am oathsworn to protect the rajkumars. Without my Vajra—’ 

The seer cut him short. ‘Bejoo, in the nine days you have been with the rajkumars and myself, have you ever felt that they lacked protection in any way?’ 

Bejoo tried hard to come up with a suitable retort but found himself unable to think of a single word. The rajkumars were more than able to protect themselves. Bejoo’s duty had become purely ceremonial. 

‘No, maharaja,’ he said at last. 

The moment he said it, he wanted to bite his tongue off. He had addressed the sage as ‘maharaja’, implying that he now accepted Vishwamitra as his supreme liege. But it was too late to take back the error. If the seer noticed, he gave no sign. 

‘Then let us end this tired line of argument,’ Vishwamitra said. ‘Decide now. Will you accompany us on our mission or will you ride with your Vajra? Remember also, we walk in the light of Brahman. We are not permitted the luxury of chariots or mounts. If you come with us, you must come on foot. What is your decision?’ 

‘I shall come with you,’ Bejoo said. ‘Maha-dev.’ 

The sage’s penetrating gaze stayed on Bejoo for a long moment. ‘Good,’ Vishwamitra said. ‘I am glad to hear it, Captain Bejoo. You are a fine Kshatriya and we shall need every sword and bow before we reach Mithila.’ 

Bejoo didn’t know whether to blush or to blink at the unexpected compliment. And was he mistaken or had the sage addressed him with a mite more respect than he had earlier? ‘Captain Bejoo’ instead of the perfunctory ‘Kshatriya’? 

Then the full implications of the seer’s last words sank in. What did the sage mean by saying they would need every sword and bow? It sounded ominous. Was he planning to get into a scuffle with bandits on the road again? And what had he meant by their ‘mission’ to Visala? Bejoo had heard nothing of any mission before now. 

But Vishwamitra had already turned away to face the four young men again. 

‘Now, Rajkumar Rama, I think it is time for you to introduce me to our new fellow-travellers. Our road to Mithila is long and fraught with many perils. It would be best if we all get to know one another as closely as possible.’ 

The sage’s diamond-bright eyes glinted in the flickering firelight as he looked at the two Kshatriyas. ‘It would not do to travel together without knowing one another’s identities, would it?’ 

Bejoo saw that the sage directed his words pointedly at the slender Kshatriya. The young man dropped his eyes at once, but Bejoo thought he did so out of respect, not fear. 

Bejoo observed not for the first time that the shorter Kshatriya was unusually small-proportioned and thin. Bejoo himself was very short for a Kshatriya, or for an Arya, and as a young boy he had been thin and weak as well, until he had come under the tutelage of a senior warrior who had chalked out a diet and training programme that had slapped on the slabs of muscle bulk that he now possessed. That man had been Senapati Dheeraj Kumar, and under the veteran general’s tutelage Bejoo had blossomed into a champion wrestler, kabbadi player and mace thrower, winning several dozen tournaments before he was given command of the Vajra. He made a mental note to take the slender Kshatriya aside later and give him some pointed tips on how to turn that delicate frame into a muscular body. 

Rama presented the two black-clad Kshatriyas formally to the brahmarishi. ‘Guru-dev, this is Kshatriya Janaki Kumar and Kshatriya Nakhu Dev. They are travelling warriors for hire. They were on their way to Mithila when they heard the sounds of the bear family being attacked on the hill and went to their rescue. We fought the bandits together.’ 

To the mercenaries Rama said: ‘Kshatriyas, pay your respects to the brahmarishi Vishwamitra. His legendary stature is too great for me to have to repeat here. My brother Lakshman and I are both oathsworn to the great sage. He is our guru.’ 

‘Pranaam, Guru-dev,’ both Kshatriyas said, almost at once. They had already greeted the sage as he approached, but did so again without hesitation, paying their respects formally this time. 

Bejoo noted curiously that both lads avoided meeting the seer’s eyes directly. He assumed it to be the effect of the brahmarishi’s formidable reputation and imposing personality. He was about to find out how wrong that assumption was. 

SEVEN 

‘False message, Guru-dev?’ Sumantra’s voice sounded like a choked cry for help from the bottom of a deep well. 

‘Indeed, prime minister. The news of the asura army’s impending invasion.’ 

Everybody began speaking at once. Mantri Ashok spoke loudest. ‘Guru-dev, do you mean to say that there will be no invasion?’ 

‘Alas, mantriji. If only things could be that simple. Nay, there will surely be an invasion. Even as we speak, Ravana’s forces are making their way across the subcontinent like a venomous serpent slithering towards its prey. This part of the message was true enough. It was the point of first attack that was falsely given.’ 

The seer-mage paused. He had everyone’s undivided attention. ‘The asura forces will indeed attack Gandahar and Kaikeya. Their ships will carry them up the Sindhu river to those two northwestern Arya kingdoms just as you have been informed.’ 

The guru paused, glancing around to make sure he had the undivided attention of the entire council of ministers. ‘But those ships will carry only a small fragment of the asura forces, not the entire army as you have been led to believe. Because the attacks on Gandahar and Kaikeya are merely diversionary tactics intended to draw the Arya armies to those distant nations, and away from the real target of the Lord of Lanka.’ 

Sumantra sat forward in his seat, looking alarmed. ‘The real target, Guru-dev? You mean, apart from Gandahar and Kaikeya, there will be an attack on another Arya city or kingdom?’ 

‘Exactly, prime minister. While a fraction of the asura armada is making its way up the Sindhu river, the majority of that vast fleet has already landed on the shores of Salset and Kerall, and are even now working their way northwards.’ 

Northwards! Every face in the hall turned to the map on the wall. Their eyes focused on the western coastal regions of Salset and Kerall and travelled upwards … to the kingdom of Kosala, with the city of Ayodhya marked in bold, right in the centre of that trajectory. 

‘Ayodhya?’ Mantri Jabali cried out in frustration and rage. ‘But our army has been sent to the north and the north-west already, split into two halves travelling in two separate directions! They are both already a full day’s march away. It will take a night and another day to send a messenger after them to call them back!’ 

‘Maha-dev,’ the prime minister said agitatedly. ‘Pardon my questioning your actions thus, but why did you not inform us of this vital news earlier, when there was still time to stop our army from marching?’ 

Guru Vashishta was standing nearest to Sumantra. He laid a large, gentle hand on the prime minister’s shoulder. 

‘Because, good Sumantra, I myself only learned of it a few moments ago. It took me that much time to rid the maharaja’s evil-infected soul and brain of the havoc the possession had caused. After delivering its message, the evil aatma left the reanimated corpse of the messenger and passed into our maharaja’s body. It was no easy task to exorcise it from his being. My first concern was saving Dasaratha; only then could I attempt to discover the true motive behind the possession.’ 

A deathly pall of silence fell over the group. 

‘We are lost then,’ Mantri Jabali said at last. ‘If the asura hordes attack before our army returns, we stand no chance. Even mighty Ayodhya cannot withstand an asura invasion without sufficient soldiers to man its defences. Our siege infrastructure itself requires twenty-five thousand soldiers working at all times to operate efficiently. Even if we put all the PFs to work round the clock, it will be insufficient.’ 

‘Calm yourself, Mantri Jabali,’ the guru said calmly. ‘The asuras will not attack Ayodhya.’ 

‘They will not?’ Sumantra said, looking as confused as the minister of war and the rest of the council. ‘But mahadev, you just said—’ 

‘Trust me, good Sumantra, all you wise and brave ministers of Kosala. The Lord of Lanka’s first goal is not our seven-walled city. He knows that Ayodhya the Unconquerable is too formidable a target against which to pit his forces directly. He will come here, but only after he has cleared a space around us and isolated our proud land from the other Arya nations. In order to do that, he intends to first focus his attack on our sister kingdom of Videha. It is the capital of that peaceful country that he first intends to overrun.’ 

The sage directed their attention back to the wall map. 

‘His main target in the first crucial offensive will be the city of Brahmins, Mithila.’ 

*** 

Vishwamitra looked at the shorter Kshatriya intently. 

‘Janaki,’ he said, his hand stroking his flowing beard thoughtfully. ‘An interesting name. It literally means “of Janak”. And Janak of course is Maharaja Janak, king of Videha and master of the moonwood throne of Mithila. What is your relation to his majesty, lord of Mithila?’ 

The slender Kshatriya kept his head bowed, clearly awed by the brahmarishi. ‘Guru-dev, despite the meaning of my given title, I am not of the blood of royals. Although Maharaja Janak is my liege, as he is the liege of every citizen of Videha.’ 

Bejoo thought he saw a faint wisp of a smile play across the sage’s weathered, beard-enshrouded face. What had the Brahmin found so amusing about the Kshatriya’s reply? It had sounded straightforward enough to Bejoo. The lad was probably just some knockaround bastard, conceived of a prostitute or dancer, had learned the sword from some army irregulars and when he was old enough to walk straight had decided to go into business for himself and make a few rupees. It was a tediously common history. 

‘A very interesting reply,’ Vishwamitra said. ‘Observe, rajkumars, how intelligently your new friend plays with the vocabulary and grammar of our great national language. “My given title” is what was said, not “my given name”. And indeed, Janaki can be a title as well as a name, its meaning being “of Janak” as I have already mentioned. Then your friend says, “I am not of the blood of royals”. And that is another shrewd choice of phrase. For Maharaja Janak’s heir, titled “Janaki”, was indeed adopted by the lord of Mithila, rather than birthed by his queen. And of course, every citizen of the Videha nation, highborn or low, regards Janak as his liege. So your new friend cleverly answered my direct question with an elegantly worded and quite suitable response that nonetheless succeeded in revealing nothing of the speaker’s true identity.’ 

Bejoo stood up straighter, frowning. What was this new twist? 

Rama and Lakshman were looking at the sage with perfectly matched expressions of befuddlement. 

‘Guru-dev,’ Lakshman said in a puzzled tone, ‘are you saying that Janaki Kumar lied to you just now? That he is in fact related to Maharaja Janak?’ 

‘Not just related, Rajkumar Lakshman,’ the brahmarishi replied. ‘I say your new friend is none other than Janak’s own adopted child. The heir to the moonwood throne and future ruler of Videha in the same way that your brother Rama is prince-heir of Kosala.’ 

Bejoo blinked. What was the sage talking about? That delicate-looking fellow there? Royalty? Heir to the throne of Videha? Impossible! The fellow was a good fighter, that was true, but … but …