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“Inform the princes of the rumors,” Dasharatha ordered quietly, looking at Sumantra.
“Rumors state that Kashi is a half-breed,” Sumantra murmured. “They say his mother is a blood-drinker. The rumor started when a servant from the innermost quarters claimed that an enchanting woman who subsists on blood and shuns sunlight lives there. That same servant was found dead soon after. His father denied those rumors until his recent death.
He never acknowledged a mother. Now no one in the inner circle speaks. Still, we’ve heard whispers that she is Kashi’s true mother. Others speculate she’s his wife.”
The four princes were looking with big eyes, back and forth from Kashi to Sumantra.
As Kashi’s tales came to a close, Dasharatha adjourned the assembly, encouraging all the travel-weary kings to rest before the summit began in earnest.
As the hall began to clear, Dasharatha sent a messenger to summon Janaka. They would speak in private in Dasharatha’s quarters. He entrusted the princes into Sumantra’s care and proceeded to his own place, followed by his entourage of guards and attendants.
“Please remain without, all of you,” he ordered, as he stepped into the room. “I’m expecting King Janaka. Show him in promptly.”
Janaka appeared shortly after and the two kings warmly embraced.
“What a great honor!” Janaka exclaimed.
He had no inkling why Dasharatha had summoned him.
“Please sit,” the emperor said, while formulating his words. He had to ask questions without casting Vasishta or Shatananda in a dark light.
“How is your daughter?” he asked, offering Janaka a tender coconut to drink.
“Oh, I have two daughters now. One year after Sita, Urmila was born.”
“You named her ‘The Enchantress.’”
It was an unusual name for an infant, more commonly one that a woman earned, just as he had earned “Ten Chariots.”
“It was because of her birth stars,” Janaka said. “To counteract a planetary alignment that suggested her husband would leave her.” He cleared his throat and put away the coconut. “Otherwise her stars are all auspicious. Urmila will be a bold, outspoken girl. And beautiful too. I believe she will live up to the name.”
“What about Sita’s stars?”
“I thought that was where your interest was,” Janaka said with a smile.
The two kings looked at each other. All pretenses melted away. Dasharatha did not have to play the political game with the subordinate king. It was a relief, for the emperor did not feel natural at such talk, preferring directness and honesty.
“When I received your letter three years ago,” Dasharatha said, “I was delighted.”
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“I was afraid it would frighten you.”
“Afraid that we would take action against the girl?”
“I was incredibly fearful of that, yes.”
“Is that why you decided to hide her nature?”
Janaka stood up and turned his back on the emperor for a moment.
Why did he hide his face now? Had Dasharatha miscalculated his openness?
When Janaka turned around, he had crossed his arms. “I do not know quite how to answer you, for I understand that you are speaking to me directly because you are not satisfied with Shatananda’s reports. But Vasishta’s pupil speaks truly. He was an amazing observer, never intruding on my daughter, yet noticing more about her than her own mother did. He saw a girl with extraordinary faculties. Sita was never quite a child, and she is prone to make rather prophetic statements. She notices complex things that even a perceptive adult would miss.
But all of these are within the range of normal human behavior. As I’m sure Shatananda reported to you.”
Dasharatha inclined his head, but Janaka shook his. “You must think me mentally unsound. First, I claimed to have a child who was in direct resonance with the elements. Quite a dramatic claim, I’m aware. Then when you sent a neutral observer, he found nothing. It seems suspicious.”
Dasharatha was satisfied with Janaka’s frank avowal. He spoke openly in turn. “Truly told, my suspicions lay elsewhere. I wholeheartedly trust Vasishta. What he keeps from me is for my own benefit. And yet in this case, I cannot understand the need for subterfuge.”
Janaka shrugged. “I do not retract what I wrote in my letter. Sita certainly shook the foundation of my existence. I could neither believe nor deny what I saw. I think now that if I had written to you earlier, if Shatananda had come sooner, perhaps he would have seen a different Sita. You see, something changed drastically once she acquired the totality of human speech. She began to speak and understand. All occurrences stopped.”
“Did you tell her to stop?”
“Not verbally, no. But as I said, she is very perceptive.”
“It’s possible then that she is concealing her powers?”
“I—hm—well, I don’t think so. Deception is not her nature. I have made sure to keep a watchful eye on her, one that I believe she is unaware of. If she has any powers, she is concealing them even from herself.”
Dasharatha lifted his hands in the air and decided to let the matter go. It was, after all, only a matter of interest to him. It did not affect the empire’s future.
He thanked Janaka and went to bid his sons goodnight. If they wanted a tale, he would tell them of a little girl who might have made rain fall when she cried.
The second day of the summit was dedicated to hunting. It would begin and end at the sacred fire, where Vasishta presided over the fire ceremony. Each king held a fruit in his hand, and each then stepped forward, according to rank, and offered it to the fire. The symbolic gestures burned away attachment to the result of actions, one of the greatest binding forces of the world. After a light meal was served, the kings mingled briefly before 235
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donning their weapons. Dasharatha felt at ease among his people, even if Kashi approached the princes more often than necessary, praising them with ill-concealed malice. The only outstanding event of the morning was when a young king offered Rama his first challenge, a friendly archery contest. Rama’s fine bow was ever slung across his shoulder. Anyone who had ever held a bow could see that the young prince had a natural talent. The competitions with weapons would be held on the third day, and Rama now knew who his first opponent was.
Before the morning assembly was adjourned, Dasharatha addressed the assembled kings. “This will be the first time my sons participate in a hunting expedition. May they learn from your example, and may they become powerful warriors.”
He looked around at each one of them, letting the unspoken message of his words sink in.
The young princes were inexperienced and Dasharatha expected the other kings to include them with due caution.
Satisfied by the somber quality among the kings, Dasharatha signaled for the hunt to commence. The feeling of urgency began at once. Fifty kings, each with two attendants, sat on their horses. The forest would be invaded, but Sumantra had carefully mapped out who would go where. As horses neighed and stomped their hooves, Sumantra’s sonorous voice called out instructions. Some of the kings had hunted in this region before. It was not their first summit. Such kings were left to lead their own factions of the large hunting retinue.
Sumantra guided the new kings, pointing them in the directions they were to take.
Dasharatha felt a shadow cross over him. Ever since the fatal hunting accident in his youth, he had felt dubious about the practice. He could not discount, however, the skills it had given him. It seemed like a necessary and unavoidable step in the training of any warrior. Kill an animal first, and a human target became that much easier. Dasharatha hoped the exuberance and spirit of the other kings would give his sons a taste of the undeniable thrills of the hunt. It appealed to the primal instinct of being a predator. Dasharatha knew men who were addicted to both hunting and battle for this reason. He had himself fallen victim to it in his youth. It was therefore that the scriptures cautioned even those who were sanctioned to hunt, warning that it was a vice. Should he say any of this to his sons? He knew they were well versed in the laws already.
The princes fidgeted in their saddles, and especially the twins had to be reminded to cease their bickering. The princes were chattering up a storm, clearly taken with the spirit of the kings. Thankfully, Dasharatha had only to glance in their direction to subdue them.
Dasharatha rode out, followed closely by his two guards, and the four princes followed with one guard each. A small division of ten soldiers shadowed them at a distance, a measure of safety that was a necessary precaution for the emperor and his sons.
As the roads disappeared and they entered the forest, Dasharatha stayed close to his sons, each astride his own steed. They looked quite small on the large animals. They were laughing and talking among each other, but Dasharatha noted how often they stole glances at the elders, mimicking their manners. They could hear calls and hoots echoing from other places in the forest.
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As they rode, Dasharatha couldn’t stop himself from instructing his sons how to hold their bows and arrows while on horseback. Kaikeyi would have chided him if she was present. Nevertheless, the thrill of the hunt was in the air, and Dasharatha was pleased. The anticipation gripped his belly and, from long years of experience, he knew the feeling would become unbearably tense until the arrows were released and the targets destroyed. He consciously turned off his empathy, as he had learned to long ago.
He wanted to impart his knowledge to his sons and wanted their first hunting expedition to be a success; ideally this meant that each prince would take down at least one animal.
Every person reacted differently to the sight of death. Some were unmoved, some laughed, and some got sick to the stomach. Dasharatha looked at his four miracles: serene Rama, grave Bharata, irascible Lakshmana and Shatrugna. There was no way to predict how any of them would react today, and Dasharatha prayed for wisdom so that he would know how to respond.
He rode up to Rama, though he directed his words to all four boys. “The first time you witness a sentient creature die, you might feel a shock hit you somewhere in your body. It’s a different place for different people. I want you to be aware of that sensation and understand that it’s like that for all of us in the beginning. It’s a necessary step to grow inured to death. Understand?”
The day for the princes to take human lives was still in the far future.
As they stalked deeper into the forest, Dasharatha caught sight of a deer, and he motioned the party to grow still. Speaking in a whisper, he said, “Soon she may sense our presence, perk her ears up, and grow still. If she deems us a threat, she will run.”
The boys watched the deer. As expected, Dasharatha saw the alarm in their eyes. They had tame deer like this in their gardens.
“A skilled hunter,” Dasharatha said, “would reveal his presence and cause the deer to run. That way the hunt becomes more active and unpredictable. If you fired at her now, it would be a question of marksmanship, not true hunting. Each of you has already mastered hitting an immobile target. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Father,” Rama whispered back.
“Who wants to shoot a warning arrow to alert her to our presence? Then I will demonstrate how we pursue a moving target.”
Slowly, Lakshmana raised his hand.
“Quickly,” Dasharatha said.
The deer had sensed them already, her ears moving.
“Two more!” Lakshmana exclaimed softly, pointing at two deer visible behind the trees.
Everything happened so fast, even Dasharatha was caught unawares. The deer bolted.
Dasharatha charged, releasing his arrows. She fell to the ground without a noise, and the two other deer escaped only because Dasharatha froze in shock at the scene before him. The deer bleated and lifted her head once before dying. She had expelled a fetus from her body, a dark mass covered in the mother’s fluids. Dasharatha had prepared for many eventualities, but not this. His heart plummeted as he looked in disbelief at the new life on the ground.
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“What happened, Father?” Rama’s voice was laced with anxiety.
“What is that?” Lakshmana and Shatrugna asked simultaneously.
“Is it a baby deer?” Bharata asked, the shock clear in his voice.
There was nothing to do but examine the fawn. Dasharatha began to dismount, but Rama and his brothers reached the fawn before he did. The newborn was covered by a thick membrane and showed no signs of life yet. When four pairs of hands touched it, the fawn moved.
“It’s alive!” they whispered, starting to peel off the layers that covered it. The mother, if alive, would have been licking the fawn clean. As the fawn was being thusly mothered by the boys, it lifted its tiny head. No one in that clearing was unmoved by this sight.
“We have to take care of him now,” Rama said. “Because we killed his mother.”
Dasharatha appreciated Rama’s use of we instead of you. The fawn stood up on unsteady feet and took one step before collapsing, close enough to its mother to nuzzle at her udders.
That’s when one of the boys burst into tears; the next moment all of the princes were softly crying. They didn’t cry the way they used to when they were infants, with full abandon, but it was more painful for Dasharatha to behold this. The princes were trying to be brave and warrior-like, but the tears trickled down their cheeks as the fawn bleated and poked its mother. There she lay dead, for the sole reason that they wanted to practice their skills.
Rama reached over to the fawn, and it began licking the prince’s fingers. Dasharatha knew then that the hunting lesson was over. He resigned himself to the fact that it had been a complete failure. He knew he would not be able to rouse his sons into killing any other animals on this day.
“What should we do with him, Father?” Rama asked.
All four princes again claimed the little one, placing protective hands on it.
“We have to take it home with us,” Lakshmana decided.
“As you wish,” Dasharatha said, mounting his horse.
With eager hands, Shatrugna gathered the foal in his hands. One of the king’s men helped the boy mount his horse. Another slung the dead deer across his horse. Sometimes the hide would be harvested and the meat offered to the gods. Today, however, every animal slain during the hunt would be offered into the sacrificial fire, another symbolic gesture.
They rode back in silence, save for the occasional reassurances the boys uttered to their adopted pet. Dasharatha needed time to find the right words to say to his sons. There was a teaching in everything, even a failed lesson. There was much he and his sons had to face before the summit was complete.
As they reached the summit grounds, Dasharatha had gathered his thoughts. He faced his sons and the orphaned fawn. “Instead of learning to slay today, your instinct to save and protect were called on. That is a valuable lesson in itself. Every act of violence must be tempered with compassion and the intention to protect. Don’t forget, however, that you, as warriors, will not be allowed soft hearts. For now, you are only seven years of age, and I will allow it this once. You can keep the fawn. But do not get caught up in ministering to it, or I will 238
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remove it. While we are here at the summit, we will assign someone to feed the fawn and care for it. You are here as the princes of Ayodhya, after all, and we have many days of work left.”
“Yes, Father, no, Father, we understand, Father,” the boys chorused while gathered around the little one.
“Good. We will meet in the arena for the feast. This evening the challenges begin.”
He watched as his sons went to their assigned room. Now Rama was carrying the fawn, though Lakshmana was begging for a turn. The episode had really taught the boys the opposite of the intended lesson. Dasharatha was not altogether displeased.
After the evening feast, the sacrificial fires were lit. Eight large pits blazed as the sun began to set. The fire pits were auspiciously decorated and built according to the ancient laws. One by one, each king was acknowledged for his success in hunting. As each animal’s body was offered into the fire, its species and gender were proclaimed. The priests chanted mantras for their swift rebirth, and ladles of ghee were poured into the hungry flames.
Dasharatha was the only king who offered only one animal into the flames. He saw the questioning looks by the other kings, but he was not obliged to answer to them. He glanced at his sons and smiled reassuringly. The fires now reached up to the night sky, and shadows played across every man’s face. Perhaps it was only this that made Dasharatha’s skin crawl when it was Kashi’s turn.
Kashi stood by the fire, licking his lips and smiling with great satisfaction as his list grew longer and longer. He had slain an entire herd of antelopes—fourteen females and one male, along with five young.
Rama turned to his father with a question in his eyes. “Is that righteous?” Rama asked, as though he already knew the answer.
Dasharatha shook his head. Only a monster would take pleasure in killing the young of any species. It was an impressive deed. And that was not all: three musk deer, five boars, and, finally, a tiger.
As Kashi’s self-gloating increased, the fire sputtered and died down, suffocated by the immense number of animal corpses. Rather than being alarmed, the fool Kashi took this as another sign of his power: he could suppress even the sacred fire. Kashi clapped his hands together in self-applause. A few kings followed suit.
They heard Vasishta roar, and the fire burst up, swallowing the animals in one gulp and they were gone.
As the third day began, Dasharatha had little attention to spare for his sons, for he was challenged to combat by king after king. He did not accept every challenge that came his way; instead he measured each king’s motives carefully. At his age, Dasharatha was more interested in maintaining friendly relations than proving his superiority. If the challenging king was fresh and young, Dasharatha would ensure the young king fought with several others before he faced Dasharatha. Dasharatha enjoyed sparring with swords, spears, or wrestling bare-chested. When they were not engaged in challenges of their own, his sons sat on the sidelines, cheering and applauding their father. It was a glorious feeling.
