Narmada was eager to see the man of her dreams as the day of the marriage approached near. The place where Shona had arrived and camped was not very far from where she was. But the custom and the protocol explicitly forbade her to see him before the day of the marriage. She mustered courage and decided to send him a ring that was her personal belonging. It was going to be her token of love for him. She yearned to know what he looked like, how he conducted himself and so on. In her eagerness and impatience she took an impulsive decision to send her personal attendant Zola, who was also her bosom friend, on this mission to Shona, with a priceless ring from the vault of her treasure.

Zola belonged to one of the Indian village communities who were  well-known for their ability to dig out people’s intimate secrets in the course of inconsequential chatter. Zola was well-versed in this art. Having lived close to the princess, she had acquired refinement. But her greatest asset was her beauty.

When Zola reached Shona’s camp she found him standing outside the royal tent. Zola was enamoured to see him. Love got the better of her. Now she was just a woman, not the trusted messenger of the queen. The ring which was the token of the queen’s love was already sitting on her finger audaciously. The young man saw her; she blushed and began to rearrange the folds of her sari on her shoulder coyly. As she was engaged in the act, the ring on her finger caught the sunlight and reflected it back. The luminous diamond in the ring could belong to none but a queen. When Shona saw it he was certain that the woman who wore it was the princess he was betrothed to. He was overjoyed, and mistaking her to be his bride, took Zola in. Everything happened just the way Zola wished.

For many days they celebrated love and nothing  but love. Time went by. One day the truth came to light. But by then Zola had conquered the prince. He was deep in love with the woman who was Zola. Zola was the reality, Narmada was a myth. He was aware of his commitment but he lived for the moment now.

Days passed. Zola did not return. The story that the secret messenger brought back to Narmada was beyond belief. Narmada flew into a rage. She hated Shona. Joy was banished out of her life. She was now like a river out of bounds. She reached Shona’s camp with a resolve to swallow him in the deluge. Her anger mounted as the things became plain to her. With one kick she settled the score with Zola and with another, she knocked down the powerful man that Shona was. Shona apologized and even promised to get rid of Zola, but Narmada refused to relent.

She declared her resolve to Shona, “Narmada will not marry a depraved man. All men are alike. Now you will see my resolve. I shall remain virgin for life. Get lost and get this wretched woman out of my sight. “

Shona walked away taking Zola with him. Narmada who was destined to flow east where her husband’s home was, now turned her back on him and became westward bound. To this day she did not look back towards the east.

Now, looking after her subjects was the sole mission of her life. But the heart of Narmada is tied up in knots at various places in the course of her path. People say that even today when she comes across traitors, Narmada seethes with anger. There are deep, silent vortices in her backwaters which are undetected until you are close to them. They are swirling with rage and can suck unsuspecting humans into their depths. She flows with tremendous force between the precipitous rocks which flank both sides of her gushing stream. There is a rare spot where you chance to see Narmada resting quietly, exhausted and defeated. This is a place called Bhedaghat. It is a steep, precipitous, rocky region where she hurls herself down in a desperate fall. The steep rush into which the tremendous river hurls herself down on the rocks below, creates a mist. It is like a giant fountain of myriad shades of mist. And then, you watch her flowing further down after that stupendous leap, further and further over the level terrain until she reaches a zone of silence. Here her waters are silent and clear. You see her making her way, flowing on quietly between tall marble rocks guarding her on both sides. The pure white marble rocks guard the privacy of the woman who has found her solitude and after a phase of self-consuming sorrow, sleeps like an orphaned princess inside the majestic four walls of her palace. This is the most mysteriously beautiful spot in Narmada’s volatile path of fury. This is the spot where her pride broke, her tears coursed down silently and she went beyond grief and joy. This is the place called Bhedaghat where terror and rage are silenced and a strange beauty is born.  

The Myth Of A River : Part1

The Myth of a River

There is a legend in India, not a very well-known one, woven around a river called Narmada: a river which has its origin at a place called Amar Kantaka in Central India. Most rivers in India have mysterious origins and as they flow down and enrich the soil on their banks, they merge with the lives of the people living around on their banks. Countless number of generations have watched them in awe and bowed down before the mystery of life which we call ‘river’. They give a life and a meaning to rivers in the legends and myths which they weave around them.

Narmada is an implacable, angry river. But to see her in the full-moon night when people dedicate little lamp-lights to her waters is incredibly beautiful. Endless treacle of small lights gives itself up in a surrender to the silent river and flows with the current. The lights of the little lamps as they flow into the expanse of the waters flicker, tremble, as they are carried away by the river. The moon does not seem to take gently or kindly to them. The moon-beams seem to come down heavily on them. The lamp-lights get dimmer as they move up, unable to compete with the luminous moon-beams, they flicker and disappear on the expanse of the river. Far away, where the river bends, the moonlight is enchanting. It is remote and silent. Here, right in front of you, the expanse of the river is beautiful; the moonlight is beautiful, and everything is beautiful in itself. But there, where the river bends, life seems mysterious. The moon alone reigns there.

The legend of Narmada has lived in the minds of the peasants with an archetypal reality. It goes like this: Narmada: the present river was, once upon a time, a princess, the only child of a king called Amar Kantaka who is now recognized as the place where the river Narmada originates. Her father had wanted to give her  in marriage to a powerful prince ruling on the other side of his kingdom who was known as Shona. Today, Shona is the name of the male river which flows down from the opposite side of Narmada. In India the rivers which resemble the sea in their expanse are called male rivers. Shona is one such male river. Unfortunately, Amar Kantaka did not live to see his daughter get married to the prince of his choice. He died a little before the day on which the marriage was scheduled to take place. The mantle of kingdom fell on the shoulders of the young princess. She took up the rein as the new queen and thereafter she had no time to look up from her duties and responsibilities. She was just and fair to all and kind-hearted as a mother to all her people. But the responsibilities were weighing her down.

Shona did not have a chance to see her during her ordeal. After some time, thinking that she might have come out of her grief, he sent her a ring to show her that he had not forgotten his promise. Narmada wore it with gratitude on her finger. She sent her messenger to him and got a date fixed for their marriage.      

Kaikeyi

Kaikeyi waited anxiously in her chamber to receive the princesses of Videha. Her personal attendant Manthara was full of exciting accounts of their beauty, grace and accomplishments. Kaikeyi was particularly anxious to see Rama’s wife Seeta. She knew that after the first scheduled meeting with Seeta, there would hardly be any meetings unless the protocol demanded. She had heard that Seeta was in fact an adopted child of Janaka. Kaikeyi could not imagine the future queen of Ayodhya to be a woman whose antecedents were not known.

When she saw Seeta she was surprised to find a young woman who combined an innate  rustic ruggedness with the grace and dignity of a princess. Seeta lacked the subtlety that marks the demeanor of a person born in a royal dynasty. But there was certain solicitude in her towards the old, the poor and the weak, which made her the darling of the subjects of Ayodhya. Kaikeyi had experienced how they were still not ready to accept her as one of them. But she saw that Seeta got assimilated among them quickly and spontaneously. Seeta had great physical stamina and one could imagine in her a person who would not shirk from tasks that demanded rigor. Though outwardly she appeared demure and shy, her laughter betrayed a robust person with a capacity for living life fully.

But somehow, Kaikeyi was a little perturbed to notice a streak of naiveté in her. Seeta seemed to believe that men love women for their even teeth, fair complexion, well-formed breasts and straight legs and was a little proud that she possessed all these attributes. But yet she regarded herself inferior in comparison with the suave, elegant and correct women of the royal family.

Urmila won Kaikeyi’s heart. She was devoid of ostentation, and yet elevated by her innate grace. Moreover, alone among all the princesses, she appeared to have a mind of her own. At times her aloofness bordered on indifference. But on a closer view, she conveyed real warmth. Bharata’s wife Mandavi and Shatrughna’s wife Shrutakirti were still childlike. They had yet to come out of their initial sense of wonder and awe at their new life.

Kaikeyi was not worried for her own sake, nor was she worried for Bharata. She was worried for Dashratha. His inept handling of situations in crisis could create unimaginable difficulties for all. Kaikeyi had a foreboding that here in Ayodhya; things did not augur well for the royal family. A keen insight into the fluid, intangible realities of political trends and a vague premonition of the future of the princes unsettled her. Political realities were open to interpretations. But what would she do with her vague fears? Besides, she was not known to be a sensitive mystic whose intuitions could be trusted for what they meant. She found it difficult to share her fears with anyone in the household, for that matter. Maybe, she could try and talk to Dashratha about her fears; but whenever she had tried to speak to him about such things, he had invariably seen Manthara’s shrewd insinuation behind her fears. Moreover, he always suspected her judgments when it came to discussing their children. Somehow, she felt that the times were going to be hard. None of them had foresight enough to see the shape of the things to come.  

Back to Ayodhya

The journey back to Ayodhya was tedious. The path lay through thick woods at times and when they were out of the woods, they had to travel across stretches of deserts. As they were passing through woods, birds suddenly started hovering around them, making strange sounds, while herds of deer came out of nowhere, as it were and started walking alongside them, keeping to their left all the time. Dashratha saw this as an evil portent. The sages who were among their retinue said, “The birds forewarn us of some adversity whereas the herds of deer tell us that we are going to tide over the difficulty.”

Suddenly they were overtaken by a sandstorm. It leveled down the mighty trees. The sun disappeared behind a veil of darkness. None could see the path ahead or behind. The army was covered in dust and stood motionless. Only the king, the sages and the princes retained their senses. The rest of the retinue was covered in dust in that all-pervading darkness. Just then, Dashratha who was wakeful in that darkness, saw the ancient sage Parasurama emerge out of the clouds of dust, carrying a saber on one shoulder and a mighty bow on the other. While the ancient sage was still far away, Vasishtha had a quick consultation with the other sages. Everyone knew that Prashurama was a sworn enemy of the Kshatriya , the warrior race to which kings belonged. Prashurama was of the priestly class to which sages and priests belonged. Parashurama had vowed to avenge the death of his father at the hands of a Kshatriya. But the revenge was complete and was a thing of the past. And could be said with certainty that a pure Brahmin like Parashurama would not resort to killing again for no reason.

With this  in mind, the sages moved forward and greeted him. He accepted their greetings but turned straight to address Rama which filled Dashratha with fear and anxiety for Rama’s safety.

Parashurama, the son of sage Jamadagni, a Brahmin by birth, said to Rama, the son of king Dashratha, a Kshatriya by birth, “I’ve heard about your extraordinary conquest of the mighty bow of Shiva. It was miraculous and unthinkable. Listen, I have come with another equally mighty bow. Show me how you will stretch its string and get the arrow ready on it. If you succeed, I will challenge you to fight a duel with me which will give you an opportunity  to prove your mettle.”

Dashratha grew pale at this and pleaded with Parashurama to have mercy on his son. But ignoring him completely, Parashurama went on addressing Rama alone. He told him how those two bows belonged to Shiva and Vishnu and how the two gods fought each other on being provoked by other gods; how Shiva, angry over his defeat at the hands of Vishnu, handed his bow to king Devrata, an ancestor of Janaka and was now broken into two by Rama. The other bow was gifted by Lord Vishnu to Parashurama’s ancestor Richik.

Later Richik handed it down to Jamadagni, Parashurama’s father. Jamadagni who was well-versed in the art of weapons and missiles, renounced weapons and resorted to penance. While he was in a state of trance he was killed by a Kshatriya called Kartavirya. Insane with anger, Parashurama had exterminated Kshatriya s again and again and finally conquered the world. Having found peace then, he gave away the entire kingdom  of the world  to sage Kashyapa and retired to Mount Mahendra. Now once again he had come back to challenge a new representative of Kshatriya  in the person of Rama; first to master the bow of Vishnu in the same manner as he did the bow of Shiva; failing which Rama had to accept defeat, and if he won, fight a duel with Parashurama.

Rama listened attentively and cautiously. He understood the implicit deprecation of his warrior race. In spite of his reluctance to fight the hoary-headed sage he had to accept the challenge.

Without any sign of perturbation, he said, “We know you had a just cause to massacre Kshatriyas in the past. But there is no reason why you must take up cudgels against us now. If it is my pride which is at stake, let me affirm with due respect for your Brahmin descent that I will fight for the honor of my race.” Saying thus, he caught hold of the bow in Parashurama’s possession and stretching its string, placed the arrow on it, ready to be unstrung at any moment. With this act he deprived Parashurama as it were, of the divine power of Vishnu. That power now deserted Parashurama and was acquired by Rama now. Though vanquished, Parashurama felt honored by this well-deserved victory Rama had scored over him.

Vanquished, but peaceful, the sage went back to his abode in Mount Mahendra.