Rama and Laxman (A Chapter from Valmiki Ramayana)

Rama and Laxman

Laxman saw Rama’s attendant moving in the direction of Dasharatha’s palace.  Laxman ran in haste and intercepted his path.

“Is Rama there in his palace?” he asked the attendant. The attendant bowed and said, “Yes, your highness.” Then picking up courage, he said, “Your highness, my lord needs to be brought back to the way of life that is fit for the prince. You alone can do it. We fail to understand what is driving him to seek solitude. He lives like an exile. Nothing that we do to revive his interest in pleasure satisfies him. We do not understand his language, nor do we understand how we should conduct ourselves to satisfy him; for we fear that whatever we do or say might appear vulgar or distasteful in his eyes. Of late he has started giving away his precious belongings to those around him. We are ashamed to take them, but we can’t refuse for fear of offending him. Something is gnawing at his heart, and we too have lost appetite for the ordinary pleasures of life. We don’t see why life should turn so distasteful for the heir-apparent of Ayodhya.”

The attendant looked at Laxman for a possible answer though he knew that Laxman would not deign to quench the doubts of an attendant. Laxman hurried in the direction of Rama’s palace.

He found Rama alone, sitting in a meditative posture. Laxman could not bear to see his brother brooding in silence. He entered the room roughly without announcing his arrival. Rama noticed him only when he sat at his feet and touched him on the knee. Rama ran his fingers through Laxman’s hair playfully and smiled. Trying to seek him out, Laxman asked, “Are you sad over something?”  

“No, why should I be sad?” asked Rama. “Do you remember,” Laxman asked, “We used to sit on the banks of rivers, on the peaks of mountains, at the feet of massive trees, when we were on our pilgrimage after our studies were over. But you were never alone like this then. We used to be together, talking away, pouring out our hearts over everything that concerned us. Very often we used to be surrounded by nothing but the wilderness of forests, but how happy we were together, sharing every bit of thought and feeling that crossed our mind!”

There was a longing in Rama’s eyes for the days gone by. But he said, “Gone is the simple joy of those days.” He got up and said, “Don’t worry, my brother, I am fine!”

Laxman said, “No, you are not! Otherwise why would you feel sad over the memory of those days?”

After a pause, Laxman asked him again, “Tell me, are you worried over our father’s old age? In fact, I do worry over the growing predominance of queen Kaikeyi over him. So long as he yields to her in the matters of small consequence, it is all right. But I fear, she has far greater things on her mind.”

Rama said, “The matters engaging her mind are of no consequence to me, be they small or great for her. This kingdom needs an heir who will protect it and this dynasty needs an heir who will perpetuate it. Like everyone else she is thinking of these things, because this is the time to think about them. We are all very fortunate these matters can be settled amongst us without bitter disagreements. The peace and welfare of this state is uppermost in my mind. And I am sure that’s the way all of my brothers, including you, think. If required, every one of us is willing to step down in favor of the one who is willing to take the responsibility for the kingdom.”

Laxman watched him as he said this, listening more to the sound of his voice and the feel of it than to the words he spoke. He felt a touch of some abrasive memory from the days of childhood as it were, that he had no knowledge of. It was not a moment for argument to decide the right or the wrong.

Rama was neither sad nor gloomy. He was looking at life squarely in the face. Though Laxman did not find himself in agreement with what Rama said, he could not bring himself to refute the basic stance. He looked at Rama closely. Both of them were going to cross adolescence soon. But Rama carried as it were, the knowledge of another lifetime within him. Though Laxman was not aware of the deeper mysteries of life, he felt vaguely aware of the presence of some unknown power in Rama. He did not know why, but he always felt at peace in Rama’s presence. He was the first to awaken to the untroubled, calm strength that manhood inspired in Rama’s person. It gave him a feeling that he was in the presence of a man whose understanding and insight would seek no other light but the light of truth. Of late, Rama had lost weight. But only those who had seen him in his toddler days could say that. He had broad shoulders and a well-rounded neck. Though of a dark complexion, he made the beholder feel that he was bathing in sunlight. His voice was deep and sonorous. His words carried conviction, and when he made statements, he never felt the need to clarify his meaning. There was always a resolution in his statements which left no space for arguments. And yet there was no arrogance.

Rama tapped Laxman playfully on his shoulder to wake him up from his thoughts. Laxman looked at him freshly. There was no trace of the gravity that had marked Rama’s face a moment ago. The same spark of mischief, with which he used to parry Laxman’s aggressive scrutiny in the days of their childhood, had come back to his eyes again.

Laxman marveled at the volatile expressions Rama could generate with ease. He wondered what was at the core of his brother’s heart. He would have bartered away all that he owned to be like his brother. The family- astrologers had marked that Laxman and his twin brother Shatrughna were born on Ashlesha constellation, which was why they were short-tempered and rash; Rama was born when Punarvasu constellation was on the horizon, which endeared Rama even to his enemies, and as yet, Rama had no enemies outside the family.

Still, Laxman could not bear to see Rama drawing himself away from everyone in the family. Where was he going to end up if this inwardness continued without cess? Laxman did not want to think of it. The only thought uppermost in his mind was that Rama had to be brought back to this world of mundane reality.

Laxman said, “I don’t understand the drift of time, but ever since we came back from the pilgrimage, things have changed; nothing is the same You are living like an exile in the palace; our father is anxious and worried, Kausalya is being subjected to subtle insults by Kaikeyi, and my mother is dumb as ever.”

Rama laughed. Laxman was perturbed. He said, “You may find this situation hilarious, I don’t! The kingdom and the dynasty both will be destroyed if the rightful heir forfeits his claim to the throne. This is not something you can laugh over and dismiss as of no consequence. “

Laxman dragged Rama out of the palace. He was bent upon finding out the secret of his despondency.

When they sat down, Laxman marked him closely. The two brothers had no close friends outside the palace. Besides, now that they had attained adolescence, they were not allowed to mingle with the commoners. Young girls and women vied with each other to have a word with them whenever they stepped out of their private interiors. Laxman enjoyed the game of inviting their attention and then parrying their advances, Rama did not. He shied away at the sight of girls.

“Are you in love?” asked Laxman with an innocent curiosity.

“Stop kidding,” said Rama.

There was a pause. Laxman knew, as usual, he had tried to open the portals of Rama’s heart which were closed even for Laxman. It was Rama’s turn now to stare mischievously at Laxman. Laxman realized that Rama was silently turning the question on him He looked away. Rama patted him on the back and said, “There is plenty of time for us to fall in love. But before that, we have far more important things to do, Laxman.”

Laxman listened eagerly.

“Do you know, Laxman, life outside our father’s state is very unsafe. There is terror in the interiors of forests. Do you remember the hermitages we saw on our pilgrimage? Most of them were situated in forests and on mountains. Those hermitages are guarding our heritage of secret mystic doctrine.  But how defenseless they were against the attacks of the carnivorous tribes of rakshasas ! We are as yet far away and secured against their attacks. But the wealth and prosperity of our cities may lure them any time. We have our armies and forts well-armed. But seeing that our father is old and tired of campaigns, we cannot rest assured always as before.”

Laxman warmed up. The thought of his father languishing for the love of Kaikeyi, sent a wave of anger through his mind.

“I don’t understand what Kaikeyi wants to achieve by sending Shatrughna along with Bharat to her father’s state except that it should deplete our father’s strength!”

Rama said, “We have seen days of friendship and love. We may have to pay a high price if we don’t come out of the nostalgia. Undercurrents of rivalry and suspicion are going to surface in the days ahead.”

Laxman looked at him pensively. Rama pointed to the woods where he used to meet the strange hermit and said, “Do you see that deserted cottage? That was the place which was dearer to me than our father’s palace. If I had continued to meet that strange hermit in that cottage a little longer, I don’t know where I would have been today. But the hermit vanished as mysteriously as he came and I was forced to seek my roots back here in the palace.”

Laxman watched him in silence. It pained him to see Rama giving way to the distress he had accumulated since childhood.

He said, “If you don’t find your roots here, none of us has the right to call this palace our home. This palace, this Ayodhya—they live in you, Rama. Everything will be uprooted if you don’t find your roots here!”

Rama said nothing. Laxman seized his hand impulsively and held it to his heart.

“Promise never to leave me alone in this palace, Rama. With you by my side, I can defeat the whole world; but you gone—and I will be a non-entity here.”

Rama looked at him in astonishment. Laxman was as tall as him, with the same family-resemblance, but fairer. He was strong physically, but still like a lost child without Rama. Rama was overcome by a deep emotion when he saw that Laxman was trying to hide a sign of weakness—his tears! Rama knew how precious those tears were! They were not a sign of weakness, but a veil behind which was hidden a whole world of childhood comradeship. Without any reserve, Rama hugged him close. It was a silent promise that the bond between them was stronger than any other bond in life.

 

Dashratha Talks to Vasishtha about Rama

Sage Vasishtha

That morning sage Vasishtha received the royal emissary at his hermitage. Dasharatha had sent a special chariot to bring him to the palace. Vasishtha was an ancient soul. He had blessed, and guided many generations of the Ishwaku dynasty to their path of destiny. Dasharatha had trusted his four vivacious sons to the mentorship of Vasishtha.

On reaching the palace, he was shown into the private conference room of the king by the attendant. Dasharatha received him and venerated him according to the protocol. Then without standing on ceremony, he began to speak anxiously about Rama.

“Revered Guru, I am worried about Rama,” he said.

Vasishtha noticed his agitation as he spoke those words. Vasishtha closed his eyes to feel Dasharatha’s state of mind. He opened his eyes ,looked at Dasharatha and addressed the problem directly.

“Rama has lost interest in life as you understand it and want him to follow. Mind you, you cannot entice him with any vain temptations that lure the princes of his age. Women cannot lure him, because no woman can fathom the depth of his heart; no woman can scale the height he can reach with his knowledge of life.”

Dasharatha listened carefully. Vasishtha continued, “Never make the mistake of trying to hold him down to the princely life by exposing him to the lure of women. That way you will hasten him on the path of asceticism.”

Dasharatha remained quiet for some time. His heart was filled with tenderness and anxiety for his son. He would gladly have let Rama follow the path of asceticism even as he understood what it meant for the kingdom. The concerns of the future of his kingdom and of his old age weighed less upon him than the concern for Rama’s happiness.

He trusted Vasishtha to find an answer. He said to the sage, “Rama’s unrest is causing him to turn away from everything that interests a man of his age. But what worries me is his state of health. He is going to seeds. I cannot bear to see him live like an ascetic,” Dasharatha pleaded.

Vasishtha looked grave. He said, “It’s true that there is something that is causing despondency.”

“What is it?” asked Dasharatha impatiently.

Vasishtha said, “The cause lies deeper than our understanding. But is not something that you should worry about. At the same time be ready to withdraw your shield of protection. Rama and his brothers are ready to face life with all its uncertainties. What you see in Rama is despondency, not despair. “

Dasharatha was calmed down by Vasishtha’s perception of the problem. He said, “If so, please talk to him and try to remove that despondency. I am sure your guidance will give him a sound foothold and inspiration to seek out what is best for him in life”

Vasishtha promised to meet Rama soon.

……………….

Rama and Laxman

“Do not ask any questions; have faith. Go home with the queens now and distribute this heavenly offering among them. Your wish will be fulfilled.”

On going home, Dasharatha divided the offering into two equal portions and gave one half to Kausalya; divided the remaining portion again into two and gave one each to Sumitra and Kaikeyi. Kaikeyi who was fretting and fuming all the time, ate only half of the portion given to her and returned the remaining half in a tantrum. Dasharatha was annoyed but said nothing. He quietly took it to Sumitra. Sumitra, who always bore the brunt of the quarrels between the eldest and the youngest queen, ate it in a spirit of reverence.

The act of faith brought fulfillment to all. In due course, the three queens were pregnant. Rama was born to Kausalya, Laxman and Shatrughna were born to Sumitra and Bharat to Kaikeyi.

Kaikeyi regretted her imprudence and envied Sumitra. She did not want Sumitra to grow in power with two sons in her custody. Early on, she tried to wean Shatrughna away from his mother and treated him as if he was her adopted son. As soon as they were fit for education she started showing displeasure at the way they were receiving education, and with great fan-fare, she sent the two boys to her father, the king of the state of Kaikeya.

Thus, she believed she had sown seeds of discord successfully by dividing the brothers early on. However, the four brothers never entertained thoughts of rivalry. Rama’s strength united all of them. Their love and devotion to Rama was extraordinary. They adored and worshiped him and Rama proved to be an ideal elder brother to all three of them: indulgent, trustworthy and sacrificing. In turn, as they grew up, they were ready to serve him with their life.

Rama and Laxman grew up together, inseparable like the body and its breath. Bharat and Shatrughna grew up in Bharat’s grandfather’s palace. Bharat was an extrovert. He was doted upon in the households of both his grandfathers. A lucky child in every respect, he never knew deprivation or miserliness. However, he could never forget how, in their childhood, Rama was once forced to part with a toy for his sake. The memory of that incident filled Bharat with regret. He had pushed the memory deep down, but it surfaced invariably, whenever he came back to his father’s palace, especially as he sensed the animosity that his mother harbored in her heart for Rama. Because he was generous at heart, Bharat dismissed his mother’s unashamed selfishness with ironic good humor. Every time she attempted to enlighten him with the gems of wisdom which she had acquired from Manthara, she would meet with a robust derision and laughter.  

The four boys were inseparable. However, all said and done, Laxman turned out to be the greatest follower of Rama. He often resented the closeness between his younger brother Shatrughna and Bharat; especially as he came to see it as the fruit of Kaikeyi’s farsighted political acumen. Were it not for Rama’s selfless endeavor to keep all of them united, Laxman would have succumbed to the constant provocations held forth by Kaikeyi and estranged himself from Bharat and Shatrughna.

Now, as Rama crossed sixteen, Kaikeyi was all set to write the script of the Ishwaku dynasty in her own way.

Ramayana
Rama, the crown prince of Ayodhya, got up from sleep with an uneasy feeling. The sky was still grey, but a floating cloud had shown up in the sky and was changing into silver, chasing the moonlight away and heralding dawn. Rama got up in haste. He wanted to avoid the daily routine of auspicious greetings by the royal bards.
Of late Rama had discovered the great mystery of the solitary hours of dawn. His stepbrother Laxman would not leave him alone, because he feared that if left alone Rama would get lost in the woods; and who knows, he may really get lost without a trace. Laxman had made it his undeclared mission to guard Rama from falling into that mysterious trance which seemed to estrange him from everyone around.
Rama knew Laxman’s mind very well. He knew how lonely and insecure Laxman felt in the palace without Rama. The four brothers, Rama, Bharat, Laxman and Shatrughna, used to be the delight of the household till they were children. Now that they had stepped into adolescence, they found that the world was changing for them.
Rama was the eldest of them. Born to Kausalya, he had learnt to give more than he received, because something of his mother’s magnanimity had been inculcated into him since childhood. Laxman and Shatrughna were born to Sumitra, the most detached of Dasharatha’s three queens. As far as Rama remembered, the two of them, Rama and Laxman, spent the best part of their day in the inner sanctum of Kausalya, and following Rama, Laxman also used to cling to Kausalya for everything he needed. Sumitra had trusted both her sons, Laxman and Shatrughna to Kausalya because she knew Kausalya to be the most fair-minded and unselfish among the three of them.
It was a very different story with Kaikeyi, the mother of Bharat. Her father was a powerful king who ruled over a very mighty tribe known for their physical prowess and fiery temperament. Besides her ravishing beauty, Kaikeyi was also blessed with a winsome smile behind which was concealed an extremely sharp and perceptive intellect. For some reason, not known to his children, Dasharatha was as if held hostage by her. Kaikeyi, who took pride in her marital conquest, had nothing but contempt and disdain for her co-wives: Kausalya and Sumitra.
Rama, and especially Laxman, had grown up under a shadow of fear which they failed to recognize till they gained sufficient understanding of the intriguing relationship that existed between their father and Kaikeyi. A silent reign of terror prevailed in the palace. It was palpable now. Kaikeyi held both Rama and Laxman in silent disdain. She had never allowed her own son Bharat to mingle with his stepbrothers. Ever since the boys learnt to distinguish relationships in the family, it became clear to them that Bharat had a privileged position in the royal household even though early on Bharat had been taken away from the family by his maternal grandfather to be brought up with special care and privilege to fulfill his destiny.
Kaikeyi considered it to be a great misfortune for her son to be born younger than Rama. She was determined to see her son crowned as king, if not of Ayodhya, he could certainly claim the throne of her father’s kingdom. But if possible, she would rather see him rule over both kingdoms.
None of the four princes, however, was seized by any such ambition, Bharat least of all.
On that morning, Rama remembered that he was going to meet the strange hermit in the neighboring woods. When Rama reached the solitary dwelling place of the hermit in the heart of the woods, it was already late in the morning. The hermit was not the one who would wait for a prince to show up. A little delay here and there and Rama would be greeted by the silent walls of the hut where the hermit had camped these days.
Rama donned a robe perfunctorily and freaked out surreptitiously. He was surprised to find that the hermit was very much there. In fact he seemed to be waiting for Rama.
They were strange pals: a prince and a hermit. The hermit happened to be a little older than Rama. It was a bond of a light interest each had in the other: a casual, amused condescension on the part of the hermit, and an earnest, inquiring spirit on the part of the prince.
The hermit noticed that Rama was weighed down by that unnamable unrest which is the perennial destiny of all men. He was watering the plants in the courtyard which had gone without water the whole of the previous evening. He looked alternately at Rama’s pale, distraught face and the plants which were instantly responding to the water sinking to their roots. Rama also watched, taking in the fresh breath of life with the rejuvenated plants.
The hermit had stayed on in the woods for longer than his wont. It was time for him to move on now. But everything over here held him back, especially Rama. There was infinite peace in Rama’s aura. It was as if he had brought that peace here on earth from somewhere far away.
The hermit wanted Rama to speak. Rama stared vacantly at the walls of the hut.
“Why is the prince silent today?” asked the hermit.
Rama laughed and said, “Prince, indeed! I hate that epithet. One day they will find this man they call prince, lost in the woods, leaving behind only the memory of a name! A name: that is what I am, in spite of all this paraphernalia of princehood!”
The hermit smiled. “Yes, you will leave behind a name. It will be a name that will not be a token of any human identity though.”
Rama laughed. “I half understand what you mean. Like everyone else around me, you too have begun to fall under that hypnotic illusion called destiny. Tell me precisely, how can one escape what they call destiny?”
The hermit said, “Right now you are held by your obligations.”
“What are they?”Asked Rama. The hermit smiled skeptically. “Are you feigning innocence, or are you ignorant? As sure as the sun rises and sets, you are obliged to fulfill your duties towards your parents, your dynasty and your people. Your way leads you back to the palace. Before the sun reaches the peak, you must be back in the palace”
Rama said, “I would rather be away in the woods, away from the suffocating anxieties of the palace. Do I not have the freedom to choose?”
“Princes do not have the freedom to choose, Rama. They have a mission”.
“Then I will choose to be free from the obligations of princehood”.
The hermit watched the prince in the bright sunlight. The prince’s brow was saddened by a dark shadow of despondency.
The hermit asked, “What do you want to do to escape?”
Rama said, “Renounce the claim to the throne of Ayodhya and disappear in the woods, vanish forever from the eyes of all and merge with the vast tide of time that is carrying you and me and everyone along. I am not indispensable. Any one of my brothers is capable of running this inheritance.”
The hermit looked at Rama and absorbed his words in silence.
“You are speaking out of disgust. When disgust dictates your speech and actions, be wary,” said the hermit.
“Wary of what?” asked Rama.
“Disgust depletes your power,” said the hermit.
“I am in no need of power; I have been taught how to wield power all along since my childhood,” said Rama.
The hermit said nothing. Rama watched him for signs of skepticism. The hermit realized that Rama sought an answer.
“True, you are in no need of power,” said the hermit.
Rama looked at the hermit warily to watch for signs of sarcasm. But the hermit was searching for words.
“You may renounce the kingdom, but you cannot renounce power,” said the hermit.
Rama brooded over this. The hermit was in a trance. He spoke undistracted as Rama listened.
“You are suffering from loss. It is the loss of memory of what you own; loss of memory of who you are! Akasha, the eternal memory, is the keeper of the forgotten. There, in the Akasha, nothing is lost, nothing is forgotten. You have a mission, Rama!”
The hermit stopped. He was still not out of the trance. Rama watched him in utter silence. He experienced a strange kind of freedom in that moment while the hermit was immersed in trance.
The hermit spoke.
“You cannot flee from your mission. Your freedom is not what you imagine it to be. Cast away the illusion of freedom. Your freedom is in your inner strength, not in renunciation. Be free to make use of your strength. Your strength is your power. You don’t have to acquire it. You have forgotten what you possess. The path of destiny is inscrutable to your human eye.”
The hermit remained in the trance for a little longer. When he opened his eyes, Rama asked him anxiously, “What is my mission?”
The hermit said, “You will know it soon. Those who are appointed to aid you in your mission are holding to life only to meet you and discharge their duty. They have been waiting for you.”
Rama looked at the hermit in astonishment.
“Are you one of them?”He asked.
The hermit did not answer the question. Instead, he looked into the space and said, “I will meet you hence only after you have fulfilled your mission.”
Rama got up to take leave of the hermit.
When he returned to meet the hermit the next day, the cottage was deserted.
Note: Valmiki says in Yogavasishtha that Rama was an incarnation of God Vishnu. But, Rama in his human form had no memory of his divinity. It was as if God, in this incarnate form, had willingly assumed the limitations of the human intellect.
Away from Ayodhya, and away from Rama, Valmiki created the first seven ‘Kandas’ of the epic Ramayana by concentrating on the story of Rama in his meditation. He passed on the seven completed ‘Kandas’ to his enlightened disciple Bharadwaja. While Valmiki was still in the process of writing further, Bharadwja recited the seven ‘Kandas ‘to the highest Guru of mankind, Brahmadeva in some deep cave of Meru mountain and asked for the grace by which mankind will be redeemed from suffering. Brahmadeva told him, “Go to your mentor Valmiki who is writing Ramayana and listen to what he is creating.”
Ramayana is a story of suffering. It is the suffering of humanity. Brahmadeva, the God of creation, knew how painful the process of recounting the story of human suffering is. So he inspired Valmiki by saying that the creative process begets pain for the writer. But Valmiki must go on till the end; no matter how painful the process was. Brahmadeva said that he found it necessary to come in person to deliver this message to Valmiki.
Rama and Laxman
Laxman was aware of Rama’s listless condition of late. After their return back to the palace, having completed their princely education at the hermitage of sage Vasishtha, Rama had lost interest in the life of the palace.
On that morning, as Rama entered the inner courtyard of the palace, he was accosted by Laxman. The two brothers looked at each other—Laxman trying to probe into Rama’s mind. Rama looked at Laxman steadily, neither revealing nor trying to hide anything. He walked ahead, leaving Laxman trailing behind. It was not in Laxman’s nature to express indignation. However, not finding Rama forthcoming, he decided to confront him.
“Brother, is anything the matter? I have noticed that you are reluctant to talk these days.”
Rama nodded his head in reply, but did not say anything.
“Where do you disappear every morning?” Laxman asked persistently.
Rama turned back and smiled. “I am looking for answers,” he said.
“Answers to what?” Laxman asked.
Holding Laxman’s hand as they walked towards their room, Rama started to talk.
He appeared to be in good humor. Perhaps it was a deliberate act he had put on to assuage Laxman’s fears.
“Do you know Laxman, why I persuaded our father to give us permission to leave the palace to go on a pilgrimage? That was the only way to get to know life in real sense.”
Laxman was happy to listen to him.
Rama said, “Life is crude; life is subtle. Those who can take it in its crudeness are fit to survive. Those who know its subtlety, retreat into solitude. A king and a prince are not supposed to delve deep into life’s subtlety.’
“Oh, is that the reason why you retreat to the woods these days: to delve deep into life’s subtlety?” Laxman asked.
Rama looked at Laxman steadily. There was no intention to evaluate or judge Laxman; but Laxman felt judged. He regretted the frivolity of what he said. In order to draw Rama out of the woods and to hide his own frivolity, he said cheerily, “Come on Rama, I’ve been waiting to meet you since yesterday. Our
trainer has acquired a new pair of horses for us. They are being trained specially for us. Come let’s have a ride.”
Laxman dragged Rama to the stable yard where a majestic pair of horses was waiting for them, stamping and fuming furiously. One of them neighed in remonstrance. The other one was a little sober and responded gratefully to Rama as he patted him on the back. Laxman laughed.
“Hey, that one seems to prefer you. I’ll take this restive one.”
Rama laughed, “That one is a female. Be wary. She is not easy to master. Don’t be in haste, or she will throw you off balance before you know.”
“She can’t! I bet!” said Laxman.
In a moment Laxman untied the mare, and off they went riding into the woods. Rama watched them go and turned to the horse that stood patiently beside him. Rama patted him on the back and said, “We are in no hurry to fight battles, my friend, and I am sure that day is far away. Till then let’s explore the woods in peace.”
As he was returning to the palace by himself, he happened to look up at the balcony and caught sight of Kaikeyi looking at him. For a moment their eyes met and unwarily, they regarded each other dumbly. Rama was unable to repel her gaze. He took his eyes off and walked silently in the direction of his own quarters. He could not get over the feeling that her gaze still followed him.
Memories flooded in….Rama was a toddler. It was a full moon night. The moon was resplendent like a jewel in the crown. But the day that had gone by was painful for Rama. He and Bharat, Kaikeyi’s son who was younger than Rama, had fought over a toy. Kausalya and their father had interceded on Bharat’s behalf and had coaxed Rama into giving up the toy for Bharat’s sake.
At night the enchanting sight of the full moon filled Rama with a longing. He wanted to clasp it, never to let it go. He cried bitterly. The attendants rallied around him and tried to divert him, but he would not be pacified. No one had seen him cry like that before. In spite of being surrounded by all the toys and fun brought to him by the palace-attendants, the child Rama was lonely. The news reached his father. Dasharatha was followed by Kaikeyi as he rushed hastily to the side of Rama and picked him up. Who else but Dasharatha would know what had gone wrong between him and his son?
As Rama was enveloped by the warmth of his father’s body, he felt a cold thing touch him on his arm. It was the feel of Kaikeyi’s hand as she tried to separate Dasharatha from Rama.
Dasharatha had put him down guiltily and had called for his wise minister, Sumanta.
Sumanta immediately asked the attendant to get him a tray filled with water. As everyone was wondering what it was all about, Sumanta caught the reflection of the moon in the crystal clear water in the tray.
“Here, this is your moon, Rama. It belongs to you. No one will take it away from you,” said Sumanta as he stole a glance at Dasharatha.
Kaikeyi looked angrily at both Sumanta and Dasharatha.
“Oh, how silly it is to cry over the moon! This child will never grow up,” she said and dragged her husband away disdainfully after her.
It was Sumanta who held Rama close to his bosom and walked away to take him to bed. That night Rama slept peacefully, but did not understand why his mother sobbed as she put him to sleep.
Rama wondered how the memory had got etched in his mind over all these years.
He sighed. The child, who had cried to own the moon, had grown up now.
Kaikeyi
Kaikeyi was the name she had acquired because she came from a remote region called Kaikeya. Dasharatha was smitten by her exotic, ravishing beauty when he first saw her in her royal attire at the palace of her father. Though he was there for political reasons, and was already married twice to two graceful and dignified princesses, he fell for her charms and expressed his wish to marry her. Her father was all too happy at the proposed alliance.
It was a splendid and lavish marriage and though Dasharatha was a little too old for her, they looked enviable as husband and wife.
Kaikeyi possessed a strong athletic frame of body, and had learnt the art of hunting and riding. She was a good charioteer too. She was a model princess, groomed to be a queen by her ambitious but ruthless mother. Her father doted on her, but soon learnt to withdraw from the mother-daughter duo. They made up for each other’s shortcomings; the mother was vociferous and tactless, the daughter, precise and calculating, though a bit dreamy at times. When their ambitions were found flagging, there was an old nursemaid called Manthara who diligently provided fuel to keep the interiors of the palace alive with intrigue.
When Dasharatha arrived in Ayodhya with his new queen, there was a grand royal welcome. But even as the protocol was observed, there was no warmth.
Kaikeyi was accompanied by Manthara all the way from her native place to Ayodhya. The hawk-eyed Manthara took in the whole new environment and with a wolf-like excitement, set about maneuvering
things in Kaikeyi’s favor. Soon the obsession turned into a mission and Manthara stayed on with Kaikeyi as her life-time companion and attendant.
Kaikeyi remained an outlandish figure for the people in the palace. Her personal name was dropped and she came to be known by the place of her birth: Kaikeya. It was a very subtle way of expressing remoteness and distance. Dasharatha’s eldest queen was also known by the place Kosala. But it was a title of honor to indicate that she was the queen empress of the state Kosala: the state ruled by king Dasharatha. Kosala was their own land and Kausalya, their own queen.
Kaikeyi was unlike the other two queens. She never deigned to talk to them. But she had an absolute dominion over Dasharatha. She was his charioteer in a battle in which he had fallen unconscious, grievously wounded by arrows. It was Kaikeyi who fought fiercely and brought his chariot out of the battle-ground to a safe place.
Dasharatha owed his life to her. Kausalya and Sumitra knew it and always stood in awe of her prowess. An impressive roll of honor was established by now of queens who belonged to the Ishwaku dynasty. But all of them fell into the category of traditional demure, docile paragons of feminine virtue. There was none like Kaikeyi, who brought a ferocious vitality and the power of a pragmatic intellect to the royal dynasty.
When Dasharatha married Kaikeyi and brought her to Ayodhya, there was an implicit interpretation of this act. His two queens and everyone else knew that Kaikeyi was expected to fulfill an important mission in which the two queens had failed—give birth to an heir to the throne. But years went by and Kaikeyi remained childless like the other two queens. Dasharatha’s anxiety grew day by day.
Dasharatha finally decided to seek the verdict of divine powers when everything else failed to answer his prayers for a son. An Ashwamedha yajnya was organized under the supervision of the royal priest of the Ishwaku dynasty: Sage Vasishtha. Sage Rishyashringa, who was specially invited to add his occult power to the sacrificial worship, suggested that another yajnya be performed, specially aiming at the fulfillment of the desire for a son.
There was a belief among the enlightened sages that the birth of Rama and his three brothers was pre-ordained. But Dasharatha must be propelled towards that goal with all his heart. That which happens without a passionate need is like an aimless boat driven hither and thither by the tide.
The ritual of sacrifice was accomplished in peace. On completion of it a strange thing happened. A man appeared, as if from nowhere. He was luminous like fire. He went straight to Dasharatha and presented him with a bowl of divine offering. Clad in a loin-cloth, he stood silently before Dasharatha, holding the bowl reverentially, as if it was a gift from the gods. Dasharatha looked in amazement at the man and at the priest of the ceremony, Rishyashringa. The priest simply nodded in consent. Awe-struck, Dasharatha took the bowl in his trembling hands.
Rishyashringa said,

Black Is Beautiful
This is a story of a lovely black girl from an obscure village of Tanzania. Since I’ve forgotten the names of both: I mean, the name of the girl as well as the village, because they both belong to that ‘once upon a time slot' of all traditional stories, let us give them names. The girl was Ulla and the village was Zincoba. Actually, Ulla is the name of a lovely Chinese flower, but that’s so much the better for our story because our black girl was as lovely as a flower. She carried the fragrance of her girlhood blossoming into youth all around her. Looking at her none felt the need to be reminded that ‘black is beautiful’ because she was both black and beautiful.
But Ulla lived in a strange world. She got up to the shrill, cantankerous shouting of her mother, aunts and granny. Then her rowdy brothers got up, and if she dared to sleep longer, ignoring all the hell around her, one of them would come to her and kick her with a great gusto: ha ha! That would kick Ulla out of her dreams too!
The mornings used to be occupied by all the concerted noises made by all the women of the household and her three brothers who were devils incarnate. "Ulla this, Ulla that, where is Ulla? Ulla, can’t you hear?” And that would keep Ulla on her toes throughout the morning. In the afternoon her rowdy brothers would return from the farm, hungry as wolves, kick their muddy shoes around, and slapping her hard on the back with their muddy hands, would rush to hog their meals.
After the meals the men folks would rush to grab the most comfortable and cosy nook of the house for the luxury of their afternoon nap while Ulla would sit down to share meals with the women of the household.
Those were the days when the women of the household and those of the neighbourhood had started looking at her grown up body with a critical interest. She was a commodity to be disposed of now, the stronger the girl, the better the deal; and yes, the sooner, the better!
Ulla understood the look in their eyes. She was filled with horror because soon she would have to show everyone that she was strong enough to withstand the ordeals of that thing called marriage which would bring into her life a monster called ‘husband’, who she knew, would be as awful as her brothers, if not worse.
One day her mother called her for a task, which actually turned out to be a very neurotic session of the mission ‘educating Ulla’. When she entered her mother’s room, she found her mother surrounded by a number of wiseacre women of the neighbourhood. When she went in, they looked her up and down, as if she was a mare on sale. There was a look of great pity in their eyes which filled her mother with an unwarranted inferiority complex. Actually they were struck by Ulla’s charm which none of them possessed. But neither Ulla nor her dense mother could see through their mask which concealed their envy.
Her mother stupidly went on endorsing all their wicked comments and evaluations of Ulla and Ulla listened open-mouthed to their glib talk about how a girl should dress and conduct herself. Ulla looked all the more ungainly in spite of her clean, glossy black complexion and slender waist. The women were mighty pleased with themselves as their comments made Ulla’s mother crestfallen and made Ulla confirmed in her belief that she was no good, like that ugly duckling of Hans Andersen's story.
The result of that frenetic half-an-hour session of ‘educating’ Ulla was that her mother was thoroughly demoralized for having given birth to a daughter who was good for nothing. Her frustration, as it became more and more visible and audible, heightened the morale of the women and they rejoiced over their success as Ulla looked pathetic. She cut a sorry figure indeed, among all those worldly wise Dianas of this earth.
After the women had left (but not before extracting a good ransom in terms of tea and snacks, with an implicit promise not to visit them again till the next fortnight or two), Ulla’s mother dragged her to the backyard and said, “You are grown up now; but look at your waist, thin as a wisp. You will break down after the first kick, and then, no husband for you. Here, go and fetch water from the river. And remember; you are not going to stop before you complete three rounds. At your age, we used to fetch water, grind millet for ten people, and work from dawn to dusk.”
Ulla understood; but you may not understand. What the hell is the link between a kick and a husband? Well, in that village in Tanzania, it was required of girls to show that they could withstand kicking from their husbands. The girl would be made to sit firmly on a rock and the boy would come from behind, running like a fast bowler in a cricket-match and kick the girl in the waist with all the force he could muster. The girl should neither fall off nor cry. Then the boy had no way but to marry her. Of course, you can imagine how the boys would bend the rules to suit their choice. But Ulla’s mother and Ulla were not too hopeful of coming across a smart Alec who would eat his cake and have it too! Besides, most of the boys and men were too vain and thoroughly unromantic to make any concessions even to the most beautiful of the girls.
So that’s how it was for Ulla. The formula had set in her mind: one kick, no fall -is equal to marriage- is equal to husband.  

 But what was a husband equal to? There was a big question mark.
She wanted to ask her mother how many times she fell off the rock or cried in pain. Then she explained to herself, perhaps father did not kick mother hard enough; or did he? Can’t one marry without that great kick?
Every now and then Ulla would sit quietly to find a solution. In those days, her friends were full of stories. One of them told her how a certain boy had caught a glimpse of the girl whom he was going to kick and had fallen for her. When his parents noticed it they were furious and warned him not to perform the kicking half-heartedly. If he did, God would be angry and would not bless the marriage. No God blesses a marriage based on dishonesty, they said. They said that both the boy and the girl must face the test without cheating on the rules. So the poor boy kicked really hard and the girl fell off the rock, and the boy ran to her in panic to pick her up. But alas, they were too honest, and so the boy could not marry the girl. He ended up marrying an amazon of a girl; but that’s another story.
Ulla had laughed to death when she  heard that story. But now as the destined hour was approaching fast, she lost her laughter and even her smiles. She looked grave.
Then started the ordeal of preparing Ulla for the test. Her mother was anxious that her daughter should pass the test in the first go. She herself had failed five times; so much so that her parents had lost hope of ever getting her married. She now blamed it on her parents because they had not prepared her adequately for the test, she said.
Then one day, the family sat together to discuss the matter and they decided unanimously to train Ulla properly for the test. Henceforth everyone in the family, even Ulla’s younger brother, would kick Ulla hard, at least thrice a day. “And no mercy, mind you,” said Ulla’s granny sternly. The boys laughed gleefully. They were already in the habit of doing it; but now they could do it with an official sanction.
“Ho, ho, Ulla,” they would say, “We are going to find the best of guys for you; don’t worry. But a good one doesn’t come along without a price.” And everyone agreed on this last piece of wisdom.
So day in and day out, with every summons from anyone of the family, Ulla had to press her teeth  and face a hard one, and that too without a protest.
Ulla started wondering what was really going on. Were they simply using her as a punching bag to vent  their anger for some reason? Or had they really found someone whom they were keen to make their son-in-law? There was nothing she could do but to wait and watch.
One day she lost her patience and turned around, and gave a good bashing up to her brother. His wailing brought everyone there and they were delirious with joy, as if they had heard the wailing of a new-born babe. Ulla’s feat deserved kudos according to them, not because her brother was a bully and deserved to get such a bashing up anyway, but because “Our darling Ulla can now pass the test in the first attempt,” they said.
Ulla was at a loss to make any sense out of this. “For God’s sake, put an end to this vaudeville and the absurd preliminaries. Show the bloody horse to me once and for all and I’ll know what to do. But let me see that cursed guy first!” she said once.
Everyone was alarmed and alerted at once, as if they had heard some blasphemy from her mouth. Her mother said, “Holy one, you are not to say such inauspicious things before your marriage. And another thing, more important: under no circumstances are you going to see the boy, nor is he going to catch a glimpse of you! Oh Lord, we know what tricks the boys and girls of this generation pick up from one another. In our times... "  And blah blah blah, she went on to say things which every new generation is bound to hear from the older one.
One day, Ulla was standing in the backyard watching a man loading a donkey with sacks of cotton. The donkey had been tolerant enough to bear the burden up to a point. But suddenly the wise one (the donkey) lost his (or was it she?) temper and kicked his master hard with his hind legs. It happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that the man fell flat on his back. The sight filled Ulla with such joy that she laughed to her heart’s content as never before.

In another household, a little further down, another scene was unfolding. Let’s call the guy Gwana, because anyway, we have to give him a name, though we need not be fussy about it. A man with any name will sound nasty all the same, and he has to, you know! What’s there in a (man’s) name?
It was time to find a bride for Gwana. Gwana was alright, I mean, he was strong, dark, tall, and all that, but oh, he was not rowdy, not a rascal, not a rogue; in fact, he was without all those abstract, intangible virtues expected in a boy of his age.
He was being given a ‘talking to’ by his father who was advising him, mind you, not admonishing! He was told how a boy of his age must thrive in the presence of someone who inspired fear, like for example, his own father, or better still, his grandfather. The girls should not be foolish enough to seek his attention but stand away in awe; they should not perceive him as their protector, but had better regard him as a threat to their very existence if they dared to disregard or disobey him. Gwana put on a deadpan face and pretended to listen obediently.
Actually he was nervous at the prospect of having to run, and then after that really vigorous start, go and kick the woman hard in her waist; that too in front of all the curious spectators! And what, if in spite of a good start, he lost nerve at the critical moment and failed to deliver the goods? What if that stupid nanny, instead of falling off, turned around and showed all her thirty two teeth to him in a wicked ‘hee hee’ of a triumph? In fact he was advised by one of his sagacious friends not to spare any of them, and go and kick them so hard as that it would knock the daylight out of their brains, because whoever they were, “As a rule, all of them deserve to be kicked anyway. Don’t expect them to be angels, you know! Especially the one who is going to withstand the kick is surely not going to be an angel,” he had said with the bright light of wisdom in his eyes.
“But then where would the angel be? Most likely to be among those who fall off!” Gwana had asked in a dilemma.
“The simple bait is not to marry, my dear friend. Because the rules are such that you are unlikely to marry an angel and the one you are likely to end up marrying is going to be far from an angel!” His friend had summed up the whole thing very wisely. But it left Gwana in a fix.
What do you think, my friends? After all, Gwana and Ulla were not a pair of star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet. At this stage, we can’t even say, like cock-sure philistines that marriages are made in heaven. If not Ulla and Gwana, then some other pair, until some of them hit it off, no matter who they are: any xyz and Ulla, or any xyz and Gwana, or who knows, Gwana and Ulla after all! Besides, Gwana did not know whether Ulla was an angel nor did Ulla know whether Gwana or that ‘bloody horse’, if you may put it that way, was indeed a guy whose kick was worth a goldmine.
I know, you are dying to know what happened next. But that after a little break! And by now, I must have left you guessing as to who I am: a hard-core feminist or a die-hard macho! Keep guessing. The answer is not hard to find.

Hello everybody; we are meeting after a long break; thanks for bearing with me.
The doomsday arrived. There was no need to get Ulla dressed up for the occasion; that could wait for another day. Gwana had a confidential talk with his sagacious friend before setting out on his mission of choosing the right one whom he was going to wed. Ulla had no such privilege; she had to trust her own instinct and luck; the latter was going to be more decisive than the former.
Somehow, Gwana’s aunt had come to know that Ulla was a delicate darling. She observed Gwana carefully to see if he too had got to know it. She was satisfied to see no such sign but still, to make doubly sure, she spoke loudly for everyone to hear, “Gwana will have to do his best; otherwise he will bring shame upon the family; the girl is quite sturdy.”
Gwana made his calculations: a sturdy girl; will need a hard knock. If she doesn’t fall, Gwana marries her. His friend gave him a knowing look. Gwana secretly sneaked inside to test his muscle-power.
His aunt however, had other plans. She had seen Gwana and his friend exchange a look. She smirked complacently. She knew how Gwana’s mind worked. Now Gwana will knock off Ulla and there will be a good chance to get him to marry her own niece.
Gwana set out, accompanied by his family, and of course, by his sagacious friend. He was nervous like a a warrior who was going to shoot in the dark.
When they reached Ulla’s house they were taken straight to the battleground, because it was not a custom among them to stand on ceremony on such occasions; they meant business!
Far from the spot from where Gwana was going to take a start, Ulla was sitting on a rock with her back turned on the spectators, gazing blankly in front of her.
But just before the ritual was to start, and before Gwana could afford a glimpse of Ulla from the rear, his aunt came running to him and pushed him out of view. She told him to wait and as everybody watched, wondering what she was up to, she rushed to Ulla’s mother uproariously and admonished her for making Ulla’s slender waist all too noticeable. Ulla’s mother was hurt and furious. In fact, she was following the rules honestly. Besides, she was a simple soul, incapable of any trickery.
In that hullaballoo, Ulla turned, and lo! The first one to set his eyes upon her was none else but Gwana. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and before anyone knew, Ulla turned her back on the scene, and sat as before, staring ahead blankly. But she had liked what she saw in that fraction of a second.
But now she feared the test. She had seen Gwana flexing his muscles in readiness, all set to deliver the great kick. Ulla recalled her rigorous training of the past one month and braced herself for the fateful blow.
That moment came. Ulla pressed her teeth together so hard that she bit her own lips. She was determined not to fall off the rock.
Gwana’s sagacious friend patted him on the back and reminded him to do his best, to put all the power in the punch and give a hard knock to the adversary sitting in front of him. Gwana nodded as he took a start.
Ulla waited breathlessly for the great knock-off! And good lord, it was a gentle knock, as if somebody had gently tapped on the door.
Gwana stopped, breathless with excitement and more out of nervousness. Ulla was there before his eyes, still sitting on the rock. He did not know if it was his nervousness that did the trick.
Ulla’s family was delirious with triumph. They all rallied around Ulla, everybody taking the credit for giving a real hard lesson to Ulla in the course of her training.
Gwana’s aunt was left wondering how this wisp of a girl could withstand the knock. She kept looking at Ulla’s slender waist; nothing had changed; Ulla’s waist was as slender as ever.
And so, my friends, Gwana married Ulla in the midst of all the hassle over dowry and the scenes made by his bad-tempered aunt.
What happened thereafter? I do not know. But let’s hope , they lived happily thereafter, forever.