PRINCE IN EXILE (39 page)

Sumantra chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t put even that past them. But no, I meant that they went into the woods armed only with knives. They then used the knives to carve bows and cut and shape arrows. It was with the bows and arrows that they carried out the actual hunting. That was always the way they liked to stage their contests, pitting not only their hunting abilities but their survival skills against one another.’ 

After waiting a moment for someone to comment or question him, the pradhan-mantri went on with exaggerated enthusiasm, ‘So it was almost impossible to measure and compare their tallies exactly, some kills clearly being more difficult to attain than others. And naturally enough, that led to arguments, growing more and more heated until it seemed inevitable that both pairs of brothers would come to blows.’ He shook his head, smiling wistfully. ‘But it never came to such a pass. Because, in the end, they would always turn to their father and ask him to decide. And Dasaratha, when he had a few minutes free from matters of state, would look over the two caches carefully, and pronounce his judgement. And once he had spoken, no matter which pair he had judged the winner, his verdict was accepted without objection or debate. And all four were friends once more. That night they would all feast and carouse over the roasting joints of their own catch, along with most of the city!’ 

There was a long silence after the prime minister had finished the story. All four of them sat silently, looking at the ground, at the squirrels dancing up and down the massive gnarled banyan trunk, listening to the calls of the monkeys rampaging through the treetops, the distant roars, grunts of boars and other assorted sounds from the wooded hills. Their horses snorted and neighed, having finished the oats that Sumantra had obtained from a nearby farmer while they had waited here beneath the tree at Rama’s request. Sumantra unpeeled a banana and raised it to his mouth, then paused and looked around. Except for a bite or two, none of their fruit had been touched. He put aside the banana uneaten. 

‘I suggest we rest awhile now, rajkumars, rajkumari. The day grows exceedingly hot, even for early spring. Had I time, I would have fetched a covered chariot, or even a wheelhouse, but even now it would pose no difficulty to find a suitable lodge where you may lay yourselves down for a few hours. After the sun has grown less stringent, we may resume our journey once more.’ 

‘Sumantra,’ Rama said quietly, ‘we cannot wait. We must continue on our way within the hour.’ 

Sumantra nodded, as if he had expected this response. ‘You wish to reach the Tamasa by tomorrow then?’ 

‘I wish to cross the Tamasa before sundown, and leave the borders before sunrise.’ 

Sumantra’s brow creased. ‘That would mean travelling without another halt. And … ‘ He shook his head, disapproving. ‘You would travel all night? But what purpose would that serve, my lord? Why not stay and camp by the Tamasa tonight? It is most pleasant there. I am sure Rajkumari Sita Janaki would enjoy—’ 

Rama placed his hand on Sumantra’s shoulder. ‘Good Sumantra, my mother Kaikeyi’s orders were crystal clear. I am to leave the borders of Kosala this very day. And I am to enter the Dandaka-van as fast as humanly possible. If it is not possible to do so tonight itself, then with the help of your speedy rath, we can certainly do so before sundown tomorrow. That will fulfil my mother’s wishes.’ 

Sumantra shrugged in acceptance. His face clouded briefly. ‘I do not know, though, how you can continue to call her mother. Even a clan-mother, which is all that Kaikeyi ever was to you, and even that in name alone. When a clan-mother acts as she has acted, she deserves no respect. By sending you into exile in Dandaka-van, Kaikeyi-rani—’ 

‘Enough.’ Rama rose to his feet. ‘I will hear no word against her. She only fulfilled the boons my father owed her. You will not sully her name by speaking ill of her to me or to anyone else.’ 

Sita and Lakshman had stood with Rama. Sumantra came to his feet too, wearily. He dusted crumbs of soil from his garments. ‘If that is your wish, then it will be as you say, my prince,’ he said. 

‘That is my wish,’ Rama said. He turned to go. 

Sumantra caught his arm, stopping him. ‘Rajkumar, hear me out. The Dandaka-van is no place to take a newly wed wife, a princess of Mithila no less. What life would you have there? Fending off wild beasts and asuras every hour? The demons of that dark forest are almost as legendary as Tataka’s brood in the Bhayanak-van.’ 

Rama did not speak, he only looked at Sumantra without any expression. It was Lakshman who asked curiously, ‘What would you have us do then, chacha?’ 

Sumantra gestured at their surroundings. ‘Why not stay somewhere in these very hills? They are remote enough for you to stay incognito. I can have a small lodge built in a few days in a location that does not come easily to human eyes. There is a clan of sutaars nearby, they are among the best house-builders in the kingdom. You can reside in that lodge and live out your exile. That way, you shall be close enough to Ayodhya to have all your needs supplied by me. Rani Kaikeyi need never come to know of it as long as she lives. Only say the word, and I will have it done.’ 

Rama looked at the pradhan-mantri a long moment, saying nothing. Finally, the minister released the prince’s arm and looked away, lowering his eyes. Rama turned and walked back to the horses, putting the yoke on them himself without waiting for Sumantra. Lakshman glanced back at Sumantra, as if wanting to say something, then went to help Rama. Sita hung back a moment, long enough to give Sumantra a squeeze on his shoulder, affectionate and compassionate.
As if I am the one who needs compassion rather than they. 

Sumantra fought back the tears that had started to brim in his eyes, and went to help the brothers horse the chariot. 

TEN 

It was early evening by the time they came to the Tamasa. They heard its roar and smelled its flower-strewn banks almost a mile before they reached it. Lakshman had taken the reins of the rath since midday and he brought the team to a gentle halt, turning the vehicle around in the clearing used by those who waited to take the ferry across. There were no people here at present: almost all travellers preferred to use the newer, manned ferry boats plying across the wider strait a mile or two downriver. This was precisely why Lakshman had suggested they cross at this relatively abandoned old crossing, to avoid meeting any more citizenry. 

A thick jute rope was tied to trees on both riverbanks, and passed through poles at either end of a large ancient balsawood raft. One had to pull oneself across the river by hand. Normally, Tamasa was a gentle, quiet river, but this was spring, and melting ice had given her more force than usual. There was also some danger from debris from the logging mills upriver, where the woods clans toiled to supply Ayodhya’s unceasing construction needs with timber. 

They de-yoked the horses, and tied them to a tree to give them a few moments to adjust to the river. It was decided to take the rath across first, with Sita and Sumantra holding it firm and Rama and Lakshman pulling the rope. The trip went without too much trouble, although the river’s force was hard to fight and both princes were hard pressed to pull the loaded raft the last few yards. Sita and Sumantra trundled the chariot off the raft, inadvertently bogging one side down in a wet muddy patch, and both Rama and Lakshman had to disembark as well to lend a hand. They got in the mud pit and pushed while Sita and the pradhan-mantri pulled the yokes. By the time they got the stubbornly stuck chariot wheel out of the mud patch, the two brothers were spattered from head to foot. Sita turned around and took one look at them and burst out laughing. Both grinned sheepishly, and washed themselves off in the river, each holding the other’s hand to keep from getting swept away. 

Sita stayed on the west bank, while the three men went back for the horses. From the outset there was trouble. The lead horse, a beautiful black stallion named Kamabha, was skittish around white water, and neighed and stamped his feet stubbornly when he was taken down to the river’s edge. Sumantra tried to coax him down, to no avail. It was Lakshman who was able to talk the horse into going down the bank, holding his head firmly when he flared his nostrils and tried to wheel around, and managed to get him on board the raft. The others followed Kamabha nervously but obediently. Rama poled them away from the bank, then pulled on the rope. Sumantra pulled as well, but Lakshman stayed with Kamabha, who was still exceedingly skittish and snorted every time the raft jiggled or shook. 

They were halfway across when the logs came downriver. From the looks of it, a rope must have snapped, or more likely an elephant had dropped its load at the sight of a water-snake or river-rat. The elephant seemed the more likely explanation: there were about a dozen roughly cut logs, just about what an elephant would be expected to carry at a time. They came sweeping around the bend, rubbing noisily against one another, striking the bank and pinwheeling around, climbing over each other with harsh rapping sounds. 

Sita saw them first, the three men being wholly occupied with the twinfold task of pulling the raft across as well as keeping the horses in control. She yelled a warning to them. Rama looked up and saw the oncoming logs and assessed the situation instantly. They were a little more than halfway across, too far to go back, not far enough across to be out of harm’s way. He shouted to Sumantra to pull harder, harder! Sumantra did so, his muscles standing out in corded relief as he strained with all his energy. Rama pulled too with all his might. But Lakshman’s hands were full with the skittish stallion, who had sensed danger in the air and chose that moment to start kicking out in panic. 

Sita sent a prayer to her devi as Rama dodged the stallion’s powerful back-kicks, while struggling simultaneously with the rope. If one of those kicks landed anywhere on Rama, they would smash bone certainly, likely do worse damage. But Rama had nowhere else to go to avoid the flailing hoofs. All he could do was hang out over the edge of the raft, pulling away on the rope without a pause. Worse, the other horses picked up on Kamabha’s panic and began turning their heads, tossing their manes and threatening to kick out at any moment. If they joined in the fray, there would be no way for Rama to avoid them. 

The logs chose that precise moment to strike. 

The bulk of the load had managed to get snarled up in a nasty tangle at the bend, rolling over each other noisily, scraping and groaning as they struggled to resume their downward course. They were all on the east bank, and with every muscle-wrenching yank, the raft pulled farther away from them and closer to safety. But when they were two-thirds of the way across, almost close enough for Sita to run and jump on to the raft, a solitary log freed itself from the tangle and swung round in elliptical circles, gaining momentum as it whirled around in the roaring torrent. Sita saw it and held her breath rather than yell another warning: the three men were struggling to cope with their existing problems, there wasn’t anything further they could do. She thought at first the log would turn around a few more times, then make its way downriver, bypassing the raft. And that was what seemed likely to happen. But then a fresh wave of meltwater joined the flow, creating an eddy. And at the last possible moment the log came around with greater force, and struck Rama’s side of the raft a hard glancing blow. 

The entire raft shuddered at the impact, starting to swing around at once. Sumantra lost one hand-grip on the rope, and the raft was twisted right out from beneath Rama’s feet. The horses went berserk, flailing like wild things rather than thoroughbred Kambhojas. Sita watched, horrified, as Rama clung to the rope for one agonising moment. She was at the water’s edge already, calling out to Sumantra, who was poling the raft the last few yards. The pradhan-mantri’s face was bathed in sweat, his cheeks red from the effort. Lakshman had grabbed the rope and pulled it as hard as he could, keeping out of the way of the snapping jaws of the horses. He was facing the wrong way to have seen what had happened to Rama. 

Rama swung out over the river, the raft already too far for him to reach with his feet. He managed to put one hand over the other on the rope, and Sita’s heart leaped with relief as she saw that he was going to pull himself to shore. The rope was strong enough to carry his weight easily - it had to be, to be able to pull a raft-load across the river. Rama put another hand over, then yet another … he would have made it in another two or three hand-lengths. But that was when the rest of the logjam chose to free itself from the tangled snarl, and resumed its downriver journey. The rolling logs swung out into the river’s flow, stretching out across the Tamasa’s width, and their far edges passed directly beneath Rama. Even though he had raised his feet to keep them well out of the water, two logs were still tumbling over each other as they turned, and the higher one struck the back of his ankle a slight blow. At that force and speed it was enough to dislodge him. Rama lost one hand-hold, then the other immediately after, and the next instant he was in the river, washed downstream along with the pile of logs. 

Sita screamed. 

Lakshman turned and saw Rama gone. He stopped pulling and would have raced to the far side of the raft, but by then the horses were completely out of control. Sumantra called to him to finish pulling and get them to the bank. Lakshman froze for a moment, then he saw Rama’s arm break the surface, flailing above the white rush. Sumantra shouted to him again to bring the raft to shore first, or they would all go into the river. 

Working with demonic strength, Lakshman pulled on the rope, bringing the raft the last yard or so to the west bank. The minute it struck shore, Sumantra ran the lead stallion on to solid ground. Kamabha’s fellows followed him in quick succession, leaping on to the bank. But the last horse’s rear hoofs slipped on the wet edge of the raft, knocking the vessel away from the bank, and as Sita watched, the beast slipped into the gap and fell into the river. It screamed in terror as the powerful current caught hold of it and yanked it away, kicking out madly, striking the muddy bank underfoot. But the current drove it away from the bank, and in another moment it was lost, floating downriver after Rama and the pile of logs. Barely a second or two had passed since Rama had fallen in. 

Lakshman shouted Rama’s name and let go the rope. He would have leapt into the river after Rama, but Sita shouted to him to stop. 

‘The horses!’ she yelled above the roar of the river. ‘Faster by land!’ 

Lakshman caught her meaning and instead leapt to the bank. Both of them caught hold of two of the unsaddled horses and, gripping their manes, vaulted on to their backs. The horses whinnied, startled, but they were on dry land again, and knew better than to throw off human riders. 

Sita turned the head of her horse and pressed him to a gallop, racing around the horseless chariot and the lead stallion, still fretting and giving Sumantra a hard time. The pradhan-mantri turned as they rode past. He shouted something incoherent to Lakshman that Sita didn’t catch, then she was well away and riding like the wind. 

Except for the low, muddy site of the raft crossing, the riverbank was a good yard higher than the water. Trees grew along the west bank but not very closely. Sita forced her horse to ride along the narrow patch of crumbly bank directly beside the water, bending to avoid the low-hanging boughs that stretched out over the river. Leaves caught in her hair, and branches raked her back, but her eyes were fixed on the roiling white water, searching for sign of Rama. She saw the horse first, snorting desperately as it struggled to keep its head above water. She scanned the river ahead anxiously, kicking her heels to keep her horse from slowing. 

Then she saw him, a dozen yards ahead. He had caught hold of a loose log and was clinging to it. She shouted excitedly to Lakshman, who was close on her heels, and pointed. He shouted back in acknowledgement. Rama was using his strength to swing the log around, trying to turn it just enough for the current to catch it and do the rest. It was a battle he was losing. Sita reined in her horse - despite the river’s force, it was slowing at this point, its banks growing wider apart. If only she had a rope she could toss to Rama to pull him ashore. Before she could even glance around for a tree with vines that could be used, she heard a loud splash just behind her and turned to see Lakshman in the river. He had leapt off his galloping horse!