Prince of Dharma (108 page)

He answered his own question. ‘Of course you do. The great sage was blessed with a wife named Ahilya. An avatar of Ratri, the goddess of night, who herself was one of the countless avatars of Sri, the Mother-Goddess, creator of the universe. Ahilya was the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth. Her visage was said to be so splendid to behold that if she walked by the ocean at sunset, the sun god Surya would delay his descent, making the day last as long as she continued to walk, just so that he could gaze on her beauty. On one occasion, it was said, Gautama and Ahilya decided to sleep out of doors at night. The sun never set all that long night. After that, Ahilya decided she would sleep indoors to prevent causing nuisance to the other inhabitants of Prithvi. 

‘Talk of Ahilya’s beauty spread through the three worlds until one day it reached the ears of Lord Indra, raja of Swargalok, the realm of the devas. Apart from his prowess as a warrior, Indra was notorious for his love of feminine beauty and renowned for his mastery of the art of love. He descended to earth to gaze upon Ahilya’s beauty. He doubted that she could possibly be as beautiful as her admirers claimed, but Indra was a man who would stop a battle in order to dally with a mistress! So he visited the sage Gautama’s ashram near here, on the banks of the blessed Ganga.’ 

Bejoo spoke apologetically. ‘Forgive me, maha-dev, but a moment ago you spoke of the maharishi’s ashram on the outskirts of Visala. How then could it also be situated here, five miles upriver?’ 

The brahmarishi’s voice was forbidding. ‘That is part of the story, Captain. If you would only listen instead of interrupting like a kai-kai bird, you would learn the answer to that and several other questions as well.’ 

Rama glanced at Bejoo. The Vajra captain looked chastised but not put out. Evidently he had begun to feel some respect for the brahmarishi after all. Then again, Rama mused, perhaps it had something to do with the brahmarishi softening his attitude to the Vajra captain as well. The fact that Vishwamitra addressed Bejoo as ‘Captain’ instead of ‘Kshatriya’ even when scolding him just now was telling. Rama smiled to himself and turned his attention back to the brahmarishi’s tale. 

‘As I was saying, Indra came to the maharishi’s ashram to see Ahilya. But he did not wish to be recognised by either Ahilya or her venerated husband. So, as he often did on such escapades, Indra took the guise of sage Gautama himself. He also chose the moment of sunrise, when the sage was certain to be down by the river performing his morning ritual. 

‘Ahilya had just completed her morning ablutions and was enjoying a few moments’ respite before preparing breakfast for her husband. Her hair was wet, freshly washed in the river, and her ang-vastra was still drenched and clung to her ivory-pale body. She sat in the first rays of sunlight in a grove, drying her hair and body. In a moment she would rise and go within the ashram to dress and finish preparing the maharishi’s morning repast. But for now, she was content to sit there on a cot, stretching her limbs carelessly. 

‘As she sat there, she was unaware that she was being watched by a pair of eyes that belonged to one of the most lascivious men in the three worlds. For Indra had stopped in his tracks the instant he laid eyes on Ahilya. And he was watching her with rapt attention. 

‘Soon, Ahilya rose and went within the ashram. Indra’s eyes wept, for he had not blinked or looked away since seeing her. The deva was tumescent with uncontrollable desire. He could not resist the allure of Ahilya’s beauty. He decided there and then that he must have her. As it had done on many occasions before, Indra’s priapic lust overcame his sense of duty, and he stalked into the ashram to bed the wife of another man. 

‘He found Ahilya in her private room, in the very act of disrobing completely. The sight was too much for the deva to bear. He took hold of the sage’s wife and began to shower her with passionate kisses, all the while reciting praises of her beauty. Ahilya was taken aback at first. But to her innocent eyes, the man making love to her was her own husband. It was strange, she felt, that he had finished his morning ritual so quickly and that he was displaying such extraordinary passion at this early hour. For Gautama, though a bull among men, was a man of strict spiritual discipline and had perfect mastery of his appetites. Yet she was swept away by the sheer vehemence of Indra’s lovemaking and succumbed. 

‘But there came a moment in the heat of their passion when Indra’s control over his garb slipped momentarily. Just for a fraction of an instant, he was visible to Ahilya as himself, Lord Indra, raja of the devas. The moment passed in a flash, and then he appeared to be sage Gautama once more. An instant later, he reached the climax of his passion and spent himself. 

‘In that moment, Ahilya faced a terrible dilemma. Though she had seen through Indra’s disguise, the revelation had come too late for her to prevent her seduction. Had she seen the truth earlier, she might have stopped him or called to her husband for help. But at such a climactic moment, she could do nothing except throw him off. And knowing then that he was Indra himself, she was too shocked to act. The instant had passed and she had been used. The deed was done and nothing could change that fact.’ 

FIFTEEN 

Manthara wanted to kill the woman and be done with it. Wanted to go into the secret chamber, seal it with yet another cloaking mantra to ensure that even the most agonised of screams didn’t emerge as so much as a whisper of a whisper, and then kill Sumitra-maa. 

She still thought of the Third Queen as Sumitra-maa because her first role in this house had been that of wet-nurse, and all the wet-nurses referred to the queens as maa. But right now, it wasn’t Sumitra’s motherly stature that was filling her with rage, it was the impudence of the Third Queen. She had entered Manthara’s private rooms! She had violated her inner sanctum! And why? There could be no good reason for such an intrusion. Obviously the Third Queen suspected something after this morning’s encounter in the maharaja’s sick-chamber. 

Manthara had always thought of the frail, delicate, bird-like little queen as a koel. So pretty to look at, such delicate colouring and plumage. So sweet to hear. And so easy to crush. Just one bunched fist and the Third Queen would be a heap of crumpled bones and mangled flesh. Of all the people in the palace, Manthara had feared Kausalya, Guru Vashishta, Sumantra even. 

But never Sumitra-maa. And yet life had a way of surprising you sometimes. 

She had left her chambers in such a hurry, forgetting even to lock her doors. After all, nobody ever came there except Kaikeyi. And the Second Queen was in no condition to go wandering around right now; she was still lying in her bed in the same drug-addled state in which Manthara had kept her these past nine days. Soon, when the time was right for her to fulfil her lord’s final command, she would revive Kaikeyi and send her on one last mission. The last thrust of the dagger into the bleeding heart of Ayodhya’s royal house. 

But first she had to deal with this new nuisance. 

How had Sumitra-maa found the secret chamber? Had someone said something? Manthara cursed herself for not getting rid of that serving girl after the morning’s work was done. The girl knew too much. Not about the presence of the secret chamber, but she knew that Manthara had been paying the tantrik in the Old Quarter to kidnap Brahmin infants for her to offer as sacrifices. That was enough to destroy Manthara. Yet she had let the girl live. Why? Because she had been useful. And because the day of the lord’s coming was nigh. Any day now, Manthara’s true liege would ride through Ayodhya’s burning streets before an army of asuras and none of this would matter any more. 

But until that day came, Manthara had to abide by the rules of this world, this society. Which meant that she would have to deal with the Third Queen somehow. And quickly. She doubted the queen would be missed until morning, and even then a likely explanation could be cooked up to justify her absence. A spontaneous urge to travel to Gandahar perhaps, to follow her son Shatrugan to the seat of her family. She might have left unexpectedly in the middle of the night, taking only a serving girl or two and very few possessions - after all, she was going to her father’s house. 

Yes, that might do. Manthara thought she could use a maya spell to convince Susama-daiimaa of Sumitra’s unexpected night journey. And once Shatrugan and Lakshman’s wet-nurse was convinced, she in turn would pass on the news with unshakeable conviction to the rest of the palace. Nobody would suspect anything amiss or think to check with Gandahar; and even if someone did, or if a courier came from Gandahar and denied that Sumitra had ever arrived there, it would be too late. The invasion would have occurred by then, and nothing would matter any more. 

But it still left one vexing question. How was Manthara to deal with the Third Queen? She was still angry enough at the violation of her privacy to want to burst into the secret room and tear the woman to shreds. She licked her lips at the prospect. It was no challenge to sacrifice little boys; they were too terrified and much too small to struggle. But she had a feeling Sumitra would put up a good fight. Despite her apparently delicate physical appearance, the Third Queen seemed to harbour a deep inner strength that would make her a worthy opponent. 

Manthara’s lips curled in a smile. Yes, it would be interesting to kill the Third Queen and offer her up as a sacrifice to Ravana. She had no doubt she would be able to murder Sumitra-maa. After all, even if they were evenly matched physically—which she doubted—Manthara still possessed the powers given her by the Lord of Lanka. She would win easily, but it would be fun to let Sumitra think otherwise for a while. It would heighten the pleasure of the sport. 

And then, when she was done toying with the Third Queen, she would unleash her shakti and show the foolish woman her real face. Did she think she was dealing with merely a retired wet-nurse? A hunchbacked cripple? Stupid woman! She would see what Manthara was truly capable of. Manthara would show her how she dealt with those who tried to thwart her ambitions … and she would take her time showing her. 

The only question then left to answer was what to do about that stupid serving girl. Manthara had no doubt that the girl had outlived her usefulness and would now bring only needless risk. She must be dealt with at once. Very well. First she would go out and search the taverns and dance halls, find the wench, and kill her in some dark alley if possible, or bring her here and throw her into the hidden chamber as well, to be killed along with the Third Queen. Either way, Manthara would get rid of these two nuisances tonight, and tomorrow, when the word from Ravana came, she would embark on the final stage of their great master plan. And soon it would all be over. 

She raised her cowl, preparing to leave her chambers and go out once more, to search for the serving girl. Just then a voice came from the outer room. Manthara went out, frowning at this new intrusion. Her withered, arthritis-stricken hand twisted into a claw, ready to cast a maya spell at the visitor. Her heart thudded once, hard, at the thought that it might be Kausalyamaa, come in search of Sumitra. Then she remembered: Kausalya-maa hadn’t left the maharaja’s side since the guru had exorcised him. And before that, she hadn’t had any contact with Sumitra-maa all day. Sumitra had been acting entirely on her own, for the express purpose of proving her innocence to Kausalya. That was the beauty of it. 

Still, Manthara whispered the first syllables of a powerful mantra before she emerged into the outer room. If the visitor was an unwanted one, she would be that much closer to blasting the unfortunate intruder out of his or her shoes. 

The girl in the outer room swung around, startled at Manthara’s quiet appearance. ‘Mistress! I was about to leave. I thought you weren’t here.’ 

Manthara’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What brings you here at this hour, foolish thing?’ She couldn’t accept the fact that she had just been saved a long night’s searching through the more disreputable part of the city. Surely the serving girl’s appearance wasn’t just a lucky coincidence? 

The girl came forward excitedly, swaying slightly. She was quite drunk, Manthara saw—and smelled. ‘It’s about the coins you gave me, mistress. One of them’s a counterfeit! It has the maharaja’s seal and all on it, but it’s not pure gold as it should be, it’s only part gold, and part brass, and mostly silver.’ 

The girl held out a gold rupee embossed with the profile of a much younger and handsomer Dasaratha. 

Manthara recognised the coin well; it was one of a large batch she had had forged herself, providing the stolen king’s seal as well as the gold and silver portions. It was part of the earlier, more mundane phases of the Lord of Lanka’s master plan for undermining the strength and supremacy of Ayodhya and the House Suryavansha. Manthara commonly paid her accomplices in counterfeit coin: the scoundrels were doing dishonest work anyway, they were in no position to protest to the city magistrates! 

Manthara knew then that the serving girl was here alone, that her coming was destined. She took it as an omen that her success was assured tonight. She smiled invitingly at the girl, beckoning to her. 

‘Follow me then. I’ll take that back and pay you in the coin you deserve. In here.’ 

She led the serving girl into the pooja room and to the rear of the altar. The girl was too drunk to suspect anything, and by the time she realised where she was, it was too late. 

‘Mistress?’ she said, peering drunkenly into the dimness behind the altar. ‘What—’ 

Manthara shoved her as hard as she could. The serving girl gasped once and fell through the portal, into the secret room. The portal closed with the speed of an eye blinking. Manthara barely had time to see the Third Queen’s face before it winked shut.