Prince of Dharma (48 page)

Young Dumma shuddered and looked around fearfully, as if expecting Shiva to appear right there and then and blast them all to nothingness. 

‘Kama was left bodiless. An-anga. He Who Has No Physical Body. From which word our hermitage is named Anangaashrama. Then Rati the wife of Kama ran to Brahma tearing her hair, beating her breast, and moaning inconsolably over the loss of her husband. Brahma, creator of all creatures great and small, promised Rati that when Shiva and Parvati were married, Kama would be restored to his body. Now the task of rousing Shiva fell to Parvati, who had to do so not only in order to regain her lost mate, but also to restore Kama, and to defeat the Yaksi Tataka. More determined than ever to succeed, Parvati began a severe penance abiding by the laws laid down by Shiva himself, the father of austerity. These ten laws, of course, are the cornerstone of our life here at Ananga-ashrama.’ 

Rishi Adhranga glanced at Vishwamitra, and Rama knew that he was tempted to spell out Shiva’s ten laws of penitential meditation. He was relieved when the rishi continued the tale instead. 

‘After millennia of self-inflicted austerity, the lovely Parvati had lost much of her beauty. Her spirit was as lean and withered as her body in the wake of such great tapasya. Yet still she toiled on in her attempt to rouse her beloved. And still Shiva failed to heed her prayers. 

‘Finally, when it seemed that Parvati must surely waste away to nothingness, a handsome young ascetic came to her and asked her why she inflicted such suffering on herself. When she told him the object of her penance, he laughed in disbelief and wondered if the strange and terrifying Shiva deserved the love of a woman so beautiful. The young ascetic then sought to arouse her desire for himself, promising to be a better husband to her than Shiva could ever be. Parvati was shocked to find herself responding to his caresses as she experienced an overpowering attraction to the handsome stranger. Disgusted at her own disloyalty, she resolved to take her own life once more rather than succumb to his advances. But just as she was about to reprise the self-immolation of her earlier avatar Sati, the ascetic revealed himself to be none other than Shiva, awoken at long last and only seeking to tease Parvati as she had teased and taunted him with her sexuality for so long in Kama’s Grove. The two of them then danced the tandav, the great and terrible dance of procreation, awakening the entire universe with their tantric sexuality, and at the moment of their joining, by using the formidable energies unleashed by their union, Lord Brahma was able to restore Kama to his body.’ 

Young Dumma heaved a great sigh of contentment. His fellows grinned and exchanged amused glances at his evident relief. Rishi Adhranga nodded indulgently and continued. 

‘Shiva and Parvati were lost for aeons in love-making on the peak of Mount Kailasa, where they made their home. Eventually the devas began despairing of what they had done, for it seemed that Shiva would never leave Parvati’s arms long enough to slay Tataka. But Parvati was mindful of their need, and bore Shiva a young son, Kartikeya. It was Kartikeya who went forth to put an end to the scourge of Tataka. Later, as we all know, Shiva and Parvati’s blessed union would yield another equally illustrious son, the mighty Ganesha. He who had his head lopped off by his own father and had to make do with the head of a baby elephant.’ 

‘But that is another story, for another time,’ said Vishwamitra hastily. ‘Thank you, Rishi Adhranga. Seldom have I heard the tale of Kama’s Folly told with such simple precision and accuracy. Truly, we are most pleased and honoured to have received the fruits of your katha-vidya.’ 

After Rama and Lakshman had added their own gratitude to the rishi, Vishwamitra steered the conversation back to the matter of their departure the next morning. ‘We shall require a raft to sail downriver. I am aware of the skill of your ashram in making balsa wood rafts. Perhaps your brahmacharyas could show my young companions how to make one tonight. We leave at daybreak.’ 

‘Even better,’ the rishi said, ‘my brahmacharyas will be happy to make such a vessel for your use. Of course, the young shishyas are welcome to watch and learn. We keep a supply of ready-cut balsa logs expressly for this purpose, and we are accustomed to lashing rafts together in an hour or two. My boys are quite happy to build one simply for the distraction it provides from their usual chores. I will see to it.’ 

From the ripple of excitement that spread through the brahmacharyas, it was evident that his acolytes agreed with this view. 

‘We are indebted to you for your grace and hospitality, rishiji,’ Vishwamitra said. 

Lakshman spoke up. ‘Mahadev, may I ask the rishi one last question?’ 

Vishwamitra nodded. ‘Go ahead, rajkumar.’ 

‘The katha you narrated so eloquently was mainly about Shiva and his epic meditation on the loss of his consort. Kamadev hardly plays much part in the whole story. Then why is this spot named after Kama?’ 

Rishi Adhranga smiled, turning his face to his shishyas, all of whom were smiling as well. 

Lakshman looked around, puzzled. ‘Did I say something unseemly?’ 

‘Not at all, shishya,’ the rishi replied. ‘It’s just that every time the katha of Kama’s Grove is narrated, the listener always asks this very same question. Who will answer this time?’ 

Dumma’s hand had shot up even before the rishi asked the question, Rama noted with amusement. Adhranga beamed at the young acolyte. 

‘Tonight seems to be your night to speak, young Dumma. Very well, perform this last service to our guests.’ 

Dumma spoke rapidly, his words tumbling one over the other like a series of child-acrobats at a country mela. It was obvious he had this answer down pat. ‘The story is not just about Lord Shiva and Devi Parvati, but about their great love for one another. A love that neither samay nor karma could tear asunder. It was for this reason that the devas sent Kama, god of love, to try to awaken Shiva from his deep meditation. Hence this spot is named in honour not just of the god of love but for the epic love of Shiva and Parvati. Kama’s Folly, Kama’s Grove, this is the most sacred lovers’ rendezvous in all the three worlds.’ 

He stopped to catch his breath, glanced at his teacher, then went on unexpectedly: ‘And good sirs, some day when you find your own life’s true love, then you would be well advised to visit this grove with your beloved and seal your bond in this most romantic of spots!’ 

Rishi Adhranga’s face lost its beatific smile and he sputtered indignantly: ‘How many times have I told you, Dumma! That is not part of our katha-vidya. You are not to repeat that last part ever again! Am I understood?’ 

Young Dumma’s face fell. ‘But guruji, they said you had changed your mind and I should make sure to tell our esteemed guests about this romantic side of our sacred shrine.’ 

Rishi Adhranga’s face turned dark. ‘Who said that? Show him to me!’ 

Young Dumma looked around at his fellows. They were all standing around with completely innocent expressions, as if they had no idea what had just transpired. He shifted uncomfortably, then hung his head, his babyish features curled into an appropriately contrite expression. 

‘Perhaps I mistook their words, guruji. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’ 

Rishi Adhranga scanned the faces of his acolytes intently. 

‘What are you all staring at? Go on and start fetching the material for the raft. You heard the brahmarishi. That raft has to be ready before daybreak. Get to work then, Shaivites. Om Namah Shiva.
Praised be the name of Shiva
.’ 

‘Om Namah Shiva,’ they repeated, and scuttled about busily. 

Adhranga caught sight of Dumma standing alone, waiting to be chastised further. ‘You too, Dumma. Go on and make yourself useful.’ 

Dumma grinned with relief and sprinted to join his fellows. Rama had the distinct impression that the young acolyte wasn’t quite as contrite about his lapse as he had looked earlier. 

Rishi Adhranga scowled and turned back to the princes and the brahmarishi. Vishwamitra seemed to be staring at a point high up on the trunk of a nearby jackfruit tree. Rama couldn’t tell if he was offended or amused by the young acolyte’s outburst. 

‘My apologies, brahmarishi,’ Adhranga said, looking irritated. ‘I have told him several times before that it would not be in our best interests to spread that legend once again.’ 

‘Once again, rishidev?’ Rama tried to keep his face straight and suitably serious. It took some effort. 

Rishi Adhranga sighed. ‘Until recently, perhaps just a hundred or so years ago, this place was a notorious lovers’ rendezvous. It was believed, you see, that couples who … um … consummated their relationship in this sacred grove would experience a bonding as eternal as the love of Shiva and Parvati.’ He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘It made things quite awkward for our order, as you can well imagine.’ 

‘Yes, indeed,’ Vishwamitra said, still keeping his eyes on the distant point. ‘We can well imagine.’ 

Rama and Lakshman looked at the brahmarishi curiously. 

Vishwamitra glanced at them, then added quickly: ‘We can imagine how awkward it must have been. Very, very awkward, no doubt.’ 

Adhranga nodded unhappily. ‘Couples sneaking through the grove all night, indulging in … grossly inappropriate behaviour … often while we were busy with our katha-vidya. And it would … distract some of our younger brahmacharyas while engrossed in their celibate studies. It’s hard maintaining celibacy when half the kingdom’s love-besotted couples are rolling about and squealing all around you.’ He shook his head, sighing. ‘Thank Shiva we don’t suffer those distractions any more.’ 

‘Yes, thanks be to Shiva.’ The brahmarishi was staring at the jackfruit tree, Rama realised suddenly, with a touch more concentration than was needed. Rama and Lakshman glanced at each other and turned their faces away, to avoid the rishi seeing the gouts of laughter that threatened to burst free. 

Rishi Adhranga shook his head. ‘I can tell you one thing, my friends. One hundred and twenty years old I am, and for almost that entire duration I have known only this ashram as home, devoted to the service of Shiva. But in all these many years, one thing that never seems to change is the shamelessness of young lovers in heat. Why, on one occasion, I was walking through the grove at dawn in search of some berries for our ritual—’ 

‘Excuse me, Rishiji,’ Vishwamitra cut in hastily. ‘But perhaps my companions could join your brahmacharyas and assist in preparing the vessel for our journey. And as we have to leave early, I have a few spiritual obligations of my own to perform before this night of Holi Purnima passes.’ 

‘Of course,’ Rishi Adhranga said. He beckoned to a passing acolyte. ‘Shambhu, our guests wish to observe how we make our rafts. Take them and treat them with respect. Brahmarishi, if you will follow me, I will escort you to the mandir we maintain on the north wall of the ashram. That would be the most appropriate place for you to offer your prayers.’ 

Rama and Lakshman nudged each other as they followed Shambhu to the far side of the clearing. ‘Was the brahmarishi suppressing his laughter or was that just my imagination?’ Lakshman asked. 

‘I think he was straining to hold back the loudest guffaw ever heard in the seven nations!’ Rama replied. 

Both of them laughed as they were led to where a group of brahmacharyas sat amidst a pile of freshly cut balsa wood logs, a pot of tar slowly melting over a cookfire, and vines and creepers they were weaving into ropes to use as lashings. They looked up as Rama and Lakshman approached. All of them rose suddenly, bowing deferentially to the princes. 

‘Be welcome, rajkumars of Ayodhya. We are honoured by your presence.’ 

Rama and Lakshman looked around, surprised. ‘I thought Shaivites renounced all worldly titles and hierarchies when they took their oaths,’ Rama said. 

The brahmacharyas looked at each other, grinning awkwardly. ‘That is so, rajkumar. But how can we ignore your royal stature?’ 

Rama went over and caught hold of the brahmacharya’s arm, taking him by surprise. ‘What is your name, my friend?’ 

‘Shankar, my lord,’ the surprised boy replied. 

‘Shankar,’ Rama said. ‘Feel my arm.’ 

‘Rajkumar?’ 

‘Go on, feel my arm. Squeeze it, bend it, pinch it if you like.’ 

Shankar looked around at his fellows as if wondering if he was being made the butt of some practical joke. Finally he turned back to Rama and looked at the prince’s hand. He reached out hesitantly and touched it. 

Rama nodded. ‘Go on, don’t be afraid. Squeeze it.’ 

Shankar squeezed Rama’s hand. 

‘Does it feel any different from your own?’