RAMAYANA SERIES Part 4_KING OF DHARMA (73 page)

“Maatr…” Luv and Kush both said as one, not even aware they were saying the words. “…Save us.”

Then the enemy captain slashed his sword forward at Luv and Kush and the first wave of arrows flew at them through the air, perfectly aimed at their unprotected and wholly exposed position atop the rock face. 

EIGHT

Bharat and Shatrugan had tracked Aarohan’s company to the hills overlooking the valley, avoiding direct contact until they were able to discern what was happening. They had passed the dead victims of the snake exodus and blanched at the sight of the venom-blackened corpses, then cursed as they saw the survivors with their throats cut, understanding the situation as perfectly as if they had been there and seen and heard everything that transpired. They came up the slope to the top of the rise just before the King’s Guard archers unleashed their first volley. Veterans in warcraft, both brothers took in the scene in a flash: the archers ready to loose, the two boys on the rock overlooking the valley, the corpses strewn across the valley basin…and Aarohan with his sword held raised, ready to give the signal to loose. They reined in their lathered horses, staring intently across the valley.

“Sita’s sons!” Shatrugan said. “They are completely exposed on that rock.” 

Bharat saw. But there was nothing he or Shatrugan could do. They were on the far side of the valley. To reach Aarohan they would have to ride around the valley and that would take time. The rock on which the boys stood was detached and reachable only by climbing directly up the rock face, as the boys themselves must have done. It was a brilliantly selected vantage point for archers to position themselves and accounted for some of the corpses that lay in the valley but he knew bowcraft well enough to also know that only the most exceptional archers could have leveraged that advantage to rack up such a high body count. It was no wonder that Aarohan was furious with them, furious enough to launch this counter-attack. But the reaction was more devastating than the action that had provoked it. That first volley itself would rain down on the boys like hail on an exposed snail. There was nowhere they could hide and nothing they could do to protect themselves. The instant that first volley was unleashed at them, they would be dead. 

At that instant, Aarohan’s sword slashed forward, giving the signal to loose. 

“No!” Bharat cried, his words lost in the wind that whipped around the hillside on which they stood. 

The distance from the far hill side to the rock was not much more than a hundred yards. Close enough that the longbow archers of the King’s Guard did not even need to raise their bows. They aimed directly at the two targets on the rock, and their volley of arrows shot forward unerringly, all bunched close enough together that from this slightly angled viewpoint they resembled a single dark missile with a hundred individual barbs, racing to deliver death to the two sons of Sita. 

The time needed for the volley to cover the distance to the boys was barely a heartbeat. 

But before that heartbeat could elapse, something extraordinary happened. 

***

From where he stood, Bejoo could glimpse the line of archers on the hill top, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun with their bows raised, arrowheads pointed directly above him. He could not actually see the top of the rock face behind his position, but he knew that was their target. His heart was in his mouth too as he assessed the situation and came to the same obvious conclusion: The boys would not survive the first volley. More frustrating to him as a kshatriya was the fact that they had no way to defend themselves. That was a terrible way to die, far worse than being bitten by a dozen venomous snakes. 

But before the first volley could be loosed, the sounds of men advancing through the valley came to him and he swung around, bringing his attention back to his immediate surroundings. 

“They’re advancing, all right,” Somasra said a few yards to his right. The surviving veterans of Bejoo’s group had formed a single ragged line across this side of the valley, forming a one-man wall of resistance. It was unlikely to impede the progress of the enemy by more than a few moments but as soldiers it was their duty to stick to their mission to the end.
Not just our duty,
he reminded himself,
our dharma
. For they were not merely fighting a desperate suicidal action to save a few brahmins and sadhinis. They were fighting to uphold the values for which Ayodhya had once stood and which men like Pradhan Mantri Jabali and King’s Guard Captain Aarohan were trampling over like they did not matter anymore. This action itself was proof that those values mattered. To pit a whole company of archers against two boys, no matter how brilliant they might be at bowcraft…was it really necessary? He could not recall hearing Captain Aarohan calling out a demand for surrender. Clearly, the man intended to inflict his own summary judgement on the two striplings for having cost him so dearly. Never mind the fact that the boys had only been defending their loved ones and unarmed friends and doing what they had to in order to survive. Never mind the fact that kshatriya code required the Captain to at least ask them to lay down arms before taking action against them. Never mind anything anymore: this was the new way and the new age of Ayodhya. Either you are with us or against us. No middle path. No compromise. No mercy. 

And no dharma. 

Then, the Captain’s sword caught the sunlight as it slashed forward and Bejoo glimpsed the volley of arrows, thick as an elephant with a hundred barbed points, flying through the air to deliver the Captain’s verdict of summary execution. 

At the same instant, the soldiers waiting in the valley launched their attack with an explosion of noise and furore. It was obvious that the two actions were coordinated to be unleashed with the same signal: the release of the volley and the advance of the army. 

They will cut down the sons of Sita up there as they ram through us down here,
Bejoo thought grimly as he raised his sword to meet the rushing line of invaders. They seemed to come at him as thickly as the volley of arrows, holding nothing back this time. This would not be a fight anymore, it would be a juggernaut rolling over a minor obstacle. His mind flashed back to a moment similar to this one in so many ways: the siege of Mithila, when he had led a ragged but proud force of defenders against the overwhelming ocean of onrushing asura hordes despatched by Ravana, Lord of Lanka. He still recalled that day with crystal clarity. The asura wave had come at him like a gigantic tsunami wave. He had remembered thinking at that instant that he would not last a moment, that this stand was pointless, that they may as well have stayed in the city and awaited the invaders there. But he knew then as he knew now that of course it mattered, it mattered not whether they won or lost, but simply that they stood, proud men and warriors, shoulder to shoulder, facing certain death with raised chins and clear unblinking gazes, swords ready to inflict whatever damage possible, no matter how miniscule, upon that overwhelming enemy horde. 

Just as it mattered now. 

Even though they were rebels fighting against the very colors they had once defended with their lives, they were still fighting for the same cause. That cause was dharma, which Ayodhya had once stood for. And in their hearts, would always stand for. If anything, it was they who represented Ayodhya here, not that shiny-tunic band of ruffians with no more sense of dharma than the snakes that had thinned their ranks. The real Ayodhya was a place of the heart and mind and soul, not merely a city or kingdom-state. The real Ayodhya was the capital of the kingdom of dharma and it was that Ayodhya they had fought for all their lives, and for which they would die now. 

He raised his sword and cried with all the force he could muster from his age-hoarsened throat:
“AYODHYA ANASHYA!”
 

***

Luv and Kush saw the Captain of the King’s Guard slash his sword forward, giving the signal to release. And the first volley of arrows was loosed. Never before in their short lives had either boy seen such a sight. They had been in a fair number of scrapes, exchanged arrows with hostile archers on more than one occasion. But that had been forest fighting with uneven but still manageable odds. This was different. There were at least a hundred archers loosing at them at the same time, and they were only two, and there was no place to hide, nothing to shelter behind or under. There was nothing to do but watch as the barrage sped toward them, the very air seeming to grow still and the hail of death seeming to take eons rather than the single heartbeat required to cover the mere hundred yards to where they stood, waiting. 

|arvaci subhaghe bhava site vandamahe tva|

||yatha nah subhaghasasi yatha nah suphalasasi||

The shloka spun in his mind unbidden. It rose from his lips like hot breath exhaled. It filled the air around himself and his brother like a cloud of expanding smoke. 

|arvaci subhaghe bhava site vandamahe tva|

||yatha nah subhaghasasi yatha nah suphalasasi||

The arrows still continued to advance towards them. But surely far more than a heartbeat had passed since their loosing? Surely they ought to have reached their targets by now and Kush and he ought to be riddled with arrows, bleeding from dozens of fatal wounds, slender young bodies pierced beyond repair or rejuvenation? Surely we ought to be dead, Luv thought, mildly astonished. 

|arvaci subhaghe bhava site vandamahe tva|

||yatha nah subhaghasasi yatha nah suphalasasi||

Now he saw and heard the same shlokas issuing from his brother’s lips and mind, taking the shape of midnight blue smoke as it spewed forth. The dark smoke expanded outwards like a great cloud, covering the whole of the top of the rock now, then this end of the valley, then the entire valley…still continuing to spread. With each repetition, it grew farther until he knew that the whole world, not merely the mortal realm but all Creation itself was consumed by the cloud of brahman, for that was what it was, pure brahman shakti, the stuff of which all matter was made, as it had been in the Beginning when the Great Egg burst to release the cosmic brahman energy that made the universe. And despite the smoke he could see clearly, could view Luv standing beside him as clear as daylight, even though the sun was lost in a miasma of blue brahman energy, could see the archers across the gap, bow strings still rippling from the force of the loosing, see the arrows in mid air, traveling as sluggishly as snails across a glacier see every mote of light, every blade of grass, every insect, animal, hair and hide, being and unbeing that existed, had ever existed and would ever exist for all eternity. 

|arvaci subhaghe bhava site vandamahe tva|

||yatha nah subhaghasasi yatha nah suphalasasi||

And Luv could feel every emotion ever felt by every sentient creature, know everything that had ever been known, hear every sound, see every color…it was magnificent, it was beyond description, it was the heart of all existence itself. What else is God then but a collective of us all, living and unliving, being and unbeing, together in love and harmony forever? And that which you feel I feel and your pain is mine and mine is your’s and all we do affects us all, for God is love and we are love embodied and to hurt myself is to hurt you as well for there is no place where I end and you do not begin. 

|arvaci subhaghe bhava site vandamahe tva|

||yatha nah subhaghasasi yatha nah suphalasasi||

And Kush saw his father upon a great throne made of sunwood, the back of the seat shaped to resembled an effulgent sun spreading carved rays outward in every direction, and his father’s face was as foreboding as the sun itself at noonday, merciless and relentless in its heat of tapas, dark as the night yet lustrous as the moon, and in that face was a terrible fury, a rage as devastating as the anger that ended the cosmos at the end of each day of Brahma, as unendurable as the rage of the Three-Eyed One himself. And in that terrible rage Luv’s father said a single word more unbearable than speeches, more heart-rending than volumes. The word was: “
Exile.
” And it reverberated through the length of time like the beat of a dhol drum in a dark empty chamber. And Kush felt the word pierce his heart like a hundred arrows at once, like a hundred thousand arrows, like a hundred thousand times a hundred thousand arrows. And Luv felt a tear leave his right eye as Kush felt a tear leave his left eye and both tears combined to form a single tear large enough to drown all Creation and the sins of all beings past, present and future were washed clean by the innocence of that single tear. 

|arvaci subhaghe bhava site vandamahe tva|

||yatha nah subhaghasasi yatha nah suphalasasi||

And the being that was Luv-Kush felt a stirring in his heart and an answer to that single word spoken by his father, that word that had reduced his mother from a princess to a vagabond, from a devoted and loyal wife to a widow-in-all-but-name, from a proud and magnificent Queen Mother to a penniless sadhini in a remote forest ashram. And that answer was not rage, not fury, not frustration or a desire to respond to harm with more harm, but simply…denial. A refusal of anger, more terrible than anger itself. A denial of rage, more powerful than rage. A deflection of violence, against which there can be no defense and which renders violence itself meaningless. For what good is a blow if it never strikes its intended victim? Or an arrow that never reaches its target?