Sita's Ascent Read online

  ‘So, Indra waited for the husband to leave the hermitage. Then, transforming himself into the husband’s double, Indra approached Ahalya. Well … Indra seized the moment when Ahalya was alone. She had never felt the kind of desire that swept through her like a forest fire. For the first time she sensed something other than the desire to serve. It rushed through her body to see her husband, standing before her, seducing her. And so … she gave herself as she took him like the current of a river speeds the course of a boat. The current was swift and raging, and the banks along the river dissolved into the water. Ahalya had never thought of love. The joy of being, desire, being desired, giving and taking had unravelled for her the secrets of the dark of a woman’s body. And then, her husband returned to the hermitage to fetch the jar of water that he had left behind. He saw the couple in the throes of pleasure …’

  ‘Then what happened?’ asked the queen, genuinely startled by the turn of events in the story.

  ‘When Ahalya’s husband appeared, however great a sage or thinker he may have been, reflecting on grand things like immortality, the nature of life and death …’

  ‘Go on, go on,’ urged Janaka.

  ‘He cursed both his wife and Indra. Ahalya was shocked both at being deceived and “discovered” and she protested. But her husband would have none of it. In response to her protests, her husband uttered a curse. She turned to stone and remained that way for many, many, many years. Her husband did add a condition, though, even to the everlasting curse. That in the future, a man who was fair and sympathetic to the unjustly accused and who saw only the good in others would pass by. When he would touch the stone, the spell would be broken and she would be free.’

  ‘And such a man entered Dandaka just a few days ago?’ asked Sita, amazed.

  ‘Not only that, Your Highness,’ said the chariot driver, ‘he has also put an end to the terror in the forests by doing away with the wretched rakshasas, Tataka and Subahu.’

  ‘Wonder of wonders!’ said Janaka; Sita added, rather thoughtfully: ‘And you say such a man is on his way?’

  Soorpanakka

  Lava, Urmilla and Valmiki had now fashioned the perfect handheld catapult. Urmilla had collected the gut strings from carcasses in the forest on her earlier expeditions in search of herbs for her ointments. She had created a strap that enabled the catapult to be elastic enough for Lava’s small hands. Standing behind him, she held his hand, which encircled a large reetha soap nut, with the gut string firmly wound around his left thumb and index finger. The right pulled and released the reetha soap nut into space with sufficient force, so that by its volition it struck the guava dangling from the top branch. It hit the ground with a soft thud as the parrots fluttered out in a trail, shrieking. It was Lava’s first conquest. He jumped with glee. ‘My, what a marksman you are, Lava! Be careful what you aim for,’ Urmilla said, bursting with pride.

  ‘So, Lava, full marks on the aim, timing, focusing on target and concentration. What we travelled across was distance. That was a fruit. Tomorrow it could be an animal. All these have life.’ What Valmiki wanted to add was ‘and one day it will be your own thought that will propel your action; so heed your intention, dear Lava, as the world will depend on it’, but the epic poet in him couldn’t brave being so prosaic at a moment of such triumph in Lava’s animated life.

  Lava’s face furrowed. ‘What do you mean? We need to eat, and they are there for us,’ he said with indignant authority.

  ‘Spoken like a king, my dear, mm … but not a wise and loving one,’ said Urmilla, reading Valmiki’s disapproval.

  ‘Yes, but consider that the fruit, birds, all creatures, this earth too, are generous in giving—consciously or unconsciously. Let me tell you a story. When I’ve finished, I want you to tell me what you can see inside your mind’s eye as you are listening to it. Okay?’ Lava was all ears with his chin cupped in his hands. He had stretched out, lying on his stomach on the cool forest floor, gazing up at Valmiki who had entered the galaxy of his story. The words from Valmiki’s voice flowed like a mist encircling his audience of Lava, Urmilla and the inhabitants of the entire forest, from the minutest algae to the mightiest carnivores. The afternoon heat began to dissolve as his voice took on an even timbre, harmonizing with the sound of the rippling forest stream. But at any relevant moment within the story, Valmiki could leap out of his skin with the force of a tiger to ask a question about the here and now.

  ‘It was a time of change. Change never happens suddenly, although it may seem so. Like a rock chipping away from a boulder, hurtling towards a rapid river.

  ‘Sage Rishyasringa could see the flames from the altar rising like a winged messenger from the belly of the earth to the sky. At the auspicious hour of the ritual it was still dark. It had to be, because the time that the gods watch over the world is 4 a.m. It is also the hour of our deepest rest when the imagination and gods are at play. The sage could see the flames like a cord of hope rising from human prayers to the gods in the heavens. At that very moment the devas, or “shining ones”, were having a conference and had gathered outside Brahma’s Assembly Hall. Devaloka is made up of gods, or shining ones, and above them are the mahadevas, whom I call the Greats—they are Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. At the time of the Ashwamedha, as Rishyasringa watched the flames from the altar on earth reaching the heavens, or Vaikunta, Vishnu was in a highly confidential discussion with Brahma. A new situation had been created that was to spell the fate of the world.

  ‘After the Big Bang and the creation of the universe, there was a time of famine and drought brought on by neglect. Some of the gods turned into ferocious and ever-hungry creatures that became ogres, monsters and demons known as asuras. In time, Ravana, the descendent of an ogre, conquered all the other asuras. He then prayed fervently to Shiva for a vardana, or boon. It was not a simple prayer of bending on a knee with folded hands and making a special wish. Ravana had to do something spectacular. Only he could; he was strong, skilful and brave and also deeply misunderstood, which made him very lonely. He loved being noticed. So, he hung upside down from a tree over a fire and thought of nothing and no one except Shiva for forty years. He wasn’t noticed. He decided to climb down and see what he could do for the gods who were a little worried about crossing the bridge of Devaloka into the human world, as a serpent was threatening them. The gods didn’t want to get their hands, silks, crowns and jewels dirty, so Ravana decided to help them and killed the serpent. Finally, he had a vision of Shiva. Shiva the Great was delighted by his penance and asked him what his wish was. Ravana replied, “I wish for immortality. You know what I mean. Life, forever and beyond ever!”

  ‘Shiva simply said: “Sorry, most-competent-of-all Asura, but you cannot have it. It is reserved. Your labours and devotion to seek my attention are seriously impressive. So, sorry. Some can have life everlasting, but unfortunately you are not born to.”

  ‘Ravana would not return disappointed. He huffed and he puffed as he stamped down on the big smoky coils of his fury that were flying out like clouds of stinging mosquitoes. Then he asked the Great Shiva if he could be made invincible against the gods, so that none could injure or kill him. It seemed a fair deal. Shiva, always known for his generosity, was pleased with what seemed like Ravana’s compromise and the wish was granted.

  ‘Ravana was given the beautiful island of Lanka to rule over. He ruled well, became terrifyingly powerful and was a law unto himself. His arts of magic and cloning of the existing worlds began to trouble the gods. And, thanks to Shiva, no one, not even Indra, the chieftain of the devas and godfather of the heavens, could devise a strategy that would keep Ravana in check. The fate of the heavens was at stake because Ravana was beginning to invade peoples’ minds with dreams and illusions of power in pursuit of personal gain harmful to others. This brought in its wake greed, conquest, discontent and a disregard for humanity. It was the reversal of aspiration, achievement and fulfilment—the profound ideals that are the essence of being human. This was why the devas ha
d gathered outside Brahma’s Assembly Hall; they wanted to know what was the antidote to Shiva’s boon of near immortality that had been granted to Ravana.

  ‘Down on earth, Rishyasringa was placing sacred barks and twigs with pure ghee as oblation on the ritual fire, while in Devaloka, Brahma waited breathlessly for Vishnu’s decision.

  ‘But Vishnu smiled charmingly as he said, “You mean … Ravana is causing all this … by himself?”

  ‘Brahma was embarrassed. He coughed slightly. On earth, it caused rolling thunder in the sky. He knew what Vishnu was implying. What were the devas doing, indulging in all the luxuries of heaven, enjoying immortality and neglecting people, while one asura had such amazing powers to destroy the universe? Brahma admitted to himself that it was time he made cuts on some executive privileges and extravagant personal expenses of the devas. “Well … er, hmmm …” was all he could say. On earth everyone felt an earthquake.

  ‘Shiva had just entered the Great Assembly Hall. He was frowning. Nandi, his wise old bull who accompanied him everywhere, was fidgety and whisked his tail. It got entangled in Shiva’s cascading locks of hair. “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Shiva said to Nandi. “Well, I think it’s time you had a haircut and I think it’s time you took some responsibility for all the mess the world is in!” was Nandi’s sharp reply.

  ‘“Order! Order!” said Brahma. “What does it look like? The devas are waiting for us to do something about Creation, Dasaratha is holding a yagna sacrifice calling on the gods to give him and his three wives children, and we are behaving like urchins fighting in the gutter over a tired allegation like a bone spat out by a dog!”

  ‘“Are you all blaming me?” asked Shiva, genuinely perplexed, and glared at Nandi. “I had nothing to do with it. Ravana worked very hard at contacting me. Not only that, he showed such promise. He’s bright, hands-on and doesn’t leave the hard work for others to do. He has spectacular ideas and he knows how to make them happen.”

  ‘“But surely,” Nandi cut in, “you must screen who you grant boons to and give some thought to what kind of boons you grant?”

  ‘Vishnu was listening and, with his mischievous crooked smile, said, “I remember how Ravana taunted me in the last encounter.” “Yes,” Shiva said eagerly, having found an ally, “that’s right Vishnu, you tell them. When Ravana was in the form of Nandaka and got a little out of hand about the immortality business, I did try to burn him with my third eye, didn’t I? Just tell them.”

  ‘“Yes,” said Nandi a little cheekily, “you’re so generous about keeping your promises—you gave him a diamond finger so he could kill anything and anyone just by pointing it at them.”

  ‘“He threatened everyone, even the gods,” said Brahma and continued, “Thank goodness, Vishnu had the good sense to enchant him in the guise of a female dancer and …”

  ‘“Yes, that was sooper!” said Shiva, who is also the creator of dance, “You got him to copy all your movements and then pointed your finger to your thigh and when he did the same … Ba-buh-bah-Booommm! He exploded!” They all laughed uproariously. The thunder rolled, lightning struck and the wind howled as if with laughter.

  ‘On earth, Rishyasringa, dipped the sacred kusa grass in the loshta vessel, and raised it to the heavens in an urgent prayer for divine intervention. The sacred flames grew higher.

  ‘Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva could feel the amber glow of its warmth. The laughter subsided. Vishnu said, “It is time. When I destroyed Ravana the last time, he mocked me saying I had deceived him as a woman and it wasn’t fair. Now I must fight him as a man.”

  ‘Nandi sighed.

  ‘“I will be born as Dasaratha’s son,” said Vishnu decisively and smiled.

  ‘Brahma and Shiva embraced their friend and, speaking as one, said, “You will forget where you have come from. You will fight with the heart and mind of a man. Our energy is always there for you to draw from. It will help you triumph. But do not forget that every cell of creation, every atom of being, is light. Keep truth and love as your weapons against the dark forces of delusion. That will make everything return to light, where everything belongs. Remember, you are not alone.”

  ‘Some of the brighter devas who had gathered outside were able to tune into the frequency of the airwaves in which Brahma and Shiva were speaking. They led the chorus in Devaloka: “Truth Will Triumph with Light; No More Delusion and Darkness … Truth Will Triumph with Light!”

  ‘On earth the wind stopped howling. Everyone looked up. The clouds were clearing and a soft amethyst glow spread across the sky. There was a light shower of rain and then the warm, moist air filled with a scattering of fragrant kannakambaram and mallika petals and tulasi leaves. “Very auspicious signs, a good omen!” the crowds of Ayodhya murmured.

  ‘In Ayodhya, the eagle-shaped enclosure reserved for royal religious ceremonies was studded with rubies and emeralds encased in gold. King Dasaratha sat inside it, with his three wives seated on each side of the square fire altar. Agni was the fire deva creating a bridge with his golden cord of flames between earth and Devaloka. Agni in the form of pure fire was always called upon to translate people’s prayers to the Greats and be the bridge between human longing and its fulfilment.

  ‘Dasaratha had been listening to all the sacred and purifying chants with concentration. When it was time to offer his personal prayers, he washed his hands with the gulak water and folded his palms. Eyes closed, he prayed with intense longing, and love, for a son and an heir.

  ‘More sacred herbs, roots and fragmented barks of tree were delicately cast into the sacrificial fire. The golden flames began to rise gently at first and then to leap. In the midst of it, a golden figure appeared. Through the veil of fire it looked at first like a golden lion sitting on its haunches. The flames and the fur were of the same burnished gold. It roared within the blazing fire. As the lion seemed to descend from the sky like a chariot of the devas within the diminishing flames, it turned into a goddess. She was dressed in gold with blood-red and dark blue gems glistening about her neck, wrists, ears, head and feet. She held a golden bowl with a carved lid. It was an awesome sight. Dasaratha was dazed and speechless. He stood with hands outstretched to salute the goddess; instead, he found he was holding the golden bowl. It was not a figment of his imagination! When he looked again, the goddess had vanished and the golden flames were dancing, kissing and crackling.

  ‘As he held the precious bowl, he looked at Rishyasringa. Dasaratha did not want to do anything that would interfere or disrespect the ritual. He was visibly trembling with excitement when he was signalled to open it. It was payasam, the food of the gods. It tasted like the nectar of goodness. He offered a ladle of it to his first wife, Kausalya. She tasted it, thinking “Ummm …” and, with great dignity, ate the payasam. He then gave another ladleful to Queen Sumitra, his second wife—“Umm … this is out of the world,” she couldn’t help thinking and wanted more, but Dasaratha was by then offering a ladle of the payasam to Queen Kaikeyi, his luscious third wife. Dasaratha could not resist the look in Queen Sumitra’s twinkling eyes and decided to give her what was remaining in the vessel. A few more ceremonies were conducted till the sun emerged like a vermilion dot on the forehead of the sky. The ritual would be embedded in the memory of everyone in Kosala for generations to come. The bridge of longing had been crossed; the king and his queens had arrived on the banks of their fulfilment.

  ‘A few moments ago the Greats were having their exclusive meeting that resulted in Vishnu going down to earth. Just outside the Great Assembly Hall, the Great Wives—Saraswati, Lakshmi and Parvati—were at the gathering of the gods. Brahma loved his Saraswati for her wide knowledge, the rhythmical and clear words she chose to define things, beings and situations. Here she was, listening to the devas and their suffering as a result of Ravana’s masquerades. She was placing their grievances in categories, creating arguments and labelling them with observations so that if a trial were to be held, there would be a source of evi
dence of the crimes. In another part of the gathering, some goddesses were insinuating and Parvati was defending her Shiva. She was holding on to Ganesha, her son, so that he wouldn’t get lost among the crowd of adult devas. He was busy rubbing his trunk and his belly. The devas were always careful when they spoke to Parvati. She had rather extreme means of sorting out nuisances. Without a doubt, she was loved by all as a benign mother of humanity. But in a flash she could turn into Kali, a ferocious mother, if she perceived any threat to Creation. She was reputed for matching a vicious asura in terror and strength and finally killing him.

  ‘Ganesha suddenly saw his favourite aunt, goddess Lakshmi. He waddled speedily to her side as she was offering a tray of heavenly laddoos latticed with cardamom, roasted cashew nuts, ghee and honey. Lakshmi had brought these back from the yearly ocean-of-consciousness holiday that she and Vishnu had just been on. Ganesha took her blessings and began to pick and eat the laddoos with the speed and skill of a juggling dancer, bringing merriment to the gathering. Lakshmi was comforting those who had lost their health and wealth at the hands of Ravana. She admired the humility and courage that some of these devas showed in wanting to go down to earth as humans, animals, mountains, herbs, in short anything, to restore safety and happiness to the world. But everyone was waiting to hear the decision of the Greats.

  ‘Suddenly there was a big Twaannngh! It sounded like the plucking of a string of a gigantic musical instrument. Everyone whirled around. A woman, one of Lakshmi’s maids of honour, came running in, wailing and spluttering, “How could he! Oh, whose face did I see this morning that such bad tidings should be heard! Please, all you devas and devis, forgive me. I was only doing my duty to my goddess Lakshmi by keeping trespassers out. And now, this … the curse … what will we ever do …” and on and on she wailed. Everyone whirled around again to see Lakshmi’s reaction. But she wasn’t there. She had vanished.