Ashok Banker by Prince of Ayodhya

Author:Prince of Ayodhya [Ayodhya, Prince of]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-27T02:46:43+00:00

2

They came quickly but cautiously, their bodies glistening with the wet mist of river spray They were all but naked, clad only in white cotton langots that covered their maleness, in the style of all rakshaks, the kshatriya clan designated with the guarding of life and property. Slabs of muscle rippled on their oiled torsos and thighs, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Their faces were broad and fleshy, their skin as dark as Rama’s hair, heads glistening darkly, unprotected from the harsh sun. They were so similar in appearance, Rama could hardly tell them apart at first.

“Punditji,” the first one said curtly to the seer, “are you lost? The way to Ayodhya lies behind you.”

“Well met, rakshaks,” Vishwamitra replied cheerfully in his new role as pundit. “And greetings to you on this feast day. Regretfully, my holy business takes me in the opposite direction of the Holi mela at our great capital city. My young apprentices were quite sullen about not being permitted to partake of Maharaja Dasaratha’s munificent hospitality. I admit I, too, would not have been averse to enjoying the exotic sights and sounds of the celebration. However, I am bound for Ananga-ashrama on a holy errand and must reach it before nightfall.”

The two rakshaks exchanged a troubled glance. “Ananga-ashrama? This very day? Can’t your business wait a day or three, pundit? Our advice is, return to the capital and take advantage of the maharaja’s hospitality for the duration of the seven-day celebration. Nightfall is not long coming. You will be safer within the walls of Ayodhya. Come this way again next Somvar, and we will wish you good journey and let you pass without question.”

Rama saw a frown crinkle the face of the brahmarishi. He tried hard to keep a straight face: the sight of Vishwamitra posing as a plump pundit was incongruous to the point of hilarity. Yet it was an impressively effective disguise. He touched his own face and felt a weaker jaw and fleshier cheeks, a bulbous nose.

The inclination to smile faded at once as he realized how foolish he, too, must look. But what, exactly, does the brahmarishi fear? The bridge guard can’t be spies, too, can they? Come to think of it, why couldn’t they be spies? With a shock he realized that all his assumptions might have to be altered to suit the new reality they were facing.

“Alas, brave protectors, my journey must be completed this day itself, or my karya will be bhung. What lies ahead that makes the way so perilous? We are at peace yet with all our neighbors, are we not?”

The rakshak snorted. “Not for long, if Maharaja Dasaratha stays as docile as he has been for so long.”

His companion shot him a warning glance. Rama thought the second rakshak was an older man, although it was hard to tell without hair. He spoke less curtly than his partner, with some modicum of respect. The older rakshak seemed apologetic about his young companion. Father and son, Rama realized.

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