Kaushik laughed louder and held his friend by the shoulder. ‘I have had the Somras often. And I’m sure even horse’s piss can’t taste worse!’
Divodas smiled broadly and put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. They sat on the boulder in companionable silence, watching the sacred Kaveri as it flowed gently by Mayuram, the small town that housed their gurukul. The town was a short distance from the sea, and the perfect location for this massive gurukul, which taught hundreds of young students. More importantly, it also offered specialised courses in higher studies in different fields of knowledge. Being close to the sea, students from the Sapt Sindhu in the North could conveniently sail down the eastern coast of India to the gurukul. Thus, they did not need to cross the Narmada River from the north to south, and violate the superstitious belief that instructed against it. Furthermore, this gurukul was close to the submerged, prehistoric land of Sangamtamil, which along with the submerged ancient land of Dwarka in western India, was one of the two fatherlands of Vedic culture. This made its location uniquely holy to the students.
Divodas braced his shoulders, as if gathering resolve.
Kaushik, knowing well the non-verbal cues of his friend, remarked, ‘What?’
Divodas took a deep breath. He knew this would be a difficult conversation. But he decided to try one more time. ‘Kaushik, listen to me. I know you want to help Trishanku. And, I agree with you. He needs help. He is a good man. Perhaps immature and naive, but a good man nonetheless. But he cannot become a Vayuputra. He failed their examination. He must accept that. It has nothing to do with how he looks or where he was born. It is about his capability.’
The Vayuputras were the tribe left behind by the previous Mahadev, Lord Rudra. They lived far beyond the western borders of India in a place called Pariha. The Vayuputras were tasked with supporting the next Vishnu, whenever he or she arose. And, of course, one of them would become the next Mahadev whenever Evil raised its dangerous head.
Kaushik stiffened. ‘The Vayuputras are intolerant towards the Vaanars and you know it.’
The Vaanars were a large, powerful, and reclusive tribe living on the banks of the great Tungabhadra River, north of the Kaveri. The Tungabhadra was a tributary of the Krishna River farther to the north. The tribe had a distinctly different appearance: Mostly short, stocky and very muscular, some of them were giant-like too. Their faces were framed with fine, facial hair, which ballooned into a beard at the jaw. Their mouths protruded outwards, and the skin around it was silken smooth and hairless. Their hirsute bodies sported thick, almost furry hair. To some prejudiced people, the Vaanars appeared like monkeys and thus, somehow, less human. It was said that similar tribes lived farther to the west of Pariha. One of their biggest and most ancient settlements was a land called Neanderthal or the valley of Neander.
‘What intolerance are you talking about?’ asked Divodas, his hand raised in question. ‘They accepted young Maruti into their fold, didn’t they? Maruti is a Vaanar too. But he has merit. Trishanku doesn’t!’
Kaushik would not be dissuaded. ‘Trishanku has been loyal to me. He asked for my help. I will help him!’
‘But Kaushik, how can you create your own version of Pariha? This is not wise …’
‘I have given him my word, Divodas. Will you help me or not?’
‘Kaushik, of course I will help! But, brother, listen …’
Suddenly a loud, feminine voice was heard from a distance. ‘Hey, Divodas!’
Kaushik and Divodas turned around. It was Nandini. Another teacher at the gurukul. And a friend to both. Kaushik cast a dark, injured look at Divodas, gritting his teeth softly.
‘Guruji …’
Vishwamitra’s eyes flew open, bringing him back to the present from an ancient, more-than-a-century-old memory.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi, his hands joined in a penitent Namaste. ‘But you had asked me to wake you when the students assembled.’
Vishwamitra sat up and gathered his angvastram. ‘Is Sita present?’
‘Yes, Guruji.’
Shvetaketu sat on a chair placed in a discreet corner. He was clearly elated to see all the twenty-five students of his gurukul gathered in the open square. Vishwamitra sat on the round platform built around the trunk of the main peepal tree. It was the seat of the teacher. The great Chief Malayaputra would teach his students, if only for one class. This was a rare honour for Shvetaketu and his students.
The teachers of the gurukul and the Malayaputras stood in silence behind Shvetaketu.
‘Have you learnt about our great ancient empires?’ asked Vishwamitra. ‘And the reasons for their rise and fall?’
All the students nodded in the affirmative.
‘All right, then someone tell me, why did the empire of the descendants of the great Emperor Bharat decline? An empire that flourished for centuries, was annihilated within just two generations. Why?’
Kaaml Raj raised his hand. Shvetaketu groaned softly.
‘Yes?’ asked Vishwamitra.
‘Guruji,’ answered Kaaml, ‘they were attacked by foreigners and had internal rebellions at the same time. They were like the kancha marbles we play with. Everyone from everywhere was hitting them again and again. How could the empire survive?’
Saying this, Kaaml guffawed uncontrollably, laughing as if he had just cracked the funniest joke in human history. Everyone else remained silent. A few students at the back held their heads in shame. Vishwamitra stared at Kaaml with a frozen expression. The same expression was then directed towards Shvetaketu.
Not for the first time, Shvetaketu considered sending young Kaaml back to his parents. He really was a strange, untrainable child.
Vishwamitra did not deign to respond to Kaaml and repeated his question, this time looking directly at Sita. But the princess of Mithila did not answer.
‘Bhoomi, why don’t you answer?’ asked Vishwamitra, using her gurukul name.
‘Because I am not sure, Guruji.’
Vishwamitra pointed to the front row. ‘Come here, child.’
Since her last visit to Mithila, Sita had preferred to be alone. She mostly sat at the back of the class. Her friend Radhika patted her back, encouraging her to go. As Sita came forward, Vishwamitra gestured for her to sit. Then he stared at her eyes closely. Very few sages were adept at reading people’s minds through their eyes. Vishwamitra was one such rare sage.
‘Tell me,’ said Vishwamitra, his eyes piercing through her mind. ‘Why did the Bhaaratas, the descendants of the great Emperor Bharat, disintegrate so suddenly?’
Sita felt very uncomfortable. She felt an overpowering urge to get up and run. But she knew she could not insult the great Maharishi. She chose to answer. ‘The Bhaaratas had a massive standing army. They could have easily fought on multiple battle fronts. But their warriors were …’