Sita had been informed in advance by Jatayu and knew what to expect as they approached the landmass. They sailed into the maze-like water bodies that began at the coast. A mix of streams, rivers, lakes and flooded marshes, they formed a navigable channel into the heart of God’s own country. Charming at first glance, these waters could be treacherous; they constantly changed course in a land blessed with abundant water. As a result, new lakes came into being as old ones drained every few decades. Fortuitously, most of these backwaters were interconnected. If one knew how, one could navigate this watery labyrinth into the hinterland. But if one was not guided well, it was easy to get lost or grounded. And, in this relatively uninhabited area, populated with all kinds of dangerous animals, that could be a death sentence.
Sita’s ship sailed in this confusing mesh of waterways for over a week till it reached a nondescript channel. At first, she did not notice the three tall coconut trees at the entrance to the channel. The creepers that spread over the three trunks seemed fashioned into a jigsaw of axe-parts.
The channel led to a dead end, covered by a thick grove of trees. No sight of a dock where the ship could anchor. Sita frowned. She assumed that they would anchor mid-stream and meet some boats soon. Amazingly, the ship showed no signs of slowing down. In fact, the drumbeats of the pace-setters picked up a notch. As the rowers rowed to a faster beat, the vessel gathered speed, heading straight for the grove!
Sita was alone on the upper deck. She held the railings nervously and spoke aloud, ‘Slow down. We are too close.’
But her voice did not carry to Jatayu, who was on the secondary deck with his staff, supervising some intricate operations.
How can he not see this! The grove is right in front of us!
‘Jatayuji!’ screamed Sita in panic, sure now that the ship would soon run aground. She tightened her grip on the railing, bent low and braced herself. Ready for impact.
No impact. A mild jolt, a slight slowing, but the ship sailed on.
Sita raised her head. Confused.
The trees moved, effortlessly pushed aside by the ship! The vessel sailed deep into what should have been the grove. Sita bent over and looked into the water.
Her mouth fell open in awe.
By the great Lord Varun.
Floating trees were pushed aside as the ship moved into a hidden lagoon ahead. She looked back. The floating trees had moved back into position, hiding the secret lagoon as the ship sailed forward. Later, Jatayu would reveal to her that they were a special sub-species of the Sundari tree.
Sita smiled with wonder and shook her head. ‘What mysteries abound in the land of Lord Parshu Ram!’
She faced the front again, her eyes aglow.
And then, she froze in horror.
Rivers of blood!
Bang in front of her, in the distance, where the lagoon ended and the hills began, three streams of blood flowed in from different directions and merged into the cove.
It was believed that a long time ago, Lord Parshu Ram had massacred all the evil kings in India who were oppressing their people. Legend had it that when he finally stopped, his blood-drenched axe had spewed the tainted blood of those wicked kings in an act of self-purification. It had turned the river Malaprabha red.
But it’s just a legend!
Yet here she was, on a ship, seeing not one, but three rapid streams of blood disgorging into the lagoon.
Sita clutched her Rudraaksh pendant in fear as her heart rate raced. Lord Rudra, have mercy.
‘Sita is on her way, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi, as he entered the Hall of Hundred Pillars. ‘She should be in Agastyakootam in two or three weeks at most.’
Vishwamitra sat in the main ParshuRamEshwar temple in Agastyakootam. The temple was dedicated to the one that Lord Parshu Ram worshipped: Lord Rudra. He looked up from the manuscript he was reading.
‘That’s good news. Are all the preparations done?
‘Yes, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi. He extended his hand and held out a scroll. The seal had been broken. But it could still be recognised. It was the royal seal of the descendants of Anu. ‘And King Ashwapati has sent a message.’
Vishwamitra smiled with satisfaction. Ashwapati, the king of Kekaya, was the father of Kaikeyi and Emperor Dashrath’s father-in-law. That also made him the grandfather of Dashrath’s second son, Bharat. ‘So, he has seen the light and seeks to build new relationships.’
‘Ambition has its uses, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘Whether the ambition is for oneself or one’s progeny. I believe, an Ayodhya nobleman called General Mrigasya has shown …’
‘Guruji!’ A novice ran into the hall, panting with exertion.
Vishwamitra looked up, irritated.
‘Guruji, she is practising.’
Vishwamitra immediately rose to his feet. He quickly folded his hands together and paid his respects to the idols of Lord Rudra and Lord Parshu Ram. Then, he rushed out of the temple, followed closely by Arishtanemi and the novice.
They quickly mounted their horses and broke into a gallop. There was precious little time to lose.
Within a short while, they were exactly where they wanted to be. A small crowd had already gathered. On hallowed ground. Under a tower almost thirty metres in height, built of stone. Some heads were tilted upwards, towards a tiny wooden house built on top of the tower. Others sat on the ground, their eyes closed in bliss. Some were gently crying, rocking with emotions coursing through their being.
A glorious musical rendition wafted through the air. Divine fingers plucked the strings of an instrument seemingly fashioned by God himself. A woman, who had not stepped out of that house for years, was playing the Rudra Veena. An instrument named after the previous Mahadev. What was being performed was a raga that most Indian music aficionados would recognise. Some called it Raga Hindolam, others called it Raga Malkauns. A composition dedicated to the great Mahadev himself, Lord Rudra.
Vishwamitra rushed in as the others made way. He stopped at the base of the staircase at the entrance to the tower. The sound was soft, filtered by the wooden walls of the house. It was heavenly. Vishwamitra felt his heart instantly settle into the harmonic rhythm. Tears welled up in his eyes.
‘Wah, Annapoorna devi, wah,’ mouthed Vishwamitra, as though not wanting to break the spell with any superfluous sound, even that of his own voice.
According to Vishwamitra, Annapoorna was undoubtedly the greatest stringed-instrument player alive. But if she heard any such words of praise, she might stop her practice.
Hundreds had gathered, as if risen from the ground. Arishtanemi looked at them uncomfortably. He had never been happy about this.
Offering refuge to the estranged wife of the chief court musician of Lanka? A former favourite of Raavan himself?
Arishtanemi possessed a military mind. Given to strategic thought. Not for him the emotional swings of those passionately in love with music.
But he knew that his Guru did not agree with him. So he waited, patiently.
The raga continued to weave its ethereal magic.
‘It’s not blood, my sister,’ said Jatayu, looking at Sita.
Though Sita had not asked any question regarding the ‘rivers of blood’, the terror on her face made Jatayu want to ease her mind. She did not let go of her Rudraaksh pendant, but her face relaxed.
The Malayaputras, meanwhile, were anchoring the vessel to the floating jetty.