Sita bent and touched Vashishtha’s feet.
Vashishtha placed his hands on Sita’s head and said, ‘May you have the greatest blessing of all: May you be of service to our great motherland, India.’
‘Salutations, great Rishi.’
‘Salutations, great Vishnu.’
Chapter 28
Eleven months had passed since Ram, Sita, and Lakshman had left Ayodhya on their fourteen-year exile in the forest. And a lot had happened.
Dashrath had passed away in Ayodhya. The three of them had received this heartbreaking news while still in the Sapt Sindhu. Sita knew it had hurt Ram that he had not been able to perform the duties of an eldest son and conduct the funeral rites of his father. For most of his life, Ram had had almost no relationship with his father. Most Ayodhyans, including Dashrath, had blamed the ‘bad fate’ of Ram’s birth for the disastrous loss to Raavan at the Battle of Karachapa. It was only over the last few years that Ram and Dashrath had finally begun building a bond. But exile and death had forced them apart again. Returning to Ayodhya was not possible as that would break Lord Rudra’s law, but Ram had performed a yagna in the forest for the journey his father’s soul had undertaken.
Bharat had remained true to his word and placed Ram’s slippers on the throne of Ayodhya. He had begun to govern the empire as his brother’s regent. It could be said that Ram had been appointed emperor in absentia. An unorthodox move. But Bharat’s liberal and decentralising style of governance had made the decision palatable to the kingdoms within the Sapt Sindhu.
Ram, Lakshman, and Sita had travelled south. Primarily walking by the banks of rivers, they moved inland only when necessary. They had finally crossed the borders of the Sapt Sindhu near the kingdom of South Kosala, ruled by Ram’s maternal grandfather. Lakshman and Sita had suggested visiting South Kosala and resting there for a few months. But Ram believed that it was against the spirit of the punishment they were serving to exploit the comforts of the palace of royal relatives.
They had skirted South Kosala and travelled deeper southwest, approaching the forest lands of Dandakaranya. Lakshman and Ram had expressed some concern about travelling south of the Narmada. Lord Manu had banned the Sapt Sindhuans from crossing the Narmada to the South. If they did cross, they were not to return. Or, so it had been decreed. But Sita had pointed out that Indians had, for millennia, found creative ways to travel to the south of the Narmada without actually ‘crossing’ the river. She suggested that they follow the letter of Lord Manu’s law, but not the spirit.
While Ram was uncomfortable with this, Sita had managed to prevail. Living close to the coast was dangerous; Raavan controlled the western and eastern coastlines of the subcontinent. The safest place was deep inland, within the Dandakaranya; even if that meant being south of the Narmada. They had travelled in a southwesterly direction, so that the source of the west-flowing Narmada remained to their north. They had, thus, reached land that was geographically to the south of the Narmada without technically ‘crossing’ the river. They were now at the outskirts of a very large village, almost a small town.
‘What is this town called, Captain Jatayu?’ asked Ram, turning to the Malayaputra. ‘Do you know these people?’
Jatayu and fifteen of his soldiers had been trailing Ram, Sita, and Lakshman, ensuring their safety. As instructed by Sita, they had remained hidden. Ram and Lakshman did not know of their presence for a long time. However, despite their best efforts to stay hidden, Ram had begun to suspect that someone was shadowing them. Sita had not been sure how Ram would react to her seeking protection from some Malayaputras. So she had not told Ram about her decision to ask Jatayu to act as a bodyguard for them. However, as they crossed the borders of the Sapt Sindhu, the risks of assassination attempts had increased. Sita had finally been forced to introduce Jatayu to Ram. Trusting Sita, Ram had accepted the Malayaputra and his fifteen soldiers as members of his team. Together they were one short of twenty now; more defendable than a group of just three. Ram understood this.
‘It’s called Indrapur, Prince Ram,’ said Jatayu. ‘It is the biggest town in the area. I know Chief Shaktivel, its leader. I’m sure he will not mind our presence. It’s a festive season for them.’
‘Festivities are always good!’ said Lakshman, laughing jovially.
Ram said to Jatayu, ‘Do they celebrate Uttarayan as well?’
The Uttarayan marked the beginning of the northward movement of the sun across the horizon. This day marked the farthest that the nurturer of the world, the sun, moved away from those in the northern hemisphere. It would now begin its six-month journey back to the north. It was believed to be that part of the year which marked nature’s renewal. The death of the old. The birth of the new. It was, therefore, celebrated across practically all of the Indian subcontinent.
Jatayu frowned. ‘Of course they do, Prince Ram. Which Indian does not celebrate the Uttarayan? We are all aligned to the Sun God!’
‘That we are,’ said Sita. ‘Om Suryaya Namah.’
Everyone repeated the ancient chant, bowing to the Sun God. ‘Om Suryaya Namah.’
‘Perhaps, we can participate in their festivities,’ said Sita.
Jatayu smiled. ‘The Indrapurans are a martial, aggressive people and their celebrations can be a little rough.’
‘Rough?’ asked Ram.
‘Let’s just say you need bulls among men to be able to participate.’
‘Really? What’s this celebration called?’
‘It’s called Jallikattu.’
‘By the great Lord Rudra,’ whispered Ram. ‘This sounds similar to our Vrishbandhan festival … But very few play this game in the Sapt Sindhu anymore.’
Ram, Sita, Lakshman, Jatayu, and the bodyguards had just entered Indrapur. They had gone straight to the ground next to the town lake. It had been fenced in and prepared for the Jallikattu competition the next day. Crowds were milling around the fence, taking in the sights and sounds. Nobody was allowed to cross the fence into the ground. The bulls would be led there soon to acclimatise them for the competition the next day.
Jatayu had just explained the game of Jallikattu to them. It was, in its essence, a very simple game. The name literally meant a tied bag of coins. In this case, gold coins. The contestant had to yank this bag to be declared a winner. Simple? Not quite! The challenge lay in the place this bag of coins was tied. It was tied to the horns of a bull. Not any ordinary bull, mind you. It was a bull especially bred to be aggressive, strong and belligerent.
‘Yes, it is similar to Vrishbandhan, embracing the bull,’ explained Jatayu. ‘The game itself has been around for a long time, as you know. In fact, some say that it comes down from our Dwarka and Sangamtamil ancestors.’