‘Interesting,’ said Sita. ‘I didn’t know it was so ancient.’
Many bulls, which would participate in the Jallikattu, were specially bred in the surrounding villages and within Indrapur itself. The owners took pride in finding the best bulls to breed with the local cows. And, they took even more pride in feeding, training and nurturing the beasts to become fierce fighters.
‘There are lands far to the east, outside India’s borders,’ said Jatayu, ‘where you find bull-fighting competitions as well. But in their case, the dice is loaded against the bulls. Those people keep the bulls hungry for a few days before the contest, to weaken them. Before the main bull-fighter gets into the ring, his team further weakens the beast considerably. They do this by making the poor bull run a long distance and stabbing it multiple times with long spears and blades. And despite weakening the bull so much, the bull-fighter still carries a weapon to fight the beast, and ultimately kill it.’
‘Cowards,’ said Lakshman. ‘There is no kshatriyahood in fighting that way.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jatayu. ‘In fact, even in the rare case that a bull survives that competition, it is never brought back into the arena again because it would have learnt how to fight. And that would tilt the scales in its favour instead of the bull-fighter. So, they always bring in a new, inexperienced bull.’
‘And, of course, this is not done in Jallikattu …’ said Ram.
‘Not at all. Here, the bull is well fed and kept strong and healthy, all the way. Nobody is allowed to spear or weaken it. Experienced bulls, which have performed well in previous competitions, are allowed to participate as well.’
‘That’s the way to do it,’ said Lakshman. ‘That will make it a fair fight.’
‘It gets even fairer,’ continued Jatayu. ‘None of the men competing against the bull are allowed to carry any weapons. Not even small knives. They only use their bare hands.’
Lakshman whistled softly. ‘That takes real courage.’
‘Yes, it does. In that other bull-fighting competition I told you about, the one outside India, the bulls almost always die and the men rarely suffer serious injury, let alone die. But in Jallikattu, the bulls never die. It’s the men who risk serious injury, even death.’
A soft, childish voice was heard. ‘That’s the way real men fight.’
Ram, Sita, Lakshman, and Jatayu turned almost in unison. A small child, perhaps six or seven years of age, stood before them. He had fair skin and small animated eyes. For his young age, he was extraordinarily hairy. His chest was puffed with pride. His arms akimbo as he surveyed the ground beyond the wooden fence.
He’s probably a Vaanar.
Sita went down on her knees and said, ‘Are you participating in the competition tomorrow, young man?’
The child’s body visibly deflated. His eyes downcast, he said, ‘I wanted to. But they say I cannot. Children are not allowed. By the great Lord Rudra, if I could compete I am sure I would defeat everyone.’
Sita smiled broadly. ‘I’m sure you would. What’s your name, son?’
‘My name is Angad.’
‘A-N-G-A-D!’
A loud booming voice was heard from a distance.
Angad turned around rapidly. Fear in his eyes. ‘My father’s coming … I gotta go …’
‘Wait …’ said Sita, stretching her hand out.
But Angad wriggled out and ran away quickly.
Sita rose up and turned towards Jatayu. ‘The name rang a bell, right?’
Jatayu nodded. ‘I didn’t recognise the face. But I know the name. That is Prince Angad. The son of King Vali of Kishkindha.’
Ram frowned. ‘That kingdom is deep in the south of Dandakaranya, right? Isn’t it aligned to …’
Ram was interrupted by another booming voice. ‘I’ll be damned!’
The crowd made way as the chief of Indrapur, Shaktivel, walked up to them. His voice aggressive. ‘You come to my town and nobody informs me?’
Shaktivel was a massive man. Swarthy. Tall. Muscled like an auroch bull, with a large belly, his arms and legs were like the trunks of a small tree. His most striking feature, however, was his extra-large moustache, which extended grandly down his cheeks. Despite his obvious strength, he was also getting on in age, as evidenced clearly by the many white hairs in his moustache and on his head. And, the wrinkles on his forehead.
Jatayu spoke calmly, ‘We’ve just arrived, Shaktivel. No need to lose your temper.’
To everyone present, Shaktivel’s eyes conveyed immense anger. Suddenly, he burst into loud laughter. ‘Jata, you stupid bugger! Come into my arms!’
Jatayu laughed as he embraced Shaktivel. ‘You will always be a ridiculous oaf, Shakti!’
Sita turned to Ram and arched an eyebrow. Amused at seeing two males express love for each other through expletives and curses. Ram smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
The crowds around began cheering loudly as the two friends held each other in a long and warm embrace. Clearly, the relationship meant a lot to them. Equally clearly, they were more brothers than friends. Finally, Shaktivel and Jatayu stepped back, still holding each other’s hands.
‘Who are your guests?’ asked Shaktivel. ‘Because they are my guests now!’
Jatayu smiled and held his friend’s shoulder, as he said, ‘Prince Ram, Princess Sita, and Prince Lakshman.’
Shaktivel’s eyes suddenly widened. He folded his hands together into a Namaste. ‘Wow … the royal family of Ayodhya itself. It is my honour. You must spend the night in my palace. And, of course, come and see the Jallikattu tomorrow.’
Ram politely returned Shaktivel’s Namaste. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. But it’s not correct for us to stay in your palace. We will stay in the forest close by. But we will certainly come for the competition tomorrow.’
Shaktivel had heard of Ram’s punishment, so he didn’t press the matter. ‘You could at least give me the pleasure of having dinner with you.’
Ram hesitated.
‘Nothing fashionable at my palace. Just a simple meal together in the forest.’
Ram smiled. ‘That would be welcome.’
‘Look at that one,’ whispered Lakshman to Sita and Ram.