Prince of Dharma by Ashok Banker Page A

have done all that is humanly possible. The matter is beyond the abilities of all Vedic science and Arya knowledge.’ 
    There was a brief pause as if she might have shaken her head slowly or gestured. 
     
    ‘Then let us appeal to those whose abilities are more than human.’ 
     
    She stepped up beside him, hands folded in a namaskaram, and bowed to a point directly above his head. 
     
    He raised his eyes and saw a portrait of the sacred trimurti— Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva—looking down at him, their open palms extended in blessing. 
     
    The image stayed with him as he hurried through the connecting corridor, the torches flickering in an unexpectedly cool draught of wind. His shadow fled before him, then ran behind each time he passed a torch, playing tricks with his mind. He thought about the events of this morning and wondered if he had been wise to go to Kausalya as he had. 
     
    In his heart, he had no doubt at all, only a warm glow. Making love to her again had been like nothing else he had ever experienced. And that look in her eyes when he had told her of his decision to step down? Would he see that expression in Second Queen Kaikeyi’s eyes when he told her the same news? He didn’t think so. And that last gesture, her determination to pray to the gods despite the final analysis of the physicians, that had caused his throat to choke with emotion. How could he have frittered away so many years in the arms of Kaikeyi and not come to Kausalya even once? All those times they had stood, sat or walked side by side at official functions and ceremonies and he had felt a kinship with her that he didn’t feel with any other woman; that feeling had been so right, and he had been so wrong to ignore it. But he had his reasons for that long absence and his only prayer now was that Kausalya would not press him to reveal those reasons. It was that he had dreaded most of all these many years: her questioning. He was grateful to have accomplished this much without being subjected to it. Yet he was filled with conflicting emotions, his guilt over the long absence vying with the lush sensual fulfilment he felt at being rejoined with his first true love. 
     
    The mixture of regret and joy was still visible on his face as he emerged from the connecting corridor and came face to face with Guru Vashishta. 
     
    ‘Gurudev, pranaam,’ he said, joining his hands respectfully before the seer. 
     
    ‘Pranaam, raje,’ the guru replied. ‘I see that you have been binding old wounds and weaving fresh bonds this morning. It is a good beginning to an auspicious day.’ 
     
    Dasaratha bowed his head silently, not sure what to say to that observation and knowing from long experience that it was best to say nothing rather than blurt out a foolish remark. The Kshatriya code demanded that even the proudest and fiercest warrior caste must bow before the spiritual superiority of a Brahmin. Yet Dasaratha bowed his head not simply to uphold the code but out of simple respect. Guru Vashishta had mentored fifty kings of the Suryavansha dynasty before Dasaratha, every single one of his ancestors dating back to clan-founder Ikshvaku and even beyond to Manu Lawmaker, the first Arya. For one thousand years, the greatest Suryavansha Kshatriyas had bowed before Vashishta. It was a formidable heritage. 
     
    The sage turned and began to walk, inviting Dasaratha to accompany him. Dasaratha found he had to strive to keep pace with the agile and slender guru who walked as decisively as he spoke. One thousand years older than me and I’m the one who walks like an ailing old man , he thought ruefully. Yet there was a time, not ten years ago, when he could at least keep up with the seer. For the tenth time that day, he cursed the nameless canker that had brought him to this decrepit state. 
     
    If the guru noticed his struggle to keep pace, he gave no sign of it. His manner was as businesslike as always when discussing formal matters with the