chapter 1

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3400 BCE, somewhere near the Godavari River, India

Ram crouched low as he bent his tall, lean and muscular frame. He rested his weight on

his right knee as he held the bow steady. The arrow was fixed in place, but he knew that

the bowstring should not be pulled too early. He didn't want his muscles to tire out. He

had to wait for the perfect moment. It must be a clean strike.

'It's moving, Dada,' whispered Lakshman to his elder brother.

Ram didn't reply. His eyes were fixed on the target. A light breeze played with the few

strands of hair that had escaped the practical bun atop his head. His shaggy, unkempt

beard and his white dhoti gently fluttered in the breeze. Ram corrected his angle as he

factored in the strength and direction of the wind. He quietly cast his white angvastram

aside to reveal a battle-scarred, dark-skinned torso. The cloth should not interfere with

the release of the arrow.

The deer suddenly came to a standstill as it looked up; perhaps instinct had kicked in

with some warning signals. Ram could hear its low snort as it stomped its feet uneasily.

Within a few seconds it went back to chewing leaves as silence prevailed. The rest of

the herd was a short distance away, hidden from view by the dense foliage of the forest.

'By the great Lord Parshu Ram, it ignored its instincts,' said Lakshman softly. 'Thank

the Lord. We need some real food.'

'Quiet…'

Lakshman fell silent. Ram knew they needed this kill. Lakshman and he, accompanied

by his wife Sita, had been on the run for the last thirty days. A few members of the

Malayaputra tribe, the sons of Malaya, led by their captain, Jatayu, were also with

them.

Jatayu had urged flight well before the inevitable retaliation came. The botched

meeting with Shurpanakha and Vibhishan would certainly have consequences. They

were, after all, the siblings of Raavan, the wrathful demon-king of Lanka. Raavan was

sure to seek vengeance. Lankan royal blood had been shed.

Racing east through the Dandakaranya, the dense forest of Dandak, they had travelled

a reasonable distance parallel to the Godavari. They were fairly reassured now that they

wouldn't be easily spotted or tracked. Straying too far from the tributary rivers or other

water bodies would mean losing out on the best chance of hunting animals. Ram and

Lakshman were princes of Ayodhya, inheritors of the proud Kshatriya tradition of the

Raghukul, the descendants of Raghu. They would not survive on a diet of herbs, fruit

and leaves alone.

The deer remained stationary, lost in the pleasure of grazing on tender shoots. Ram

knew this was the moment. He held the composite bow steady in his left hand as he

pulled the string back with his right, till it almost touched his lips. His elbow was heldhigh, almost perfectly parallel to the ground, exactly the way his guru, Maharishi

Vashishta, had taught him.

The elbow is weak. Hold it high. Let the ef ort come from the back muscles. The

back is strong.

Ram pulled the string a notch further and then released the arrow. The missile whizzed

past the trees and slammed into the deer's neck. It collapsed immediately, unable to even

utter a bleat as blood flooded its lungs. Despite his muscular bulk, Lakshman rushed

forward stealthily. Even as he moved, he pulled out a knife from the horizontal scabbard

tied to the small of his back. Within moments he reached the deer and quickly plunged

the blade deep in between the animal's ribs, right through to its heart.

'Forgive me for killing you, O noble beast,' he whispered the ancient apology that all

hunters offered, as he gently touched the deer's head. 'May your soul find purpose again,

while your body sustains my soul.'

Ram caught up with Lakshman as his brother pulled the arrow out, wiped it clean and

returned it to its rightful owner. 'Still usable,' he murmured.

Ram slipped the arrow back into his quiver as he looked up at the sky. Birds chirped

playfully and the deer's own herd displayed no alarm. They had not sensed the killing of

one of their own. Ram whispered a short prayer to Lord Rudra, thanking him for what

had been a perfect hunt. The last thing they needed was for their position to be given

away.

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Ram and Lakshman made their way through the dense jungle. Ram walked in front,

carrying one end of a long staff on his shoulder, while Lakshman walked behind, holding

up the other end. The deer's carcass dangled in the middle, its feet having been secured

to the staff with a sturdy rope.

'Aah, a decent meal after so many days,'said Lakshman.

Ram's face broke into a hint of a smile, but he remained silent.

'We can't cook this properly though, right Dada?'

'No, we can't. The continuous line of smoke will give our position away.'

'Do we really need to be so careful? There have been no attacks. Maybe they have lost

track of us. We haven't encountered any assassins, have we? How would they know

where we are? The forests of Dandak are impenetrable.'

'Maybe you're right, but I'm not taking any chances. I'd rather be safe.'

Lakshman held his peace even as his shoulders drooped.

'It's better than eating leaves and herbs,' said Ram, without turning to look at his

brother.

'That it certainly is,' agreed Lakshman.

The brothers walked on in silence.

'There is some conspiracy afoot, Dada. I'm unable to pin down what it is. But there's

something going on. Perhaps Bharat Dada…'

'Lakshman!' rebuked Ram sternly.

Bharat was the second oldest after Ram, and had been anointed crown prince ofAyodhya by their father Dashrath following Ram's banishment. The youngest, Shatrughan

and Lakshman, were twins separated by differing loyalties. While Shatrughan remained

in Ayodhya with Bharat, Lakshman unhesitatingly chose a life of hardship with Ram. The

impulsive Lakshman was sceptical of Ram's blind trust in Bharat. He considered it his

duty to warn his excessively ethical eldest brother about what appeared to him as

Bharat's underhand dealings.

'I know you don't like hearing this, Dada,' Lakshman persisted. 'But I'm certain that

he's hatched a plot against—'

'We'll get to the bottom of it,' reassured Ram, interrupting Lakshman. 'But we first

need allies. Jatayu is right. We need to find the local Malayaputra camp. At least they

can be trusted to help us.'

'I don't know whom to trust anymore, Dada. Maybe the vulture-man is helping our

enemies.'

Jatayu was a Naga, a class of people born with deformities. Ram had come around to

trusting Jatayu despite the fact that the Nagas were a hated, feared and ostracised people

in the Sapt Sindhu, the Land of the Seven Rivers, which lay north of the Narmada River.

Jatayu, like all Nagas, had been born with inevitable deformities. He had a hard and

bony mouth that extended out of his face in a beak-like protrusion. His head was bare,

but his face was covered with fine, downy hair. Although he was human, his appearance

was like that of a vulture.

'Sita trusts Jatayu,' said Ram, as though that explained it all. 'I trust Jatayu. And so

will you.'

Lakshman fell silent. And the brothers walked on.'But why do you think it's irrational to think Bharat Dada could—'

'Shhh,'said Ram, holding his hand up to silence Lakshman. 'Listen.'

Lakshman strained his ears. A chill ran down his spine. Ram turned towards Lakshman

with terror writ large on his face. They had both heard it. A forceful scream! It was Sita.

The distance made faint her frantic struggle. But it was clearly Sita. She was calling out

to her husband.

Ram and Lakshman dropped the deer and dashed forward desperately. They were still

some distance away from their temporary camp.

Sita's voice could be heard above the din of the disturbed birds.

'… Raaam!'

They were close enough now to hear the sounds of battle as metal clashed with metal.

Ram screamed as he ran frantically through the forest. 'Sitaaaa!'

Lakshman drew his sword, ready for battle.

'… Raaaam!'

'Leave her alone!'shouted Ram, cutting through the dense foliage, racing ahead.

'… Raaam!'

Ram gripped his bow tight. They were just a few minutes from their camp. 'Sitaaa!'

'… Raa…'Sita's voice stopped mid-syllable. Trying not to imagine the worst, Ram kept running,

his heart pounding desperately, his mind clouded with worry.

They heard the loud whump, whump of rotor blades. It was a sound he clearly

remembered from an earlier occasion. This was Raavan's legendary Pushpak Vimaan,

his flying vehicle.

'Nooo!' screamed Ram, wrenching his bow forward as he ran. Tears were streaming

down his face.

The brothers broke through to the clearing that was their temporary camp. It stood

completely destroyed. There was blood everywhere.

'Sitaaa!'

Ram looked up and shot an arrow at the Pushpak Vimaan, which was rapidly

ascending into the sky. It was a shot of impotent rage, for the flying vehicle was already

soaring high above.

'Sitaaa!'

Lakshman frantically searched the camp. Bodies of dead soldiers were strewn all

over. But there was no Sita.

'Pri… nce… Ram…'

Ram recognised that feeble voice. He rushed forward to find the bloodied and

mutilated body of the Naga.

'Jatayu!'

The badly wounded Jatayu struggled to speak. 'He's…'

'What?'

'Raavan's… kidnapped… her.'

Ram looked up enraged at the speck moving rapidly away from them. He screamed in

anger, 'SITAAAA!'