Prince of Dharma by Ashok Banker Read Free Book Online Page A

ones in the frescoes at the War Museum. From the asura wars.’ 
     
    The veteran snorted derisively, choosing not to reply. It was a silent message to the young novice to let the matter drop. First of all, the veteran thought to himself, if that thing they had glimpsed had indeed been a man-vulture, it would have been called a Jatayu. A Garuda was a man-eagle, the great flying mount of the devas and a holy icon. A Jatayu, on the other hand, was not man’s friend. But one of the failings of youth was that it tended to be slow to heed warnings, or heeded them too late. 
     
    The novice spoke impetuously, ignoring the silent message. ‘You were there, Somasra. You fought in the Last War with my father. You’ve seen creatures like that before, haven’t you? How can you say they don’t exist?’ 
     
    That was more than the veteran could take. He turned on his companion sharply. ‘Because they don’t, is why! You talk about the Last War? What do you know of it? You were not even a seed in your father’s gonads when the last asura war ended. That was twenty-two years ago this past Shravan. Who are you to speak of such things?’ 
     
    The young soldier’s face turned sullen. He knew how sensitive the old veterans were about talking lightly of the old days and old ways. His father had thrashed him once for simply repeating a play-yard rhyme about rakshasas; he had been only seven at the time. He never made fun of asuras or the asura War ever again. Still, he knew what he had seen just now. And it was no ordinary bird. 
     
    It was the old guard who spoke again, gruffly, after several minutes of tense silence. ‘What do you greenhorns know of asuras and suchlike? Giant man-vultures? Jatayus? Jatayus, not Garudas, mind you!’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Aye, I fought with your father, shoulder to shoulder. If not for him, I would not be standing here manning this wall today. Your father was a good man, Vishnu take his atma. He and I saw enough beasts out of hell to last a hundred lifetimes. That’s why Maharaja Dasaratha formed the PFs, to give us veterans a regiment of our own. He almost disbanded the entire army, that’s how much he wanted to put the war behind him. We all did. Because some things are best forgotten.’ He stared into the distance, as if seeing straight into the past. He shuddered once, shook his head, and spat again into the moat. 
     
    The young soldier spoke cautiously. ‘I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, Somasra. It’s thanks to you all that we live in times of peace today. I know that. Every Arya in the seven nations knows it.’ 
     
    The veteran nodded once, acknowledging the apology. ‘You’re lucky, is what you are, to be born in the first time of peace since the rise of the Arya nations. But don’t just thank us PFs. Thank the good Maharaja Dasaratha. He was always at the forefront of the Arya armies, fighting right beside us, and it’s thanks to him and Maharaja Janak and the other clan-chiefs that we were able to rid the land of the last asuras. Why, Dasaratha was away fighting so long, he was in his fortieth year by the time the wars ended, and he hadn’t even begun a family yet! Imagine that if you will! Most of us are grandparents by that age, and his queen, bless her atma, had not produced a single heir till then. Even after his return, it took another ten years and two more queens to give him his heirs. Truly, he gave his best years and best men to the cause. He planted the banyan tree of peace and prosperity beneath which we all shelter today.’ 
     
    The young soldier nodded, abashed. ‘I must have seen a vulture, that’s all, and my imagination ran away with me. I’ve been listening to too many stories in the Veterans’ Inn, I guess.’ 
     
    Somasra laughed, clapping the young man on the back almost hard enough to knock the novice off the wall and into the moat. ‘Stories are necessary, young youngun. Even the seers teach us that katha, the art of story, is the