Scion of Ikshvaku by Amish Tripathi Read Free Book Online

western borders of India: Pariha.
    Vashishta went down on his knees and touched the ground with his forehead, in reverence to the glorious trinity who were the bedrock of the present Vedic way of life. He raised his head and folded his hands in a namaste.
    ‘Guide me, O Holy Trinity,’ whispered Vashishta. ‘For I intend to rebel.’
    A sudden gust of wind echoed around his ears as he gazed at the triumvirate. The marble was not what it used to be. The Ayodhya royalty wasn’t able to maintain the outer surface anymore. The gold leafing on the crowns of Lords Brahma, Parshu Ram and Rudra had begun to peel off. The ceiling of the terrace had paint flaking off its beautiful images, and the sandstone floor was chipped in many places. The Grand Canal itself had begun to silt and dry up, with no repairs undertaken; the Ayodhya royal administration was probably unable to budget for such tasks.
    However, it was clear to Vashishta that not only was the administration short of funds for adequate governance, it had also lost the will for it. As the canal water receded, the exposed dry land had been encroached upon with impunity. The Ayodhyan population had grown till the city almost seemed to burst at its seams. Even a few years ago it would have been unthinkable that the canal would be defiled thus; that new housing would not be constructed for the poor. But, alas, many improbables had now become habitual.
    We need a new way of life, Lord Parshu Ram. My great country must be rejuvenated with the blood and sweat of patriots. What I want is revolutionary, and patriots are often called traitors by the very people they choose to serve, till history passes the final judgement.
    Vashishta scooped some mud from the canal that was deposited on the steps of the terrace, and used his thumb to apply it on his forehead in a vertical line.
    This soil is worth more than my life to me. I love my country. I love my India. I swear I will do what must be done. Give me courage, My Lord.
    The soft rhythm of liturgical chanting wafted through the breeze, making him turn to his right. A small group of people walked solemnly in the distance, wearing robes of blue, the holy colour of the divine. It was an unusual sight these days. Along with wealth and power, the citizens of the Sapt Sindhu had also lost their spiritual ardour. Many believed their Gods had abandoned them. Why else would they suffer so?
    The worshippers chanted the name of the sixth Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram.
    ‘Ram, Ram, Ram bolo; Ram, Ram, Ram. Ram, Ram, Ram bolo; Ram, Ram, Ram.’
    It was a simple chant: ‘Speak the name of Ram.’
    Vashishta smiled; to him, this was a sign.
    Thank you, Lord Parshu Ram. Thank you for your blessings.
    Vashishta had pinned his hopes on the namesake of the sixth Vishnu: the six-year-old eldest prince of Ayodhya, Ram. The sage had insisted that Queen Kaushalya’s chosen name, Ram, be expanded to Ram Chandra. Kaushalya’s father, King Bhanuman of South Kosala, and mother, Queen Maheshwari of the Kurus, were Chandravanshis, the descendants of the moon . Vashishta thought it would be wise to show fealty towards Ram’s maternal home as well. Furthermore, Ram Chandra meant ‘pleasant face of the moon’, and it was well known that the moon shone with the reflected light of the sun. Poetically, the sun was the face and the moon its reflection; who, then, was responsible for the pleasant face of the moon? The sun! It was appropriate thus: Ram Chandra was also a Suryavanshi name, for Dashrath, his father, was a Suryavanshi.
    That names guided destiny was an ancient belief. Parents chose the names of their children with care. A name, in a sense, became an aspiration, swadharma , individual dharma , for the child. Having been named after the sixth Vishnu himself, the aspirations for this child could not have been set higher!
    There was another name that Vashishta had placed his hopes on: Bharat, Ram’s brother, younger to him by seven months. His mother, Kaikeyi,