Scion of Ikshvaku by Amish Tripathi Read Free Book Online Page B

be such a sissy! Behave like the king you will be one day! Go, make your mother proud!’
    Vashishta watched the proceedings and smiled.
    Passionate children have strong emotions that insist on finding expression. They laugh loudly. They cry even more loudly.
    He observed the brothers as he wondered whether his goal would be met through stoic duty or passionate feeling. The twins, Lakshman and Shatrughan, the youngest of the four sons of Dashrath, stood at the back with their mother, Sumitra. The poor three-year-olds seemed lost, not quite understanding what was going on. Vashishta knew it was too soon for them, but he couldn’t leave them behind. Ram and Bharat’s training would take a long time, maybe even a decade, if not more. He could not risk the twins being in the palace during this period, for the political intrigue among the nobility would lead to the younger princes being co-opted into camps. This malicious nobility was already bleeding Ayodhya dry with its scheming and plotting to enrich itself; the emperor was weak and distracted.
    The princes would return home for two nine-day holidays, twice a year, during the summer and winter solstices. The ancient navratra festival, which commemorated the six-monthly change in the direction of the Sun God’s north-south journey across the horizon, was celebrated with great vigour. Vashishta believed those eighteen days would suffice to console the bereft mothers and sons. The autumn and spring navratras , aligned with the two equinoxes, would be commemorated at the gurukul .
    The raj guru turned his attention to Dashrath.
    The last six years had taken their toll on the emperor. Parchment-like skin stretched thinly over a face that was worn out by grief, his eyes sunken, his hair grey. The grievous battle wound on his leg had long since turned into a permanent deformity, depriving him of the hunting and exercising that he so loved. Seeking refuge in drink, his bent body gave little indication of the strong and handsome warrior he’d once been. Raavan had not just defeated him on that terrible day. He continued to defeat him every single day.
    ‘Your Highness,’ said Vashishta, loudly. ‘With your permission.’
    A distracted Dashrath waved his hand, confirming his order.

    It was a day after the winter solstice and the princes were in Ayodhya on their half-yearly holiday. It had been three years since they first left for the gurukul . Uttaraayan , the northward movement of the sun across the horizon, had begun. Six months later, in peak summer, Lord Surya would reverse his direction and Dakshinaayan , the southward movement of the sun, would begin.
    Ram spent most of his time, even on holiday, with Guru Vashishta, who had moved back to the palace with the boys ; Kaushalya could not do much besides complain. Bharat, on the other hand, was strictly confined to Kaikeyi’s chambers, subjected to incessant tutoring and interrogation by his forceful mother. Lakshman had already started riding small ponies, and he loved it. Shatrughan … just read books!
    Lakshman was rushing to his mother Sumitra after one such riding lesson when he stopped short, hearing voices outside her chamber. He peeped in from behind the curtains.
    ‘You must understand, Shatrughan, that your brother Bharat may make fun of you, but he loves you the most. You should always stay by his side.’
    Shatrughan was holding a palm-leaf booklet in his hand, desperately trying to read as he pretended to pay attention to his mother.
    ‘Are you listening to me, Shatrughan?’ asked Sumitra, sharply.
    ‘Yes Mother,’ Shatrughan said, looking up, sincerity dripping from his voice.
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    Shatrughan repeated his mother’s last sentence. His diction was remarkably clear and crisp for his age. Sumitra knew that her son hadn’t been paying attention, and yet she couldn’t do anything about the fact that he’d not been genuinely listening to her at all!
    Lakshman smiled as he ran up to his