A short story ...

The Wanderer Prince

He stood there, engulfed in deep thought. The sea wasn't calm at all. Waves randomly rose and jumped over his feet like a pack of wild snakes, sometimes hurting his toes with their velocity and force. But he was too busy to care about them. He was completely in union with nature, leaning against the cliff and watching the vast bluish green ocean in hope and confidence, as if trying to tell the world beyond these waters that – "lo and behold, here I come for you". The wind was chilling and sharp and blew his long dark brown locks of hair here and now on his face, blessed with chiseled sharp features. He seemed quite determined and his big black eyes looked focused. The man was tall and handsome and his tanned well built body, though covered only with a couple of modest holy unstitched clothes, confirmed his royal genre. The reflection of dusk sun on his skin, along with the hue of his saffron outfit, gave him a divine aura. A short but kind smile played on his thin dark lips. It was hard to say whether he was an invincible god or a mortal human, but one thing was certain – he was not someone ordinary.

Suddenly his concentration was disrupted by a thunder bolt as loud as a battle conch and as bright as a brand new sword. Perhaps Indra, the king of gods, was delighted and wanted to wish him good luck. He first looked up at the crimson sky that was now turning dark grey with all those monsoon clouds piling up and then he turned around slowly and looked towards the shore. He could clearly see an assorted army of various peoples, smart and young, busy with their daily drill in front of the numerous camps they had set up along the sea shore. All the camps, without exception, were decorated with huge dancing saffron flags – symbols of devotion, valor and unity. An expression of love and gratitude ran across his face. He closed his eyes and chanted a few sacred mantras from the holy samhitas in order to thank the gods for their blessings and guidance. He was clearly pleased to have experienced this day of achievement. The story of his long and eventful journey was coming alive in front of his eyes - the amazing lands he had visited, the wonderful people he had met, the strange customs he had witnessed and the numerous wise teachings he had learnt, all these years. How could the princes of Manu be so ignorant and suspicious of all these peoples whom they never hesitate to call dasyus and danavas? How could the millions of these lives be so distanced from civilization and awareness? How could the great rishis, munis and other revered sages, who devote their lives for the upliftment of these unfortunate men of Aryavarta, be not protected and supported by our so called Aryan kingdoms? He wondered.

He wondered why no Suryavanshi prince of the Ikshvaku dynasty ever cared to cross the great Vindhyachalas and visit the beautiful lands of Madhya and Dakshina? Was he the first Raaghava to have experienced the waters of Narmada, Tungabhadra, Krishna and Kaveri? Was he the first kshatriya to have worshipped the van-devas of the Aravalis & Nilgiris and the kul-devis residing in the hills of Megha and Tripura? Was he the first Manava to have visited the astounding cities of Yakshas, Gandharvas, Suparnas and Nagas and also the far flung villages belonging to the aadivasi tribes? Was he the first Aryan who had brought the message of the shrutis and smritis to the tribes of nishaads, bheels, munds, kols and gonds and also to the clans of 'the divine monkey' and 'the great bear'?

Maybe yes. Maybe he was the first Aryan prince to have walked throughout the vast rugged landscape that lay to the south of the great plain so thoroughly. Though a prince by birth & right and by karma & varna he chose to live and walk among the so called lesser peoples. It is hard to estimate how many villages he visited or how many forests and rivers he crossed. It is difficult to say how many million lives he touched or how many thousand friends and followers he made. But he came on each one of them as a messiah and a messenger. He showered his unconditional love on all of them. He broke the barriers of jaatis, varnas, and gender and demolished the walls of languages and customs. He taught them the higher ways of living and thinking. He gave them the concept of family and its values and ideals. He gave them sanskaars and gyanam. He made them the superior ones.

He would politely refuse to take the daughters of the tribal chiefs as his wives as he was already married. He would accepte the widely revered deva pashupatinath and matrudevi and would worship them as he would worship his own gods - indra, varuna, agni, maruts and ashwins. He would establish hundreds of ashrams and gurukuls across this land and would train the tribal youth in the contemporary aryan warfare to protect these small yet powerful building blocks of civilization. He would teach them developed ways of agriculture which the aryan people had been practicing in the northern plains of sindhu and saraswati for centuries. He would make them aware of the existence and expanse of their land – their own land of Aryavarta and would in turn get himself enlightened about the diversity of the cultures here. Many a violent chiefs of barbaric danava and daitya tribes would be killed - the repenting spared and the sober ones be protected thence.

It was a revolution - a revolution of civilization, awakening and awareness – a revolution of bringing the neglected dasyus into the mainstream and making them Aryans. It was hardly surprising that his message spread to the farthest lands within a short span of 14 years of his journey and this land to the south of the great Himalayas and to the north of the great ocean actually became Aryavarta in true sense.

The royal one took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles. A sense of satisfaction showed in his kind eyes as he stood on the cliff braving the fierce monsoon showers, looking at his army of a hundred tribal chiefs with their thousands of innocent yet brave young men, quickly moving around, making logistic arrangements to appropriate the sudden monsoon. They revered and loved him like a god and father and he was, today, proud of his devotees. How well had they come together to help their master and mentor in this hour of distress and difficulty. How meticulously had they planned and built this huge structure just out of their devotion and affection for him. He once again looked at the ferocious ocean dancing tandava to the tune of monsoon and then gradually turned towards that unending long coral and rock bridge that stood steadily in the wild ocean, running down south to connect Dhanushkoti with the golden island.

A hand quietly touched and surprised his shoulder. He swiftly looked back. It was none other that his younger brother Saumitra Lakshmana. "The sethu is ready respected brother, in all ways". "Well then dear Lakshamana", replied he in a polite yet stern voice, "Ask Maharaja Sugreeva, Mahabali Jamvant and dear Pavanputra to get our men ready. We shall proceed tomorrow, as soon as the morning gets into its fourth hour. The gods will protect us indeed."

"And let us prepare ourselves for the greatest battle ever – a battle that shall be fought among best of men on earth. A battle that shall bring back the pride of Aryavarta – a battle that shall bring back Devi Sita……..my Sita……"

The wanderer prince was now looking straight in the eyes of his beloved brother with his voice choked and the tears of grief and love rolling down his royal divine cheeks.


~ Atri Joshi
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