The Chital
“Rama told Lakhsmana to stay with Sita and then went to find the golden deer.” Rishiji closed his book and looked at the two boys in front of him. “We’ll stop here.”
Bhanu and Arnab stretched their legs, relieved, and began swatting the air around them. Rishiji always had them sit in vajrasana after supper and while they had done this for the last several months, they had yet to sit perfectly still. Usually, Arnab’s knee would pain and Bhanu’s leg would fall asleep. Worse, a couple flies had followed them out from the kitchen and had found refuge in their ears.
The flies at the ashram seemed to have a knack for distressing even the quietest monks. In fact, it was Bhanu’s observation that the quietest monks were often the most easily distressed. No matter how many layers of shawls they would cover themselves in, the flies would manage to find some part of their face that had yet to be covered. Flies weren’t all that would bother them; Bhanu, even at his young age of ten, was in charge of fielding their complaints whenever Rishiji was away. Most recently, Tejas, a pundit who would frequently visit the ashram, had stormed into Bhanu’s room, face as red as the tilak on his forehead. “Your rooster refuses to listen to my multiple requests to start crowing only after my morning meditation,” he chided. And while Bhanu assured him that he would take the matter up with the rooster himself, he knew that it would be of little use. As still as ashrams were supposed to be, Rishiji’s was anything but quiet. And perhaps more importantly, Bhanu wasn’t really sure how to converse with roosters.
“Any questions?” Rishiji stood, gathering his belongings from under the banyan tree. He stretched forward, with what was left of his white hair dangling by his shoulders, and put his small copy of the Ramayana in a grass woven bag. Bholu, the ashram dog, lifted its head from the grass. It was nursing a small injury on its back leg, but got up on its other three and started to sniff around for any prasad from the afternoon puja. Rishiji smiled and looked towards Bhanu.
“Lord Rama is going to kill the deer,” Bhanu said, looking up, and meeting Rishiji’s eyes. Bhanu, now no longer preoccupied with the flies and his sleeping leg, was in deep thought. He had found a small rock between the grass and was turning it over in his hand. “How is this not sin, Rishiji? What happened to the vows of ahimsa we took – didn’t Rama take them too?”
Rama never ceased to trouble Bhanu. Bhanu was startled when Rama left King Dasharatha and Queen Kaikeyi without even considering his own mother - couldn’t he have persuaded them to shorten exile? Why couldn’t have Bharata and Rama ruled together? While Rishiji had found these questions amusing, Arnab had grown annoyed of them. He was older than Bhanu and had been at the ashram longer. He had heard these stories once before and was restless to play on the grounds.
“It’s Maricha in disguise.” Arnab snorted. “It was a rakshasa, not a real deer. Even Bholu could have sniffed him out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Rishiji chuckled. Bholu, in his youth, could do many things - sit, rollover, and bark - but he was terrible at using his nose. Once Rishiji had tried to train Bholu to retrieve his shawl and Bholu instead returned with Tejas’ dhoti, and needless to say, a very angry pundit.
“But couldn’t Rama have waited and talked to Maricha? Maybe Maricha was upset?” Bhanu asked.
“It was Rama’s dharma to fight Maricha and kill him.” Arnab replied, picking up a straw broom and wooden pan that was leaning besides the tree.
“And Lakshmana’s dharma? Was it to do whatever Rama wanted?
Rishiji placed a hand on Bhanu’s shoulder. “Let Lakshmana worry about his duty and you worry about yours. Pick up any rubbish and come inside, I’ll need help with the blankets.”
Bhanu took the pan and squatted on the ground, following Arnab as they cleared wicks and mess from the evening puja. As soon as Rishiji was out of sight, Arnab dropped the broom and ran off down the hill. “There shouldn’t be any crumbs left!” he yelled. Bhanu sighed and finished cleaning up, glancing sideways at Bholu who was in no mood to help. Dogs, it seemed, were very clear about their dharma. This one had two: taking rest and eating ladoos.
Evenings were Bhanu’s favorite time at the ashram. By dusk everything had all settled down, as if the ashram had drawn itself into samadhi. Rishiji had inherited this land from his father and while it was not that large – Bhanu could see the perimeter from where he sat - it was more than enough for anyone who wandered onto it. The center of the land was a large meditation hall which was surrounded by a circle of cottages made from mud and cow dung. In the evenings, the disciples would retreat back to their rooms, hugging woolen shawls close to their bodies. The kitchen would be locked - lest any stray chital (spotted deer) or fox find its way in - but the meditation hall would remain open. Outside of some outdoor pujas, the open hall was where the most important ceremonies took place. It was where masters would be greeted, seekers from neighboring villages would arrive, heavy with their burdens, and where disciples would sing songs and meditate. And by nighttime, save a lost chappal or two, it would be empty, welcoming cooling air from the nearby lake and anyone in need of a roof. It was the same air that filled Bhanu’s lungs, the same air that wafted sandalwood agarbatti into the rooms, and the same air that brought travelers back again and again. Rishiji would say that more than the land, it was this air he loved so dearly, and that these cottages and halls had simply been built within it.
Bhanu took one last look around the ashram and walked down the hill, itching his back and arms. Mosquitos were perhaps the only thing that he despised about the evening. Arnab would keep count of the number he had killed, but Bhanu would do no such thing. His defense was blanket and a quick prayer.
That night, Bhanu covered his full body with a blanket and drifted in and out of sleep, thinking of how pleasant lakewater would be on his bites and his conversation with Rishiji earlier that week. He had followed Rishiji to the small opening by the shore where pundits were washing their clothes against the rocks. “What is my dharma?” Bhanu had asked.
“Does it matter?” Rishiji replied.
“It seems to change right from wrong,” Bhanu said. “If I refuse to feed Bholu, it will die. But say it is destined to become rabid next week?”
“Do not think so much,” Rishiji said. “Most of life is written. The rest, moves in action.”
“Which part do we write?” Bhanu pressed.
Bhanu tossed, his legs were sore from the errands he had run earlier that day. Tejas and a circle of visiting pundits in saffron robes had called on him repeatedly while they sat discussing Vasishta. “Jai Ramji ki!” they would say. “Can you bring us water?” Or, “Jai Ramji ki! Can you bring us triphala?” “Take the name of Lord Rama 108 times,” the balding pundit had said, “and he will guide you.” The others nodded in approval. “Right action comes from right intention which manifests in deep silence.” They all shook their heads, some up and down, others left to right, and others, as if performing neck rotations. Bhanu couldn’t help but think that in simply accepting alms and reciting, they were never in a situation where they had to apply anything they read.
“Bhanu!” There was a loud thump. “Bhanu, get up!” Bhanu opened his eyes and saw Arnab hanging over his head, with a fire in his eyes.
“Bhanu, get up!”
Bhanu sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What?”
“There’s a golden chital outside the meditation hall!”
He took off Bhanu’s blanket and shook him.
“Let’s go!” Arnab. “I need you to look out and help me.”
Bhanu’s eyes widened. “Bhaiya! There are often chital around the ashram.”
“This one’s special, Bhanu, it’s spots are bright silver just like Maricha’s. Let’s go.”
Of all the stories that Rishiji would share, it was the ones that would involve the victory that would intrigue Arnab the most. From the look in Arnab’s face, Bhanu understood that he had been planning this adventure for days, knowing that sooner or later a deer would wander into the grounds. While there was often talk of rakshasa in the neighboring forests, whether this one was truly Maricha, or just bore a resemblance, did not matter to Arnab. For Arnab, it was his chance to fight in his own epic - one that he could not do without Bhanu’s help. How sad, Bhanu thought, that the ancient tales and stories would always leave out the suffering of action and conquest. Did pain splinter Rama’s heart every time an arrow left his bow? Did confusion churn Laxman’s stomach? Or perhaps the princes of Ayodhya ‘s were so in tune with their dharma that they had nothing to be worried about at all.
Arnab pushed Bhanu off the bed onto the mud floor. By the time Bhanu stumbled outside, Arnab had already begun collecting stones, dropping them in a bag by his waist.
“Why are we doing this?”
“It is our duty to kill rakshasa.”
“We don’t even know if it’s really a -”
Arnab turned around and raised a finger up to Bhanu’s face. “Pick up your chappals and come.”
Bhanu stood up and followed Arnab out of the room. They stumbled along the footpath towards the back of the ashram, where a thin fence separated the larger forest from the meditation hall. From a distance away, Bhanu could make out the outline of a chital. As he got closer, he saw that it was a doe. It had light golden skin with white spots that sparkled under the moonlight. It was no more than twenty thirty steps away from the surrounding shrubs and had its neck lodged in the fence. Bhanu could see no other deer, which was odd because Rishiji had once commented that they traveled in groups. Perhaps it is a seeker, Bhanu wondered, and wandered here in search for knowledge. “Go back,” Bhanu whispered as Arnab checked to make sure it couldn’t escape. “It’s better to be like your friends.”
“If we can dislodge its neck, then it will be free” Bhanu said.
“What would be the point of that?” Arnab retorted. “Keep your voice down! And pass me the stones.” Arnab positioned himself twenty feet away from the chital.
Bhanu stared at the chital’s face. It was trying to twist its neck through the wooden plank, but kept getting caught on the upper post.
“What do you plan on doing?”
“Pass me the bag, Bhanu.”
Watching the chital, Bhanu bent down to pick the bag and tossed it to Arnab. Arnab poured out all of the stones and started going through them one by one, keeping only the ones that sharp or heavy. By this time, the chital stopped trying to get itself loose. Some green vines growing along the fence had caught its attention. It occurred to Bhanu that the chital had forgotten that it was stuck. How sad, Bhanu thought, to be so trapped and yet feel so free.
Arnab with now shifting his body to be slightly further from the chital, feeling the stone in his hands. There was a look of determination on his face. As the chital chewed on shrub, Arnab reached into the bag for a stone and aimed.
The stone flew out of Arnab’s hand, hitting the chital on the bottom of its hind leg. It jumped, breaking through the bottom plank, which splintered into its skin. It quickly steadied itself and tried to escape, but the rope Arnab had tied jerked it back.
Bhanu started to cry. “Why are you doing this?” The moon seemed to be shining even more now and yet the darkness seemed stiller too, as if the shadows had stopped moving to watch.
“Get out of the way Bhanu! Even Lord Rama hunted deer!”
“But it’s not a rakshas!”
“You have a duty, Bhanu - keep an eye out and stay shut!”
Arnab waited until the chital became still and raised his arm. The chital’s neck rose up. Arnab threw. The chital jerked again.
“Please stop!”
Bhanu wiped his tears and moved forward, putting himself between the chital and Arnab. Arnab’s face contorted. “What are you doing, Bhanu?”
“We cannot do this, how can we be doing this?”
Arnab eyes grew wide in anger. “Hunting is in our blood, Bhanu, not reciting verses and picking up after pundits. Get out of my way!”
Bhanu’s heart was beating like a hummingbird. He crouched down by the chital and keeping his head forward, tried to lift the fence out of the way, but to no use. Arnab had managed to push the fence deeper into the soil so Bhanu alone could not move it. The chital was no longer trying to move and remained by the fence, taking heavy breaths. Its eyes were big and wet, golden skin had mixed with red. Bhanu saw Bholu approach and realized that it must have smelled blood.
Bholu started to whimper. “Quiet!” Arnab threw a stone and it scampered away, retreating to watch from a distance.
The lines on Arnab’s face grew sharper. The last time that Bhanu had seen Arnab like this was a year prior when one of Arnab’s distant relatives, a prince in a neighboring village, had arrived unannounced at the ashram, and despite Rishiji’s caution, had taken the boys out on a small hunting expedition. “It will be good for their character,” the prince had said. “Characters are not made, they are remembered,” Rishiji had replied. But the Prince wouldn’t hear any of it and rode the boys out to a clearing in the forest. Arnab managed to corner a small rabbit and lunged at it with a certain ferocity in his face. This time, he wasn’t sure if he was a rabbit or the deer.
He walked a few steps closer to Bhanu and spit. He raised his foot to kick Bhanu aside, but then paused, a sneer building on his face.
Arnab took a stone and placed it in Bhanu’s hand. He stepped back to his previous position and looked down at Bhanu.
“If violence bothers you so much, then hit me with this and I won’t lay a hand on the chital.”
Bhanu looked at the chital. He looked over at Bholu, trying to will it to go and fetch Rishiji, Tejas, or anyone but it was too busy, its mind already occupied with something else. Arnab stared. “What is taking you so long? Get up!”
Bhanu stood up, dusting some of the dirt off of his legs. He was breathing fast, the same air that enveloped him at the top of the hill, was now entering and leaving his nostrils at its own accord. He felt the stone in his hands. It was surprisingly smooth as if carved from years of wear and tear, under the feet of princes and the bodies of men.
Arnab spit again, dragging dirt with his chappal over it and squashing it down.
Bhanu looked squarely into Arnab’s eyes, turned stone over twice in his hand, and raised his arm.
Arnab’s eyes widened as Bhanu threw.
For a moment, it seemed as if even the chital had paused and the shadows and shrubs were all holding their breath. But the stone landed with a thump near Bholu who got startled and barked again.
Arnab brought his arms down, momentarily confused by what had happened, and found Bhanu now standing fully in front of the chital with his arms outstretched to protect it.
Arnab sneered. “It will be your fault today that the chital dies, not mine.”
“Then you will have to throw the stones through me,” replied Bhanu softly. He breathed deeply as his heart quieted.
Arnab weighed the stone in his hand and slowly raised it to aim. The bushes by the meditation hall shuffled and they could hear that the commotion had woken someone up. In a few moments, Rishiji and Tejas appeared from behind the pathway. Rishiji’s face glowed like the moon and Tejas looked disgruntled is always.
“What is going on here, boys?” Rishiji amused face quickly settled into a frown as he saw the chital tied to the fence. He rushed towards the chital. He looked at the boys, first Bhanu, then Arnab.
Rishiji turned to Arnab, “Take this deer and clean up her wounds.” Arnab looked furious as he walked towards the chital and muttered under his breath. But as he got closer, he paused. The chital looked was looking at Arnab forgivingly. How kind, Bhanu thought, mother nature is to her own.
Rishiji walked towards Bhanu, his dhoti and shawl dancing with the shadows. He looked into Bhanu’s eyes without any expression and slapped him.
Bhanu started to shake. He couldn’t stop. “What had he managed to still do wrong?” he thought. Bhanu’s face crumpled as he backed away and started to run. “Come back,” Rishiji said softly, but Bhanu would not listen. He started running. He ran so he wouldn’t hear Tejas yell or Arnab cry. He ran so he wouldn’t have to remember. He ran up the hill to the banyan tree kneeled down, resting his face down on the grass.
After a few moments, he wiped his eyes and turned his head and saw chappals having appeared next to him, on top of which was Rishiji’s shining dhoti.
“God put you in quite the situation tonight,” Rishiji said.
“How did you know I was here?” Bhanu asked, wiping his eyes.
Rishiji smiled. “Bhanu, I know what you did. And you did the right thing. Arnab realized himself as he began to tend the chital’s words.”
“Then why did you slap me?”
“To teach you that the world may slap you even when you do something right.”
“But what about dharma and Ramayana and respecting older brothers and-”
“These were different stories for a different time. It is your job to write your own.”
Rishiji always spoke so simply, Bhanu thought. Or maybe this was his way of not giving any answers and helping the boys discover things for themselves. Just these few moments had already made Bhanu feel lighter.
Rishiji patted Bhanu on his head. “Bholu will give you company tonight.”
“Tejas wasn’t to upset with all the commotion was he?” Bhanu asked.
“Tejas is always upset, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Rishiji said. “Take rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow”
Bholu stumbled beside Bhanu placing his head on Bhanu’s legs. Bhanu scratched him behind his ears as his breathing became steadier. He looked around and above to the many stars that burned so freely in the dark sky. They seemed so close, hundreds of tiny stars all blessing the ashram with their light; light that would never ask for permission but would simply shine.
Bhanu’s breaths became long and deep and his body relaxed as the air of the ashram gently circled and brought him into its embrace.
