Week 3 Story: The Ordained Horse

The Ordained Horse

Grass tastes good. Luscious, green, dripping with dew; these images are enough to make any horse's dream.

If only I could eat in peace, without those Brahmins monitoring me in the distance. They don't even eat grass, anyway!

They've been following me for about a year, now. It was relatively agonizing when I first saw them. The feeling of being watched would initially never desert me; I bet you humans know exactly what I speak of. You probably wouldn't like it if you were constantly followed around with, say, a camera, would you? What was more disturbing than the fact that they were watching me at all was the fact that I didn't know why they were there. They let me roam as I pleased, let me chew on my scrumptious grass as I pleased - only under their supervision, however. Why did they need to be there at all?

Eventually, I got used to it. I just let them be now, although I cannot say that I enjoy their presence. I go back to munching on my grass.

Uh, oh. One of them approaches.

I freeze at first. I haven't quite finished my meal, yet, but something about the way this human approaches me puts me on edge. They had never approached me in the past year, up until this point.... And, on top of that, I see that he had a net of some sort, and rope. All are ingredients for disaster.

I let out a frightened neigh and begin to run as fast as possible. The Brahmins also break out in a run, sprinting after me with their net and rope. Fortunately, I am anatomically superior in this situation; they cannot keep with my speed no matter how hard they try.

But, just as I was letting out a neigh of relief, thinking that I was safe, I trip on some fallen branch in front of me and fall mane-first into the ground. I can't feel my leg; it's probably broken. I whine in pain, desperate, seeing the end of my freedom creep toward me. The Brahmins had continued pursuit, and, seeing that I fell, seize their opportunity. They tie up my legs and cast the net around me. It takes about twenty of them to lift me off the ground (yes, I am a plus-sized horse) and begin carrying me. By this point, I am frozen in fear. I don't know where I am going, or why.

You would think that, seeing what I saw next, I would have gone ballistic with fear. Fortunately, quite the opposite happened.

As the Brahmins carry me, I begin to see ingredients for disaster: a large audience, hundreds of Brahmins, and a sacrificial altar. I am being taken for a yagna; it seems like someone feels the need to perform the ritual ashva-medha sacrifice.

At first, I am filled with anger. Why does anyone think killing me, a poor solitary horse minding his own business, will suffice their dreams? But then I see who the ritual is being performed by: the famed king of Ayodhya, Dasharatha.

It is then that a sense of strange peace falls over me. All horses knew the legend; there was an ancient prophecy that God Almighty would incarnate onto this Earth as a son of King Dasharatha, and that it would take the sacrifice of a horse for it to happen. It seems that I am the Chosen One for this occasion.

As the Brahmins load me onto the altar and begin chanting Vedic verses, I quickly glance around at the audience to see who's present. As I look around, a word - no, a name - suddenly flashes before my eyes: Rama.

Rama, Rama. Just thinking about this name gives me a sense of immense inner peace, peace so comforting and relaxing that no amount of luscious grass could ever compare.

Rama, Rama. That is all I am able to think of. The more I think about it, the more I feel as though I understand my existence. I see the cosmos; I see Creation, I see Brahman. I also see Kausalya, the first wife of Dasharatha, raise the sacrificial knife in preparation to complete the sacrifice, but it doesn't matter to me.

Rama, Rama. As the knife comes down and ends my life, all I do is close my eyes and focus on this beloved name that, itself, has the power to grant me moksha.

A picture of a horse captured so that the ashva-medha sacrifice can be performed. 

Source.

Author's Note: This story is based off of the ritual ashva-medha that King Dasharatha and his wives perform in order to have sons. All the gods and celestials attend this sacrifice, and bless Dasharatha with sons as a result of his piety. This story retells the event from the perspective of the sacrificed horse, whose death is pivotal in allowing Vishnu to take human form in the myth.

Bibliography: "The Ashva-Medha" from the PDE Ramayana. Source.