History’s Scapegoat- Manthara the hunchback

I have been cast in history as a scheming, cunning, and destructive figure—an old, hunchbacked harbinger of evil. My actions are said to have caused rifts within the royal family, leading to the exile of the rightful heir to the throne of Ayodhya, the untimely death of the king, and suffering for the citizens of Ayodhya.

History decided to call me by my physical deformity- Manthara- the hunchback. I do not know if it was my real name. I do not think it was. Have you ever met parents who’d name their blind kid Andh or their deaf child Badhir? I like to think mine would have gone for something more beautiful like Maheshwari or Madhavi. But history has a knack for twisting things to fit its narrative. So here I am, forever labeled by my hunch.

Let’s not forget the age-old adage: history is written by the victors. They craft their legends, celebrate their allies, and vilify their adversaries. As a wise seer once said, “Until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter.”

While Ram, Lakshman, Sita, Bharat, and Dasharath bask in glory, I have been made the scapegoat, bearing the blame for their choices that shaped their destinies.

Let’s talk about my dear Kaikeyi. I have cared for her since she was a child. She was so attached to me that she insisted I accompany her to Ayodhya after her marriage to Dasharatha. I was not thrilled that my wise, educated warrior girl chose to be the second wife of a king; I believed she deserved better. Yet, Kaikeyi soothed my concerns, saying, “Come with me to Ayodhya, Dai Ma. I know you will always look out for my interests.” And that is precisely what I have done—caring for her interests.

It was Kaikeyi who suggested to Dasharatha that he conduct that huge Yagna to beget a child. The Yagna overachieved on that front, instead of one son he got four. Kaikeyi doted on Ram like he was her own, completely ignoring my complaints about him pelting my hunch with mudballs. “He is so little Dai Ma, how can you mind the actions of such a cute little boy?” she would say.

How could history assume that a knowledgeable queen of an empire, who seemingly loved Rama like her own son, would pay heed to the advice of a maid unless the advice resonated with her own ambitions?

Now, consider Dasharatha—the king who accidentally killed an innocent teenager while showing off his archery skills, aiming solely by sound. He granted boons as if they were mere sweets. Did the grieving parents of that boy consult with me before they cast their curse upon Dasharatha, ensuring he would suffer the profound sorrow of being separated from his own son? And did Dasharatha pause to consider the implications before bestowing upon Kaikeyi two boons, with no time limit attached?

The gods needed Ravana to be vanquished; he was wreaking havoc on earth. Just imagine if Saraswati, the goddess of learning would not have taken abode on my tongue that day?  What if Kaikeyi would not have listened to me and would not have demanded the throne for her son Bharata and Rama’s fourteen-year exile?

Thus, I live on, entwined in the fabric of this grand epic, witnessing Rama’s exile, the fierce battle in Lanka, and Rama’s triumphant return. And then the heart-wrenching moment of Sita’s banishment to the woods, the birth of Rama’s sons and Sita’s poignant descent into the earth.

I cannot help but reflect, If I had not said what I said, the gods would still be grappling with Ravana, and Vishnu’s seventh incarnation would have been a mere footnote in history.