Sita: Warrior of Mithila

by Amish Tripathi

  ‘One is always comfortable in the place one looks upon as home,’ smiled Arishtanemi.

  Sita was surprised to not find Samichi with him. This was unorthodox. Samichi should have escorted the senior officer, with respect, to her chambers.

  ‘My apologies, Arishtanemiji. Samichi should have led you to my chambers. I am sure that she meant no disrespect, but I will speak with her.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Arishtanemi, raising his hand reassuringly. ‘I told her that I wanted to meet you alone.’

  ‘Of course. I hope you are satisfied with the accommodation, especially for Guru Vishwamitra and the princes of Ayodhya.’

  Arishtanemi smiled. Sita had come to the point quickly. ‘Guru Vishwamitra is comfortable in his usual set of rooms at the palace. But Prince Ram and Prince Lakshman have been accommodated in the Bees Quarter.’

  ‘Bees Quarter?!’ Sita was aghast.

  Has Samichi gone mad?

  Almost as if he had heard her thought, Arishtanemi said, ‘Actually, Guruji himself wanted the princes to stay in there.’

  Sita raised her hands in exasperation. ‘Why? They are the princes of Ayodhya. Ram is the Crown Prince of the empire. Ayodhya will see this as a terrible insult. I do not want Mithila getting into any trouble because of …’

  ‘Prince Ram does not see it as an insult,’ interrupted Arishtanemi. ‘He is a mature man of great understanding. We need to keep his presence in Mithila a secret, for now. And, even you must avoid meeting him for a few days.’

  Sita was losing her patience. ‘Secret? He has to participate in the swayamvar, Arishtanemiji. That’s why he is here, isn’t he? How can we keep this a secret?’

  ‘There is a problem, princess.’

  ‘What problem?’

  Arishtanemi sighed. He paused for a few seconds and whispered, ‘Raavan.’

  ‘It is wise of you to have not met him till now,’ said Samichi.

  Sita and Samichi were in the royal section of the state armoury. A special room was reserved in this wing for the favourite personal weapons of the royalty. Sita sat on a chair, carefully oiling the Pinaka, the great bow of Lord Rudra.

  Her conversation with Arishtanemi had upset her. Frankly, she had had her suspicions about what the Malayaputras were planning. She knew that they wouldn’t go against her. She was crucial to their plans. But Ram was not.

  If only I had someone to talk to. I wish Hanu bhaiya or Radhika were here …

  Sita looked up at Samichi and continued oiling the already gleaming Pinaka.

  Samichi looked nervous. She seemed to be in a state of inner struggle. ‘I have to tell you something. I don’t care what the others say. But it is the truth, Sita. Prince Ram’s life is in danger. You have to send him home, somehow.’

  Sita stopped oiling the bow and looked up. ‘His life has been in danger since the day he was born.’

  Samichi shook her head. ‘No. I mean real danger.’

  ‘What exactly is unreal danger, Samichi? There is nothing that …’

  ‘Please, listen to me …’

  ‘What are you hiding, Samichi?’

  Samichi straightened up. ‘Nothing, princess.’

  ‘You have been acting strange these past few days.’

  ‘Forget about me. I am not important. Have I ever told you anything that is not in your interest? Please trust me. Send Prince Ram home, if you can.’

  Sita stared at Samichi. ‘That’s not happening.’

  ‘There are bigger forces at play, Sita. And, you are not in control. Trust me. Please. Send him home before he gets hurt.’

  Sita didn’t respond. She looked at the Pinaka and resumed oiling the bow.

  Lord Rudra, tell me what to do …

  ‘My fellow Mithilans actually clapped?’ asked Sita, eyes wide in incredulity.

  Arishtanemi had just walked into Sita’s private office. With disturbing, yet expected, news. Raavan had arrived in Mithila to participate in Sita’s swayamvar. His Pushpak Vimaan, the legendary flying vehicle, had just landed outside the city. He was accompanied by his brother Kumbhakarna and a few key officers. His bodyguard corps of ten thousand Lankan soldiers had marched in separately and set up camp outside the city.

  Sita was bemused by the news that the Mithilans had applauded the spectacle of the Pushpak Vimaan landing in the fields beyond the city moat.

  ‘Most normal human beings applaud the first time they see the Pushpak Vimaan, Sita,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘But that is not important. What is important is that we stop Ram from leaving.’

  ‘Is Ram leaving? Why? I thought he would want to prove a point to Raavan …’

  ‘He hasn’t made up his mind as yet. But I’m afraid Lakshman may talk his elder brother into leaving.’

  ‘So, you would like me to speak with him in Lakshman’s absence.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you …’

  ‘I’ve spoken to him already. But I don’t think I had much of an impact …’

  ‘Can you think of someone else who can speak to him?’

  Arishtanemi shook his head. ‘I don’t think even Guru Vishwamitra will be able to convince Ram.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It’s up to you, Sita,’ said Arishtanemi. ‘If Ram leaves, we will have to cancel this swayamvar.’

  ‘What in Lord Rudra’s name can I tell him? He has never even met me. What do I tell him to convince him to stay?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  Sita laughed and shook her head. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Sita … I know it’s …’

  ‘It’s okay. I’ll do it.’

  I must find a way. Some path will emerge.

  Arishtanemi seemed unusually tense. ‘There’s more, Sita …’

  ‘More?’

  ‘The situation may be a little more complicated.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Ram was … in a way … tricked into coming here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was made to understand that he was merely accompanying Guru Vishwamitra on an important mission in Mithila. Since Emperor Dashrath had commanded Ram to strictly follow Guru Vishwamitra’s orders, he could not say no … He wasn’t informed about the fact that he was expected to participate in this swayamvar. Till he arrived in Mithila, that is.’

  Sita was shocked. ‘You have got to be joking!’

  ‘But he did agree to the swayamvar finally, a few days ago. On the same day that you had that fight in the marketplace to save that boy-thief …’

  Sita held her head and closed her eyes. ‘I can’t believe that the Malayaputras have done this.’

  ‘The ends justify the means, Sita.’

  ‘Not when I’m expected to live with the consequences!’

  ‘But he did agree to participate in the swayamvar, eventually.’

  ‘That was before the arrival of Raavan, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sita rolled her eyes. Lord Rudra help me.

  Chapter 19

  Sita and Samichi were headed for the Bees Quarter, accompanied by a bodyguard posse of ten policemen. The city was agog with the news of the appearance of Raavan, the king of Lanka and the tormentor of India; or at least, the tormentor of Indian kings. The most animated discussions were about his legendary flying vehicle, the Pushpak Vimaan. Even Sita’s sister, Urmila, was not immune to reports about the Lankan technological marvel. She had insisted on accompanying her elder sister to see the vimaan.

  They had marched to the end of the Bees Quarter, up to the fort walls. The Pushpak Vimaan was stationed beyond the city moat, just before the jungle. Even Sita was impressed by what she saw.

  The vimaan was a giant conical craft, made of some strange unknown metal. Massive rotors were attached to the top of the vehicle, at its pointed end. Smaller rotors were attached near the base, on all sides.

  ‘I believe,’ said Samichi, ‘the main rotor at the top gives the vimaan the ability to fly and the smaller rotors at the base are used to control the direction
of flight.’

  The main body of the craft had many portholes, each covered with circular metal screens.

  Samichi continued. ‘Apparently, the metal screens on the portholes are raised when the vimaan is airborne. The portholes also have a thick glass shield. The main door is concealed behind a section of the vimaan. Once that section swings open, the door slides sideward into the inner cabin. So the vimaan entrance is doubly sealed.’

  Sita turned to Samichi. ‘You know a lot about this Lankan craft.’

  Samichi shook her head and smiled sheepishly. ‘No, no. I just watched the vimaan land. That’s all …’

  Thousands of Lankan soldiers were camped around the vimaan. Some were sleeping, others eating. But nearly a third had their weapons drawn, standing guard at strategic points in the camp. Keeping watch. Alive to any potential threats.

  Sita knew this camp security strategy: The staggered one-third plan. One third of the soldiers, working in rotating four-hour shifts, always on guard. While the others rest and recuperate.

  The Lankans don’t take their security lightly.

  ‘How many are there?’ asked Sita.

  ‘Probably ten thousand soldiers,’ said Samichi.

  ‘Lord Rudra have mercy …’

  Sita looked at Samichi. It was a rare sight. For her friend looked genuinely nervous.

  Sita placed a hand on Samichi’s shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. We can handle this.’

  Samichi bent down and banged the hatch door on the Bees Quarter roof. Ten policemen stood at the back. Sita cast Urmila a quiet, reassuring look.

  Nobody opened the door.

  Samichi looked at Sita.

  ‘Knock again,’ ordered Sita. ‘And harder this time.’

  Samichi did as ordered.

  Urmila still wasn’t sure what her sister was up to. ‘Didi, why are we …’

  She stopped talking the moment the hatch door swung open. Upwards.

  Samichi looked down.

  Lakshman stood at the head of the staircase that descended into the room. Muscular with a towering height, his gigantic form seemed to fill up the space. He was fair-complexioned and handsome in a rakish, flamboyant way. A bull of a man. He wore the coarse white clothes of common soldiers when off-duty: a military style dhoti and an angvastram tied from his shoulder to the side of his waist. Threaded Rudraaksh beads around his neck proudly proclaimed his loyalty to Lord Rudra.

  Lakshman held his sword, ready to strike should the need arise. He looked at the short-haired, dark-skinned and muscular woman peering down at him. ‘Namaste, Chief Samichi. To what do we owe this visit?’ he asked gruffly.

  Samichi grinned disarmingly. ‘Put your sword back in the scabbard, young man.’

  ‘Let me decide what I should or should not do. What is your business here?’

  ‘The prime minister wants to meet your elder brother.’

  Lakshman seemed taken aback. Like this was unexpected. He turned to the back of the room, where his elder brother Ram stood. Upon receiving a signal from him, he immediately slipped his sword in its scabbard and backed up against the wall, making room for the Mithilans to enter.

  Samichi descended the stairs, followed by Sita. As Sita stepped in through the door hole, she gestured behind her. ‘Stay there, Urmila.’

  Lakshman instinctively looked up. To see Urmila. Ram stood up to receive the prime minister of Mithila. The two women climbed down swiftly but Lakshman remained rooted. Entranced by the vision above. Urmila had truly grown into a beautiful young lady. She was shorter than her elder sister, Sita. Also fairer. So fair that her skin was almost the colour of milk. Her round baby face was dominated by large eyes, which betrayed a sweet, childlike innocence. Her hair was arranged in a bun. Every strand neatly in place. The kaajal in her eyes accentuated their exquisiteness. Her lips were enhanced with some beet extract. Her clothes were fashionable, yet demure: a bright pink blouse complemented by a deep-red dhoti which was longer than usual — it reached below her knees. A neatly pressed angvastram hung from her shoulders. Anklets and toe-rings drew attention to her lovely feet, while rings and bracelets decorated her delicate hands. Lakshman was mesmerised. Urmila sensed it and smiled genially. Then looked away with shy confusion.

  Sita turned and saw Lakshman looking at Urmila. Her eyes widened, just a bit.

  Urmila and Lakshman? Hmm …

  ‘Shut the door, Lakshman,’ said Ram.

  Lakshman reluctantly did as ordered.

  ‘How may I help you, princess?’ asked Ram to Sita.

  Sita turned and looked at the man she had chosen to be her husband. She had heard so much about him, for so long, that she felt like she practically knew him. So far all her thoughts about him had been based on reason and logic. She saw him as a worthy partner in the destiny of the Vishnu; someone she could work with for the good of her motherland, the country that she loved, this beautiful, matchless India.

  But this was the first time she saw him as a flesh-and-blood reality. Emotion arose unasked, and occupied its seat next to reason. She had to admit the first impression was quite pleasing.

  The Crown Prince of Ayodhya stood at the back of the room. Ram’s coarse white dhoti and angvastram, provided a startling contrast to his dark, flawless complexion. His nobility lent grace to the crude garments he wore. He was tall, a little taller than Sita. His broad shoulders, strong arms and lean, muscular physique were testimony to his archery training. His long hair was tied neatly in an unassuming bun. He wore a string of Rudraaksh beads around his neck; a marker that he too was a fellow devotee of the great Mahadev, Lord Rudra. There was no jewellery on his person. No marker to signify that he was the scion of the powerful Suryavanshi clan, a noble descendant of the great emperor Ikshvaku. His persona exuded genuine humility and strength.

  Sita smiled. Not bad. Not bad at all.

  ‘Excuse me for a minute, prince,’ said Sita. She looked at Samichi. ‘I’d like to speak to the prince alone.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Samichi, immediately climbing out of the room.

  Ram nodded at Lakshman, who also turned to leave the room. With alacrity.

  Ram and Sita were alone in no time.

  Sita smiled and indicated a chair in the room. ‘Please sit, Prince Ram.’

  ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘I insist,’ said Sita, as she sat down herself.

  Ram sat on a chair facing Sita. A few seconds of awkward silence passed. Then Sita spoke up, ‘I believe you were tricked into coming here.’

  Ram did not say anything, but his eyes gave the answer away.

  ‘Then why haven’t you left?’

  ‘Because it would be against the law.’

  So, he has decided to stay for the swayamvar. Lord Rudra and Lord Parshu Ram be praised.

  ‘And is it the law that will make you participate in the swayamvar day after tomorrow?’ asked Sita.

  Ram chose silence again. But Sita could tell that there was something on his mind.

  ‘You are Ayodhya, the overlord of Sapt Sindhu. I am only Mithila, a small kingdom with little power. What purpose can possibly be served by this alliance?’

  ‘Marriage has a higher purpose; it can be more than just a political alliance.’

  Sita smiled. ‘But the world seems to believe that royal marriages are meant only for political gain. What other purpose do you think they can serve?’

  Ram didn’t answer. He seemed to be lost in another world. His eyes had taken on a dreamy look.

  I don’t think he’s listening to me.

  Sita saw Ram’s eyes scanning her face. Her hair. Her neck. She saw him smile. Ruefully. His face seemed to …

  Is he blushing? What is going on? I was told that Ram was only interested in the affairs of the state.

  ‘Prince Ram?’ asked Sita loudly.

  ‘Excuse me?’ asked Ram. His attention returned to what she was saying.

  ‘I asked, if marriage is not a political alliance, then what is it?’

  ‘Well, to b
egin with, it is not a necessity; there should be no compulsion to get married. There’s nothing worse than being married to the wrong person. You should only get married if you find someone you admire, who will help you understand and fulfil your life’s purpose. And you, in turn, can help her fulfil her life’s purpose. If you’re able to find that one person, then marry her.’

  Sita raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you advocating just one wife? Not many? Most people think differently.’

  ‘Even if all people think polygamy is right, it doesn’t make it so.’

  ‘But most men take many wives; especially the nobility.’

  ‘I won’t. You insult your wife by taking another.’

  Sita raised her chin in contemplation. Her eyes softened. Admiringly. Wow … This man is special.

  A charged silence filled the room. As Sita gazed at him, her expression changed with sudden recognition.

  ‘Wasn’t it you at the marketplace the other day?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Sita tried to remember the details. Yes. Lakshman had been there too. Next to him. The giant who stood out. They were amongst the crowd on the other side. The onlookers. Not a part of the well-heeled mob that had wanted to lynch the poor boy-thief. I saw them as I dragged the boy away, after thrashing Vijay. And then, she held her breath as she remembered another detail. Hang on … Ram was … bowing his head to me … But why? Or am I remembering incorrectly?

  ‘Why didn’t you step in to help me?’ asked Sita.

  ‘You had the situation under control.’

  Sita smiled slightly. He is getting better with every moment …

  It was Ram’s turn to ask questions. ‘What is Raavan doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it makes the swayamvar more personal for me.’

  Ram’s muscles tightened. He was shocked. But his expression remained impassive. ‘Has he come to participate in your swayamvar?’

  ‘So I have been told.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And, I have come here.’ Sita kept the next sentence confined to her mind. I have come for you.

  Ram waited for her to continue.