‘Sita …’ growled Arishtanemi, clenching his fists. He took a deep breath to control himself. ‘Wisdom dictated that we not fire the Asuraastra. There are … We have enough problems with the Vayuputras already. This would have further complicated our relationship. It had to be Ram.’
‘Right,’ said Sita. ‘It had to be Ram …’
Is she worried about Ram being punished for firing the Asuraastra?
‘Ram will not be banished, Sita. The Asuraastra is not a weapon of mass destruction. Guruji has already told you. We can manage the Vayuputras …’
Arishtanemi knew the Vayuputras liked Ram and would probably agree to waive the punishment for the eldest prince of Ayodhya. And if they didn’t … Well, the Malayaputras wouldn’t be too troubled by that. Their main concern was Sita. Only Sita.
‘Ram believes that he should be punished,’ said Sita. ‘It is the law.’
‘Then, tell him to grow up and not be silly.’
‘Try and understand Ram, Arishtanemiji. I am not sure you realise how important a man like that is for India. He can transform us into law-abiding citizens. He can lead by example. He can do a lot of good. I have travelled the length and breadth of this country. I don’t think the ruling nobility, including yourselves, understand the simmering anger among the common folk against the elite. Ram, by subjecting himself to the same laws that apply to them, increases the credibility of the establishment. People will eventually listen to a message delivered by Ram.’
Arishtanemi shifted on his feet, impatiently. ‘This is a pointless conversation, Sita. The Malayaputras, the only ones authorised to recognise a Vishnu, have chosen you. That’s it.’
Sita smiled. ‘Indians don’t take kindly to choices imposed from above. This is a country of rebels. The people have to accept me as the Vishnu.’
Arishtanemi remained silent.
‘Perhaps you didn’t understand the point I was trying to make earlier about wisdom,’ said Sita.
Arishtanemi frowned.
‘I suppose the Malayaputras want to keep Raavan alive till, at some stage, I kill him and hence am accepted by all Sapt Sindhuans. Who would deny a leader who delivers them from their most hated enemy … Raavan.’
Arishtanemi’s eyes widened, as he understood what Sita was saying. The Malayaputras had just committed a major blunder. That too on a strategy that they had been planning for decades.
‘Yes, Arishtanemiji. You thought you were setting Ram up for punishment. But instead, you have made him into a hero for the common man. The entire Sapt Sindhu has suffered Raavan’s economic squeeze. And they now see Ram as their saviour.’
Arishtanemi fell silent.
‘Arishtanemiji, sometimes, a too-clever-by-half plan can backfire,’ said Sita.
Sita looked at her husband as he rode beside her. Lakshman and Urmila rode behind them. Lakshman was talking nonstop with his wife as she gazed at him earnestly. Urmila’s thumb kept playing with the massive diamond ring on her left forefinger; an expensive gift from her husband. Behind them were a hundred Mithilan soldiers. Another hundred soldiers rode ahead of Ram and Sita. The convoy was on its way to Sankashya, from where it would sail to Ayodhya.
Ram, Sita, Lakshman, and Urmila had set off from Mithila two weeks after the Asuraastra laid waste the Lankan camp. True to their word, Vishwamitra and his Malayaputras had left for their capital, Agastyakootam, taking the Lankan prisoners with them. They would negotiate with Raavan on Mithila’s behalf, guaranteeing the kingdom’s safety in return for the release of the prisoners of war. The Malayaputras had also taken the bow of Lord Rudra, the Pinaka, which had been their treasure for centuries. It would be returned to Sita when she took on the role of the Vishnu.
Noting Samichi’s improved state of mind, once the Lankan problem had been taken care of, Sita had made her friend Mithila’s de facto prime minister. She would work in consultation with a council of five city elders established by Sita. Of course, all under the guidance of King Janak.
‘Ram …’
Ram turned to his wife with a smile as he pulled his horse close to hers. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure about this?’
Ram nodded. There was no doubt in his mind.
Sita was impressed and worried at the same time. He truly did live by the law.
‘But you are the first in a generation to defeat Raavan. And, it wasn’t really a daivi astra. If you —’
Ram frowned. ‘That’s a technicality. And you know it.’
Sita paused for a few seconds and continued. ‘Sometimes, to create a perfect world, a leader has to do what is necessary at the time; even if it may not appear to be the ‘right’ thing to do in the short term. In the long run, a leader who has the capacity to uplift the masses must not deny himself that opportunity. He has a duty to not make himself unavailable. A true leader will even take a sin upon his soul for the good of his people.’
Ram looked at Sita. He seemed disappointed. ‘I have done that already, haven’t I? The question is, should I be punished for it or not? Should I do penance for it? If I expect my people to follow the law, so must I. A leader is not just one who leads. He must also be a role model. He must practise what he preaches, Sita.’
Sita smiled. ‘Well, Lord Rudra had said: “A leader is not just one who gives his people what they want. He must also be the one who teaches his people to be better than they imagined themselves to be.”’
Ram smiled too. ‘And I’m sure you will tell me Lady Mohini’s response to this as well.’
Sita laughed. ‘Yes. Lady Mohini said that people have their limitations. A leader should not expect more from them than what they are capable of. If you stretch them beyond their capacity, they will break.’
Ram shook his head. He did not agree with the great Lady Mohini. Ram expected people to rise above their limitations and better themselves; for only then was an ideal society possible. But he didn’t voice his disagreement aloud. He knew that Sita passionately respected Lady Mohini.
‘Are you sure? Fourteen years outside the boundaries of the Sapt Sindhu?’ Sita looked at Ram seriously, returning to the original discussion.
Ram nodded. ‘I broke Lord Rudra’s law. And this is his stated punishment. It doesn’t matter whether the Vayuputras pass the order to punish me or not. It doesn’t matter whether my people support me or not. I must serve my sentence.’
She smiled. He will not stray. He is truly incredible. How did he survive in Ayodhya all these years?
Sita leaned towards him and whispered, ‘We … not I.’
Ram frowned.
Sita reached out and placed her palm on Ram’s hand. ‘You share my fate and I share yours. That is what a true marriage is.’ She entwined her fingers through his. ‘Ram, I am your wife. We will always be together; in good times and bad; through thick and thin.’
We will come back in fourteen years. Stronger. More powerful. The Vishnuhood can wait till then.
She had already decided that she would ask Jatayu for large quantities of the legendary Somras, the anti-ageing medicine created by the great Indian scientist, Brahma, many millennia ago. She would administer the medicine to Ram and herself to retain their vitality and youth in their fourteen years of exile. So that when they returned, they would be ready for the task ahead. Ready to change India.
She remembered a line she had read. A line supposedly spoken by Lady Varahi, the third Vishnu. India will rise, but not for selfish reasons. It will rise for Dharma … For the Good of all.
She looked at Ram and smiled.
Ram squeezed her hand. His horse snorted and quickened its pace. Ram pulled back the reins gently, keeping it in step with his wife’s steed.
Chapter 25
The two young couples sailed into the Ayodhya port to an overwhelming sight. It was as if all of Ayodhya had stepped out of their homes to greet them.
Sita had enjoyed her conversations with Ram during their journey. They had brainstormed on how best an empire can be organised for the good of the people. She
had spoken about the concept that the state compulsorily adopt young children to break the evils of the birth-based caste system. Sita had not mentioned that she had grown to believe in the idea relatively recently; or that it was originally Vishwamitra’s idea. Ram did not like or trust the Maharishi. Why taint a good idea with that dislike? They had also spoken about the Somras mass-manufacturing technology developed by Guru Vashishtha. Ram believed that the Somras should either be made available to all or none. Since taking away the Somras might be difficult, he suggested that Vashishtha’s technology be used to make it available to all.
Enjoyable as those conversations had been, Sita knew they would probably not find the time to have more of them for a while. Ram had his work cut out in Ayodhya. To begin with, he had to ensure that he was not stopped from going on exile. And, of course, he also had to explain his marriage to the adopted princess of the powerless kingdom of Mithila. Jatayu had quipped to Sita, that had the Ayodhyans known that she was the Vishnu, they would have realised that Ram had married up! Sita had simply smiled and dismissed his observation.
Standing at the ship’s balustrade, Sita looked at the grand, yet crumbling, port of Ayodhya. It was several times larger than the Sankashya port. She observed the barricaded man-made channel that allowed the waters of the Sarayu River to flow into the massive Grand Canal that surrounded Ayodhya, the unconquerable city.
The canal had been built a few centuries ago, during the reign of Emperor Ayutayus, by drawing in the waters of the feisty Sarayu River. Its dimensions were almost celestial. Stretching over fifty kilometres, it circumnavigated the third and outermost wall of the city of Ayodhya. It was enormous in breadth as well, extending to about two-and-a-half kilometres across the banks. Its storage capacity was so massive that for the first few years of its construction, many kingdoms downriver had complained of water shortages. Their objections had been crushed with brute force by the powerful Ayodhyan warriors.
One of the main purposes of this canal was militaristic. It was, in a sense, a moat. To be fair, it could be called the Moat of Moats, protecting the city from all sides. Prospective attackers would have to row across a moat with river-like dimensions. The fools would be out in the open, vulnerable to a barrage of missiles from the high walls of the unconquerable city. Four bridges spanned the canal in the four cardinal directions. The roads that emerged from these bridges led into the city through four massive gates in the outermost wall: North Gate, East Gate, South Gate and West Gate. Each bridge was divided into two sections. Each section had its own tower and drawbridge, thus offering two levels of defence at the canal itself.
Even so, to consider this Grand Canal a mere defensive structure was to do it a disservice. It also worked as an effective flood-control mechanism, as water from the tempestuous Sarayu could be led in through control-gates. Floods were a recurrent problem in India. Furthermore, its placid surface made drawing water relatively easy, as compared to taking it directly from the feisty Sarayu. Smaller canals radiated out of the Grand Canal into the hinterland of Ayodhya, increasing the productivity of farming dramatically. The increase in agricultural yield allowed many farmers to free themselves from the toil of tilling the land. Only a few were enough to feed the massive population of the entire kingdom of Kosala. This surplus labour transformed into a large army, trained by talented generals into a brilliant fighting unit. The army conquered more and more of the surrounding lands, till the great Lord Raghu, the grandfather of the present Emperor Dashrath, finally subjugated the entire Sapt Sindhu; thus, becoming the Chakravarti Samrat or Universal Emperor.
Dashrath too had built on this proud legacy, conquering far and wide to become a Chakravarti Samrat as well. That was until the demon of Lanka, Raavan, destroyed the combined might of the Sapt Sindhuan armies at Karachapa around twenty years ago.
The subsequent punitive trade levies that Raavan had imposed on all the kingdoms of the Sapt Sindhu, and mostly on Ayodhya, had sucked the treasury dry. It showed in the crumbling grandeur of the Grand Canal and its surrounding structures.
Despite its obviously fading glory, Ayodhya overwhelmed Sita. The city was bigger than any other in the Sapt Sindhu. Even in its decline, Ayodhya was many times grander than her Mithila. She had visited Ayodhya in the past, but incognito. This was the first time she was visible to all. Being gawked at. Being judged. She could see it in the eyes of the nobles and citizenry standing at a distance, held back by the Ayodhya royal bodyguards.
The gangplank hit the port deck with a loud bang, clearing her mind of the profusion of thoughts. A rakishly handsome man was bounding up the plank. He was shorter than Ram but far more muscular.
This must be Bharat.
He was closely followed by a diminutive, immaculately attired man with calm, intelligent eyes. He walked with slow, measured steps.
Shatrughan …
‘Dada!’ hollered Bharat, as he ran up to Ram and embraced him.
Sita could see why Radhika had fallen for Bharat. He had obvious charisma.
‘My brother,’ smiled Ram, as he embraced Bharat.
As Bharat stepped back and embraced Lakshman, Shatrughan quietly embraced his eldest brother.
Within a flash, the four brothers were facing Sita and Urmila.
Ram held his hand out and said with simple pride, ‘This is my wife, Sita, and next to her is Lakshman’s wife, Urmila.’
Shatrughan smiled warmly and folded his hands together. ‘Namaste. It is an honour to meet both of you.’
Bharat smacked Shatrughan on his stomach. ‘You are too formal, Shatrughan.’ He stepped forward and embraced Urmila. ‘Welcome to the family.’
Urmila smiled, her nervousness dissipating a bit.
Then Bharat stepped towards his elder sister-in-law, Sita, and held her hands. ‘I have heard a lot about you, Bhabhi … I always thought it would be impossible for my brother to find a woman better than him.’ He looked at Ram, grinned and turned his attention back to her. ‘But my dada has always had the ability to manage the impossible.’
Sita laughed softly.
Bharat embraced his sister-in-law. ‘Welcome to the family, Bhabhi.’
The roads of Ayodhya were clogged with people waiting to receive their crown prince. A few had even extended their enthusiasm to welcome his bride. The procession inched forward at a snail’s pace. The lead chariot had Ram and Sita. The prince was awkwardly acknowledging the wild cheering in the streets. Two chariots followed behind them. One had Bharat and Shatrughan, while Lakshman and his wife Urmila rode the second. Bharat flamboyantly acknowledged the multitude, waving his hands and blowing kisses with trademark flourish. Lakshman waved his trunk-like arms carefully, lest he hurt the petite Urmila, who stood demurely by his side. Shatrughan, as always, stood stoic, unmoved. Staring into the throngs. Almost like he was academically studying crowd behaviour.
The chanting of the crowd was loud and clear.
Ram!
Bharat!
Lakshman!
Shatrughan!
Their four beloved princes, the protectors of the kingdom, were finally together again. And most importantly, their crown prince had returned. Victorious! The defeater of the hated Raavan had returned!
Flowers were strewn, holy rice was showered, all were gay and happy. Though it was daytime, the massive stone lamp towers were lit up festively. Many had placed lamps on the parapets of their homes. Resplendent sunshine blazed with glory, as if in obeisance to the prince from the great clan of the Sun God himself. Ram of the Suryavanshis!
It took four hours for the chariots to traverse a distance that normally took less than thirty minutes. They finally reached the wing of the palace allocated to Ram.
A visibly weak Dashrath sat on his travelling throne, with Kaushalya standing next to him, waiting for his sons. A proper welcome ceremony had been laid out to receive the new brides. The eldest queen was a scrupulous upholder of tradition and rituals.
Kaikeyi had not deigned to reply to the invitation sent by Kaush
alya, regarding the welcoming ceremony. Sumitra, of peace-loving Kashi, stood on the other side of Dashrath. Kaushalya leaned on her for support, always. Of course, Sumitra too was welcoming home a daughter-in-law!
Loud conch shells were heard as the swagatam ceremony began at the palace gate.
The four princes of Ayodhya and the two princesses of Mithila finally emerged from the melee. The Ayodhya royal guards, nervous as cats on a hot metal roof, heaved a visible sigh of relief as the royal youngsters entered the palace compound. Away from the multitude.
The royal procession moved along the elegant, marble-encrusted walkway in the compound. Verdant gardens were laid out on both sides. They slowed on reaching the entrance of Prince Ram’s wing of the palace.
Sita hesitated as her eyes fell on Kaushalya. But she dismissed the thought that had struck her.
Kaushalya walked to the threshold holding the puja thali in her hands. It contained a lit lamp, a few grains of rice and some vermilion. She looped the prayer plate in small circles, seven times, around Sita’s face. She picked up some rice and threw it in the air, above Sita’s head. She took a pinch of vermilion and smeared it on Sita’s parting on the hairline. Sita bent down to touch Kaushalya’s feet in respect. Kaushalya handed the thali to an attendant, and placed her hands on Sita’s head and blessed her. ‘Ayushman bhav, my child.’
As Sita straightened, Kaushalya indicated Dashrath. ‘Accept your father-in-law’s blessings.’ Pointing towards Sumitra, she continued, ‘And then, from your chhoti maa. We will then do the other ceremonies.’
Sita moved ahead to follow Kaushalya’s instructions. Ram stepped forward and touched his mother’s feet. She blessed him quickly and indicated that he seek his father’s blessings.
Then she beckoned Urmila and Lakshman. Urmila, unlike Sita, did not dismiss the thought; the same one that had struck Sita earlier.
Kaushalya reminded her of her mother Sunaina. She had the same diminutive appearance and calm, gentle eyes. Kaushalya’s skin was darker and her facial features were different, no doubt. Nobody could say that they were related. But there was something similar about them. The spiritually inclined would call it a soul connection.
Sita: Warrior of Mithila Page 23