Scion of Ikshvaku (26 page)

Mithila did not figure in the list of powerful kingdoms of the Sapt Sindhu. The prospect of the overlord kingdom of Ayodhya making a marriage alliance with Mithila was remote at best. Even Ram was at a loss for words. But Lakshman had had enough by now.

‘Have we been brought here to provide security for the
swayamvar
?’ asked Lakshman. ‘This is even more bizarre than making us fight with those imbecile Asuras.’

Vishwamitra turned towards Lakshman and glared, but before he could say anything Ram spoke up.

‘Guru
ji
,’ said Ram politely, although even his legendary patience was running thin, ‘I do not think that Father would want a marriage alliance with Mithila. I, too, have sworn that I will not marry for politics but for—’

Vishwamitra interrupted Ram. ‘It may be a little late to refuse participation in the
swayamvar
, prince.’

Ram immediately understood what had been implied. With superhuman effort, he maintained his polite tone. ‘How could you have nominated me as a suitor without checking with my father or me?’

‘Your father designated me your guru. You’re aware of the tradition, prince; a father, a mother or a guru can make the decision on a child’s marriage. Do you want to break this law?’

A stunned Ram stood rooted to the spot, his eyes blazing with anger.

‘Furthermore, if you refuse to attend the
swayamvar
despite your name being listed among the suitors, then you will be breaking the laws in
Ushna Smriti
and
Haarit Smriti
. Are you sure you want to do that?’

Ram did not utter a word. His body shook with fury. He had been cleverly trapped by Vishwamitra.

‘Excuse me,’ said Ram, abruptly, as he walked up the steps, lifted the roof door and climbed out. Lakshman followed his elder brother, banging the door shut behind him.

Vishwamitra laughed with satisfaction. ‘He’ll come around. He has no choice. The law is clear.’

Arishtanemi looked at the door sadly and then back at his guru, choosing silence.

FlyLeaf.ORG

Chapter 21
FlyLeaf.ORG

Ram walked down the stairway and reached the lower ‘ground’ level. He entered a public garden and sat on the first available bench, alive only to his inner turmoil. To the casual passer-by, his eyes seemed focused on the ground, his breathing slow and even, as though he was meditating deeply. But Lakshman knew his brother and his signs of anger. The deeper
Dada’s
anger, the calmer he appeared. Lakshman felt the pain acutely, for his brother became distant and shut him out on such occasions.

‘The hell with this,
Dada
!’ Lakshman lashed out. ‘Tell that pompous guru to take a hike and let’s just leave.’

Ram did not react. Not a muscle twitched to suggest that he had even heard his brother’s rant.

‘
Dada
,’ continued Lakshman, ‘it’s not as if you and I are particularly popular among the royal families in the Sapt Sindhu. Let Bharat
Dada
handle them. One of the few advantages of being disliked is that you don’t need to fret over what others think about you.’

‘I don’t care what others think of me,’ said Ram, his voice startlingly calm. ‘But it is the law.’

‘It’s not your law. It’s not our law. Forget it!’

Ram turned to look into the distance.

‘
Dada
…’ said Lakshman, placing his hand on Ram’s shoulder.

Ram’s body tensed in protest.

‘
Dada
, whatever you decide, I am with you.’

His shoulder relaxed. Ram finally looked at his woebegone brother. He smiled. ‘Let’s take a walk into the city. I need to clear my head.’

Beyond the Bees Quarter, the city of Mithila was relatively more organised, with well-laid out streets lined by luxurious buildings; luxurious in a manner of speaking, for it would be unfair to compare them to the grand architecture of Ayodhya. Dressed in the coarse, un-dyed garments of the common class, the brothers did not attract any attention.

Their aimless wandering led them into the main market area, built in a large, open square. It was lined by
pucca
stone-structured expensive shops, with temporary stalls occupying the centre, offering a low-cost option. The neatly numbered stalls were covered by colourful cloth awnings held up by upright bamboo poles. They were organised in a grid layout, marked by chalk lines with adequate lanes for people to walk around.

‘
Dada
,’ said Lakshman as he picked up a mango. He knew his brother loved the fruit. ‘These must be among the early harvests of the season. It may not be the best, but it’s still a mango!’

Ram smiled faintly. Lakshman immediately purchased two mangoes, handed one to Ram and set about devouring the other, biting and sucking the succulent pulp with gusto. It made Ram laugh.

Lakshman looked at him. ‘What’s the point of eating mangoes if you cannot make a mess of it?’

Ram set upon his own mango, joining his brother as he slurped noisily. Lakshman finished first and his brother stopped him in time from casually chucking the mango stone by the sidewalk. ‘Lakshman…’

Lakshman pretended as if nothing was amiss and, equally casually, walked up to a garbage collection pit dug next to a stall and dropped the mango stone in the rightful place. Ram followed suit. As they turned around to retrace their steps to the apartment, they heard a loud commotion from farther ahead in the same lane. They quickened their pace as they walked towards the hubbub.

They heard a loud, belligerent voice. ‘Princess Sita! Leave this boy alone!’

A firm feminine voice was heard in reply. ‘I will not!’

Ram looked at Lakshman, surprised.

‘Let’s see what’s going on,’ said Lakshman.

Ram and Lakshman pushed forward through the crowd that had gathered in a flash. As they broke through the first line of the throng, they came upon an open space, probably the centre of the square. They stood at the rear of a corner stall, beyond which their eyes fell on a little boy’s back, probably seven or eight years of age. He held a fruit in his hand, as he cowered behind a woman, also facing the other way. The woman confronted a large and visibly
angry mob.

‘That’s Princess Sita?’ asked Lakshman, his eyes widening as he turned to look at Ram. His brother’s visage knocked the breath out of him. Time seemed to inexplicably slow down, as if Lakshman was witnessing a cosmic event.

Ram stood still as he looked intently, his face calm. Lakshman detected the flush on his brother’s dark-skinned face; his heart had clearly picked up pace. Sita stood with her back towards them, but Ram could see that she was unusually tall for a Mithilan woman, almost as tall as he was. She looked like a warrior in the army of the Mother Goddess, with her lean and muscular physique. She was wheatish-complexioned; she wore a cream-coloured
dhoti
and a white single-cloth blouse. Her
angvastram
was draped over her right shoulder, with one end tucked into her
dhoti
and the other tied around her left hand. Ram noticed a small knife scabbard tied horizontally to the small of her back. It was empty. He had been told that Sita was a little older than he was—she was twenty-five years of age.

Ram felt a strange restlessness; he felt a strong urge to behold her face.

‘Princess Sita!’ screamed a man, possibly the leader of the mob. Their elaborate attire suggested that this crowd was made up of the well-to-do. ‘Enough of protecting these scum from the Bees Quarter! Hand him over!’

‘He will be punished by the law!’ said Sita. ‘Not by you!’

Ram smiled slightly.

‘He is a thief! That’s all we understand. We all know whom your laws favour. Hand him over!’ The man inched closer, breaking away from the crowd. The air was rife with tension; nobody knew what would happen next. It could spiral out of control any moment. Crazed mobs can lend a dangerous courage to even the faint-hearted.

Sita slowly reached for her scabbard, where her knife should have been. Her hand tensed. Ram watched with keen interest: no sudden movements, not a twitch of nervous energy when she realised she carried no weapon.

Sita spoke evenly. ‘The law does not make any distinction. The boy will be punished. But if you try to interfere, so will you.’

Ram was spellbound.
She’s a follower of the law…

Lakshman smiled. He had never thought he would find another as obsessed with the law as his brother.

‘Enough already!’ shouted the man. He looked at the mob and screamed as he swung his hand. ‘She’s just one! There are hundreds of us! Come on!’

‘But she’s a princess!’ Someone from the back tried to reason weakly.

‘No, she’s not!’ shouted the man. ‘She is not King Janak’s real daughter. She’s adopted!’

Sita suddenly pushed the boy out of the way, stepped back and dislodged with her foot an upright bamboo stick that held the awning of a shop in place. It fell to the ground. She flicked the stick with her foot, catching it with her right hand in one fluid motion. She swung the stick expertly in her hand, twirling it around with such fearsome speed that it whipped up a loud, humming sound. The leader of the mob remained stationary, out of reach.

‘
Dada
,’ whispered Lakshman. ‘We should step in.’

‘She has it under control.’

Sita stopped swinging and held the stick to her side, one end tucked under her armpit, ready to strike. ‘Go back quietly to your houses, nobody will get hurt. The boy will be punished according to the law; nothing more, nothing less.’

The mob leader pulled out a knife and swiftly moved forward. Sita swerved back as he swung the blade wildly. In the same movement, she steadied herself by going back one step and then down on one knee, swinging her stick with both her hands. The weapon hit the man behind his knee. Even before his knee buckled, she transferred her weight to her other foot and yanked the stick upwards, using his own legs as leverage as his feet went up in the air. His legs flew upwards and he fell hard, flat on his back. Sita instantly rose, held the stick high above her head with both her hands, and struck his chest hard; one brutal strike. Ram heard the sound of the rib cage cracking with the fierce blow.

Sita twirled the stick and held it out, one end tucked under her armpit again; her left hand stretched out, her feet spread wide, offering her the balance she needed to move to either side swiftly. ‘Anyone else?’

The crowd took one step back. The swift and brutal downing of their leader seemed to have driven some sense into them. Sita forced the point home. ‘Anyone else wants a cracked rib, free of charge?’

They began to move backwards, even as the people in the back melted away.

Sita summoned a man who stood to the right of Ram, pointing towards the one who lay prone on the ground. ‘Kaustav! Round up a few men and take Vijay to the
ayuralay.
I will check on him later.’

Kaustav and his friends rushed forward. As she turned, Ram finally beheld her visage.

Had the entire universe garnered all its talents into creating a perfect feminine face — of delicate beauty and ferocious will — this would be it. Her round face was a shade lighter than the rest of her body, with high cheekbones and a sharp, small nose; her lips were neither thin nor full; her wide-set eyes were neither small nor large; strong brows arched in a perfect curve above creaseless eyelids, and a limpid fire shone in her eyes, enhanced right now by what she had unleashed. A faint birthmark on her right temple made real a face that to Ram was both flawless and magnificent. She had the look of the mountain people from the Himalayas; Ram had fond memories of them from his short visit to the valley of Kathmandu, when he was young. Her straight, jet-black hair was braided and tied into a neat bun. Her warrior’s body carried the proud scars from battle wounds.

‘
Dada
…’ Lakshman’s voice seemed to have travelled from a distant land. It was, quite simply, almost inaudible to him.

Ram stood as if he was carved from marble. Lakshman knew his brother so well; the more transfixed his face, the deeper the tumult of emotions within.

Lakshman touched Ram’s shoulder. ‘
Dada
…’

Ram still could not respond. He was mesmerised. Lakshman turned his attention back to Sita.

She threw the stick away and caught hold of the boy-thief. ‘Come on.’

‘My Lady,’ pleaded the boy. ‘I’m sorry. This will be the last time. I’m really sorry.’

Sita tugged at the boy’s hand and began to walk briskly towards Ram and Lakshman. Lakshman took hold of Ram’s elbow and attempted to step aside. But Ram seemed to be in the grip of a higher power. His face was expressionless, his body still, his eyes almost unblinking, his breathing even and regular. The only movement was his
angvastram
fluttering in the breeze; exaggerated by his immobility.

Almost as if it was beyond his control, Ram bowed his head.

Lakshman held his breath as his mouth fell open. He had never thought he’d see this day; after all, which woman would inspire the admiration of a man such as his brother? That love would slam into a heart that had only known obedience to, and strict control of, his mind? That a man whose mission was to raise every person’s head with pride and purpose would find comfort in bowing to another?

A line from an ancient poem came floating into his mind; one that his romantic heart had found ethereal. But he had never thought his staid elder brother would find meaning in that line before he did.

She has that something, like the thread in a crystal-bead necklace. She holds it all together.

Lakshman could see that his brother had found the thread that would hold the disparate beads of his life together.

Ram’s heart, despite the fact that it had never been given free rein due to his immense self-control, was probably aware that it had just found its greatest ally. It had found Sita.

She came to a standstill, surprised by these two strangers blocking her path; one looked like a giant but loveable ruffian, and the other was too dignified for the coarse clothes he wore. Strangely, for some reason, he was bowing to her.

‘Out of my way!’ snapped Sita, as she pushed past Ram.