SITA’S SISTER (24 page)

Urmila paused, waiting for Manthara to reply. The wizened old lady was uncharacteristically silent but there was a faint gleam in her eyes, a glimmer far back in a dark tunnel.

‘You cannot. You failed there. You must have tried several times; that is why the blatant favouritism for Bharat—not just because he was Ma Kaikeyi’s son,’ Urmila continued softly, ‘but because you needed him as a weapon to hurt the princes. And you took his silence for acquiescence. He was silent out of respect for you, Manthara, as you were like the grandmother he never had. And you have betrayed his trust too. Just like you did with Ma Kaikeyi. You made her demand her boons. Not only did you remind her of them but also the long-forgotten promise King Dashrath had given her father.’

‘But the king did go back on that promise, did he not?’ barked Manthara. ‘My Kaikeyi was beautiful, young, clever, brave, the most eligible princess of the country—why would she marry an old king? But she did because the foolish girl fell hopelessly in love with him. And I made her father put that condition as a last resort to safeguard her interest or she would have gladly agreed to anything!’

‘It was you who influenced Aswapati!’ said Urmila. ‘You made him extract the promise from King Dashrath and he readily agreed hoping to have a son from Princess Kaikeyi.’

‘Yes!’ said Manthara viciously. ‘He married her only to have a son. And when she could not give him one, he callously went ahead and got Sumitra as his third wife. A shock the poor princess could not bear and that’s why I had to weaken the new bride’s postion. Fortunately, she, too, could not beget a child and I started spreading rumours about her lineage…it worked mainly because Sumitra was such a quiet, timid kitten,’ she laughed disparagingly. ‘So uninteresting and dumb—just a pale shadow selflessly serving the elder queens without thinking of her own good or that of her sons! Why, she was stupid enough to encourage even the twins to dote on Ram and Bharat as she did on the queens!’

Urmila clenched her fists, her face tight with spreading anger; she could not believe this woman’s atrocious wickedness.

‘But it was always Kausalya who was the biggest rival being his first wife and Kaikeyi needed to usurp the status as quickly as she could and fortunately, that war against Samabara of Vaijayanti turned in Kaikeyi’s favour,’ recounted Manthara, preening over every memory. ‘I persuaded her to join the battle—as she was such a fine warrior—to woo over the king all over again. She excelled on the battlefield and saved his life. With that one favour, she enslaved him for ever. Kausalya finally had to forfeit her right as chief queen. Kaikeyi soon became his favourite consort as I had planned. And everything was fine till Ram was born…’

That the king adored Ram from the day he laid eyes upon him although he had three other sons must have worried Manthara; and it was that insecurity that made her resent Ram so passionately. And over the years, the resentment turned to virulent hate, laced with a gnawing fear that this was the one person who could upset all her neatly laid plans.

Manthara spread her hands sadly but her smile was cunning. ‘Everyone loved Ram—he had some magic about him and all succumbed to him—even Kaikeyi, foolishly so!’ riled the wicked woman. ‘She completely doted on him, always oh always, forgetting that Bharat was her son! Her son was to be made king but that silly love made her forget that promise her husband had once given her father. The king, too, had conveniently brushed it aside, sending poor Bharat to Kekeya often so that he does not grow too fond of Ayodhya. I used to remind her, reprimand her for sending her son away so often to her father’s place and neglecting him but she kept saying she had no problems with Ram being made king as he was the rightful heir being the first born. Silly woman, first blinded by her love for her husband and then for Ram!’

The old woman was now openly boasting, not bothering to mask her emotions. She said in her heavy clogged voice, ‘And then, after a lot of thinking, I found one chink in that armour of love—Kaikeyi’s distrust for men. Thanks to her father having abandoned her mother so many years ago, she was always suspicious and doubtful of her husband’s love. That is how I made her hostile to Kausalya and Sumitra, pitting them as rivals,’ smiled Manthara craftily. ‘All I had to do was fan that distrust at the right moment. And the hurried coronation was the perfect excuse to whip up all of Kaikeyi’s latent insecurities.’

Urmila saw how Manthara had perfectly designed and designated her plan and felt physically sick.

Manthara was gloating and gleeful. ‘Kaikeyi has always been emotionally gullible. She had complete faith in Ram; to shatter that immense faith and love, I had to put the fear, that deep, bubbling fear into her again that Kausalya would regain her power and position if Ram were to be made king. Then, Kausalya, who despised Kaikeyi, would hit back at the first given opportunity. She could, and gladly would, even put Kaikeyi and her son in prison or worse, make her subservient to her! That thought terrified Kaikeyi and she was ready to do everything that I said to save her from that unimaginable plight!’ the old woman crowed, readjusting the gold-knobbed walking stick on which her body rested.

‘And then I added to that fear by pointing out how the king had hastened the coronation of Ram during Bharat’s convenient absence, planting a seed of doubt about his motives,’ she smiled slyly, ‘and how he had not bothered to inform her about it. I kept telling her that the king and Kausalya had fooled her and plotted against her and her son Bharat…and from that moment onwards, Kaikeyi became my little Kaikeyi again, whom I could mould as I wanted!’ smirked Manthara, her face wreathed in a flat, white smile.

Thick cunning played on her wrinkled face. ‘She begged me to get her out of this net which was closing upon her and I showed her the way out of the nightmare—to ask for the two boons the king had once promised her.’ she shrugged. ‘And I told her how to go about it too—throwing a tantrum, sulking, threatening to kill herself and all the drama that was necessary to force the king to agree. Oh, she performed beautifully! And it all happened exactly the way we wanted it. Of course, I did not expect Sita and Lakshman to follow suit—which made it all the better, for, frankly dear, as you said, I am scared of Lakshman’s terrible temper and his loyalty. He could have spoiled the whole plan and revolted against Bharat and the king or Kaikeyi. Ram would never dream of it! That he went with Ram was a blessing!’

Everything was falling well into place as Manthara had envisaged—but for one. Bharat. Would he ever agree to his mother’s proposal masterminded by Manthara?

The king was sinking fast. Since the day Ram had stepped out of the palace, the king had slumped in despair and despondency. Fevered and semi-conscious, he kept crying for his son to return. Everyone was worried and it was Sumitra who took one quick decision. ‘Call for Shanta, quickly,’ she told Vasishtha as Sumantra was not back from the forest yet. ‘I think she should be with her father now. He does not look too good.’

Sumantra returned from the forest six days later. His return saw the city in a pall of gloom; there was still a lingering hope that they would return. With Sumantra’s return and his narration of how the princes were, the king’s last hope was gone. Ram had left, and with him had the king’s will to live. He lay still and listless, his mind torpid, harking back to his days with Ram.

Kausalya broke down, swinging between grief and frustrated fury as she turned savagely on the languishing king. ‘Why do you bother to know the details from your minister when it is you who sent him to escort your son to exile?’ she flared. ‘It is you who commanded my innocent son to go on a fourteen-year exile—a punishment reserved for the worst criminals. It was you who so meekly agreed to your wife’s wishes well knowing they were criminally unfair and…cruel! It is you who took away my son from me. It is you…’ her voice broke. ‘…And all for that mad love for your dearest wife! What sort of a king are you who gives boons to his wife so that her son supercedes the throne while mine—the heir apparent—is thrown out of the kingdom to live in the jungles. You let go of a good son and a good king for the sake of some hollow promise that you made to an ambitious wife. That’s what the world is saying and laughing at you, while all I can do is weep for my lost son! Why? Why, do I have to suffer this?’ she spewed her anguish.

Like the others, Urmila was stunned by her virulence. Her exploding fury must have been very deep-seated and relentless to not care for a dying man. Sumitra made a move to stop the cruel flow of words but the king turned his head towards the eldest queen, his eyes wet and vacant. ‘You are suffering this, dear, for my mistake, my foolishness…and my sin, and the curse which is coming true…’ he whispered tremulously. ‘Have pity on me…’

His trembling voice bought the queen back to her senses. She clutched his emaciated hands in quick remorse. ‘I am sorry, forgive me for my angry words…you haven’t committed any sin. It is that woman who first stole you away from me and now my son!’ she wept. ‘I have nothing left, but this grief which we have to bear together while she lives happily with her son and the crown!’

Her grief was edged with her hate for Kaikeyi: throbbing and inexorable. The king shook his head, ‘No, it’s not Kaikeyi’s fault either, it is mine. I have sinned. Why would a woman who was so fond of Ram suddenly turn against him so heartlessly? It is the curse working on us,’ he said hoarsely. ‘That curse of the old parents of Shravan is upon me now…’

‘What curse are you talking about? What sin?’ asked Kausalya fearfully, dreading the worst. Was the king’s wandering mind making him ramble senselessly?

‘I can see death approaching me and in these last moments I can only think of that sin I committed when I was young, brash and immature,’ he sighed, the breath rattling in his throat. ‘I was famous for my skill of using my arrow on moving, invisible targets just following their sound. One rainy evening, I had gone hunting to practice this art of mine on the banks of River Sarayu in the forest, hoping that some thirsty animal would come to drink water from the river. I heard the sound of water lapping and I aimed my arrow at that gurgling sound. The arrow correctly found its mark. But it was an incorrect target. Instead of a dying cry of an injured animal, I heard a loud, heart-wrenching, human scream that rent the stillness of the night and my very soul…I can still hear it!’ he sighed. ‘I rushed to the spot to see my kill; it was not an animal but a young boy, covered in his own blood, his chest ripped apart by my unthinking arrow. I can never forget that gruesome sight and it has come back to haunt me! He could barely breathe, the blood gurgling from his mouth. I went close to him to help him, to apologize, to beg his forgiveness but all he could gasp was a request to take some water for his old, blind parents whom he had left under the shade of a tree in the forest. It was then that I noticed the upturned pitcher of water. His parents were very thirsty and they needed the water urgently and saying that repeatedly, he died in my arms.’

The king was weeping, the tears silently coursing down his sunken cheeks.

‘It was an accident,’ said Sumitra gently. ‘You did not mean to kill him.’

‘That can be no consolation, my sweet Sumitra. You are saying this to comfort a dying man, I know, but…’ paused the king, swallowing convulsively. ‘But I had just killed a bright young boy—as old as my Ram—devoted to his parents…and all I could think of at that time was how I would face his parents. I had to take the pitcher of water to them—I couldn’t have run away from that dastardly deed. And so, fearfully, I went to them. They were waiting under the tree as he had said. I gave them the water but dared not speak. And finally, gathering all my moral courage, I confessed to them of my heinous crime. I begged for forgiveness though there was no pardon for such a terrible sin. They were speechless in their grief, weeping inconsolably till the old man turned to me and requested me to take them to where the body of their dead son lay…’ the old king continued shakily, his sightless eyes seeing his past which had returned to torment him. ‘They sat down beside him, felt his bloodied body all over and broke down—two helpless old parents crying over the body of their young son. I was filled with guilt and self-loathing and wished the old parents gave me some punishment, some repentance. With my help, they performed the funeral rites of their son. The old father said to me, ‘You have committed this crime in ignorance but it is still a crime. The grief you have given us is unbearable. We cannot live without our son. And though you shall live, may you suffer the same pain we are suffering now and may you die of the same grief of having parted from your beloved son.’ And saying those terrible words, he and his wife jumped into the funeral pyre to be with their son. My sin is catching up with me now. Their curse is coming true. Let me die mourning for my son!’

The tears had dried and cracked on the old king’s lined face, the lines of anguish more than those of old age. He was breathing heavily, his breaths coming in short gasps making it difficult for him to speak.

‘Don’t speak any more. Rest,’ said Sumitra moistening his dried, chapped lips with some water. ‘Why are you mourning, O king? Ram shall return, victorious and famous, greater than ever before. You couldn’t have witnessed a prouder moment. So, dear king, don’t burn in this relentless grief and consume yourself. Wait for that shining day—it will recompense for the suffering of the coming fourteen years.’