by Amish
The male calf began to screech heartbreakingly. He followed his sister. But he kept looking back. Again. And again. He offered no resistance, however, to his sister.
The sister, like every other elephant in the herd, walked steadily ahead. She did not look back. Not once. Not once.
Sita looked up at her mother, tears flowing down her cheeks.
‘Society moves on, my child,’ whispered Sunaina. ‘Countries move on. Life moves on. As it should.’
Sita couldn’t speak. She could not look at her mother. She held Sunaina close, burying her head in her mother’s bosom.
‘Clinging to painful memories is pointless, Sita,’ said Sunaina. ‘You must move on. You must live …’
Sita listened. But the tears did not stop.
‘There’s no escape from problems and challenges. They’re a part of life. Avoiding Mithila does not mean that your troubles will disappear. It only means that other challenges will appear.’
Sita tightened her grip on her mother.
‘Running away is never the solution. Confront your problems. Manage them. That is the way of the warrior.’ Sunaina lifted Sita’s chin and looked into her eyes. ‘And, you are a warrior. Don’t ever forget that.’
Sita nodded.
‘You know your sister was born weak. Urmila is no warrior. You must take care of her, Sita. And, you must look after Mithila.’
Sita made a promise to herself within the confines of her mind. Yes. I will.
Sunaina caressed Sita’s face and smiled. ‘Your father has always loved you. So does your younger sister. Remember that.’
I know.
‘As for me, I don’t just love you, Sita. I also have great expectations from you. Your karma will ensure our family’s name survives for many millennia. You will go down in history.’
Sita uttered her first words since she had seen her mother at the gurukul. ‘I am so sorry, Maa. I’m so sorry. I …’
Sunaina smiled and held Sita tight.
‘Sorry …’ sobbed Sita.
‘I have faith in you. You will live a life that will make me proud.’
‘But I can’t live without you, Maa.’
Sunaina pulled back and held Sita’s face up. ‘You can and you will.’
‘No … I will not live without you …’
Sunaina’s expression became firm. ‘Listen to me, Sita. You will not waste your life mourning me. You will live wisely and make me proud.’
Sita continued crying.
‘Don’t look back. Look to the future. Build your future, don’t grieve for your past.’
Sita did not have the strength to speak.
‘Promise me.’
Sita stared at her mother, her eyes brimming with misery.
‘Promise me.’
‘I promise, Maa. I promise.’
It had been four weeks since Sunaina’s visit to Shvetaketu’s gurukul. Sita had returned home with her mother. Sunaina had manoeuvred for Sita to be appointed prime minister of Mithila, with all the executive powers necessary to administer the kingdom.
Sita now spent most of her time with Sunaina, looking after her mother’s failing health. Sunaina guided Sita’s meetings with the ministers of the kingdom in her private chambers, by her bedside.
Sita was aware that Sunaina was greatly concerned about her relationship with her younger sister. Thus, she made a concerted effort to bond with Urmila. The queen of Mithila wanted her daughters to build a strong relationship that would tide them over the difficult years ahead. She had spoken to them about the need for them to stand by each other. And the love and loyalty they must share.
One evening, after a long meeting in Sunaina’s chambers, Sita entered Urmila’s room, next to their mother’s. She had asked an aide to arrange a plate of black grapes. Urmila loved black grapes. Dismissing the aide, she carried the plate into the chamber.
The room was dimly lit. The sun had set but only a few lamps were aglow.
‘Urmila!’
She was not in bed. Sita began looking for her sister. She stepped into the large balcony overlooking the palace garden.
Where is she?
She came back into the room. Irritated with the minimal light, she was about to order for some more lamps to be lit, when she noticed a shaking figure bundled in a corner.
‘Urmila?’
Sita walked over.
Urmila sat in the corner, her knees pulled against her chest. Her head down on her knees.
Sita immediately set the plate aside and sat down on the floor next to Urmila. She put her arm around her baby sister.
‘Urmila …’ she said, gently.
Urmila looked up at her elder sister. Her tear-streaked face was lined with misery.
‘Didi …’
‘Talk to me, my child,’ said Sita.
‘Is …’
Sita squeezed Urmila’s shoulders gently. ‘Yes …’
‘Is maa leaving us and going to heaven?’
Sita swallowed hard. She wished maa was here to answer Urmila’s questions. Almost immediately, she realised that Sunaina would soon not be here at all. Urmila was her responsibility. She had to be the one to answer her.
‘No, Urmila. Maa will always be here.’
Urmila looked up. Confused. Hopeful. ‘But everyone is telling me that maa is going away. That I have to learn to …’
‘Everyone doesn’t know what you and I know, Urmila. Maa will just live in a different place. She won’t live in her body anymore.’ Sita pointed to Urmila’s heart and then her own. ‘Maa will live in these two places. She will always be there in our hearts. And, whenever we are together, she will be complete.’
Urmila looked down at her chest, feeling her heart pick up pace. Then she looked at Sita. ‘She will never leave us?’
‘Urmila, close your eyes.’
Urmila did as her sister ordered.
‘What do you see?’
She smiled. ‘I see maa. She is holding me. She is caressing my face.’
Sita ran her fingers down Urmila’s face. She opened her eyes, smiling even more broadly.
‘She will always be with us.’
Urmila held Sita tightly. ‘Didi …’
‘The both of us, together, are now our mother.’
‘My journey in this life is drawing to an end,’ said Sunaina.
Sita and Sunaina were alone in the queen’s chambers. Sunaina lay in bed. Sita sat beside her, holding her hand.
‘Maa …’
‘I’m aware of what people in Mithila say about me.’
‘Maa, don’t bother about what some idiots …’
‘Let me speak, my child,’ said Sunaina, pressing Sita’s hand. ‘I know they think my achievements of the past have evaporated in the last few years. Ever since Kushadhwaj began to squeeze our kingdom dry.’
Sita felt the familiar guilt rise in her stomach.
‘It is not your fault,’ said Sunaina, emphatically. ‘Kushadhwaj would have used any excuse to hurt us. He wants to take over Mithila.’
‘What do you want me to do, Maa?’
Sunaina knew her daughter’s aggressive nature. ‘Nothing to Kushadhwaj … He is your father’s brother. But I want you to redeem my name.’
Sita kept quiet.
‘It is said that we come with nothing into this world, and take nothing back. But that’s not true. We carry our karma with us. And we leave behind our reputation, our name. I want my name redeemed, Sita. And I want you to do it. I want you to bring back prosperity to Mithila.’
‘I will, Maa.’
Sunaina smiled. ‘And, once you have done that … you have my permission to leave Mithila.’
‘Maa?’
‘Mithila is too small a place for one such as you, Sita. You are meant for greater things. You need a bigger stage. Perhaps, a stage as big as India. Or, maybe history itself …’
Sita considered telling Sunaina about the Malayaputras having recognised her as the next Vishnu.
It took h
er only a few moments to decide.
The head pandit walked up to Sita, holding a torch in his right hand. Other pandits were lined up at the back, chanting hymns from the Garuda Purana. ‘It’s time, My Lady.’
Sita nodded at him and looked down to her left. Urmila had not stopped crying since Sunaina’s death. She held on to Sita’s arm with both her hands. Sita tried to pry them open, but her sister clung on, even stronger. Sita looked at her father, who walked up, picked Urmila up in his arms and stood beside his elder daughter. Janak looked as devastated and lost as the young Urmila. He had lost the human shield that had guarded him, as he had soared the heights of philosophical wisdom. Reality had intruded rudely into his life.
Sita turned to the pandit and took the torch.
It had only been three months since Sunaina’s visit to the gurukul.
Sita had thought she’d have more time with Sunaina. To learn. To live. To love.
But that was not to be.
She moved forward as she heard the pandits chant from the Isha Vasya Upanishad.
Vayur anilam amritam; Athedam bhasmantam shariram
Let this temporary body be burned to ashes. But the breath of life belongs elsewhere. May it find its way back to the Immortal Breath.
She walked up to the sandalwood logs that entombed her mother’s body. She closed her eyes as she pictured her mother’s face. She must not cry. Not here. Not in public. She knew that many Mithilans secretly blamed her for further weakening her mother in her illness, by making her travel to Shvetaketu’s gurukul. She also knew that they blamed her for the troubles caused by Kushadhwaj.
She must be strong. For her mother. She looked to her friend, Samichi, who stood at a distance. Next to her stood Radhika, her friend from the gurukul. She drew strength from their support.
She stuck the burning log into the pyre. Washed with ghee, the wood caught fire immediately. The pyre burned bright and strong, as if honoured to be the purifying agent for one so noble.
Farewell, Maa.
Sita stepped back and looked at the sky, to the One God, Brahman.
If anyone ever deserved moksha, it is her, my mother.
Sita remembered her mother’s words as they had witnessed the mourning of the elephant matriarch.
Don’t look back. Look to the future.
Sita whispered softly to the cremation pyre. ‘I will look back, Maa. How can I not? You are my life.’
She remembered her last coherent conversation with her mother. Sunaina had warned Sita to not trust either the Malayaputras or the Vayuputras completely if she were to fulfil her destiny as the Vishnu. Both tribes would have their own agenda. She needed partners.
Her mother’s voice resonated in her mind. Find partners you can trust; who are loyal to your cause. Personal loyalty is not important. But they must be loyal to your cause.
She remembered her mother’s last statement.
I will always be looking at you. Make me proud.
Sita took a deep breath and clenched her fists, making a vow.
‘I will, Maa. I will.’
Chapter 11
Sita and Samichi sat on the edge of the outer fort wall. Sita moved forward and looked down at the moat that surrounded the city. It was a long way down. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to fall, all the way to the ground. Would it hurt? Would she be released from her body instantly? Would she finally be free? What happens after death?
Why do these stupid thoughts enter my mind?
‘Sita …’ whispered Samichi, breaking the silence.
They had been seated together for some time. There were hardly any words exchanged between the two, as a distracted Sita kept looking beyond the wall. Samichi could understand Sita’s pain. After all, it had just been a day since the princess had cremated her mother’s dead body. Despite her recently reduced popularity, almost the entire kingdom was in mourning for their Queen Sunaina. Not just Sita, but all of Mithila had lost its mother.
Sita did not respond.
‘Sita …’
Instinct kicked in. Samichi reached her arm out and held it in front of Sita. Attempting to prevent some unspoken fear from coming true. Samichi understood, only too well, the power of dark thoughts.
Sita shook her head. Pushing the unnecessary thoughts out of her head.
Samichi whispered again, ‘Sita …’
Sita spoke distractedly. To herself. ‘Maa, as always, was right … I need partners … I will complete my karma … But I can’t do it alone. I need a partner …’
Samichi held her breath, thinking that Sita had plans for her. Thinking that Sita was talking about what Sunaina had wanted for Mithila. And, the karma the dying queen had asked of her. But Sita was, in fact, dwelling on what the chief of the Malayaputras had tasked her with.
Sita touched the scar on her left palm, recalling the blood oath she had made with Vishwamitra. She whispered to herself, ‘I swear by the great Lord Rudra and by the great Lord Parshu Ram.’
Samichi did not notice that Sita had, for the first time, taken an oath in the name of Lord Parshu Ram as well. Usually, the princess only invoked Lord Rudra’s name. But how could she have registered the change? Her thoughts, too, had drifted; to her True Lord, the Iraiva.
Does Sita intend to make me her second-in-command in Mithila? Iraiva be praised … Iraiva will be happy …
A year had passed since the death of Sunaina. The sixteen-year-old Sita had been administering the kingdom reasonably well. She had consolidated her rule by retaining the team that had advised Sunaina, careful to continue systems that her mother had instituted. The only major change she had made was to appoint her trusted aide, Samichi, as the Chief of Police. An appointment necessitated by the sudden death of the previous police chief, who had had an unexpected and fatal heart attack.
Jatayu, the Malayaputra captain, had been true to his word, and shadowed Sita along with his team of soldiers. They had been tasked with being her bodyguards. Sita did not feel the need for this extra protection. But who can shake off a shadow? In fact, she had had to give in to Jatayu’s request and induct some Malayaputra soldiers into the Mithila police force. Their true identity was kept a secret from all, including Samichi. They followed Sita. Always.
Over the last year, Sita had grown to trust Jatayu. Almost like a brother. He was the senior most Malayaputra officer that she interacted with on a regular basis. And, the only person she could openly discuss her Vishnu responsibilities with.
‘I’m sure you understand, don’t you, Jatayuji?’ asked Sita.
Sita and Jatayu had rendezvoused an hour’s ride away from Mithila, near an abandoned bangle-making factory. Her Malayaputra bodyguards had accompanied her, disguised as Mithila policemen. Jatayu had just told her that Vishwamitra expected her to come to Agastyakootam, the capital of the Malayaputras, a hidden city deep in the south of India. She was to be trained there for some months to prepare her for her role as the Vishnu. After that, for the next few years, she would remain in her hometown, Mithila, for half the year and spend the other half travelling around the Sapt Sindhu, understanding the land she had to save.
However, Sita had just told Jatayu that she was not ready to leave Mithila yet. There was a lot left to be done. Mithila had to be stabilised and made secure; not the least of all, from the threat posed by Kushadhwaj.
‘Yes, my sister,’ said Jatayu. ‘I understand. You need a few more years in Mithila. I will convey this to Guruji. I am sure he, too, will understand. In fact, even your work here is training, in a way, for your mission.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sita. She asked him something she had been meaning to for some time. ‘By the way, I have heard that Agastyakootam is close to Raavan’s Lanka. Is that true?’
‘Yes, it is. But do not worry, you will be safe there. It’s a hidden city. And, Raavan would not dare attack Agastyakootam even if he knew where it was.’
Sita was not worried about Agastyakootam’s security. It was something else that trou
bled her. But she decided not to seek further clarification. At least for now.
‘Have you decided what to do with the money?’ asked Jatayu.
The Malayaputras had donated a grand sum of one hundred thousand gold coins to Mithila, to help Sita speedily establish her authority in the kingdom. It was a relatively small amount for the tribe; but for Mithila, it had been a windfall. The Malayaputras had officially called it an endowment to a city that had dedicated itself to knowledge and was the beloved of the rishis.
No one was surprised by this unprecedented generosity. Why wouldn’t great rishis nurture the saintly king Janak’s city of knowledge? In fact, Mithilans had gotten used to seeing many of the Malayaputras, and even the great maharishi, Vishwamitra, visit their city often.
There were two potential projects that needed investment. One was the road that connected Mithila to Sankashya. The other was cheap, permanent and liveable housing for the slum dwellers.
‘The road will revive trade to a great extent,’ said Jatayu. ‘Which will bring in more wealth to the city. A big plus.’
‘Yes, but that wealth will largely go to a small number of already rich people. Some of them may even leave, taking their wealth along with them to more trade-friendly cities. The road will not rid us of our dependency on the Sankashya port. Nor will it stymie my uncle’s ability to freeze supplies to Mithila whenever he feels like. We must become independent and self-reliant.’
‘True. The slum redevelopment project, on the other hand, will provide permanent homes to the poor. It will also remove an eyesore at one of the main city gates, making it accessible to traffic.’
‘Hmm.’
‘And, you will earn the loyalty of the poor. They are the vast majority in Mithila. Their loyalty will prove useful, my sister.’
Sita smiled. ‘I am not sure if the poor are always loyal. Those who are capable of loyalty will be loyal. Those who are not will not, no matter what I may do for them. Be that as it may, we must help the poor. And we can generate so many jobs with this project, making many more people productive locally. That is a good thing.’
