Tmp, p.45
tmp, page 45
“It’s said that she entreated the king to train all Ayodhya’s girls in weaponry. But the maidservants told me that Queen Kausalya argued against it.”
The girls looked at each other. One did not need to be a politician to sense the tension between the two queens—and that it was not openly discussed.
359
sita’s secr et
“I don’t know if I would be of much use with a sword,” Sita said, in defense of her mother-in-law.
“But if you were faced with a dire threat, would it not be good to know how to use a weapon?”
Sita’s answer was cut short by Kaikeyi, who brought her horse to a halt, her hair and the horse’s mane swaying forth. The queen waved energetically to them. They had not yet had a chance to speak to her outside the formal introductory greetings. The girls walked down from the balcony and toward the golden posts. The energy around Kaikeyi was vibrant. Her hair danced in the wind. She summoned them with one wave of a hand.
Urmila needed no more invitation and verily ran towards Kaikeyi. Sita followed her sister into the horse ring. She too was curious about the queen who was the king’s favorite.
“Would you like to learn?” Kaikeyi said. She clapped the horse gently but firmly on the neck. Though she was a queen and their elder, she was slender and beautiful, immediately more a friend than a mother.
“Yes!” Urmila declared.
Sita looked around, noticing how many people were observing them. There were guards standing at the ready everywhere. It was easy to forget, standing within Kaikeyi’s energy.
Here was the sense that one could do anything, needing no permission from anyone. Sita could understand why Urmila was intoxicated by it. Kaikeyi seemed powerful.
“But we cannot do such a thing without the permission of our husbands,” Sita said.
Kaikeyi waved her hand downward, as though such trivial things did not matter. “It’s good to show men you have the upper hand,” she said. “It keeps them on their toes.”
Sita felt nervous laughter rise in her throat. She considered Kaikeyi’s words carefully.
What Kaikeyi was saying was opposite to everything she and Urmila had been taught. Urmila’s public jesting with Lakshmana was already quite bold and unusual. But that was Urmila’s expression of love towards Lakshmana, not a calculated attempt to gain the upper hand. Sita remembered that Kaikeyi had not been raised by a queen. Sita’s gaze darted about, seeking Manthara, the old woman with the curved back who had mothered Kaikeyi. She seemed to cling to Kaikeyi like an invasive creeper on a tree. Rama had cautioned Sita to stay far from Manthara, and Sita had never spoken to the old one personally.
Urmila asked, “How is it that you acquired a man’s skills? You can ride, fight, and even seem to think like a man!”
Kaikeyi laughed, a handsome laugh, throwing her head back and showing her teeth. Like a man would do. Sita was certain she had never laughed like that herself.
“Where I come from,” Kaikeyi answered, “a skill belongs to the one who masters it. Not to a woman. Not to a man. And that is the way it should be.”
Sita saw defiance flash in the queen’s eyes, like she was haunted by something terrible.
But the next moment it was gone, and she told the princesses that they could come to her whenever they wanted. She would be there to teach them to be warrior-queens like she was.
“Sita!” It was Padmini’s soft voice, calling for her. “Rama is asking for you.”
361
ch a p ter 4 1
Sita smiled at the queen, thanking her for her kindness to them. Kaikeyi lifted one eyebrow in response. Sita left Urmila there, talking to the queen.
The torchlights and fire lamps were being lit all around Ayodhya. This was Sita’s favorite time of day, the late evening when they finally closed the doors to their private chamber, and she had Rama to herself. She began to hurry. Rama would unbraid her hair and run his fingers through it. She would massage his callused hands. They would talk about anything and everything. Sita felt like their hearts were like two riverbanks, the water flowing back and forth between them naturally.
Sita passed Lakshmana in the hallway, and pointed him in the direction where Urmila was. They exchanged shy smiles. Perhaps he was just as unsure around her as she was around him. His purposeful steps belied the thought, but Sita clung to it as she entered the main hall of her new home. She had to understand Lakshmana; he was so important in Rama’s life.
Rama held her eyes the moment she entered. A few friends lingered in the hall, but Rama led Sita within and closed the doors to their private chamber. No servants. No friends. No brothers. No sisters. Only the two of them.
It was heaven.
But this evening Rama cupped her face and said, “Beloved, why do you withhold from me?”
“My love,” Sita replied, “I tell you everything. You know me better than I do.”
“Yes, and I can feel that there is something you are keeping from me. Some secret you wish to conceal from me. Why?” His dark, gentle eyes probed her deeply.
Sita shook her head and looked away, not putting her answer into words.
When Sita wandered in her dreamlands, she understood many things, but she could not translate those truths into her daily life. Sita had always kept those dreams to herself, and although Rama was wise and mystical, Sita could not find a way to open up this part of herself.
When Rama fell asleep, Sita lay awake. Why didn’t she tell him what her father had said?
Or about the strange feelings that came and went within her?
Rama knew everything about her except for this. But what was there to know, really?
As her eyes began to flutter closed, Sita thought she might finally dream of the black barred gate again. She had not dreamed of it since she walked around the fire with Rama’s hand in hers. The gate of her heart was open. She did not keep secrets.
And yet there were her father’s words, his caution, which she had known long before he spoke them. She had seen it always in his loving eyes: the fear that she would do something, anything, to set herself apart from others.
As Sita’s consciousness entered the twilight realm, the in-between place, her inner thoughts intensified and became vivid and clear. There were aspects of Mother Nature that were frightening, even repelling. If she was bold like Kaikeyi, this is what she would tell Rama: “I was born from the Earth and I am my mother’s daughter. For if I close my eyes and seek the memory, I too know what blood tastes like, for I have tasted it through her, who drinks up the blood of the dead. I know what a decomposed body turning to dirt smells like 362
sita’s secr et
and feels like, for I have sensed it through her, who decomposes everything in her rich soil. I know too that lesser creatures like worms and maggots, which a princess might run screaming from, are her treasured servants. She does not run screaming from anything. Only when the situation on Earth becomes too unbearable does she withdraw, leaving it all to wither and dry up. Sometimes it has been covered in ice, frozen and dead. Other times, dry and lifeless, a desert, another kind of death.
“There will come a time, my mother tells me, when Earth will no longer be one. Something will happen to split the world apart. The rich soil of the Earth will be scattered across the ocean. Only pieces of it will emerge from the bottom of the sea and become home for the creatures that survive. My mother looks at me when she says this, as if I will have something to do with it; her eyes of fire and water see far beyond time.
“I have never known anyone to be wiser than my mother. But this means that I also know that she can be frightening and ruthless. She is capable not only of birth and new life but of death, of drinking the blood of the dead.”
Sita woke with a start, the taste of blood and dirt in her mouth. She looked over at Rama, her beautiful sleeping prince.
“The secrets I keep from you,” she whispered, “are only the things I myself do not understand.”
He stirred and drew her to him in his sleep. She curled up by his side, falling into a dreamless sleep, safe in his arms, with a feeling of timeless forever.
363
chapter 4 2
Rama’s Second Summit
f Rama had not been a king’s son, he would have forgotten himself in his love for ISita. But Father depended on him, not just emotionally but politically. Rama felt it keenly. Once Rama was married, Father’s attitude had changed drastically.
He treated Rama like an equal, like a grown man. Having recently turned seventeen, Rama knew he could not compete with Father’s wisdom. At sixty-seven, Father was strong and swift. But the near-fatal wound on his chest had never fully healed, and he had recently aggravated it during a training session. Father could no longer match Rama’s stamina or precision. Rama knew that in combat, he was superior to his father. So were Bharata and the twins, all skilled warriors. Thus, when the Summit of Fifty Kings approached, Rama had a notion of what his father would do.
The four princes were summoned. Along with his brothers, Rama faced the king and his eight trusted ministers, elders who had watched over Rama since his birth.
Every one of them now had white hair, and several had grown fine beards.
“Welcome, princes of Ayodhya,” the king said. “This is an official matter, but I ask you to speak freely.” He looked at each of them in turn. “The ministers and I have decided to send you to represent me at the Summit of Fifty Kings.”
This is what Rama had suspected. There was a momentary silence; then Lakshmana spoke. “But Father, the tributary kings come to see you!”
ch a p ter 4 2
Bharata said, “You are the center point of it all, Father.”
“And now the four of you will fill that place,” Father assured his sons. “It is time to introduce them to your leadership.”
“But why don’t you want to go, Father?” Shatrugna asked.
The king shifted in his seat, unconsciously touching the injury on his chest.
“I do wish to go,” Father said. “But we believe it is in the best interest of the state that you take my place. As you know, the emperor is not spared the challenges.”
They nodded.
“You wrestled bare-chested, Father,” Rama said. “You competed with swords and bow.
You were the strongest one there.” Rama remembered how awestruck they had been, seeing their father in action. Rama wanted to spare his father the humiliation of being defeated.
Turning to his brothers, he said, “Remember how Father beat every contender in verbal disputes and dice games.”
If Rama hadn’t worshipped his father already, the summit had cemented his adulation; there was nothing that his father was not expert at.
“Now it is your turn,” Father said. “You will represent me at the summit this year.”
Rama understood the undercurrent of his father’s words. Only one of them would be consecrated as crown prince. Only one of them would ascend the throne after Father’s rule.
Manthara’s hateful face rose in his mind, since this was the dead horse issue that she continued beating. Now, Father was offering the brothers and the fifty kings a chance to come to their own conclusions. That was the point of the summit, after all: to determine the centers of power. Rama felt his brothers’ eyes bore into him; they also understood what was at stake.
“If any of you have objections or concerns,” Father said, “voice them now.”
Rama looked at Bharata, who got a stubborn look on his face, as if he had repeated his stance too many times. In fact, they had not spoken of it since that time when Bharata had declared that he wanted Rama to be king. Both of them knew, however, that the choice was between the two of them; Lakshmana and Shatrugna were content to be followers. It had always been like that. Besides, Manthara never let anyone forget Kaikeyi’s bride-price.
Bharata stood up. “I agree to go if Rama takes the lead. We decided long ago, Great King, that Rama would ascend the throne after you.”
“Is that so?” Father asked. He looked both surprised and amused by this declaration.
“If it pleases you, Father,” Bharata answered.
To Rama’s surprise, a tear appeared in the corner of Father’s eye. “I’m deeply gratified that there is no rivalry among you, my sons. If Bharata speaks for you all, Rama will assume the lead at the summit.”
“Yes, Father,” the brothers affirmed.
All eyes were suddenly on Rama, waiting for him to speak. It was momentous, and yet Rama had expected this moment.
“It is my privilege to serve you, Father. Bharata is equally worthy of this honor. I am touched by his humility and his trust in me.”
366
r a m a’s second sum mit
“Remember,” Father cautioned, “your wives will not be allowed to accompany you. No women are allowed at the summit. A man’s weakness is the woman he loves, and men’s senses are too often clouded by wine and women, be they lawful wives or courtesans. At the summit, there is no room for weakness. These rules were set down from the day that the summit was established. You will be separated from your wives for at least two weeks.”
Rama had not been separated from Sita even a day since their marriage. Because of this, he knew that the lawmakers were wise; if Sita was present at the summit, Rama’s attention would naturally be divided. His first priority would be to protect her. Only a scheming, unrighteous king like Kashi would stoop so low, but such people walked the Earth. Sita would be safer in Ayodhya.
“Tomorrow you will receive detailed instructions from Sumantra,” Father said. “He will be by your side throughout should any doubts arise. You will not be alone. Your guards, as well as many of mine, will be there to protect you. But you can never relax while you are there. You must be vigilant. You must display the full prowess of your intelligence. You must choose your challenges wisely. If you are too eager to prove your strength, you will weaken yourself and become vulnerable. And yet, you must not shy away from the fights that intimi-date you,” Dasharatha said. “Those are the fights you must engage in. Men smell fear, like animals do. Your foremost duty is to win their trust.”
Rama understood that the summit would be a test for them and also a small taste of kingship.
“We will do everything to prepare you for success,” Father assured him. “I would not send you into the lion’s den if I did not know your claws were sharp.” Father smiled, a menacing one. With those words, they were dismissed.
On their way out, Rama caught hold of Bharata’s hand. “Brother, I do not hold you to the words you once said. We were only ten.”
“Nothing has changed, Rama. If anything, I feel only more certain.”
“You are an exemplary brother.” Rama put his arm across Bharata’s shoulder.
“Are you sure?” Bharata said, eyeing Rama with a side glance. “Even Father calls it a lion’s den.”
“On my way to sharpen my claws, as we speak.”
The brothers parted. Rama immediately returned to his palace to inform Sita of his departure.
The summit would once again be held in the arena built on the banks of the Sarayu, the very place where Dasharatha had petitioned the gods for an heir. The fifty kings would bypass Ayodhya and go straight to the summit. Built to accommodate thousands, it was the perfect place for the kings with their armies, attendants, and horses.
As the four princes left Ayodhya, Rama felt a sudden trepidation. He was aware that most kings would resist acknowledging the authority of a seventeen-year-old. Many would look at Rama and see only a boy. Would he really be able to face fifty kings and be anything like a leader to them? Rama knew that his father-in-law, King Janaka, would be there, along with many elders to whom Rama was used to deferring.
367
ch a p ter 4 2
With the arena in close proximity, Sumantra halted their party, instructing the princes to wait outside. As the emperor’s chosen representatives, they would enter only after all fifty kings were seated. When Sumantra summoned Rama, his entry was announced with fanfare; his title was declared and conch shells blew. All the kings stood up. Even so, some had unwillingly stood; they were the ones who would do their best to squash him. No doubt certain kings longed to humiliate Ayodhya and undermine its authority. That was the way of politics. Rama could not be naive. His presence in place of the king was a golden opportunity for such opponents.
After Rama and his brothers sat in the reserved seats, Lakshmana leaned toward Rama and whispered, “Many of these kings saw you break Shiva’s bow. They respect you for that.”
Sumantra stood at their side, quietly informing them of each king’s known strengths and weaknesses. While Rama listened to each king’s report, he held their gaze, making his own assessment. Most kings were favorable toward him and his brothers. Among the inimical, Rama counted only nine. Not bad odds.
The long day ended in a feast, and the travel-weary kings retreated, readying themselves for the next day when the summit would begin in earnest.
Rama and Lakshmana had opted to stay in the same room. It was just like when they were children and they always slept together. As they prepared to rest, Sumantra visited.
“As custom has it, tomorrow is the hunting expedition. If we provide an outlet for the kings’ aggressions, they will choose their opponents for the personal combats in the evening with more care. Your father has taken an active part leading the hunt and also has 368
r a m a’s second sum mit
declined to participate altogether. You may participate according to your own discretion, Prince Rama.”
Rama wondered how Sita was faring in Ayodhya without him.
After Sumantra left, Lakshmana turned to look at Rama, leaning his head into his hand.
“Remember the first time we went hunting?”
