To her credit, Sita met my smile with one of her own. “I have heard that. They say you even rode out into battle once, as the raja’s charioteer.”
“I did,” I said. “Many years ago.”
“My father was impressed by that story,” she said. “When my sister and I were young, he allowed us to take lessons in archery and spear-throwing. He said that your skill had saved your husband’s life.”
I blinked at her, my heart unexpectedly full. “That is wonderful,” I said.
“It was a pleasant break from sitting and reading,” she said. “I do enjoy archery.”
“Is that why the swayamvara contest will be archery?” I asked. It was no longer a secret, for Janaka had told us upon our arrival of his coup in being granted the Shiva Dhanush.
She shook her head. “I do not think they are related. My father simply wanted a task that only the most powerful of suitors could accomplish. The Shiva Dhanush was supposedly carried into the palace by four men. Although I think they must have exaggerated that.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Well, I wished to see it for myself, so I slipped into the room where it is kept when everyone was sleeping. I thought perhaps it would be fun to see how heavy it was. But I lifted it with little difficulty—it is not much heavier than a normal bow.” She said it without guile, her shrug dismissing the incident. But I bit on the inside of my cheek to keep from gaping at her.
Janaka would not have lied about the weight of the bow, nor its origins. It seemed much more likely that Sita had simply lifted a bow made for a god.
She was a worthy match for Rama indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RAMA AND LAKSHMANA ARRIVED the day before the swayamvara.
We had not seen them in two years, and Bharata, Shatrugna, Kaushalya, Sumitra, and I waited in their empty chambers to greet them together on their arrival. We all began shouting when the door opened, but it revealed only Dasharath, who gave a sheepish grin and came to stand with us.
“You might look less disappointed to see me,” he muttered, and I was about to tease him back when the door opened again, this time revealing my two sons.
I could not stop the tears that sprang to my eyes as we swarmed around them, embracing and laughing. They both were over a full head taller than when they had left, and all traces of childhood had vanished from their faces. Our boys were gone. They had become men. They had become warriors.
I was grateful to see that Kaushalya and Sumitra also had tears running down their faces at the sight of our sons, and even Dasharath dashed a hand across his eyes when he thought nobody was looking. I clutched Lakshmana close and then Rama, my heart overflowing.
But we had little time to ourselves, for they had to clean away the dust of their travels and prepare for the swayamvara itself.
When I saw the Shiva Dhanush the next morning, my heart sank. It was even larger than I had imagined, nearly the length of two men.
The wood was a rich, deep maroon, rare and precious indeed, and lustrous as though lit from within. Although there were no carvings, a spiraling ribbon of gold was inlaid in its surface, like a curl of fire. It lay, unstrung, in the middle of the training field, carried out by four strong men. The eyes of the suitors grew to comical proportions when they realized the magnitude of the task at hand. The idea that Sita might have lifted it seemed laughable and yet…
Lots were drawn for the order of the competition, and Rama’s was drawn last.
Before him, among all the other suitors, only one man managed to even lift the bow: Ravana of Lanka.
News of the death of Ravana’s beloved Mandodari had reached Ayodhya some two years past. Had Rama not been competing, Ravana would not have been the worst match for Sita. He was old enough to be her father, but I knew he would treat her kindly, for he had treated me with kindness even without cause to do so. Kindness was still not a custom for brides across the land.
Ravana was in the middle of stringing the bow, arms trembling with effort and sweat drenching his brow, when he glanced up at Sita, seated on a dais. Something about her—perhaps her beauty or perhaps some sense that warned him she was gods-touched—seemed to greatly move him, because the string slipped from his finger and he dropped the bow with a resounding boom that shook the very earth. In the silence that followed, Sita giggled, and the bell-like sound echoed around the field.
Ravana flushed a bright red and hurried off the field.
I felt sorry for him, but I could not follow my old friend now. So I put it from my mind as my son took the field.
There was a strange, almost palpable hush that fell over the watching crowd as Rama stepped up to the Shiva Dhanush and grasped it. He lifted it in one easy motion, and the silence broke with a collective intake of breath.
With his other hand, he slipped the bowstring into place and pulled upward. The bow bent like the neck of a swan, held steady by Rama’s hand, and he finished stringing it with ease. He held the bow loosely at his side as he stepped up to the mark and inspected the arrows provided in the quiver.
I felt it then—that strange sense of foreboding that had passed through me so long ago, playing with my children. That I might stand on the jagged cliff face of loss. But the feeling passed quickly, washed away as Rama selected a golden arrow, then half turned to look at the spectators. He spotted Sumitra and Kaushalya and smiled slightly. Then he locked eyes with me and gave a single nod. I nodded back and tried to pretend I had not spied the halo around his head, tried to pretend his divinity was not throwing diamond sparks against his jet-black hair, tried to pretend that a young man of sixteen wasn’t casting a shadow twenty feet long.
In a motion as fluid and beautiful as a dancer, Rama faced the target, nocked the arrow, and took aim.
The arrow ripped through the center of the target, and the splintering echoed in the absolute silence. Even I took a second to comprehend the sheer effortlessness of it. In the next moment, we were all on our feet cheering. Even the other suitors were shouting their approval of his feat.
I turned to look at Sita. She was gazing at Rama with a small smile on her face, and he was staring back at her. After a moment, she stood and climbed down from the dais, a white lotus garland in hand.
As she walked toward the center of the field, the celebrations quieted. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sita would take Rama as her husband. And yet we all knew we were witnessing something holy. Marriage was common, but the joining of two kingdoms—of a yuvradnyi born of the earth and a yuvraja who had performed an impossible feat—felt different.
As Sita approached, Rama walked toward her, smiling. He looked every bit a yuvraja, and every bit a god. He came to a stop before her and bowed his head, pressing his hands together. “Yuvradnyi,” he said, voice ringing for all to hear. “I have completed the tasks you set for me. I have lifted the bow, and strung it, and hit the target besides. If I have performed to your satisfaction, I ask for the honor of your hand in marriage.” He kept his eyes fixed on Sita as he spoke.
Sita met Rama’s gaze, her hands steady around the flowers. She looped the garland around his neck, and her demure smile blossomed into a grin. “Yuvraja Rama, I choose you as my husband.”
Kaushalya grabbed my elbow. “Our son, wed,” she whispered in my ear. “Only yesterday he was born.”
I leaned my head against her shoulder. “Congratulations, Queen Mother.”
Afterward, I went to find Ravana, hoping a friendly face would help temper his humiliation. There was also the distinct possibility my presence would rub salt in the wound, but our bond looked strong and I decided to risk it.
“Hello?” I called into his chambers. The door had been left slightly open, but no servants appeared to be present.