Shvetaketu smiled. Though he did not teach warfare to his students, he was personally proud of Sita’s prowess. ‘She doesn’t take the traditional few steps before she throws. The twist in her body and strength in her shoulders give her all the power she needs.’
Vishwamitra looked dismissively at Shvetaketu. He turned his attention back to the impressive girl. Those few steps may add power, but could also make you miss the target. Especially if the target was small. He did not bother to explain that little detail to Shvetaketu.
Sita flung hard as she twisted her body leftward, putting the power of her shoulder and back into the throw. Whipping the spear forward with her wrist and finger. Giving the final thrust to the missile.
Whoosh and thwack!
The spear hit bang on target. Right at the centre of the board. It jostled for space with the earlier spear which had pierced the same small circle.
Vishwamitra smiled slightly. ‘Not bad … Not bad at all …’
What her two spectators did not know was that Sita had been taking lessons from Hanuman, on his regular visits to see his two sisters. He had helped perfect her technique.
Shvetaketu smiled with the pride of a parent. ‘She is exceptional.’
‘What is her status in Mithila now?’
Shvetaketu took a deep breath. ‘I can’t be sure. She is their adopted daughter. And, King Janak and Queen Sunaina have always loved her dearly. But now that …’
‘I believe Sunaina was blessed with a daughter a few years back,’ interrupted Vishwamitra.
‘Yes. After more than a decade of marriage. They have their own natural-born daughter now.’
‘Urmila, right?’
‘Yes, that is her name. Queen Sunaina has said that she does not differentiate between the two girls. But she has not visited Sita for nine months. She used to come every six months earlier. Admittedly, Sita has been called to Mithila regularly. She last visited Mithila six months ago. But she didn’t return very happy.’
Vishwamitra looked at Sita, his hand on his chin. Thoughtful. He could see her face now. It seemed strangely familiar. But he couldn’t place it.
It was lunchtime at the gurukul. Vishwamitra and his Malayaputras sat in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by the simple mud huts that housed the students. It also served as an open-air classroom. Teaching was always done in the open. The small, austere huts for the teachers were a short distance away.
‘Guruji, shall we begin?’ asked Arishtanemi, the Malayaputra military chief.
The students and the gurukul staff had served the honoured guests on banana leaf plates. Shvetaketu sat alongside Vishwamitra, waiting for the Chief Malayaputra to commence the ceremony. Vishwamitra picked up his glass, poured some water into the palm of his right hand, and sprinkled it around his plate, thanking Goddess Annapurna for her blessings in the form of food and nourishment. He scooped the first morsel of food and placed it aside, as a symbolic offering to the Gods. Everyone repeated the action. At a signal from Vishwamitra, they began eating.
Vishwamitra, however, paused just as he was about to put the first morsel into his mouth. His eyes scanned the premises in search of a man. One of his soldiers was a Naga called Jatayu. The unfortunate man had been born with a condition that led to deformities on his face over time, classifying him as a Naga. His deformities were such that his face looked like that of a vulture. Many ostracised Jatayu. But not Vishwamitra. The Chief Malayaputra recognised the powerful warrior and noble soul that Jatayu was. Others, with prejudiced eyes, were blind to his qualities.
Vishwamitra knew the biases that existed in the times. He also knew that in this ashram, it was unlikely that anybody would have bothered to take care of Jatayu’s meals. He looked around, trying to find him. He finally saw Jatayu, sitting alone in the distance, under a tree. Even as he was about to signal a student, he saw Sita heading towards the Naga, a banana-leaf plate in one hand, and a tray full of food in the other.
The Maharishi watched, as Jatayu stood up with coy amazement.
From the distance, Vishwamitra could not hear what was being said. But he read the body language. With utmost respect, Sita placed the banana-leaf plate in front of Jatayu, then served the food. As Jatayu sat down to eat with an embarrassed smile, she bowed low, folded her hands into a Namaste and walked away.
Vishwamitra watched Sita, lost in thought. Where have I seen that face before?
Arishtanemi, too, was observing the girl. He turned to Vishwamitra.
‘She seems like a remarkable girl, Guruji,’ said Arishtanemi.
‘Hmm,’ said Vishwamitra, as he looked at his lieutenant very briefly. He turned his attention to his food.
Chapter 6
‘Kaushik, this is not a good idea,’ said Divodas. ‘Trust me, my brother.’
Kaushik and Divodas sat on a large boulder outside their gurukul, on the banks of the Kaveri River. The two friends, both in their late thirties, were teachers at the Gurukul of Maharishi Kashyap, the celebrated Saptrishi Uttradhikari, successor to the seven legendary seers. Kaushik and Divodas had been students of the gurukul in their childhood. Upon graduation, they had gone their separate ways. Divodas had excelled as a teacher of great renown and Kaushik, as a fine Kshatriya royal. Two decades later, they had joined the prestigious institution again, this time as teachers. They had instantly rekindled their childhood friendship. In fact, they were like brothers now. In private, they still referred to each other by the gurukul names of their student days.
‘Why is it not a good idea, Divodas?’ asked Kaushik, his massive, muscular body bent forward aggressively, as usual. ‘They are biased against the Vaanars. We need to challenge this prejudice for the good of India!’
Divodas shook his head. But realised that further conversation was pointless. He had long given up trying to challenge Kaushik’s stubborn streak. It was like banging your head against an anthill. Not a good idea!
He picked up a clay cup kept by his side. It contained a bubbly, milky liquid. He held his nose and gulped it down. ‘Yuck!’
Kaushik burst into laughter as he patted his friend heartily on his back. ‘Even after all these years, it still tastes like horse’s piss!’
Divodas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. ‘You need to come up with a new line! How do you know it tastes like horse’s piss, anyway? Have you ever drunk horse’s piss?!’