A posse of ten men stood behind her. They were under her command.
Samichi was not the girl from the slums anymore. Having joined the police, she was a rapidly rising star there. It was common knowledge that the royal family liked her, indebted as they were to her for having saved Princess Sita in the Mithila slums. People were guarded in her presence. Nobody knew her exact age, including Samichi herself. Her appearance suggested that she was in her early twenties now. For a woman of her age, not born into nobility, to be commanding a posse in the police force was a rare honour. But then, she had saved the princess.
‘Samichi!’
Samichi groaned as she recognised the voice. It was that ridiculous boy, Kaaml Raj. He was panting by the time he ran up to her. Excited.
‘Someone told me you were here. I came as fast as I could.’
Samichi looked at the twelve-year-old. He held a red rose in his hands. She narrowed her eyes and resisted the temptation to shove him. ‘I’ve told you …’
‘I thought you’d like this rose,’ said Kaaml shyly. ‘I saw you enjoy the fragrance of the flowers the last time you were here.’
Samichi spoke in a cold whisper. ‘I’m not interested in odours of any kind.’
Not to be deterred, Kaaml held out a hand, showing her his bleeding finger. A pathetic attempt to extract sympathy. He had pricked himself repeatedly with thorns before yanking the flower from the rose bush. Seeing that it wasn’t working, he stepped closer. ‘Do you have some medicine for my finger?’
Samichi stepped back to put some distance between them. In doing so, she stumbled on a stone. Just a little. Kaaml rushed forward to grab her. The poor boy genuinely wanted to help. What happened next was blinding in its speed. Samichi screamed in anger, twisted his arm, and viciously kicked him in the leg. As Kaaml fell forward, she brought her elbow up in a brutal jab. It cracked his nose. Instantly.
Kaaml clutched his bleeding nose, as Samichi shouted in anger, ‘DO NOT TOUCH ME, EVER!’
Kaaml was crying desperately now. He lay on the ground in a frightened heap. Bloodied. Trembling. The policemen rushed forward and helped the boy to his feet. They cast a surreptitious, horror-filled glance at their leader. All of them had the same thought.
He’s only a boy! What is wrong with her?
Samichi’s stony face showed no trace of regret. She signalled a Mithila policeman with a dismissive wave of a hand. ‘Get this idiot out of here.’
The policeman lifted the boy gingerly and walked away to find the gurukul doctor. The other policemen walked back to the jetty in a fearful procession. The air was thick with unspoken words about their captain.
Something is not right with Samichi.
‘Samichi.’
All turned to see Princess Sita emerge from the trees. And, Samichi transformed like a chameleon. Smiling broadly, she rushed forward with warmth oozing from her eyes.
‘How are you, Samichi?’ asked Sita, as she embraced her friend.
Before Samichi could answer, Sita turned to the policemen standing at a distance and pulled her hands together into a Namaste, along with a warm smile. The policemen bowed low, also folding their hands into a Namaste.
‘I wonder why your men always look so scared,’ whispered Sita.
Samichi grinned and shook her head, holding Sita’s hand, pulling her away, out of earshot of the policemen. ‘Forget them, Princess,’ said Samichi, her smile affectionate.
‘I’ve told you before, Samichi,’ said Sita, ‘when we are alone, call me Sita. Not Princess. You are my friend. Anyway, it’s not as if anyone thinks of me as a princess anymore.’
‘Whatever anyone may think, I have no doubt that you are a princess of Mithila.’
Sita rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘Princess, I have been sent to …’
Sita interrupted Samichi. ‘Sita. Not Princess.’
‘Apologies, Sita, you must come home.’
Sita sighed. ‘You know I can’t, Samichi. I have caused enough trouble for maa.’
‘Sita, don’t do this to yourself.’
‘Everyone knows about the incident with chacha. When I broke his royal seal,’ Sita recalled her uncle Kushadhwaj’s last visit to Mithila. ‘He is endlessly troubling maa and Mithila. Everyone blames me for it. And rightly so. I should just stay away.’
‘Sita, your father and mother miss you. Queen Sunaina is very sick. You really should …’
‘Nothing can happen to maa. She is a superwoman. You are just saying this to make me leave the gurukul and come home.’
‘But … it’s the truth.’
‘The truth is that maa should focus on Urmila and the kingdom. You know that baba is … distracted. You yourself have told me what the people say about me. She doesn’t need me to increase her problems.’
‘Sita …’
‘Enough,’ said Sita, raising her hand. ‘I don’t feel like talking about this anymore.’
‘Sita …’
‘I feel like practising stick-fighting. Are you game?’
Anything to change the subject, thought Samichi.
‘Come on,’ said Sita, turning around.
Samichi followed.
Vishwamitra sat in the lotus position in his austere hut at the Ganga ashram of the Malayaputras.
He was meditating. Trying to keep all thoughts out of his mind. But he was failing today.
He heard a whistling sound. And recognised it immediately. It was a common hill myna. A bird that has often been called the most amazing vocalist. It can whistle, warble, shriek, and even mimic.
What is it doing so far away from home? In the plains?
His mind wandered to an incident from the past. When he had heard the myna in a place he should not have.
Amazing how the mind wanders … So flighty and unpredictable …
The memory of that day, many decades ago, now came flooding back.
It was the day he had received the news of his former friend, Vashishtha, being appointed the raj guru of Ayodhya.
Vishwamitra felt his chest constrict. In anger. And pain.
That backstabber … I did so much for him …
His mind wandered to the exact moment he had heard the news. At the ashram of …
Vishwamitra’s eyes suddenly flew open.
By the great Lord Parshu Ram …
He remembered where he had seen that face. Sita’s face.
He smiled. This only reinforced his decision.
Thank you, Lord Parshu Ram. You made my mind wander only to help me find my path.
‘Guruji …’ whispered Arishtanemi.
He stood next to Vishwamitra at the balustrade of the lead ship. They were in a five-vessel convoy that was sailing down the sacred Ganga, on their way to supervise a search being conducted by their miners for some special material. It would help them acquire a powerful weapon called the Asuraastra, leaving them less dependent on the Vayuputras.