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 troubled 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.’
‘True.’
‘I have other ideas related to this project, which would increase our self-reliance. At least with regard to food and other essentials.’
‘I have a feeling that you’ve made up your mind already!’
‘I have. But it is good to listen to other wise opinions before taking the final decision. This is exactly what my mother would have done.’
‘She was a remarkable woman.’
‘Yes, she was,’ smiled Sita. She hesitated a moment, took one more look at Jatayu, and then broached another sensitive topic. ‘Jatayuji, do you mind if I ask you a question?’
‘Anytime you wish to, great Vishnu,’ said Jatayu. ‘How can I not answer?’
‘What is the problem between Maharishi Vishwamitra and Maharishi Vashishtha?’
Jatayu smiled ruefully. ‘You have a rare ability to discover things that you are not supposed to. Things that are meant to be a secret.’
Sita smiled with disarming candour. ‘That is not an answer to my question, Jatayuji.’
‘No, it’s not, my sister,’ laughed Jatayu. ‘To be honest, I don’t know much about it. But I do know this: they hate each other viscerally. It is unwise to even mention the name of Maharishi Vashishtha in the presence of Maharishi Vishwamitra.’
‘Good progress,’ whispered Sita. She was standing in the garden of the Lord Rudra temple in Mithila, looking at the ongoing work of rebuilding the city slums.
A few months ago, Sita had ordered that the slums at the southern gate of Mithila be demolished and new, permanent houses be built for the poor on the same land. These houses, built with the money given by the Malayaputras, would be given to the poor free of cost.
Samichi preened at the compliment from her prime minister. In an unorthodox move, Sita had assigned her, rather than the city engineer, with the task of implementing the project rapidly and within budget. Sita knew that her Police Chief was obsessively detail-oriented, with an ability to push her subordinates ruthlessly to get the job done. Also, having spent her early years in the slums, Samichi was uniquely qualified to understand the problems faced by the people living there.
Though the execution had been entrusted to Samichi, Sita had involved herself in the planning and design of the project after consulting the representatives of the slum dwellers. She had eventually worked out an innovative solution for not only their housing needs, but also providing them with sustainable livelihood.
The slum dwellers had been unwilling to vacate their land for even a few months. They had little faith in the administration. For one, they believed the project would be under construction for years, rendering them homeless for a long time. Also, many were superstitious and wanted their rebuilt homes to stand exactly where the old ones had been. This, however, would leave no excess space for neatly lined streets. The original slum had no streets to begin with, just small, haphazard pathways.
Sita had conceived a brilliant solution: building a honeycomb-like structure, with houses that shared walls on all sides. Residents would enter from the top, with steps descending into their homes. The ‘ceilings’ of all the homes would, from the outside, be a single, joint, level platform; a new ‘ground level’ above all the houses; an artificial ground that was four floors above the actual ground. It would be an open-to-sky space for the slum dwellers, with a grid of ‘streets’ marked in paint. The ‘streets’ would contain hatch doors serving as entries to their homes. This would address their superstitions; each one would get a house exactly at the same location as their original hovel. And, since the honeycomb structure would extend four floors below, each inhabitant would, in effect, have four rooms. A substantially bigger home than earlier.