It was a straight and narrow path now for some distance. Overtaking was almost impossible. It was the best time to generate some speed. Sita whipped her horses harder. Racing forward. With Samichi following close behind.
Another bend lay farther ahead. The path broadened before the curve, giving a possible opportunity for Samichi to forge ahead. Sita smoothly pulled the reins to the right, guiding the horses to the centre, leaving as little space as possible on either side. Samichi simply could not overtake.
‘Hyaah!’
Sita heard Samichi’s loud voice. Behind her. To the left. Her voice was much louder than normal. Like she was trying to announce her presence.
Sita read her friend correctly.
A few seconds later, Sita quickly swerved. But, unexpectedly, to the right, covering that side of the road. Samichi had feigned the leftward movement. She had actually intended to overtake from the right. As Sita cut in, that chance was lost.
Sita heard a loud curse from Samichi.
Grinning, Sita whipped her horses again. Taking the turn at top speed. Ahead of the curve, the path would straighten out. And become narrower. Again.
‘Hyaah!’
‘Sita!’ screamed Samichi loudly.
There was something in her voice.
Panic.
As if on cue, Sita’s chariot flipped.
Sita flew up with the momentum. High in the air. The horses did not stop. They kept galloping.
Instinctively, Sita tucked in her head and pulled her legs up, her knees close to her chest. She held her head with her hands. In brace position.
The entire world appeared to flow in slow motion for Sita.
Her senses alert. Everything going by in a blur.
Why is it taking so long to land?
Slam!
Sharp pain shot through her as she landed hard on her shoulder. Her body bounced forward, in the air again, hurled sickeningly with the impact.
‘Princess!’
Sita kept her head tucked in. She had to protect her head.
She landed on her back. And was hurled forward, repeatedly rolling on the tough ground, brutally scraping her body.
A green blur zipped past her face.
Wham!
She slammed hard against a tree. Her back felt a sharp pain. Suddenly stationary.
But to her eyes, the world was still spinning.
Dazed, Sita struggled to focus on her surroundings.
Samichi brought her chariot to a halt, dismounted rapidly, and ran towards the princess. Sita’s own chariot was being dragged ahead. Sparks flew in the air due to the intense friction generated by the chariot metal rubbing against the rough road. The disoriented horses kept galloping forward wildly.
Sita looked at Samichi. ‘Get … my … chariot …’
And then, she lost consciousness.
It was dark when Sita awoke. Her eyelids felt heavy. A soft groan escaped her lips.
She heard a panic-stricken squeal. ‘Didi … Are you alright …? Talk to me …’
It was Urmila.
‘I’m alright, Urmila …’
Her father gently scolded the little girl. ‘Urmila, let your sister rest.’
Sita opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. The light from the various torches in the room flooded in. Blinding her. She let her eyelids droop. ‘How long … have I been …’
‘The whole day, Didi.’
Just a day? It feels longer.
Her entire body was a mass of pain. Except her left shoulder. And her back. They were numb.
Painkillers. May the Ashwini Kumars bless the doctors.
Sita opened her eyes again. Slowly. Allowing the light to gently seep in. Allowing her pupils to adjust.
Urmila stood by the bedside, clutching the bedsheet with both hands. Her round eyes were tiny pools of water. Tears streamed down her face. Her father, Janak, stood behind his younger daughter. His normally serene face was haggard, lined with worry. He had just recovered from a serious illness. The last thing he needed was this additional stress.
‘Baba …’ said Sita to her father. ‘You should be resting … You are still weak …’
Janak shook his head. ‘You are my strength. Get well soon.’
‘Go back to your room, Baba …’
‘I will. You rest. Don’t talk.’
Sita looked beyond her family. Samichi was there. As was Arishtanemi. He was the only one who looked calm. Unruffled.
Sita took a deep breath. She could feel her anger rising. ‘Samichi …’
‘Yes, princess,’ said Samichi, as she quickly walked up to the bed.
‘My chariot …’
‘Yes, princess.’
‘I want to … see it …’
‘Yes, princess.’
Sita noticed Arishtanemi hanging back. There was a slight smile on his face now. A smile of admiration.
‘Who do you think tried to kill you?’ asked Arishtanemi.
It had been five days since the chariot accident. Sita had recovered enough to be able to sit up in bed. Even walk around a bit. She ate like a soldier, quickly increasing her energy levels and boosting her alertness. A full recovery would take a few weeks.
Her left arm was in a sling. Her back was plastered with thick neem paste, mixed with tissue-repairing Ayurvedic medicines. Miniature bandages covered most parts of her body, protecting nicks and cuts to make them heal quickly.
‘One doesn’t need to be Vyomkesh to figure this out,’ said Sita, referring to a popular fictional detective from folk stories.
Arishtanemi laughed softly.
The chariot had been brought to Sita’s large chamber in the Ayuralay. Sita had examined it thoroughly. It had been very cleverly done.
Wood from another type of tree had been used to replace the two suspension beams. It was similar in appearance to the wood used in the rest of the carriage. It looked hardy. But was, in fact, weak. The nail marks that fixed the beams on the main shaft were fresh, despite care being taken to use old nails. One beam had cracked like a twig when strained by the speed of movement on uneven ground and the sharp turns. The beam had collapsed and jammed into the ground, seizing up the axle. This had brought the wheels to an abrupt halt when at a great speed. The chariot had levered up on the broken suspension beam as its front-end had rammed into the ground.
Very cleverly done.
Whoever had done this had the patience of a stargazer. It could have been done many months ago. It had been made to look like an old construction flaw, a genuine error. To make the death appear like an accident. And not an assassination. Sita had uncovered the conspiracy only through a close inspection of the nail marks.
The chariot was Sita’s. The target obvious. She was the only one who stood between Mithila and its expansionary enemies. Urmila could simply be married off. And Janak … Well. After Sita, it would only be a matter of time.
She had been extremely lucky. The accident had occurred when the last bend had almost been negotiated, making the chariot drag in a direction different from where Sita was flung due to the inertia of her bodily movement. Otherwise, she would have been crushed under the wheels and metal of her chariot. It would have been an almost certain death.