Sita smiled and pulled Urmila close. ‘I have to get married sometime, Urmila. If this is what baba wants, then I have no choice but to honour it.’
Urmila did not know that it was Sita who had convinced her father to arrange the swayamvar. The swayamvar was an ancient tradition where the father of the bride organised a gathering of prospective bridegrooms; and the daughter selected her husband from among the gathered men. Or mandated a competition. Sita was actively managing the arrangements. She had convinced Vishwamitra to somehow get Ram to Mithila for the swayamvar. An official invitation from Mithila to Ayodhya would not have gotten a response. After all, why would Ayodhya ally with a small and relatively inconsequential kingdom like Mithila? But there was no way that Ayodhya would say no to the powerful Malayaputra chief’s request just to attend the swayamvar. And, at the swayamvar itself, managed by her Guru, the great Malayaputra Vishwamitra, she could arrange to have Ram as her husband. Vishwamitra had also liked the idea. This way, he would displace Vashishtha and gain direct influence over Ram. Of course, he was unaware that Sita had other plans. Plans to work with Ram in partnership as the Vishnu.
God bless Hanu bhaiya! What a fantastic idea.
Urmila rested her head on Sita’s shoulder. Although a young woman now, her sheltered upbringing had kept her dependent on her elder sister. She could not imagine life without her nurturer and protector. ‘But …’
Sita held Urmila tight. ‘You too will be married. Soon.’
Urmila blushed and turned away.
Sita heard a faint sound. She looked deep into the forest.
Sita, Samichi, and a troop of twenty policemen had come to this jungle, a day’s ride from Mithila, to kill a man-eating tiger that was tormenting villagers in the area. Urmila had insisted on accompanying Sita. Five machans had been built in a forest clearing. Each machan was manned by Mithila policemen. The bait, a goat, had been tied in the open. Keeping the weather in mind, a small waterhole had also been dug, lined with waterproofing bitumen. If not the meat, perhaps the water would entice the tiger.
‘Listen, Didi,’ whispered Urmila, ‘I was thinking …’
Urmila fell silent as Sita raised a finger to her lips. Then, Sita turned around. Two policemen sat at the other end of the machan. Using hand signals, she gave quick orders. Silently, they crawled up to her side. Urmila moved to the back.
Sita picked up her bow and noiselessly drew an arrow from the quiver.
‘Did you see something, My Lady?’ whispered a policeman.
Sita shook her head to signal no. And then, cupped her ear with her left hand.
The policemen strained their ears but could not hear anything. One of them spoke in a faint voice, ‘I don’t hear any sound.’
Sita nocked the arrow on the bowstring and whispered, ‘It’s the absence of sound. The goat has stopped bleating. It is scared stiff. I bet it’s not an ordinary predator that the goat has sniffed.’
The policemen drew their bows forward and nocked arrows. Quickly and quietly.
Sita thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of stripes from behind the foliage. She took a long, hard look. Slowly, she began to discern alternating brownish-orange and black stripes in the dark, shaded area behind the tree line. She focused her eyes. The stripes moved.
Sita pointed towards the movement.
The policeman noticed it as well. ‘It’s well-camouflaged …’
Sita raised her hands, signalling for quiet. She held the bowstring and pulled faintly, ready to shoot at the first opportunity.
After a few excruciatingly long moments, the tiger stepped into view, inching slowly towards the waterhole. It saw the goat, growled softly and turned its attention back to the water. The goat collapsed on the ground in absolute terror, urine escaping its bladder in a rush. It closed its eyes and surrendered itself to fate. The tiger, though, did not seem interested in the petrified bait. It kept lapping up the water.
Sita pulled the bowstring back, completely.
Suddenly, there was a very soft sound from one of the machans to the right.
The tiger looked up, instantly alert.
Sita cursed under her breath. The angle wasn’t right. But she knew the tiger would turn and flee in moments. She released the arrow.
It whizzed through the clearing and slammed into the beast’s shoulder. Enough to enrage, but not disable.
The tiger roared in fury. But its roar was cut short just as suddenly. An arrow shot into its mouth, lodging deep in the animal’s throat. Within split seconds, eighteen arrows slammed into the big cat. Some hit an eye, others the abdomen. Three missiles thumped into its rear bicep femoris muscles, severing them. Its rear legs debilitated, the tiger collapsed to the ground. The Mithilans quickly reloaded their bows and shot again. Twenty more arrows pierced the severely injured beast. The tiger raised its head one last time. Sita felt the animal was staring directly at her with one uninjured eye.
My apologies, noble beast. But it was either you or the villagers under my protection.
The tiger’s head dropped. Never to rise again.
May your soul find purpose, once again.
Sita, Urmila, and Samichi rode at the head of the group. The policemen rode a short distance behind. The party was headed back to the capital city.
The tiger had been cremated with due respect. Sita had made it clear to all that she did not intend to keep the skin of the animal. She was aware that the opportunity to acquire the tiger skin, a mark of a brave hunter, would have made her policemen careful with their arrows. They would not have liked the pelt damaged. That may have led to the tiger merely being injured rather than killed.
Sita’s objective was clear. She wanted to save the villagers from the tiger attacks. An injured animal would have only become more dangerous for humans. Sita had to ensure that all her policemen shot to kill. So, she had made it clear to all that the tiger would be cremated.
‘I understand why you gave that order, Prime Minister,’ said Samichi, ‘but it’s sad that we cannot take the tiger skin home. It would have been a great trophy, displaying your skill and bravery.’
Sita looked at Samichi, then turned to her sister. ‘Urmila, fall back please.’
Urmila immediately pulled the reins of her horse and fell behind the other two, out of earshot.
Samichi pulled her horse close to Sita’s. ‘I had to say that, Sita. It will encourage Urmila to brag about your bravery and …’
Sita shook her head and interrupted Samichi. ‘Propaganda and myth-making are part and parcel of ruling. I understand that. But do not spread stories that will get debunked easily. I did not exhibit any skill or bravery in that hunt.’
‘But …’
‘My shot was not good. Everyone present knows that.’
‘But, Sita …’
‘Every single one knows that,’ repeated Sita. ‘Earlier too, you gave me all the credit for the hunt. Near the policemen.’
‘But you deserved the …’
‘No, I did not.’