‘Sita, listen to …’
Sita interrupted Arishtanemi. It was time to deliver the threat. ‘I may not have Ram’s life in my hands. But I do have my own life in my hands.’
A shocked Arishtanemi did not know what to say. All the plans would be reduced to dust without Sita. They had invested too much in her.
‘I have chosen,’ said Sita firmly. ‘Now you need to decide what to do.’
‘Sita …’
‘I have nothing more to say, Arishtanemiji.’
The swayamvar was held in the Hall of Dharma instead of the royal court. This was simply because the royal court was not the biggest hall in Mithila. The main building in the palace complex, which housed the Hall of Dharma, had been donated by King Janak to the Mithila University. The hall hosted regular debates and discussions on various esoteric topics — the nature of dharma, karma’s interaction with dharma, the nature of the divine, the purpose of the human journey …
The Hall of Dharma was in a circular building, built of stone and mortar, with a massive dome. The delicate elegance of the dome was believed to represent the feminine, while the typical temple spire represented the masculine. The hall was also circular. All rishis sat as equals, without a moderating ‘head’, debating issues openly and without fear; freedom of expression at its zenith.
However, today was different. The Hall of Dharma was set to host a swayamvar. Temporary three-tiered spectator stands stood near the entrance. At the other end, on a wooden platform, was placed the king’s throne. A statue of the great King Mithi, the founder of Mithila, stood on a raised pedestal behind the throne. Two thrones, only marginally less grand, were placed to the left and right of the king’s throne. A circle of comfortable seats lined the middle section of the great hall, where kings and princes, the potential suitors, would sit. The spectator stands were already packed when Ram and Lakshman were led in by Arishtanemi. Most contestants too had taken their seats. Few recognised the two princes of Ayodhya, dressed as hermits. A guard gestured for them to move towards the base platform of a three-tiered stand, occupied by the nobility and rich merchants of Mithila.
Arishtanemi informed the guard that he was accompanying a competitor. The guard was surprised. He had recognised Arishtanemi, the lieutenant of the great Vishwamitra, but not Ram and Lakshman. But he stepped aside to let them proceed. After all, it would not be unusual for the devout King Janak to invite even Brahmin rishis, not just Kshatriya kings, for his daughter’s swayamvar.
Ram followed Arishtanemi to the allotted seat. He seated himself, as Lakshman and Arishtanemi stood behind him. All eyes turned to them. Many contestants wondered who these simple mendicants were, who hoped to compete with them for Princess Sita’s hand. A few, though, recognised the princes of Ayodhya. A conspiratorial buzz was heard from a section of the contestants.
‘Ayodhya …’
‘Why does Ayodhya want an alliance with Mithila?’
Ram, however, was oblivious to the stares and whispers of the assembly.
He looked towards the centre of the hall; to the Pinaka bow placed on a table. The legendary bow was unstrung. An array of arrows placed by its side. Next to the table, at ground level, was a large copper-plated basin.
A competitor was first required to pick up the bow and string it. Itself no mean task. Then he would move to the copper-plated basin. It was filled with water, with additional drops trickling in steadily into the basin through a thin tube. Excess water was drained out by another thin tube, attached to the other side. This created subtle ripples within the bowl, spreading out from the centre towards the edge. Troublingly, the drops of water were released at irregular intervals, making the ripples unpredictable.
A hilsa fish was nailed to a wheel, fixed to an axle that was suspended from the top of the dome. A hundred metres above the ground. The wheel, thankfully, revolved at a constant speed.
The contestant was required to look at the reflection of the fish in the unstill water below, disturbed by ripples generated at irregular intervals, and use the Pinaka bow to fire an arrow into the eye of the fish, fixed on the revolving wheel high above. The first to succeed would win the hand of the bride.
Sita sat in a room on the second floor adjoining the Hall of Dharma, directly above the royal Mithilan thrones, hidden behind a latticed window. She looked at Ram, seated in the circle of contestants.
The eldest prince of Ayodhya looked around. Sita felt as though he was seeking her out. She smiled. ‘I’m here, Ram. I’m waiting for you. Waiting for you to win …’
She noticed Samichi standing with a posse of policemen a short distance from the entrance. Samichi was staring at Ram. She looked up at the latticed window where Sita sat hidden from view. She had a look of utter disapproval.
Sita sighed with irritation. Samichi needs to relax. I can handle the situation. Ram’s life is not in danger.
She turned her attention back to the princes of Ayodhya. She saw Lakshman bend close to his elder brother and whisper something. The expression on his face mischievous. Ram looked at his brother and glared. Lakshman grinned, said something more, and stepped back.
Sita smiled. The brothers really love each other. Surprising, given the politics of their family.
Her attention was drawn away by the court announcer.
‘The Lord of the Mithi clan, the wisest of the wise, beloved of the rishis, King Janak!’
The court arose to welcome their host, Janak, the king of Mithila. He walked in from the far end of the hall. In a deviation from courtly tradition, he followed the great Malayaputra chief, Vishwamitra, who was in the lead. Janak had always honoured men and women of knowledge. He followed his own personal tradition on this special day as well. Behind Janak was his younger brother, Kushadhwaj, the king of Sankashya. Those aware of the strained relations between Janak and his younger brother, were impressed by the graciousness of the king of Mithila. He had let bygones be bygones and included the entire extended family in this celebration. Unfortunately, Kushadhwaj felt otherwise. He felt his brother had been naive as usual. Besides, Kushadhwaj had just played his own cards …
Janak requested Vishwamitra to occupy the main throne of Mithila, as he moved towards the smaller throne to the right. Kushadhwaj walked towards the seat on the left of the great Maharishi. This was exactly two floors below the room Sita was in, hidden behind a latticed window. A flurry of officials scuttled all over the place, for this was an unexpected breach of protocol. The king had offered his own throne to another.
A loud buzz ran through the hall at this unorthodox seating arrangement, but Sita was distracted by something else.
Where is Raavan?
She smiled.