Sunaina began to canter towards the fight, intrigued. Her bodyguards followed at a distance.
‘Sunaina …’ cautioned her husband, staying where he was, holding his horse’s reins tight.
Suddenly, using the distraction of the vulture with another attack from the left, a wolf struck with lethal effect. It charged in from the right and bit the bird’s left wing brutally. Getting a good hold, the wolf pulled back hard, trying to drag the vulture away. The bird squawked frantically. Its voice sounding like a wail. But it held strong. It did not move, pulling back with all its strength. However, the wolf had strong jaws and a stronger grip. Blood burst forth like a fountain. The wolf let go, spitting parts of the severed wing as it stepped back.
Sunaina spurred her horse and began to gallop towards the scene. She had expected the vulture to escape through the opening the two wolves had provided. But, surprisingly, it stood in place, pushing another wolf back.
Use the opening! Get away!
Sunaina was speeding towards the animals now. The royal bodyguards drew their swords and raced after their queen. A few fell back with the king.
‘Sunaina!’ said Janak, worried about his wife’s safety. He spurred his horse, but he was not the best of riders. His horse blithely continued its slow trot.
Sunaina was perhaps fifty metres away when she noticed the bundle for the first time. The vulture was protecting it from the pack of wolves. It was lodged in what looked like a little furrow in the dry mud.
The bundle moved.
‘By the great Lord Parshu Ram!’ exclaimed Sunaina. ‘That’s a baby!’
Sunaina pressed forward, rapidly goading her horse into a fierce gallop.
As she neared the pack of wolves, she heard the soft, frantic cries of a human baby, almost drowned out by the howling animals.
‘Hyaah!’ screamed Sunaina. Her bodyguards rode close behind.
The wolves turned tail and scampered into the woods as the mounted riders thundered towards the wounded bird. A guard raised his sword to strike the vulture.
‘Wait!’ ordered Sunaina, raising her right hand.
He stopped in his tracks as his fellow bodyguards reined their horses to a halt.
Sunaina was raised in a land to the east of Branga. Her father was from Assam, sometimes called by its ancient name, Pragjyotisha, the land of Eastern Light. And her mother belonged to Mizoram, the land of the High People of Ram. Devotees of the sixth Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram, the Mizos were fierce warriors. But they were most well known for their instinctive understanding of animals and the rhythms of nature.
Sunaina intuitively knew that the ‘bundle’ was not food for the vulture, but a responsibility to be protected.
‘Get me some water,’ ordered Sunaina, as she dismounted her horse.
One of the guards spoke up as the group dismounted. ‘My Lady, is it safe for you to …’
Sunaina cut him short with a withering look. The queen was short and petite. Her round, fair-complexioned face conveyed gentleness to the observer. But her small eyes betrayed the steely determination that was the core of her being. She repeated softly, ‘Get me some water.’
‘Yes, My Lady.’
A bowl filled with water appeared in an instant.
Sunaina locked her eyes with the vulture’s. The bird was breathing heavily, exhausted by its battle with the wolves. It was covered in blood from the numerous wounds on its body. The wound on its wing was especially alarming, blood gushing out of it at a frightening rate. Loss of blood made it unsteady on its feet. But the vulture refused to move, its eyes fixed on Sunaina. It was squawking aggressively, thrusting its beak forward. Striking the air with its talons to keep the Queen of Mithila away.
Sunaina pointedly ignored the bundle behind the vulture. Focused on the massive bird, she began to hum a soft, calming tune. The vulture seemed to ease a bit. It withdrew its talons. The squawking reduced in volume and intensity.
Sunaina crept forward. Gently. Slowly. Once close, she bowed her head and submissively placed the bowl of water in front of the bird. Then she crept back just as slowly. She spoke in a mellifluous voice. ‘I have come to help … Trust me …’
The dumb beast understood the tone of the human. It bent to sip some water, but instead, collapsed to the ground.
Sunaina rushed forward and cradled the head of the now prone bird, caressing it gently. The child, wrapped in a rich red cloth with black stripes, was crying desperately. She signalled a soldier to pick up the precious bundle as she continued to soothe the bird.
‘What a beautiful baby,’ cooed Janak, as he bent his tall, wiry frame and edged close to his wife, his normally wise but detached eyes full of love and attention.
Janak and Sunaina sat on temporarily set up chairs. The baby slept comfortably in Sunaina’s arms, swaddled in a soft cotton cloth. A massive umbrella shaded them from the scorching sun. The royal doctor had examined the baby, and bandaged a wound on her right temple with some herbs and neem leaves. He had assured the royal couple that the scar would largely disappear with time. Along with the other physician, the doctor now tended to the vulture’s wounds.
‘She’s probably just a few months old. She must be strong to have survived this ordeal,’ said Sunaina, gently rocking the baby in her arms.
‘Yes. Strong and beautiful. Just like you.’
Sunaina looked at her husband and smiled as she caressed the baby’s head. ‘How can anyone abandon a child like her?’
Janak sighed. ‘Many people are not wise enough to count life’s blessings. They keep focusing instead on what the world has denied them.’
Sunaina nodded at her husband and turned her attention back to the child. ‘She sleeps like an angel.’
‘That she does,’ said Janak.
Sunaina pulled the baby up close and kissed her gently on the forehead, careful to avoid the injured area.
Janak patted his wife’s back warmly. ‘But are you sure, Sunaina?’
‘Yes. This baby is ours. Devi Kanyakumari may not have given us what we wanted. But she has blessed us with something much better.’
‘What will we call her?’
Sunaina looked up at the sky and drew in a deep breath. She had a name in mind already. She turned to Janak. ‘We found her in a furrow in Mother Earth. It was like a mother’s womb for her. We will call her Sita.’
Sunaina rushed into Janak’s private office. Reclining in an easy chair, the king of Mithila was reading the text of the Jabali Upanishad. It was a treatise on wisdom by the great Maharishi Satyakam Jabali. Shifting attention to his wife, he put down the text. ‘So, has the Emperor won?’
It had been five years since Sita had entered their lives.
‘No,’ said a bewildered Sunaina, ‘he lost.’
Janak sat up straight, stunned. ‘Emperor Dashrath lost to a trader from Lanka?’
‘Yes. Raavan has almost completely massacred the Sapt Sindhu Army at Karachapa. Emperor Dashrath barely escaped with his life.’