The maid fidgeted impatiently on her feet. Her absence would be noticed in the palace before long. She had to return quickly. She cast a pleading look at Druhyu. He glared back.
Druhyu had begun to doubt the usefulness of remaining loyal to Manthara. The woman had lost her beloved daughter, Roshni, to a horrific gangrape and murder. The gang had been tried by the courts and executed. However, Dhenuka, the most vicious of them all, and the leader of the gang, had been let off on a legal technicality. He was a juvenile; and, according to Ayodhyan law, juveniles could not be awarded the death penalty. Ram, the prince of Ayodhya and chief of police, had insisted that the law be followed. No matter what. Manthara had sworn vengeance. Spending huge amounts of money, she had ferreted Dhenuka from jail and had had him killed in a slow, brutal manner. But her thirst for vengeance had not been quenched. Her target now was Ram. She had been patiently waiting for an opportunity. And one had just presented itself.
Druhyu stared at his mistress, his face devoid of expression. The old bat has been wasting too much money on her revenge mission. It is affecting business. She has lost it completely. But what can I do? Nobody knows the condition of the True Lord. I am stuck with her for now …
Manthara made up her mind. She looked at Druhyu and nodded.
Druhyu rocked back with shock, but controlled himself.
One thousand gold coins! That’s more than this miserable palace maid will earn in ten years!
But he knew there was no point arguing. He quickly made a hundi in lieu of cash. The maid could encash it anywhere. After all, who would refuse a credit document with Manthara’s seal?
‘My Lady …’ whispered Druhyu.
Manthara leaned forward, pulled out her seal from the pouch tied to her dhoti, and pressed its impression on the document.
Druhyu handed the hundi to the maid, whose face could barely contain her ecstasy.
Druhyu quickly brought her down to earth. His cold eyes pinned on her, he whispered, ‘Remember, if the information does not come on time or isn’t true, we know where you live …’
‘I will not fail, sir,’ said the maid.
As the maid turned to leave, Manthara said, ‘I’ve been told that Prince Ram will soon be visiting Queen Kaushalya’s wing of the palace to speak with Emperor Dashrath.’
‘I will inform you about everything that is discussed, My Lady,’ said the maid, bowing low.
Druhyu looked at Manthara and then the palace maid. He sighed inwardly. He knew that more money would be paid out soon.
‘Didi, just my section of the palace here is bigger than the entire Mithila palace,’ said Urmila excitedly.
Urmila had carefully guided her maids in settling her belongings in her husband’s chambers. Having put them to work, she had quickly rushed to meet Sita. Lakshman had been tempted to ask his wife to stay, but gave in to her desire to seek comfort in her sister’s company. Her life had changed dramatically in a short span of time.
Sita smiled, as she patted her sister’s hand. She still hadn’t told Urmila that Ram and she would be leaving the palace shortly, to return only after fourteen years. Urmila would be left behind, without her beloved sister, here in this magnificent palace.
Why trouble her right now? Let her settle in first.
‘How are things with Lakshman?’ asked Sita.
Urmila smiled dreamily. ‘He is such a gentleman. He does not say no to anything that I ask for!’
Sita laughed, teasing her sister gently. ‘That’s exactly what you need. An indulgent husband, who treats you like a little princess!’
Urmila indicated her diminutive structure, straightened her back and retorted with mock seriousness, ‘But I am a little princess!’
The sisters burst into peals of laughter. Sita embraced Urmila. ‘I love you, my little princess.’
‘I love you too, Didi,’ said Urmila.
Just then, the doorman knocked and announced loudly, ‘The Queen of Sapt Sindhu and Ayodhya, the Mother of the Crown Prince, Her Majesty Kaushalya. All rise in respect and love.’
Sita looked at Urmila, surprised. The sisters immediately came to their feet.
Kaushalya walked in briskly, followed by two maids bearing large golden bowls, the contents of which were covered with silk cloths.
Kaushalya looked at Sita and smiled politely, ‘How are you, my child?’
‘I am well, Badi Maa,’ said Sita.
The sisters bent to touch Kaushalya’s feet in respect. The Queen of Ayodhya blessed them both with a long life.
Kaushalya turned to Urmila with a warm smile. Sita noticed that it was warmer than the one she had received. This was a smile suffused with maternal love.
Sita smiled. Happy. My little sister is safe here.
‘Urmila, my child,’ said Kaushalya, ‘I had gone to your chambers. I was told I would find you here.’
‘Yes, Maa.’
‘I believe you like black grapes.’
Urmila blinked in surprise. ‘How did you know, Maa?’
Kaushalya laughed, with a conspiratorial look. ‘I know everything!’
As Urmila laughed delicately, the queen pulled away the silk cloths with a flourish, to reveal two golden bowls filled to the brim with black grapes.
Urmila squealed in delight and clapped her hands. She opened her mouth. Sita was surprised. Urmila had always asked to be fed by their mother, Sunaina; but not once had she asked her sister.
Sita’s eyes moistened in happiness. Her sister had found a mother once again.
Kaushalya picked a grape and dropped it into Urmila’s open mouth.
‘Mmm,’ said Urmila, ‘It is awesome, Maa!’
‘And, grapes are good for your health too!’ said Kaushalya. She looked at her elder daughter-in-law. ‘Why don’t you have some, Sita?’
‘Of course, Badi Maa,’ said Sita. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 26
A few days later, Sita sat in solitude in the royal garden.
It lay adjunct to the palace, within the compound walls. Laid out in the style of a botanical reserve, it was filled with flowering trees from not only the Sapt Sindhu but other great empires of the world. Its splendid diversity was also the source of its beauty, reflecting the composite character of the people of the Sapt Sindhu. Winding paths bordered what had once been a carefully laid out lush carpet of dense grass in geometric symmetry. Alas, like the main palace and the courts, the royal garden also had the appearance of diminishing grandeur and patchy upkeep. It was, literally, going to seed; a sorry reminder of Ayodhya’s depleting resources.
But Sita was neither admiring the aching beauty nor mourning the slow deterioration that surrounded her.