chapter 4

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Sita stood, her hands locked behind her back. Her head bowed. Muck and

refuse from the Mithila slums all over her clothes. Her face caked with mud.

The very expensive ring on her finger missing. Shivering with fear. She had

never seen her mother so angry.

Sunaina was staring at her daughter. No words were spoken. Just a look of

utter disapproval. And worse, disappointment. Sita felt like she had failed her

mother in the worst possible way.

'I'm so sorry, Maa,' wailed Sita, fresh tears flowing down her face.

She wished her mother would at least say something. Or, slap her. Or, scold

her. This silence was terrifying.

'Maa …'

Sunaina sat in stony silence. Staring hard at her daughter.

'My Lady!'

Sunaina looked towards the entrance to her chamber. A Mithila policeman

was standing there. His head bowed.

'What is the news?' asked Sunaina, brusquely.

'The five boys are missing, My Lady,' said the policeman. 'They have

probably escaped.'

'All five?'

'I don't have any new information on the injured boy, My Lady,' said the

policeman, referring to the one hit on the head by Sita. 'Some witnesses have

come forward. They say that he was carried away by the other boys. He was

bleeding a lot.'

'A lot?'

'Well … one witness said he would be surprised if that boy …'

The policeman, wisely, left the words 'made it alive' unsaid.

'Leave us,' ordered Sunaina.

The policeman immediately saluted, turned, and marched out.

Sunaina turned her attention back to Sita. Her daughter cowered under thestern gaze. The queen then looked beyond Sita, at the filthy adolescent standing

near the wall.

'What is your name, child?' asked Sunaina.

'Samichi, My Lady.'

'You are not going back to the slums, Samichi. You will stay in the palace

from now on.'

Samichi smiled and folded her hands together into a Namaste. 'Of course,

My Lady. It will be my honour to …'

Samichi stopped speaking as Sunaina raised her right hand. The queen

turned towards Sita. 'Go to your chambers. Take a bath. Have the physician

look at your wounds; and Samichi's wounds. We will speak tomorrow.'

'Maa …'

'Tomorrow.'

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Sita was standing next to Sunaina, who was seated on the ground. Both Sunaina

and she were outside the private temple room in the queen's chambers. Sunaina

was engrossed in making a fresh rangoli on the floor; made of powdered

colours, it was an ethereal mix of fractals, mathematics, philosophy, and

spiritual symbolism.

Sunaina made a new rangoli early every morning at the entrance of the

temple. Within the temple, idols of the main Gods who Sunaina worshipped

had been consecrated: Lord Parshu Ram, the previous Vishnu; Lord Rudra, the

great Mahadev; Lord Brahma, the creator-scientist. But the pride of place at the

centre was reserved for the Mother Goddess, Shakti Maa. The tradition of

Mother Goddess worship was especially strong in the land of Sunaina's father,

Assam; a vast, fertile and fabulously rich valley that embraced the upper

reaches of the largest river of the Indian subcontinent, Brahmaputra.

Sita waited patiently. Too scared to talk.

'There is always a reason why I ask you to do or not do something, Sita,'

said Sunaina. Not raising her eyes from the intricate rangoli that was emerging

on the floor.

Sita sat still. Her eyes pinned on her mother's hands.

'There is an age to discover certain things in life. You need to be ready for

it.'

Finishing the rangoli, Sunaina looked at her daughter. Sita relaxed as she

saw her mother's eyes. They were full of love. As always. She wasn't angry

anymore. 'There are bad people too, Sita. People who do criminal things. You find

them among the rich in the inner city and the poor in the slums.'

'Yes Maa, I …'

'Shhh … don't talk, just listen,' said Sunaina firmly. Sita fell silent. Sunaina

continued. 'The criminals among the rich are mostly driven by greed. One can

negotiate with greed. But the criminals among the poor are driven by

desperation and anger. Desperation can sometimes bring out the best in a

human being. That's why the poor can often be noble. But desperation can also

bring out the worst. They have nothing to lose. And they get angry when they

see others with so much when they have so little. It's understandable. As rulers,

our responsibility is to make efforts and change things for the better. But it

cannot happen overnight. If we take too much from the rich to help the poor,

the rich will rebel. That can cause chaos. And everyone will suffer. So we have

to work slowly. We must help the truly poor. That is dharma. But we should not

be blind and assume that all poor are noble. Not everyone has the spirit to keep

their character strong when their stomachs are empty.'

Sunaina pulled Sita onto her lap. She sat comfortably. For the first time since

her foolhardy foray into the slums, she breathed a little easier.

'You will help me govern Mithila someday,' said Sunaina. 'You will need to

be mature and pragmatic. You must use your heart to decide the destination, but

use your head to plot the journey. People who only listen to their hearts usually

fail. On the other hand, people who only use their heads tend to be selfish. Only

the heart can make you think of others before yourself. For the sake of dharma,

you must aim for equality and balance in society. Perfect equality can never be

achieved but we must try to reduce inequality as much as we can. But don't fall

into the trap of stereotypes. Don't assume that the powerful are always bad or

that the powerless are always good. There is good and bad in everyone.'

Sita nodded silently.

'You need to be liberal, of course. For that is the Indian way. But don't be a

blind and stupid liberal.'

'Yes, Maa.'

'And do not wilfully put yourself in danger ever again.'

Sita hugged her mother, as tears flowed out of her eyes.

Sunaina pulled back and wiped her daughter's tears. 'You frightened me to

death. What would I have done if something bad had happened to you?'

'Sorry, Maa.'

Sunaina smiled as she embraced Sita again. 'My impulsive little girl …'

Sita took a deep breath. Guilt had been gnawing away at her. She needed to

know. 'Maa, that boy I hit on the head … What …'

Sunaina interrupted her daughter. 'Don't worry about that.'

'But …'

'I said don't worry about that.'

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'Thank you, chacha!' Sita squealed, as she jumped into her uncle Kushadhwaj's

arms.

Kushadhwaj, Janak's younger brother and the king of Sankashya, was on a

visit to Mithila. He had brought a gift for his niece. A gift that had been a

massive hit. It was an Arabian horse. Native Indian breeds were different from

the Arab variety. The Indian ones usually had thirty-four ribs while the Arabian

horses often had thirty-six. More importantly, an Arabian horse was much

sought after as it was smaller, sleeker, and easier to train. And its endurance

level was markedly superior. It was a prized possession. And expensive too.

Sita was understandably delighted.

Kushadhwaj handed her a customised saddle, suitable for her size. Made of

leather, it had a gold-plated horn on top of the pommel. The saddle, though

small, was still heavy for the young Sita. But she refused the help of the Mithila

royal staff in carrying it.

Sita dragged the saddle to the private courtyard of the royal chambers,

where her young horse waited for her. It was held by one of Kushadhwaj's

aides.

Sunaina smiled. 'Thank you so much. Sita will be lost in this project for the

next few weeks. I don't think she will eat or sleep till she's learnt how to ride!'

'She's a good girl,' said Kushadhwaj.

'But it is an expensive gift, Kushadhwaj.'

'She's my only niece, Bhabhi,' said Kushadhwaj to his sister-in-law. 'If I

won't spoil her, then who will?'

Sunaina smiled and gestured for them to join Janak in the veranda adjoining

the courtyard. The king of Mithila set the Brihadaranyak Upanishad

manuscript aside as his wife and brother joined him. Discreet aides placed

some cups filled with buttermilk on the table. They also lit a silver lamp,

placed at the centre of the table. Just as noiselessly, they withdrew.

Kushadhwaj cast a quizzical look at the lamp and frowned. It was daytime.

But he remained quiet.

Sunaina waited till the aides were out of earshot. Then she looked at Janak.

But her husband had picked up his manuscript again. Deeply engrossed. After

her attempts to meet his eyes remained unsuccessful, she cleared her throat.Janak remained focused on the manuscript in his hands.

'What is it, Bhabhi?' asked Kushadhwaj.

Sunaina realised that she had no choice. She would have to be the one to

speak up. She pulled a document out of the large pouch tied to her waist and

placed it on the table. Kushadhwaj resolutely refused to look at it.

'Kushadhwaj, we have been discussing the road connecting Sankashya to

Mithila for many years now,' said Sunaina. 'It was washed away in the Great

Flood. But it has been more than two decades since. The absence of that road

has caused immense hardship to the citizens and traders of Mithila.'

'What traders, Bhabhi?' said Kushadhwaj, laughing gently. 'Are there any in

Mithila?'

Sunaina ignored the barb. 'You had agreed in principle to pay for two-thirds

of the cost of the road, if Mithila financed the remaining one-third.'

Kushadhwaj remained silent.

'Mithila has raised its share of the money,' said Sunaina. She pointed to the

document. 'Let's seal the agreement and let the construction begin.'

Kushadhwaj smiled. 'But Bhabhi, I don't see what the problem is. The road

is not that bad. People use it every day. I myself took that road to Mithila

yesterday.'

'But you are a king, Kushadhwaj,' said Sunaina pleasantly, her tone

studiously polite. 'You are capable of many things that ordinary people are not.

Ordinary people need a good road.'

Kushadhwaj smiled broadly. 'Yes, the ordinary people of Mithila are lucky

to have a queen as committed to them as you are.'

Sunaina did not say anything.

'I have an idea, Bhabhi,' said Kushadhwaj. 'Let Mithila begin the

construction of the road. Once your share of the one-third is done, Sankashya

will complete the remaining two-third.'

'All right.'

Sunaina picked up the document and a quill from a side table and scribbled a

line at the end. She then pulled out the royal seal from her pouch and marked

the agreement. She offered the document to Kushadhwaj. It was then that

Kushadhwaj realised the significance of the lamp.

Lord Agni, the God of Fire, as witness.

Every Indian believed that Agni was the great purifier. It was not a

coincidence that the first hymn of the first chapter of the holiest Indian

scripture, the Rig Veda, celebrated Lord Agni. All promises that were sealed

with the God of Fire as witness could never be broken; promises of marriage,

of yagnas, of peace treaties … and even a promise to build roads.Kushadhwaj did not take the agreement from his sister-in-law. Instead, he

reached into his pouch and pulled out his own royal seal. 'I trust you

completely, Bhabhi. You can mark my agreement on the document.'

Sunaina took the seal from Kushadhwaj and was about to stamp the

agreement, when he softly spoke, 'It's a new seal, Bhabhi. One that reflects

Sankashya properly.'

Sunaina frowned. She turned the seal around and looked at its markings.

Even though it was a mirror image of the symbol that would be marked on the

agreement, the Queen of Mithila recognised it immediately. It was a single

dolphin; the seal symbol of Mithila. Sankashya had historically been a

subsidiary kingdom of Mithila, ruled by the younger members of the royal

family. And it had a different seal: a single hilsa fish.

Sunaina stiffened in anger. But she knew that she had to control her temper.

She slowly placed the document back on the table. The Sankashya seal had not

been used.

'Why don't you give me your actual seal, Kushadhwaj?' said Sunaina.

'This is my kingdom's seal now, Bhabhi.'

'It can never be so unless Mithila accepts it. No kingdom will recognise this

as your seal till Mithila publicly does so. Every Sapt Sindhu kingdom knows

that the single dolphin is the mark of the Mithila royal family's direct line.'

'True, Bhabhi. But you can change that. You can legitimise this seal across

the land by using it on that document.'

Sunaina cast a look at her husband. The king of Mithila raised his head,

looked briefly at his wife, and then went back to the Brihadaranyak Upanishad.

'This is not acceptable, Kushadhwaj,' said Sunaina, maintaining her calm

expression and voice to hide the anger boiling within. 'This will not happen

for as long as I'm alive.'

'I don't understand why you are getting so agitated, Bhabhi. You have

married into the Mithila royal family. I was born into it. The royal blood of

Mithila flows in my veins, not yours. Right, Janak dada?'

Janak looked up and finally spoke, though the tone was detached and devoid

of anger. 'Kushadhwaj, whatever Sunaina says is my decision as well.'

Kushadhwaj stood up. 'This is a sad day. Blood has been insulted by blood.

For the sake of …'

Sunaina too rose to her feet. Abruptly interrupting Kushadhwaj, though her

tone remained unfailingly polite. 'Be careful what you say next, Kushadhwaj.'

Kushadhwaj laughed. He stepped forward and took the Sankashya seal from

Sunaina's hand. 'This is mine.'

Sunaina remained silent.'Don't pretend to be a custodian of the royal traditions of Mithila,' scoffed

Kushadhwaj. 'You are not blood family. You are only an import.'

Sunaina was about to say something when she felt a small hand wrap itself

around hers. She looked down. The young Sita stood by her side, shaking with

fury. In her other hand was the saddle that Kushadhwaj had just gifted her. She

threw the saddle at her uncle. It fell on his feet.

As Kushadhwaj doubled up in pain, the Sankashya seal fell from his hand.

Sita leapt forward, picked up the seal and smashed it to the ground, breaking

it in two. The breaking of a royal seal was considered a very bad omen. This

was a grievous insult.

'Sita!' shouted Janak.

Kushadhwaj's face contorted with fury. 'This is an outrage, Dada!'

Sita now stood in front of her mother. She faced her uncle, daring him with

her eyes. Spreading her arms out to cover her mother protectively.

The king of Sankashya picked up the broken pieces of his royal seal and

stormed out. 'You have not heard the last of this, Dada!'

As he left, Sunaina went down on her knees and turned Sita around. 'You

should not have done that, Sita.'

Sita looked at her mother with smouldering eyes. Then turned to look at her

father, defiant and accusing. There was not a trace of apology on her face.

'You should not have done that, Sita.'

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Sita held on to her mother, refusing to let go. She wept with wordless

anguish. A smiling Janak came up to her and patted her head. The royal family

had gathered in the king's private office. A few weeks had passed since the

incident with Kushadhwaj. Sita, her parents had decided, was old enough to

leave for gurukul; literally, the Guru's family, but in effect a residential school.

Janak and Sunaina had chosen Rishi Shvetaketu's gurukul for their daughter.

Shvetaketu was the uncle of Janak's chief guru, Ashtaavakra. His gurukul

offered lessons in the core subjects of Philosophy, Mathematics, Science, and

Sanskrit. Sita would also receive education in other specialised subjects like

Geography, History, Economics, and Royal Administration, among others.

One subject that Sunaina had insisted Sita be taught, overriding Janak's

objections, was warfare and martial arts. Janak believed in non-violence.

Sunaina believed in being practical.

Sita knew that she had to go. But she was a child. And the child was terrified

of leaving home.'You will come home regularly, my dear,' said Janak. 'And we will come

and see you too. The ashram is on the banks of the Ganga River. It's not too

far.'

Sita tightened her grip on her mother.

Sunaina prised Sita's arms and held her chin. She made her daughter look at

her. 'You will do well there. It will prepare you for your life. I know that.'

'Are you sending me away because of what I did with chacha?' sobbed Sita.

Sunaina and Janak immediately went down on their knees and held her close.

'Of course not, my darling,' said Sunaina. 'This has nothing to do with your

uncle. You have to study. You must get educated so that you can help run this

kingdom someday.'

'Yes, Sita,' said Janak. 'Your mother is right. What happened with

Kushadhwaj uncle has nothing to do with you. It is between him, and your

mother and I.'

Sita burst into a fresh bout of tears. She clung to her parents like she'd never

let them go.