chapter 3

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While the rest of India was suffering the aftershocks of Dashrath's defeat to

Raavan, Mithila itself was relatively unaffected. There was not much trade in

any case to be negatively impacted. Sunaina had initiated some reforms that

had worked well. For instance, local tax collection and administration had been

devolved to the village level. It reduced the strain on the Mithila bureaucracy

and improved efficiency.

Using the increased revenue from agriculture, she had retrained the excess

bureaucracy and expanded the Mithila police force, thus improving security

within the kingdom. Mithila had no standing army and did not need one; by

treaty, the Sankashya Army of Kushadhwaj was supposed to fight the external

enemies of Mithila, when necessary. These were not major changes and were

implemented relatively smoothly, without disturbing the daily life of the

Mithilans. There were mass disturbances in the other kingdoms though, which

required gut-wrenching changes to comply with the treaties imposed by

Raavan.

Sita's birthday had been established as a day of celebration by royal decree.

They didn't know her actual date of birth. So they celebrated the day she had

been found in the furrow. Today was her sixth birthday.

Gifts and alms were distributed to the poor in the city. Like it was done on

every special day. With a difference. Until Sunaina had come and toned up the

administration, much of the charity was grabbed by labourers who were not

rich, but who were not exactly poor either. Sunaina's administrative reforms

had ensured that the charity first went to those who were truly poor and needy;

those who lived in the slums close to the southern gate of the inner, secondary

fort wall.

After the public ceremonies, the royal couple had arrived at the massive

temple of Lord Rudra.

The Lord Rudra temple was built of red sandstone. It was one of the tallest

structures in Mithila, visible from most parts of the city. It had a massivegarden around it — an area of peace in this crowded quarter of the city.

Beyond the garden were the slums, spreading all the way to the fort walls.

Inside the main garba griha, the sanctum sanctorum of the temple, a large idol

of Lord Rudra and Lady Mohini had been consecrated. Seemingly in

consonance with a city that had come to symbolise the love of knowledge,

peace, and philosophy, the image of Lord Rudra was not in his normally fierce

form. In this form, he looked kind, almost gentle. He held the hand of the

beauteous Lady Mohini, who sat next to him.

After the prayers, the temple priest offered prasad to the royal family.

Sunaina touched the priest's feet and then led Sita by the hand to a wall by the

side of the garba griha. On the wall, a plaque had been put up in memory of the

vulture that had valiantly died defending Sita from a pack of wolves. A death

mask of its face had been made before the bird was cremated with honour. Cast

in metal, the mask recorded the last expression of the vulture as it left its

mortal body. It was a haunting look: determined and noble. Sita had made her

mother relate the entire story on several occasions. Sunaina had been happy to

oblige. She wanted her daughter to remember. To know that nobility came in

many a form and face. Sita touched the death mask gently, reverentially. And as

always, she shed a tear for the one who had also given her the gift of life.

'Thank you,' whispered Sita. She said a short prayer to the great God

Pashupati, Lord of the Animals. She hoped the vulture's brave soul had found

purpose again.

Janak discreetly signalled his wife, and the royal family slowly walked out

of the Lord Rudra temple. The priests led the family down the flight of steps.

The slums were clearly visible from the platform height.

'Why don't you ever let me go there, Maa?' asked Sita, pointing at the

slums.

Sunaina smiled and patted her daughter's head. 'Soon.'

'You always say that,' Sita protested, a grumpy expression on her face.

'And, I mean it,' laughed Sunaina. 'Soon. I just didn't say how soon!'

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'Alright,' said Janak, ruffling Sita's hair. 'Run along now. I have to speak with

Guruji.'

The seven-year-old Sita had been playing with her father in his private

office when Janak's chief guru, Ashtaavakra, had walked in. Janak had bowed

to his guru, as was the tradition, and had requested him to sit on the throne

assigned for him.Mithila, not being a major player in the political arena of the Sapt Sindhu

anymore, did not have a permanent raj guru. But Janak's court hosted the

widest range of eminent seers, scholars, scientists and philosophers from India.

Intellectuals loved the Mithilan air, wafting with the fragrance of knowledge

and wisdom. And one of the most distinguished of these thinkers, Rishi

Ashtaavakra, was Janak's chief guru. Even the great Maharishi Vishwamitra,

Chief of the Malayaputra tribe, visited Mithila on occasion.

'We can speak later, if you so desire, Your Highness,' said Ashtaavakra.

'No, no. Of course not,' said Janak. 'I need your guidance on a question that

has been troubling me, Guruji.'

Ashtaavakra's body was deformed in eight places. His mother had met with

an accident late in her pregnancy. But fate and karma had balanced the physical

handicap with an extraordinary mind. Ashtaavakra had shown signs of utter

brilliance from a very young age. As a youth, he had visited Janak's court and

defeated the king's then chief guru, Rishi Bandi, in a scintillating debate. In

doing so, he had redeemed his father, Rishi Kahola, who had lost a debate to

Bandi earlier. Rishi Bandi had gracefully accepted defeat and retired to an

ashram near the Eastern Sea to acquire more knowledge. Thus it was that the

young Ashtaavakra became Janak's chief guru.

Ashtaavakra's deformities did not attract attention in the liberal atmosphere

of Mithila, the kingdom of the pious king, Janak. For the sage's luminous mind

was compelling.

'I will see you in the evening, Baba,' said Sita to her father as she touched

his feet.

Janak blessed her. She also touched the feet of Rishi Ashtaavakra and walked

out of the chamber. As she crossed the threshold, Sita stopped and hid behind

the door. Out of Janak's eyesight, but within earshot. She wanted to hear what

question had been troubling her father.

'How do we know what reality is, Guruji?' asked Janak.

The young Sita stood nonplussed. Confused. She had heard whisperings in

the corridors of the palace. That her father was becoming increasingly

eccentric. That they were lucky to have a pragmatic queen in Sunaina to look

after the kingdom.

What is reality?

She turned and ran towards her mother's chambers. 'Maa!'

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Sita had waited long enough. She was eight years old now. And her mother hadstill not taken her to the slums adjoining the fort walls. The last time she had

asked, she had at least been offered an explanation. She had been told that it

could be dangerous. That some people could get beaten up over there. Sita now

believed that her mother was just making excuses.

Finally, curiosity had gotten the better of her. Disguised in the clothes of a

maid's child, Sita slipped out of the palace. An oversized angvastram was

wrapped around her shoulder and ears, serving as a hood. Her heart pounded

with excitement and nervousness. She repeatedly looked behind to ensure that

no one noticed her embark on her little adventure. No one did.

Late in the afternoon, Sita passed the Lord Rudra temple gardens and stole

into the slums. All alone. Her mother's words ringing in her ears, she had

armed herself with a large stick. She had been practising stick-fighting for

over a year now.

As she entered the slum area, she screwed up her nose. Assaulted by the

stench. She looked back at the temple garden, feeling the urge to turn back. But

almost immediately, the excitement of doing something forbidden took over.

She had waited a long time for this. She walked farther into the slum quarters.

The houses were rickety structures made of bamboo sticks and haphazardly

spread cloth awnings. The cramped space between the wobbly houses served as

the 'streets' on which people walked through the slums. These streets also

served as open drains, toilets, and open-air animal shelters. They were covered

with garbage. There was muck and excreta everywhere. A thin film of animal

and human urine made it difficult to walk. Sita pulled her angvastram over her

nose and mouth, fascinated and appalled at the same time.

People actually live like this? Lord Rudra be merciful.

The palace staff had told her that things had improved in the slums after

Queen Sunaina had come to Mithila.

How much worse could it have been for this to be called an improvement?

She soldiered on, gingerly side-stepping the muck on the muddy walkways.

Till she saw something that made her stop.

A mother sat outside a slum house, feeding her child from a frugal plate.

Her baby was perhaps two or three years old. He sat in his mother's lap,

gurgling happily as he dodged the morsels from her hand. Every now and then,

he obliged the mother and opened his mouth with theatrical concession,

allowing her to stuff small morsels of food into his mouth. It would then be the

mother's turn to coo in delight. Pleasing as it was, this wasn't what fascinated

Sita. A crow sat next to the woman. And she fed every other morsel to the bird.

The crow waited for its turn. Patiently. To it, this wasn't a game.

The woman fed them both. Turn by turn.Sita smiled. She remembered something her mother had said to her a few

days back: Often the poor have more nobility in them than the actual nobility.

She hadn't really understood the words then. She did now.

Sita turned around. She'd seen enough of the slums for her first trip. She

promised herself that she would return soon. Time to go back to the palace.

There were four tiny lanes ahead. Which one do I take?

Uncertain, she took the left-most one and began to walk. She kept moving.

But the slum border was nowhere in sight. Her heartbeat quickened as she

nervously hastened her pace.

The light had begun to fade. Every chaotic lane seemed to end at a

crossroads of several other paths. All haphazard, all disorganised. Confused,

she blindly turned into a quiet lane. Beginning to feel the first traces of panic,

she quickened her steps. But it only took her the wrong way, faster.

'Sorry!' cried Sita, as she banged into someone.

The dark-skinned girl looked like an adolescent; perhaps older. She had a

dirty, unkempt look about her. The stench from her tattered clothes suggested

that she had not changed them for a while. Lice crawled over the surface of her

matted, unwashed hair. She was tall, lean, and surprisingly muscular. Her feline

eyes and scarred body gave her a dangerous, edgy look.

She stared at Sita's face and then at her hands. There was a sudden flash of

recognition in her eyes, as though sensing an opportunity. Sita, meanwhile, had

darted into an adjacent lane. The Princess of Mithila picked up pace, almost

breaking into a desperate run. Praying that this was the correct path out of the

slum.

Sweat beads were breaking out on her forehead. She tried to steady her

breath. She couldn't.

She kept running. Till she was forced to stop.

'Lord Rudra be merciful.'

She had screeched to a halt, confronted by a solid barrier wall. She was now

well and truly lost, finding herself at the other end of the slum which abutted

the inner fort wall. The inner city of Mithila was as far as it could be. It was

eerily quiet, with scarcely anyone around. The sun had almost set, and the faint

snatches of twilight only emphasised the darkness. She did not know what to

do.

'Who is this now?' A voice was heard from behind her.

Sita whirled around, ready to strike. She saw two adolescent boys moving

towards her from the right. She turned left. And ran. But did not get far. A leg

stuck out and tripped her, making her fall flat on her face. Into the muck. There

were more of them. She got up quickly and grabbed her stick. Five boys hadgathered around her. Casual menace on their faces.

Her mother had warned her about the crimes in the slums. Of people getting

beaten up. But Sita had not believed those stories, thinking that the sweet people

who came to collect charity from her mother would never hurt anyone.

I should have listened to Maa.

Sita looked around nervously. The five boys were now in front of her. The

steep fort wall was behind her. There was no escape.

She brandished the stick at them, threateningly. The boys let out a merry

laugh, amused by the antics of the little girl.

The one in the centre bit a fingernail in mock fear, and said in a sing-song

voice, 'Ooh … we're so scared …'

Raucous laughter followed.

'That's a precious ring, noble girl,' said the boy, with theatrical politeness.

'I'm sure it's worth more than what the five of us will earn in our entire lives.

Do you think that …'

'Do you want the ring?' asked Sita, feeling a sense of relief as she reached

for it. 'Take it. Just let me go.'

The boy sniggered. 'Of course we will let you go. First throw the ring over

here.'

Sita gulped anxiously. She balanced her stick against her body, and quickly

pulled the ring off her forefinger. Holding it in her closed fist, she pointed the

stick at them with her left hand. 'I know how to use this.'

The boy looked at his friends, his eyebrows raised. He turned to the girl and

smiled. 'We believe you. Just throw the ring here.'

Sita flung the ring forward. It fell a short distance from the boy.

'Your throwing arm could do with more strength, noble girl,' laughed the

boy, as he bent down to pick it up. He looked at it carefully and whistled softly,

before tucking it into his waistband. 'Now, what more do you have?'

Suddenly, the boy arched forward and fell to the ground. Behind him stood

the tall, dark-skinned girl Sita had crashed into earlier. She held a big bamboo

stick with both hands. The boys whirled around aggressively and looked at the

girl; the bravado evaporated just as quickly. She was taller than they were. Lean

and muscular.

More importantly, it appeared the boys knew her. And her reputation.

'You have nothing to do with this, Samichi …' said one of the boys,

hesitantly. 'Leave.'

Samichi answered with her stick and struck his hand. Ferociously. The boy

staggered back, clutching his arm.

'I'll break the other one too, if you don't get out of here,' growled Samichi.And, the boy ran.

The other four delinquents, however, stood their ground. The one that was

felled earlier was back on his feet. They faced Samichi, their backs to Sita. The

apparently harmless one. They didn't notice Sita gripping her stick, holding it

high above her head and creeping up on the one who had her ring. Judging the

distance perfectly, she swung her weapon viciously at the boy's head.

Thwack!

The boy collapsed in a heap, blood spurting from the crack on the back of

his head. The three others turned around. Shocked. Paralysed.

'Come on! Quick!' screamed Samichi, as she rushed forward and grabbed

Sita by the hand.

As the two girls ran around the corner, Samichi stole a glance back at the

scene. The boy lay on the ground, unmoving. His friends had gathered around

him, trying to rouse him.

'Quickly!' shouted Samichi, dragging Sita along.