chapter 5

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Two years had passed since Sita had arrived in Shvetaketu's gurukul. While the

ten-year-old student had impressed her guru with her intelligence and

sharpness, it was her enthusiasm for the outdoors that was truly extraordinary.

Especially noteworthy was her skill in stick-fighting.

But her spirited temperament also created problems on occasion. Like the

time when a fellow student had called her father an ineffectual king, more

suited to being a teacher than a ruler. Sita's response had been to thrash the

living daylights out of him. The boy had been confined to the gurukul Ayuralay

for almost a month. He had limped for two months after that.

A worried Shvetaketu had arranged for extra classes on the subjects of non-

violence and impulse control. The hotheaded girl had also been strictly

reminded of the rules against physical violence on the gurukul premises. The

art of warfare was taught to inculcate self-discipline and a code of conduct for

future royal duties. Within the school, they were not allowed to hurt one

another.

To ensure that the message went home, Sunaina had also been told of this

incident on one of her visits to the gurukul. Her strong words had had the

desired impact on Sita. She had refrained from beating other students since

then, though her resolve was tested at times.

This was one such time.

'Aren't you adopted?' taunted Kaaml Raj, a fellow classmate.

Five students from the gurukul had gathered close to the pond on the campus.

Three sat around Sita, who had drawn a geometric shape on the ground, using

some ropes. Engrossed in explaining a theorem from the Baudhayana Shulba

Sutra, she had been studiously ignoring Kaaml. As were the others. He was

hovering around as usual, trying to distract everyone. Upon hearing his words,

all eyes turned to Sita.

Radhika was Sita's best friend. She immediately tried to prevent a reaction.

'Let it be, Sita. He is a fool.'Sita sat up straight and closed her eyes for a moment. She had often

wondered about her birth mother. Why had she abandoned her? Was she as

magnificent as her adoptive mother? But there was no doubt in her mind about

one fact: She was Sunaina's daughter.

'I am my mother's daughter,' muttered Sita, looking defiantly at her

tormentor as she pointedly ignored her friend's advice.

'Yes, yes, I know that. We are all our mothers' children. But aren't you

adopted? What will happen to you when your mother has a real daughter?'

'Real daughter? I am not unreal, Kaaml. I am very real.'

'Yes, yes. But you are not …'

'Just get lost,' said Sita. She picked up the twig with which she had been

explaining the Baudhayana theorem.

'No, no. You aren't understanding what I'm saying. If you are adopted, you

can be thrown out at any time. What will you do then?'

Sita put the twig down and looked at Kaaml with cold eyes. This would have

been a good moment for the boy to shut up. Regrettably, he did not have too

much sense.

'I can see that the teachers like you. Guruji likes you a lot. You can come

back here and teach all day when you get thrown out of your home!' Kaaml

broke into maniacal laughter. No one else laughed. In fact, the tension in the air

was crackling dangerously.

'Sita …' pleaded Radhika, again advising calm. 'Let it be …'

Sita ignored Radhika's advice yet again. She slowly got up and walked

towards Kaaml. The boy swallowed hard, but he did not step back. Sita's hands

were locked tightly behind her back. She stopped within an inch of her

adversary. She looked at him and glared. Straight into his eyes. Kaaml's breath

had quickened nervously, and the twitch in his temple showed that his courage

was rapidly disappearing. But he stood his ground.

Sita took one more threatening step. Dangerously close to Kaaml. Her toe

was now touching the boy's. The tip of her nose was less than a centimetre

from his face. Her eyes flashed fire.

Sweat beads had formed on Kaaml's forehead. 'Listen … you are not

allowed to hit anyone …'

Sita kept her eyes locked with his. She kept staring. Unblinking. Cold.

Breathing heavily.

Kaaml's voice emerged in a squeak. 'Listen …'

Sita suddenly screamed loudly; an ear-splitting sound right in Kaaml's face.

A forceful, strong, high-pitched bellow. A startled Kaaml fell back, flat on the

ground and burst into tears.And, the other children burst into laughter.

A teacher appeared seemingly from nowhere.

'I didn't hit him! I didn't hit him!'

'Sita …'

Sita allowed herself to be led away by the teacher. 'But I didn't hit him!'

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'Hanu bhaiya!' cooed Radhika as she hugged her elder brother. Or more

specifically, her elder cousin brother.

Radhika had asked Sita along to meet her favourite relative. The meeting

place was around an hour's walk from the gurukul, deep in the jungles to the

south, in a well-hidden clearing. This was where the cousins met. In secret. Her

brother had good reasons to remain invisible to the gurukul authorities.

He was a Naga; a person born with deformities.

He was dressed in a dark-brown dhoti with a white angvastram. Fair-skinned.

Tall and hirsute. An outgrowth jutted out from his lower back, almost like a

tail. It flapped with rhythmic precision, as though it had a mind of its own. His

massive build and sturdy musculature gave him an awe-inspiring presence.

Almost a godly aura. His flat nose was pressed against his face, which in turn

was outlined with facial hair, encircling it with neat precision. Strangely

though, the skin above and below his mouth was hairless, silken smooth and

light pink in colour; it had a puffed appearance. His lips were a thin, barely

noticeable line. Thick eyebrows drew a sharp, artistic curve above captivating

eyes that radiated intelligence and a meditative calm. It almost seemed like the

Almighty had taken the face of a monkey and placed it on a man's head.

He looked at Radhika with almost paternal affection. 'How are you, my little

sister?'

Radhika stuck her lower lip out in mock anger. 'How long has it been since I

saw you last? Ever since father allowed that new gurukul to come up …'

Radhika's father was the chief of a village along the river Shon. He had

recently given permission for a gurukul to be set up close to the village. Four

young boys had been enrolled. There were no other students. Sita had

wondered why Radhika was still in Rishi Shvetaketu's gurukul, when another

was now so close to home. Maybe a small, four-student gurukul was not as

good as their Guruji's renowned school.

'Sorry Radhika, I've been very busy,' said the man. 'I've been given a new

assignment and …'

'I don't care about your new assignment!'Radhika's brother quickly changed the topic. 'Aren't you going to introduce

me to your new friend?'

Radhika stared at him for a few more seconds, then smiled in surrender and

turned to her friend. 'This is Sita, the princess of Mithila. And this is my elder

brother, Hanu bhaiya.'

He gave his new acquaintance a broad smile as he folded his hands into a

Namaste. 'Hanu bhaiya is what little Radhika calls me. My name is Hanuman.'

Sita folded her hands too, and looked up at the kindly face. 'I think I prefer

Hanu bhaiya.'

Hanuman laughed warmly. 'Then Hanu bhaiya it is!'

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Sita had spent five years in the gurukul. She was thirteen years old now.

The gurukul was built on the southern banks of the holy Ganga, a short

distance downriver from Magadh, where the feisty Sarayu merged into the

sedate Ganga. Its location was so convenient that many rishis and rishikas from

various ashrams used to drop into this gurukul. They, usually, even taught for a

few months as visiting teachers.

Indeed, Maharishi Vishwamitra himself was on a visit to the gurukul right

now. He and his followers entered the frugal ashram, home to almost twenty-

five students.

'Namaste, great Malayaputra,' said Shvetaketu, folding his hands together

and bowing to the legendary rishi, chief of the tribe left behind by the sixth

Vishnu, Lord Parshu Ram. The Malayaputras were tasked with two missions: to

help the next Mahadev, Destroyer of Evil, if and when he or she arose. And, to

give rise to the next Vishnu, Propagator of Good, when the time was right.

The gurukul was electrified by the presence of the great Maharishi

Vishwamitra; considered a Saptrishi Uttradhikari, successor to the legendary

seven rishis. It was a singular honour, greater than receiving any of the men

and women of knowledge who had visited before.

'Namaste, Shvetaketu,' said Vishwamitra imperiously, a hint of a smile

playing on his face.

The staff at the gurukul had immediately set to work. Some helped the sage's

followers with their luggage and horses, while others rushed to clean the

already spick-and-span guest quarters. Arishtanemi, the military chief of the

Malayaputras and the right-hand man of Vishwamitra, organised the efforts'I had some work upriver,' said Vishwamitra, enigmatically, refusing to

elaborate.

Shvetaketu knew better than to ask any more questions on this subject to the

fearsome Malayaputra chief. But an attempt at conversation was warranted.

'Raavan's trade treaties are causing immense pain to the kingdoms of the Sapt

Sindhu, noble Guru. People are suffering and being impoverished. Somebody

has to fight him.'

Almost seven feet tall, the dark-skinned Vishwamitra was altogether of

unreal proportions, both physically and in intellect. His large belly lay under a

sturdy chest, muscular shoulders, and powerful arms. A flowing white beard

grazed his chest. Brahminical, tuft of knotted hair on an otherwise shaven head.

Large, limpid eyes. And the holy janau, sacred thread, tied over his shoulder.

In startling contrast were the numerous battle scars that lined his face and body.

He looked down at Shvetaketu from his great height.

'There are no kings today who can take on this task,' said Vishwamitra.

'They are all just survivors. Not leaders.'

'Perhaps this task is beyond that of mere kings, Illustrious One …'

Vishwamitra's smile broadened mysteriously. But no words followed.

Shvetaketu would not let down his need for interaction with the great man.

'Forgive my impertinence, Maharishiji, but how long do you expect to stay

with us? It would be wonderful if my students could get the benefit of your

guidance.'

'I will be here for only a few days, Shvetaketu. Teaching your children may

not be possible.'

Shvetaketu was about to repeat his request, as politely as possible, when a

loud sound was heard.

A speedy whoosh followed by a loud thwack!

Vishwamitra had once been a Kshatriya warrior prince. He recognised the

sound immediately. Of a spear hitting a wooden target. Almost perfectly.

He turned in the direction that the sound had emerged from, his brows lifted

slightly in admiration. 'Someone in your gurukul has a strong throwing arm,

Shvetaketu.'

Shvetaketu smiled proudly. 'Let me show you, Guruji.'

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'Sita?' asked Vishwamitra, surprised beyond words. 'Janak's daughter, Sita?'

Vishwamitra and Shvetaketu were at one end of the sparse but well-equipped

outdoor training arena, where students practised archery, spear-throwing andother ananga weapon techniques. At the other end was a separate area set aside

for the practice of anga weapons like swords and maces. Sita, immersed in her

practice, did not see the two rishis as they silently walked in and watched her

get ready for the next throw.

'She has the wisdom of King Janak, great Malayaputra,' answered

Shvetaketu. 'But she also has the pragmatism and fighting spirit of Queen

Sunaina. And, dare I say, my gurukul teachers have moulded her spirit well.'

Vishwamitra observed Sita with a keen eye. Tall for a thirteen-year old, she

was already beginning to build muscle. Her straight, jet-black hair was braided

and rolled into a practical bun. She flicked a spear up with her foot, catching it

expertly in her hand. Vishwamitra noticed the stylish flick. But he was more

impressed by something else. She had caught the spear exactly at the balance

point on the shaft. Which had not been marked, unlike in a normal training

spear. She judged it, instinctively perhaps. Even from a distance, he could see

that her grip was flawless. The spear shaft lay flat on the palm of her hand,

between her index and middle finger. Her thumb pointed backwards while the

rest of the fingers faced the other direction.

Sita turned to the target with her left foot facing it. It was a wooden board

painted with concentric circles. She raised her left hand, again in the same

direction. Her body twisted ever so slightly, to add power to the throw. She

pulled her right hand back, parallel to the ground; poised as a work of art.

Perfect.

Shvetaketu smiled. Though he did not teach warfare to his students, he was

personally proud of Sita's prowess. 'She doesn't take the traditional few steps

before she throws. The twist in her body and strength in her shoulders give her

all the power she needs.'

Vishwamitra looked dismissively at Shvetaketu. He turned his attention back

to the impressive girl. Those few steps may add power, but could also make

you miss the target. Especially if the target was small. He did not bother to

explain that little detail to Shvetaketu.

Sita flung hard as she twisted her body leftward, putting the power of her

shoulder and back into the throw. Whipping the spear forward with her wrist

and finger. Giving the final thrust to the missile.

Whoosh and thwack!

The spear hit bang on target. Right at the centre of the board. It jostled for

space with the earlier spear which had pierced the same small circle.

Vishwamitra smiled slightly. 'Not bad … Not bad at all …'

What her two spectators did not know was that Sita had been taking lessons

from Hanuman, on his regular visits to see his two sisters. He had helpedperfect her technique.

Shvetaketu smiled with the pride of a parent. 'She is exceptional.'

'What is her status in Mithila now?'

Shvetaketu took a deep breath. 'I can't be sure. She is their adopted daughter.

And, King Janak and Queen Sunaina have always loved her dearly. But now

that …'

'I believe Sunaina was blessed with a daughter a few years back,' interrupted

Vishwamitra.

'Yes. After more than a decade of marriage. They have their own natural-

born daughter now.'

'Urmila, right?'

'Yes, that is her name. Queen Sunaina has said that she does not differentiate

between the two girls. But she has not visited Sita for nine months. She used to

come every six months earlier. Admittedly, Sita has been called to Mithila

regularly. She last visited Mithila six months ago. But she didn't return very

happy.'

Vishwamitra looked at Sita, his hand on his chin. Thoughtful. He could see

her face now. It seemed strangely familiar. But he couldn't place it.

¥€¶

It was lunchtime at the gurukul. Vishwamitra and his Malayaputras sat in the

centre of the courtyard, surrounded by the simple mud huts that housed the

students. It also served as an open-air classroom. Teaching was always done in

the open. The small, austere huts for the teachers were a short distance away.

'Guruji, shall we begin?' asked Arishtanemi, the Malayaputra military chief.

The students and the gurukul staff had served the honoured guests on banana

leaf plates. Shvetaketu sat alongside Vishwamitra, waiting for the Chief

Malayaputra to commence the ceremony. Vishwamitra picked up his glass,

poured some water into the palm of his right hand, and sprinkled it around his

plate, thanking Goddess Annapurna for her blessings in the form of food and

nourishment. He scooped the first morsel of food and placed it aside, as a

symbolic offering to the Gods. Everyone repeated the action. At a signal from

Vishwamitra, they began eating.

Vishwamitra, however, paused just as he was about to put the first morsel

into his mouth. His eyes scanned the premises in search of a man. One of his

soldiers was a Naga called Jatayu. The unfortunate man had been born with a

condition that led to deformities on his face over time, classifying him as a

Naga. His deformities were such that his face looked like that of a vulture.Many ostracised Jatayu. But not Vishwamitra. The Chief Malayaputra

recognised the powerful warrior and noble soul that Jatayu was. Others, with

prejudiced eyes, were blind to his qualities.

Vishwamitra knew the biases that existed in the times. He also knew that in

this ashram, it was unlikely that anybody would have bothered to take care of

Jatayu's meals. He looked around, trying to find him. He finally saw Jatayu,

sitting alone in the distance, under a tree. Even as he was about to signal a

student, he saw Sita heading towards the Naga, a banana-leaf plate in one hand,

and a tray full of food in the other.

The Maharishi watched, as Jatayu stood up with coy amazement.

From the distance, Vishwamitra could not hear what was being said. But he

read the body language. With utmost respect, Sita placed the banana-leaf plate

in front of Jatayu, then served the food. As Jatayu sat down to eat with an

embarrassed smile, she bowed low, folded her hands into a Namaste and

walked away.

Vishwamitra watched Sita, lost in thought. Where have I seen that face

before?

Arishtanemi, too, was observing the girl. He turned to Vishwamitra.

'She seems like a remarkable girl, Guruji,' said Arishtanemi.

'Hmm,' said Vishwamitra, as he looked at his lieutenant very briefly. He

turned his attention to his food.