SITA’S SISTER (12 page)

‘The garden seems to have become the exalted rendezvous of our collective romance,’ giggled Sita as they caught a fleeting glimpse of the four princes returning from their daily puja. They too appeared to be indulging in the game of pretence—collecting flowers for the prayers was their pretext. Dashrath was with Janak in the palace and the two younger princes were conveniently with their older brothers, helping them out with the morning puja.

But the princesses were getting late; Sunaina was waiting for them to return from the temple to begin the haldi ceremony where turmeric would be applied on their bodies. Thus, it was just a momentary glance that could be shared between the brides-and grooms-to-be before they garlanded each other tomorrow at the auspicious mahurat.

Urmila had had no time to look at the two younger princes, her eyes as usual were searching for Lakshman. He was there with his brothers…and a woman. She was laughing up at him. Even from a distance, Urmila could see that the woman with the lilting laugh and smiling eyes was breathtakingly beautiful. Who was she? Urmila’s eyes narrowed, watching the two smiling at each other and she felt an unfamiliar stab of pain slicing through her. It was jealousy, bile green and unadulterated, and she didn’t know how to deal with it. The more she suppressed it, the more angrily it flared, searing her with an irrational burst of rancour, resentment and anger.

Who was she, she kept asking herself repeatedly. Urmila knew she was being uncharacteristically unreasonable: the woman, she rationalized with distinct mental discernment, must be some relative, his cousin probably, but she could not shake off that wave of possessiveness that deluged her mind. She was unable to forget their laughing faces, their mysterious familiarity; it intruded into her peace, her sleep and all of her waking thoughts.

Vasishtha and Dashrath had meanwhile met with Janak, Vishwamitra and Shatanand to further discuss about the contentious mahurat. The three rishis warned the kings that though the mahurat of Uttara Falguni nakshatra was perfect for the couples, the stars were such that even if there was a moment’s delay, the planets would change their position and the fortunes would not augur well for the four brides and their grooms.

Unaware of these dissuasive predictions, the four brides woke up to a dull wintry day to dress up in all their wedding finery. The sun was out but Urmila could still see the moon, the day seemed to be blurring into the inky night, blotting the sun and the warmth of the daylight. Each of the brides had worn a different colour. Sita was in her favourite silver gauze blue, Urmila in crimson, Mandavi in an emerald green and Kirti in turmeric yellow—all auspicious colours, Sage Shatanand observed with relief. The queen, mercifully, had gone conservative, for once, he told himself. He would have preferred all the four girls wearing red—the colour of fertility but only Urmila, his favourite disciple, was attired in scarlet and gold. But she had always been wise and correct, the guru thought fondly. He was a little worried about the princesses, though. The four princes were an excellent choice but their fates were too intertwined for them to enjoy individual marital bliss. He looked up at the sky—it was brumous, sullen, sunless. Time seemed to be standing still, though a little confused. He watched the wedding rituals coming to a close and it was time for the final phase. The brides were placing the thick jasmine and rose garlands over the groom’s bowed heads as he had specifically instructed. The timing was important; the rest would follow smoothly.

Urmila was duly introduced to her father-in-law King Dashrath. He looked even more withered and ancient than her father. The immediate impression was of kindliness—a tall, handsome man with more salt than pepper in his greying mane, his eyes warm and kind. Yet there was nothing weak about him, there was strength not just in his slim, slightly bent figure, but in his face, firm jawline, hawkish nose and gentle voice. Urmila had heard nasty rumours that this mighty king was a slave to his favourite wife, the beautiful Kaikeyi, but now, looking at him, it was hard to believe it. He looked like a man in control, a powerful king of his land, the proud father of four handsome sons.

And each of his four sons was incredibly good-looking. Bharat resembled his father the most, there was a quiet serenity in him, even more than his elder brother Ram. His eyes were clear and tranquil, emanating a quiet authority, like Ram’s. The twins, Lakshman and Shatrughna didn’t look identical, yet there was a very close resemblance in their mood and mannerism. Shatrughna, though, frowned less than his twin and certainly smiled a lot more. In fact, he seemed quite a prankster from the perpetual devilish glint in his eyes and the fun he liberally poked at his brothers. His brothers indulged him. The sedate Kirti was going to have quite a handful, Urmila relished the thought with roguish delight.

‘As it’s a group wedding, are we supposed to stand in a queue according to order of age, popularity or height?’ asked Shatrughna tongue-in-cheek. ‘Ram wins in all except height; there, I guess, we twins are the winners!’ he grinned, nudging Lakshman to head the waiting line. ‘Come, brother, let’s get married first and quick!’

No one could help smiling; Shatrughna dissipated the solemn air with his frequent one-liners throughout the ceremony. Giggling at his jokes, Urmila found herself staring again at the strange woman hovering around the brothers. Her smile promptly disappeared as she caught sight of the beautiful woman whom she had seen last morning laughing so comfortably with Lakshman. She was dressed in silken fuschia pink, the hot colour flowing warmly all over her well-rounded, hourglass figure. At a closer look, Urmila found her more beautiful and much older. She was standing close to the four princes with a silver thali and diya, authoritative and busy. She must be some relative, Urmila thought with enormous relief, feeling abruptly bouyant and pleased. But who else could she have been? Urmila had not been proud of that spurt of jealousy and possessiveness that had pervaded and overpowered her since the previous morning. Finding out that she was their sister, Urmila experienced a light, lifting moment of relief. And the thought made her break into her first genuine smile of the day. It started small, getting gradually wider as she perceived the sheer foolishness of her jealousy. She could not stop smiling, brilliant and radiantly, her eyes brimming bright with newfound bliss. The sight simply took Lakshman’s breath away as he looked proudly at his bride. She looked the loveliest and definitely the happiest.

The beautiful lady was Shanta, the elder sister of Ram and the oldest daughter of Dashrath and his older queen Kausalya. She had led an eventful life unlike the protected princesses of Mithila. Though born as the princess of Ayodhya, or Kosala to be specific, she was adopted by Kausalya’s elder sister Vershini and her husband King Rompad of Angadesh, a close friend of Dashrath. They were childless and once in light banter, the sister-in-law asked her younger brother-in-law that if he were so generous and a man of his word, would he give his newborn daughter to her as her child? Honouring the word given by a Raghuvansh kshatriya, Dashrath readily agreed and gave his only daughter, an infant, to his best friend and sister-in-law. And Shanta was brought up as the princess of Angadesh, far away from her parents at Ayodhya. Educated in the Vedas, arts, craft and music, Shanta grew up to be a scholar and a very beautiful princess who married not a prince, but a learned rishi—Rishyasringa, who was said to have saved her kingdom from a relentless famine.

Years later, as Dashrath had no children after Shanta, he decided to have another yagna to beget him a son to continue his royal dynasty. He then called upon his son-in-law Rishyasringa to perform a
putra kameshthi yagna
to beget progeny, and thus were born Ram, Bharat, and the twins Lakshman and Shatrughna—the four princes of Kosala.

Rishi Rishyaringa was present at the wedding and her father had been delighted to meet him, as he did when he met any scholar, smiled Urmila with fond regard. Rishyaringa was thin and ascetic looking but with a fire burning within him that shone through his eyes, flashing with profound knowledge and brilliance. Right now, he was talking to Vishwamitra, intent and grim. Urmila wondered with a sinking heart what they were discussing, but the frown flew away as the rishi’s expression immediately softened as he caught sight of his approaching wife, walking quickly toward him. Theirs was a love story as interesting as themselves.

Rishyaringa, before he met Shanta, had led a singularly isolated life, having never been exposed to any womanly influence including that of his mother, the apsara Urvashi, who had left him and his father Sage Vibhandaka, after giving birth to him. She had been sent down by Indra to seduce the rishi to distract him from his penance. Betrayed and hurt, Sage Vibhandaka developed hatred for all women, a belief he tried to pass on to his young impressionable son and saw to it that he was never exposed to the wile of a woman. The rishi took him away into the deep forest to lead a life of seclusion and meditation.

When Rompad saw his kingdom reeling from drought and famine, he was told that the only person who could save him from this predicament was any learned brahmin who had derived powers from the observance of severe chastity. And that person was Rishyaringa. But who would go to the forest and invite him to perform the yagna in the city? His father would never allow him to leave the safe sanctuary of the forest.

It was Shanta who came upon a brilliant scheme. Along with a courtesan, who would use her charms if necessary, the princess went herself to persuade the young rishi to perform the yagna for her father and save the citizens of Angadesh. She was careful to meet the unsuspecting rishi when his father was away collecting wood as she feared he would throw her out or worse, curse her or her kingdom. And as expected, when he saw the two beautiful girls, the courtesan and the princess, the rishi who had never seen a woman in his life, fell hopelessly in love with the latter. She persuaded him to come to the city to perform the agnihotra puja. The besotted rishi agreed readily. Fleeing from his angry father, he came to the city with Shanta and used his powers to bless and drench the dry land with heavy showers. As the yagna progressed and the sky darkened, so did Vibhandaka cloud with rage as he headed toward the city to get back his son. And as soon as the heavy clouds burst into torrential rains, Vibhandaka reached the capital to see his son getting married to the beautiful princess. He was swiftly calmed down by some quick thinking of the enterprising princess. It was Shanta who, prepared for the worst of her father-in-law’s fury, had planned to appease him by presenting him with a series of thoughtful gifts and revealing the depth and sincerity of her love for his son. The old man was duly conciliated to give them his blessing for a long, happy and fruitful life.

Such was Shanta. Urmila saw her now, standing behind Ram, lovely and resplendent in her silks and glittering gems and regarded her with renewed respect. The rites were coming to a close and Urmila, through the corner of her eyes, watched Sita garlanding Ram. She was the elder sister, it was her right to lead. Taking cue, Urmila followed suit with Mandavi and Kirti. She was trembling but her hands were steady, as she placed the fragrant garland on Lakshman’s strong neck, turning up a radiant face at him, her eyes as bright as fresh drops of dew. Without taking his eyes off her, he bent his handsome head, a crooked smile on his lips.

‘You look the merriest of the brides! And so beatifically beautiful!’ he murmured in her ear, ‘or is it just me who makes you so?’ he asked teasingly, his voice soft and husky as he brought his head down to garland her.

‘No, it’s your sister!’ she whispered back wickedly.

He raised a surprised eyebrow, but she was not going to reveal more of her treacherous thoughts. ‘Soumitra, my dear brother, this is your Urmila, isn’t she?’ beamed Shanta.

Urmila was surprised at the name she addressed Lakshman with—Soumitra, the son of Sumitra. Shanta continued talking to her. ‘I heard how you saved Soumitra’s life from Guru Parshuram’s killer wrath. It reminded me of how I managed to appease my furious father-in-law!’

Urmila flushed swiftly, hating the colour seeping into her face but she need not have worried.

‘But I have never seen a more angelic bride, so heady with happiness than yours, Soumitra!’ gushed Shanta. ‘You are absolutely exquisite, my dear, and may you always be so ravishingly happy!’

‘Mila, this is Shanta, my sister, and dear sister, you seem to be the reason for my bride’s gorgeous glow!’ introduced Lakshman sardonically, holding Urmila’s hand openly, while touching the inside of her wrist in a slow, circular motion with his thumb. Urmila felt a frisson of pleasure and did not make any attempt to shake his hand away.

‘Me?’ asked Shanta, puzzled.

‘Yes, sister, what’s the spell you have cast on my bride?’ he asked innocently.

Tingling with the sensuous sensation on her wrist, Urmila blushed more furiously. More so, as she remembered with renewed mortification her jealous rage which had devoured her the whole of the previous day. She managed to greet her sister-in-law with a sheepish smile.