SITA’S SISTER (21 page)

Urmila clutched at his hand, and said tremulously, ‘Go, Lakshman. I shall not stop you…’ she choked.

‘You won’t be alone here, Mila,’ he continued gently, reassuring her and himself. ‘Mandavi and Kirti will soon join you. And you are so strong—the strongest woman I have ever known. You are Urmila, one where the hearts meet…’ he said softly. ‘It is you who binds all the sisters together with your patience and wisdom. Please do it for me now. Look after my broken family,’ he implored. ‘And let me go to the forest for I am not sure if I would be able to protect you as your husband. My work and goal would be to safeguard my brother—the king of Ayodhya and his queen. My duty is to protect the future of Ayodhya. That’s what I have been born for…’

‘But what about my future?’ she wanted to scream in mad despair but it came out as a silent plea. ‘I don’t have anyone but you! Oh Lakshman, I need you!’

She didn’t say it but her moist eyes reflected her hopelessness.

He could not bear it anymore. He crushed her to himself, holding her close, feeling her supple, warm body against his, resting his head in the softness of her neck, his agonized face buried in the lingering fragrance of her thick hair—his solace from the world. She was, as her name described, his Urmila, the enchantress, his beating heart.

She clung to him, never wanting to let go. She could feel the heat of his hard body, the burning lips on her skin, and she moved closer to him, absorbing his spicy smell, the hardness of his mouth, the softness of his full lips, taking in each detail, each moment of his physicality. He was breathing laboriously. She sensed the battle raging within him, his struggle with himself and his desperate endeavour for self-control.

‘This is so difficult for us. Make it easier for me, Mila. Make it easier,’ he whispered against her lips. ‘You are my strength but also my weakness.’

She stood still, listening to the wild hammering of his heart, his agonised words bringing her back to the harsh reality. He would have to go. She would have to leave him. With cold deliberation, she broke away from him. His arms dropped loosely at his side, his face crushed. It was up to her now. She had to be strong, stronger for him as well. One wrong word from her would undo their happiness.

‘Love is very close to hate, it doesn’t take much to turn loving to hating,’ she said slowly, looking hard into his darkened eyes, moist and soft. ‘I love you…but I don’t recognize you anymore. I cannot but hate you for forsaking me. You have spurned me for someone else, something else. You say you love me but you cannot remain with me here in the palace and instead opt to go with your brother. For fourteen years,’ she emphasized each word. ‘It is he who has been exiled, not you. Why should you accompany him? He has Sita with him—the kind soul that she is, and the dutiful wife,’ she added deliberately. ‘He is strong and capable enough to look after himself and Sita. Why do you need to go with them?’

Lakshman did not reply, he was staring at her in silent appeal. ‘And how can I make it easier for you when it is you who has taken the decision?’ she continued ruthlessly. ‘I wasn’t considered at all, was I? I have known it since I fell in love with you, married you and came here. I knew I would be forsaken—your brother comes first. Yet, am I asking for the impossible? That you don’t leave me alone here? Don’t say I am needed in the palace to look after your old parents. They have Bharat and Shatrughna, Mandavi and Kirti. You either take me with you to the forest or don’t go there, stay back for me.’

She knew she was extracting the impossible from him. She heard him taking in a deep, ragged breath. ‘You know I can’t do either.’

‘I knew you would refuse me, again,’ she said flatly. ‘That is what your love is—hurtful and rejecting. You don’t love at all, Lakshman, you cannot love! You were right—you should have never married. You never did love me; even our marriage was forced upon you. It was a convenient arrangement that the other sisters got married to the remaining brothers. I was foolish to convince myself otherwise! All thanks to love! Or to whatever is left of it…’ she deliberately left her sentence unfinished; as incomplete as she felt right now, as incomplete as she would be from now on.

Urmila went on, his stricken face licking a fire within her. ‘And anyway, I couldn’t have done what my sister has done. I am relieved that I don’t have to go with you and I am thankful that you did not propose so. Look at me, Lakshman!’ she looked down pointedly at herself in her shimmering soft silks and gems. ‘I am a princess, born in leisure and luxury. Would you expect me to spurn this to chase you in your misguided, wild adventure with your brother eating berries, walking barefoot and cooking meals for the two of you?’ she scoffed, hoping she had laced her words with the exact amount of scorn.

She saw him flinch and she felt a sharp stab of sorrow as she realized she had succeeded in her attempt to hurt him as much as he had inadvertently hurt her. ‘You cannot stay back for me because your brother is more precious than your wife. You are not like your father to listen to his wife, are you?’ she taunted. ‘Will deserting your wife and serving your brother make you more noble? Then, let me hate you for that. Let me hate you for the forthcoming fourteen years—that endless chasm you have driven between us. Let me hate you as passionately as I loved you. Now, go!’ she choked, turning away from him.

But he did not leave immediately. Urmila could feel his eyes on her back, as if waiting for her to turn around. She did not; she dared not read the loathing in his eyes.

‘So be it, Urmila,’ she heard him say. He had not called her Mila, she noted immediately. For the first time he had used her full name in private—Urmila—meaning the enchantress, the meeting of the hearts. Urmila, meaning, waves of passion. But she felt passion slipping out of her, her spirit drained, filling her instead with waves of anguish followed by numbness. She felt nothing. Her soul seemed to have been wrenched out of her, her listless, spiritless body, standing alone and upright, her back turned to him.

He seized her hand and forcefully thrust her fallen comb into her numb palm. Her face turned down and in a shadow, she kept her eyes away from him; she could not allow him to see her anguish.

She heard him changing in the next room. Moments later, he came into the chamber again, stripped of his silk robes, jewels and crown. Bare-chested, handsome and stark in his rough bark clothes, he still looked a prince. They were in complete contrast now; she in her glittering finery and he in his humble attire. He barely glanced at her; she drank in the last sight of him. And he left without a word.

You can hate me for all I just said. I hope I have made it easier for you now, she thought bleakly, made it easier for us, to hate rather than to love each other for the next fourteen years of separation. Would hatred be easier than loving?

‘Aren’t you going to bid your husband goodbye? And your sister?’ asked a gentle voice.

Urmila wearily turned her head. It was Sumitra.

‘Come, child, I know it is difficult. But let’s go to Kaikeyi’s palace where the three are bidding their final farewell to the king,’ she said, embracing Urmila tenderly. ‘We have to have the strength…’

Urmila allowed herself to be led by the older woman to the lotus-domed, thousand-pillared marble palace of Kaikeyi, with its rich inlay in gold and gems. Despite her own crazed state, she was taken aback at what she saw there. At first, she could barely see him. The room was dark, lit partially by some oil lamps. Soon her eyes got accustomed to the dim light, and she saw the palatial room with its thick curtains blocking away the sunlight.

The king was lying weak and prostrate on the huge round bed, his eyes dull and shrunken deep in the sockets, twin pools of despair. And he was weeping uninhibitedly, with no restraint, pride or shame. It was a piteous sight; a powerful king lying powerless, sobbing in his son’s arms.

In stark contrast, Kaikeyi stood tall, beautiful, strong and proud. She was not in her usual resplendent attire though. Her robes were crumpled, her hair loose, and without a single piece of jewellery on her. Without the glitter of gems and jewels, she did not look less glorious though. Her face was ablaze with a strange passion, hard and unrelenting. The usual softness, amicable smile and naughty twinkle in her eyes were all wiped out. She was unrecognizable.

Ram was embracing him, troubled but trying to pacify his disconsolate father. He and Lakshman had changed into the bark dress reserved for hermits residing in the forest. But both still looked like princes—young, handsome and with a regal aura about them.

‘Don’t go, son,’ cried the old king. ‘You are not in any way obliged to the thoughtless pledge I made to my scheming wife—that undeserving woman you consider your mother and love and respect so deeply!’ he added scathingly, his eyes glittering with loathing at Kaikeyi. ‘As a prince, you can challenge my command and seize the throne. Do so, son.’

‘That’s some fine advice coming from the just king and father, who would rather be unfair to his one son and trample upon his rights,’ said Kaikeyi scornfully. ‘What rights are you talking about? That Ram seize power and throw you and me in prison while Bharat is absent? What bravery, what courage coming from this royal house of the Raghuvansh!’ she gave a brittle laugh.

Lakshman flushed. ‘Let’s not talk about decency, mother,’ he said grimly. ‘It is our decency that allows you to speak and do what you can. You know Ram would never go against his father’s wishes, yet you are sending him on exile. That is cowardice, and plain wickedness. And you shall pay for it the moment we step out of this palace, mark my words.’

The queen turned a deep red. ‘How dare you? But I see you are as subservient as always—following your brother like a servant to the forest,’ she said spitefully. ‘And I can see Ram’s devoted wife, of course. But Sita, why are you still in your royal finery? Didn’t you see your husband and brother-in-law in their bark dress? That is what you are to wear.’

The older queens were shocked into speechlessness but Urmila moved in, quick and curt. ‘Not that the change of dress would make any difference to Sita—she would still be Ram’s queen in the forest,’ she said, her voice trembling with rage against this woman who was the cause of this untold misery, the reason why she would be parted for fourteen long, treacherous years from the man she loved. ‘What difference would it make to her what she wears in the forest while we live in the comforts of the palace, Mother? This beautiful palace where a mother separates an old father from his son, a husband from his wife. Irrespective of what she wears, she will be at her husband’s side, suffering the discomfort with a smile. Just like his brother will do. That’s not being subservient, Ma, that’s undying loyalty, the strength of supreme love. Ram has Sita and Lakshman with him in the forest. Who do we have, Mother, in this palace with all the wealth and power at our disposal? Just each other—four lonely women and who do you have? Your old faithful, Manthara, your maid?’

Before Kaikeyi could snap an angry retort, Ram intervened and said firmly, ‘Mother, I have no desire for the throne or power for any argument. I shall take my leave and all I need is the blessing from my father. Urmila, please get Sita dressed in the bark robes.’

Urmila snatched the forest garment from Manthara’s eager hands, flashing her a quelling look. She looked down and stared hard at the clothes. They were rough, scratchy and abrasive. Like how their life would be henceforth.

‘How do I put them on?’ Sita asked shyly. ‘Neither Urmila nor I know how!’

Sita’s innocence was charming; it made Ram smile. He took the rough fabric from Urmila’s hand and demonstrated to both of them how it was to be worn. Urmila took Sita to the adjoining room and helped her into the bark dress, tying it at her shoulder as Ram had demonstrated earlier. She looked lovely unornamented, her face shining with eagerness and expectation, her long neck bare and graceful without the strands of necklaces and thick gold cords weighing it down, her arms slim and shapely sans the trinket and bracelets and bangles jangling at her wrist. Her feet were bare—soft, slight and slender—and Urmila could picture them treading on the treacherous, hard ground of the dark jungles of Dandaka.

She cringed inwardly, a stab of guilt piercing her, recalling how she had resented her just a few hours ago. Sita had Ram; she would have neither Lakshman nor Sita. They would not be there for each other from now on. Dread clutched at her heart.

‘You are disappointed in me, aren’t you, Urmi?’ asked Sita, misinterpreting the expression on her face. ‘I should have stood by you and asked Ram and Lakshman to take you with us as well. But I was so involved in convincing and arguing with Ram that it never struck me that I had ignored you altogether. As your older sister, I should have pleaded your case…’

‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Urmila sighed wearily. ‘It would not have helped anyway. Just like you are adamant about going with Ram, no one can change Lakshman’s mind. Also, both of us know by now that the two are inseparable,’ she smiled. ‘You or I couldn’t have done much. And it’s for the best, at least I won’t be worrying about you, Ram and Lakshman will take good care!’