SITA’S SISTER (25 page)

‘Fourteen years?’ grimaced the king in a vain attempt to smile mirthlessly, his face ravaged in pain. ‘I cannot live without my Ram for another day. I cannot see but I can see death so near and I welcome it. It is better to die than live without Ram. He is my life, my soul…’

Urmila felt a sob in her throat, turning away from the crazed grief of a desperate father. Kaikeyi was not there to see that pain which she had inflicted on her husband; she was not allowed in his room. Without any thought, Urmila rushed out of the king’s chamber and found herself running towards Kaikeyi’s palace. The festive preparations were on for the coronation ceremony. Bharat was to arrive within a day or two.

Urmila barged into the inner chamber of the queen. She was surrounded by baskets of flaming orange marigolds to be used to decorate the entire palace.

‘How can you sit here so prettily while your husband is dying there?’ Urmila blurted unthinkingly, beyond care and caution. ‘What are you made of, heartless queen, that you can think of all these sweets and savouries…’ Urmila gestured wildly at the closed baskets of sweetmeats in the room. ‘…when your husband has given up food and water for the sixth day today? He’ll die, he’s dying…’ she choked, the bile of bitterness burning her throat. ‘And you know only you can stop this nightmare…you can still tell Sumantra to bring back Ram. The king will live on with that hope. Please, Mother, hate me for my impudence but please avert this tragedy. Save the king. Bring back Ram…let Bharat be king, but please bring Ram from the forest!’

‘The king is being childish…it is his way of sulking,’ shrugged Kaikeyi, with a dismissive smile. ‘It is his way of showing he is angry with me. He’ll come around!’

‘Have you seen him? He is fast sinking… Oh, Ma, please, go to him, give him that assurance that you are sending back for Ram from the forest and he’ll live…I am sure he will. Please, Mother, please, stop this tragedy! It will devastate our family!’ she implored.

Urmila had her hands folded, her head bowed. It was an act of complete supplication, her righteous anger replaced by plain desperation.

But the queen remained unmoved, her face frigid in hostility. ‘Did the queens send you to me?’ she asked icily.

Urmila looked at her uncomprehendingly. ‘The queens?’ she shook her head. ‘Why would they? They are besides themselves with grief watching their husband die. It is me and my silly, hopeful heart which has got me down here to you…’

‘Or are you saying this to get your husband back?’ asked the queen with a sardonic smile.

Urmila felt herself going warm as the hot flames of fury were rekindled. ‘How can you do this? Has ambition made you blind?’ she lashed back. ‘I am trying to make you see what you cannot—trying to avoid a tragedy that will ruin us all! Lakshman went because he loves his brother. Just as Bharat does so devotedly. He will never accept the throne. He will hate you for what you have done…he will blame you for his father’s death and the world will call you your husband’s murderer!’

‘She’s threatening you, O queen. How dare she talk to you in this impertinent way?’ interrupted Manthara hastily. ‘Don’t believe a word she says. She is, after all, Sumitra’s daughter-in-law and Lakshman’s wife, the man who would be the first to revolt against Bharat and you!’

‘Keep quiet! You vile woman!’ snapped Urmila, turning on the old maid. ‘I am speaking to the mother of Ram, Queen Kaikeyi, and manners demand no one interrupts. So, stay silent!’

She turned to the queen again, her eyes pleading. ‘I have not come here to quarrel with you and I apologize for all my impertinence. Can’t you see, Ma, it is not worth it? How can you believe that anyone would dare harm you or Bharat if Ram were king? Don’t you know Ram? Would he ever allow anyone, even his own mother, to even speak disrespectfully to you? That is what you are scared of, aren’t you? That Ma Kausalya will become the queen mother once Ram is appointed king?’ asked Urmila, looking searchingly at the cold visage of the queen. ‘Ram would have never allowed any sort of injustice within this family. You know that. He would have loved and protected us as is expected of him. You saw how Bharat was unwilling to participate in the competition against Ram, so how can you imagine he will accept the crown that belongs rightfully to Ram? Oh, queen mother, think! And right now you need to save the king…he will die without his Ram! Go and tell him the reassuring words that you have sent back for Ram. Please, oh, please before it’s too late!’ she stretched out her arms in despair and a final desperate appeal.

Kaikeyi made a move towards her, a tiny flicker of emotion passing on her hard face. Urmila felt a surge of hope. There was a loud clatter of running feet and both of them turned towards the sound. It was a maid, she was panting, her face wet with perspiration and falling tears. She said with a strangled cry, ‘The king is dead!’

The fear of anarchy ruled Ayodhya—both in the city and in the palace. Queen Kausalya collapsed, crumpling into a weeping heap, begging to join her husband in the funeral pyre. But there would be no funeral—not till Bharat and Shatrughna returned to Ayodhya. They had left Kekeya a week ago and were expected to reach Ayodhya either that very day or the next. The king’s mortal remains were to be kept in oil till the sons arrived to perform his obsequies.

It had been more than a week since Lakshman had left the palace, and Urmila realized that she had had no time to grieve his absence. She was lost: it was like wandering through a skewed landscape in a state of agonized disorientation, lost and clueless. She was rushing from one chore to another, her mind blank yet chaotic. Urmila found herself spending all her time at Kausalya’s palace—initially because of the king’s illness and now with the elderly queen having taken ill herself. She lay in bed, alternating between long bouts of weeping and short, fitful sleep, moaning unremittingly for Ram and the king. Shanta had fortunately reached Ayodhya and rushed to her ailing mother. Sumitra and Urmila were faithfully by her side, fearing she would suffer a relapse. Kaikeyi had insulated herself in her palace, waiting impatiently for her son to arrive. Mercifully, the preparations for Bharat’s coronation ceremony had been stopped.

‘Why was the palace being decorated?’ demanded Shanta angrily. ‘There’s a death in this palace, not a celebration!’

‘It was to welcome Bharat, for his upcoming coronation…’ began Sumantra weakly.

Shanta went white with anger. ‘How dare he? How can he sit on my brother’s throne?’

Vasishtha was a worried man. ‘The kingdom is without a king. I fear anarchy, especially with the people already unhappy that Ram and Lakshman are in exile, they have no one to turn to,’ he frowned. ‘And it’s not good news considering the enemies on the frontiers, too. They could attack knowing how vulnerable we are.’

Urmila shook her head firmly. ‘We are emotionally vulnerable right now but let us not be unprepared for war. Keep the army ready. And it is just a matter of another day or two,’ replied Urmila placatingly. ‘Bharat should be returning any moment now. Once he has performed the last rites, he can take charge but yes, till then let’s not get weak or be caught unawares.’

They were interrupted by a caustic interjection. ‘It’s a little unusual, isn’t it, that the ministers and the royal priest should be discussing the future of the new king and the kingdom with such a young girl, when the royal widow is still alive?’ asked Queen Kaikeyi, resplendent in white and gold. She was beautiful and formidable.

‘It is customary not to burden a mourning widow,’ answered the guru smoothly, unaffected by her biting sarcasm. ‘The other queens are in deep mourning and the only person we can now turn to is Urmila, the learned daughter of the learned Janak. And as the royal daughter-in-law, she should know the state of affairs especially when none of the sons and their wives are present in Ayodhya. As a widow, you are expected to be in mourning,’ he added pointedly.

The queen flushed. ‘Let me know where Bharat is right now and when he would be reaching Ayodhya!’ she said coldly and flounced out of the assembly hall in all her regal hauteur. There lingered a momentary silence in the hall till Sumantra and the other ministers and the learned men of the court—Jabali, Markandeya, Gautam, Kashyap and Katyayana—turned to Urmila. ‘O daughter of the wise Rajrishi Janak, please look into the matters of the royal court for we do not want to be accused of power play or otherwise,’ said Sumantra softly, bowing his head deeply. ‘We shall let you know of all that is happening—and is expected—in the given situation.’

With a jolt, Urmila realized the burden which was now upon her—the affairs of the palace as well as political concerns. The only other person whom she could turn to was Shanta, but she refused to interfere in matters of the state or the court. She was constantly at her mother’s bedside, scared that her mother too would follow her father soon. But she made her anger against Kaikeyi and Bharat very apparent.

‘Don’t come to the wrong conclusion, dear,’ warned Sumitra. ‘We are in a delicate situation; it won’t take much for all to crumble down.’

‘How can it get worse? Not after all what has happened!’ said Shanta bitterly. ‘I cannot believe that matters came to such a head… I always knew things were never too great between Ma and Mother Kaikeyi; but to stoop so low!’ she cried. ‘How could she throw away my brother from the palace and the kingdom? How could she?’

Leaving the disconsolate daughter with her mother, Urmila walked slowly toward her palace and realized she was all alone. And what surprised her more was that she had been juggling family and formal duties with easy effortlessness since the past few days. Possibly because she used to discuss the courtly matters of Mithila with her father. He had always encouraged her to get involved in the affairs of the state. But it did not mean she could escape the domestic duties. ‘If you can run your home well, you can conquer the world!’ her mother once told her. It came to good use today, Urmila thought dryly, smiling as she thought fondly of her mother. She sighed. She missed her mother.

Urmila looked up and could not believe her eyes. Her mother was standing in her chamber in person. Her face broke into a smile as she ran to her. She didn’t say a word, simply rushed into her mother’s arms. It was bliss; it was a relief and Urmila remained long in the comforting embrace. Sunaina gently eased herself from her daughter’s gripping hug and searched her face. It was worn and thin, the roundness of her face giving way to sharper, angular lines.

‘When did you come?’ said Urmila warmly. ‘Where is father?’

‘Your father shall be here for the funeral. I left Mithila right away, the moment I got to know Sita and Lakshman were accompanying Ram on his exile,’ Sunaina answered quietly.

‘The funeral shall not take place till Bharat returns.’

‘I came for you,’ her mother said simply. ‘Even in your worst hour, I knew you would not tell me anything. You would rather keep it all to yourself—not always wise or brave, as you think.’

‘How could you have helped, Ma? Sita made her decision and I had to take mine.’

‘Sita went with Ram to be with him. You did not. You are here alone without Lakshman for the next fourteen years…it’s going to be a lifetime. As your mother, can I ask why you took such a decision?’

‘Ma, he has gone away; what difference does it make now?’

‘You didn’t have much to say either, did you? He left you here to be with his brother.’

Urmila winced, the words piercing her sharply, ‘Ma!’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘Don’t! You don’t know what you are saying!’

‘I do. And I regret that I allowed you to marry such a weak man who forsook his wife. Why did he not take you with him?’ her mother demanded. ‘And why did you accept it so meekly?’

‘Ma, you know very well that I am not meek. I had to accept it,’ she replied hotly.

‘Accept like a doting, demure daughter-in-law?’ her mother demanded, her anger not hiding the worry clouding her eyes. ‘You are going to be away from him for fourteen years,’ she emphasised the number deliberately. ‘How could you allow it? You are being silent and strong now—as you will have to be for all those long waiting years. The pain of separation is intense, it seems interminable. He has gone, but do you know of the emotional suffering that lies ahead? I doubt it. Why did you not use your strength of argument like Sita and go with him? Or dissuade him? Did anyone else try to talk him out of his decision? Or did they forget to advice in the nobility of all that glorified fraternal love? Did anyone stand by you, Urmila?’

Urmila smiled sadly. ‘Ma, so many questions and you know all the answers.’

‘I cannot bear to see you like this!’ she cried, agitated. ‘I can’t! The suffering, the sheer waste, the injustice of it all…you are my precious girl, my brave princess, but this is not what I groomed you for. Suffering silently is not strength; it is weakness. Why did you not stand up for your rights?’

‘As a wife? I did. And I stood by his decision,’ replied Urmila. ‘Staying behind wasn’t giving up my rights, Ma, it was accepting a reality, a responsibility. Sita and I followed the same principle though the outcome and experience are so different—we followed our dharma. Ram had to go to the forest and she went with him. Lakshman considered his dharma to serve his brother so he went with his brother and I agreed to stay back, however much it broke my heart. Father and you taught us, Ma, that our dharma is to support our husbands—never blindly, but to be with them when they are right and to correct them when they are wrong. So, did Lakshman do any wrong? Was he to remain in the palace with me and allow his brother to go for his exile alone?’ she sighed.