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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.