¥€¶
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!'
¥€¶
'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!'
¥€¶
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.'
¥€¶
'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.