Mithila, after all the forests, mountain paths, valleys, and
places of solitude and silence through which we have
travelled thus far, offers a pleasant change to a city of colour
and pleasure, with people enjoying the business of living.
The very minute Rama steps into Mithila, he notices golden
turrets and domes, and towers, and colourful flags fluttering
in the wind as if to welcome a royal bridegroom-to-be. The
streets glitter with odds and ends of jewellery cast off by the
people (a necklace that had snapped during a dance or a
game; or had been flung off when found to be a nuisance
during an embrace), with no one inclined to pick them up in a
society of such affluence. There was no charity in Kosala
country since there was no one to receive it. Torn-off flower
garlands lay in heaps on the roadside with honey-bees
swarming over them. The musth running down the haunches
of mountainous elephants flowed in dark streams along the
main thoroughfare, blending with the white froth dripping
from the mouths of galloping horses, and churned with mud
and dust by ever-turning chariot wheels.
On lofty terraces women were singing and dancing to the
accompaniment of veena and soft drums. Couples on
swings suspended from tall areca poles enjoyed the delightswings suspended from tall areca poles enjoyed the delight of swaying back and forth, their necklaces or garlands flying
in the air. Rama and Lakshmana went on past shops
displaying gems, gold, ivory, peacock feathers, beads, and
wigs made of the hair of rare Himalayan deer. They
observed arenas where strange elephant fights were in
progress, cheered by crowds of young men; groups of
women practising ballads and love songs under wayside
canopies; horses galloping without a break round and round
bridle tracks, watched by elegant men and women;
swimming pools with multicoloured fish agitated by people
sporting in the water.
They crossed the moat surrounding Janaka's palace, with
its golden spires soaring above the other buildings of the
city. Now Rama observed on a balcony princess Sita playing
with her companions. He stood arrested by her beauty, and
she noticed him at the same moment. Their eyes met. They
had been together not so long ago in Vaikunta, their original
home in heaven, as Vishnu and his spouse Lakshmi, but in
their present incarnation, suffering all the limitations of
mortals, they looked at each other as strangers. Sita,
decked in ornaments and flowers, in the midst of her
attendants, flashed on his eyes like a streak of lightning. She
paused to watch Rama slowly pass out of view, along with
his sage-master and brother. The moment he vanished, her
mind became uncontrollably agitated. The eye had admitted
a slender shaft of love, which later expanded and spread into
her whole being. She felt ill.Observing the sudden change in her, and the sudden
drooping and withering of her whole being, even the bangles
on her wrist slipping down, her attendants took her away and
spread a soft bed for her to lie on.
She lay tossing in her bed complaining, "You girls have
forgotten how to make a soft bed. You are all out to tease
me." Her maids in attendance had never seen her in such a
mood. They were bewildered and amused at first, but later
became genuinely concerned, when they noticed tears
streaming down her cheeks. They found her prattling
involuntarily, "Shoulders of emerald, eyes like lotus petals,
who is he? He invaded my heart and has deprived me of all
shame! A robber who could ensnare my heart and snatch
away my peace of mind! Broad-shouldered, but walked off
so swiftly. Why could he not have halted his steps, so that I
might have gained just one more glimpse and quelled this
riotous heart of mine? He was here, he was there next
second, and gone forever. He could not be a god—his
eyelids flickered… . Or was he a sorcerer casting a spell on
people?"
The sun set beyond the sea, so says the poet—and when
a poet mentions a sea, we have to accept it. No harm in
letting a poet describe his vision, no need to question his
geography. The cry of birds settling down for the night and
the sound of waves on the seashore became clearer as the
evening advanced into dusk and night. A cool breeze blewfrom the sea, but none of it comforted Sita.
This hour sharpened the agony of love, and agitated her heart with
hopeless longings. A rare bird, known as "Anril," somewhere
called its mate. Normally at this hour, Sita would listen for its
melodious warbling, but today its voice sounded harsh and
odious. Sita implored, "Oh, bird, wherever you may be,
please be quiet. You are bent upon mischief, annoying me
with your cries and lamentations. The sins I committed in a
previous birth have assumed your form and come to torture
me now!" The full moon rose from the sea, flooding the earth
with its soft light. At the sight of it, she covered her eyes with
her palms. She felt that all the elements were alien to her
mood and combining to aggravate her suffering. Her maids
noticed her distress and feared that some deep-rooted
ailment had suddenly seized her. They lit cool lamps whose
wicks were fed with clarified butter, but found that even such
a flame proved intolerable to her, and they extinguished the
lamps and in their place kept luminous gems which
emanated soft light. They made her a soft bed on a slab of
moonstone with layers of soft petals, but the flowers wilted,
Sita writhed and groaned and complained of everything—
the night, stars, moonlight, and flowers: a whole universe of
unsympathetic elements. The question went on drumming in
her mind: "Who is he? Where is he gone? Flashing into view
and gone again—or am I subject to a hallucination? It could
not be so—a mere hallucination cannot weaken one so
much.