Chereads / The Ramayana - World's Supreme God / Chapter 8 - 8. THE WEDDING (PART-3)

Chapter 8 - 8. THE WEDDING (PART-3)

The atmosphere was suddenly relaxed. The gods

showered down flowers and blessings, clouds parted and

precipitated rains, the oceans tossed up in the air all the rare

treasures from their depths. The sages cried, "Janaka's

tribulations and trials are ended." Music filled the air. The

citizens garlanded, embraced, and anointed each other with

perfumes and sprinkled sandalwood powder in the air.

People donned their best clothes, gathered at the palace

gates and public squares, and danced and sang without any

restraint; flutes and pipes and drums created a din over the

loud chants and songs from many throats. Gods and

goddesses watching the happy scenes below assumed

human form, mixed with the crowds, and shared their joy.

"The beauty of our royal bridegroom can never be fully

grasped unless one is blessed with a thousand eyes,"

commented the women. "See his brother! How very

handsome! Blessed parents to have begotten such sons!"

Sita had secluded herself and was unaware of the latest

development. She moved from bed to bed for lack of

comfort, and lay beside a fountain on a slab of moonstone—the coolest bed they could find her. Even there she had no peace since the lotus blooms in the pool of the fountain

teased her mind by reminding her of the shape of his eyes

or his complexion. She grumbled, "No peace anywhere … I

am deserted. My mind tortures me with reminders. What use

are they if I can't even know where to look for him? What sort

of a man can he be to cause all this torment and just pass on

doing nothing to alleviate it? A regal appearance, but

actually practising sorcery!"

Her tortuous reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a

maid. Instead of bowing and saluting her mistress, as was

normal, she pirouetted around singing snatches of a love

song. Sita sat up and commanded, "Be quiet! Are you

intoxicated?" The maid answered, "The whole country is

intoxicated. How would you know, my good mistress, if you

lock yourself in and mope and moan?" She went on to

explain in a rush of incoherence. "The king of Ayodhya …

son, broad-shouldered and a god on earth. No one saw it

happen, he was so quick and swift, but he pressed, so they

say, one end with his feet, and seized the other end with his

hand, and drew the string and oh! …"

"Oh, intoxicated beauty, what are you saying?" When Sita

understood what had happened, she stood up, her breasts

heaving. She held herself erect as she said, "Do you know if

this is the same man who struck me down with a look as he

passed along the street? If it is someone else, I will end mylife."

When the initial excitement subsided, King Janaka sought

Viswamithra's advice. "What shall I do next? I suddenly find

myself in an unexpected situation. Is it your desire that I

should send for the priests and astrologer and fix the earliest

date for the wedding, or send a message to Dasaratha and

wait for his convenience?"

Viswamithra replied, "Dispatch a messenger with the

auspicious news immediately and invite Dasaratha formally."

Janaka at once retired in order to compose a proper

invitation to Dasaratha, with the help of his court poets and

epistle-writers, and dispatched it.

In due course, Janaka's emissaries presented the epistle

a t Dasaratha's court. Dasaratha ordered his reader to

receive the epistle and read it out: The message gave an

account of all that had happened from the time Rama had

left Ayodhya up to the snapping of Shiva's bow. Dasaratha

heaped presents on the messengers, and commented light-

heartedly, "Tell them in Mithila that we heard the sound of the

bow snapping… ." He then passed orders: "Let the

announcement in appropriate language be made widely that

King Janaka has invited for Rama's wedding every man,

woman, and child in our capital. Let those able to travel to

Mithila start at once in advance of us." Professional

announcers on elephants, accompanied with drums, carriedthe King's proclamation to every nook and corner of the

capital.

The road to Mithila was crowded with men, women, and

children. When the huge mass began to assemble and move

down the road, the world looked suddenly shrunken in size.

Elephants bearing pennants and flags, their foreheads

covered with gold plates, horses prancing and trotting, and a

variety of ox-drawn carriages and chariots were on the

move, in addition to a vast throng on foot. The sun's rays

were caught and reflected by the thousands of white satin

umbrellas and the brilliant decorations of the army men.

Heavy-breasted women clad in gossamer-like draperies sat

on dark elephants, their necklaces swaying with the

movement of the elephants, flanked by warriors bearing

swords and bows on horseback.

The poet is especially happy and detailed when

describing the mood and the activity of the young in this

festive crowd. A youth followed a carriage at a trot, his eyes

fixed on the window at which a face had appeared a little

while ago, hoping for another glimpse of that face. Another

young man could not take his eye off the lightly covered

breast of a girl in a chariot; he tried to keep ahead of it,

constantly looking back over his shoulder, unaware of what

was in front, and bumping the hindquarters of the elephants

on the march. When a girl inadvertently slipped down the back of a horse, another young man picked her up;

but instead of setting her down after the rescue, he journeyed on

with her in his arms. Another went along brooding and

reflecting as he gazed on his beloved. Couples who had had

a quarrel over some detail of the arrangements for this

journey walked side by side without speaking, the woman

not caring to wear a flower in her hair, but only a frown on her

face, yet close enough to each other to avoid separation.

One youth who was not spoken to but was agitated by the

messages conveyed by the eloquent eyes of a damsel said,

"You won't speak? But surely, when you cross the river, you'll

want my strong arms to carry you, and how shall I know if you

don't speak to me? I know that you object only to speech, not

to my touch, inevitable you'll need that when we come to the

river's edge."