The Brahmin frowned, sweat trickling down his heavy jowls. The sun was almost directly overhead and it was hot for a spring day.
‘Is there a war council on or something then?’ He gestured at the crowd milling about excitedly. There was an air of nervous expectation in the air. ‘What official business attracts a bigger audience than a kama demonstration?’
The guard looked at him with a raised eyebrow. So the Brahmin included sensual enrichment in his list of pursuits as well. Well, it took all kinds. ‘A swayamvara,’ he explained shortly. ‘The rajkumari Sita’s.’ He added curtly, ‘Today’s her fourth, I think.’
‘Her fourth birthday?’ the Brahmin asked, wiping his bald pate with his ang-vastra and gesturing to a servant to bring him the waterskin.
The guard grimaced. ‘I don’t know where you come from, friend, but here in Videha we don’t marry off our children before they come of age. I meant it’s her fourth swayamvara. She’s a finicky one, the rajkumari. But they say she’s going to catch one today.’
He glanced at the Brahmin’s swelling belly and gleaming jewellery. ‘Maybe you’d like to try your luck as well, hey? Every man of marriageable age is free to present himself without prejudice. That’s the law. Besides, they say if Rajkumari Sita finally makes a choice today, her sisters will consent to marry as well. You look like a man who could use a wife. Or four!’
The guard moved away, chuckling to himself.
The Brahmin was used to disparaging comments from Kshatriyas about his bulk and his wealth. Unoffended, he sat thinking for a moment, drank a gulp of pomegranate juice, then motioned to his servant to give him a piece of betelnut. He put it in his right cheek, grinding it lightly to release the flavour as he pondered his choices.
He turned his donkey’s head towards the assembly hall. ‘Who needs another boring lecture,’ he told his servants. ‘Let’s go see if we can get ourselves a Mithilan princess as a wife!’
TWO
Maharaja Janak handed the water jug back to his prime minister and folded his hands respectfully before the brahmarishi Vishwamitra.
‘Maha-dev,’ he said, ‘you honour the House of Chandravansha and all of Videha with your presence. I am truly fortunate to have this opportunity to offer you the hospitality of my humble dwelling. Pray, do me the honour of gracing my palace.’
Vishwamitra entered the vaulting facade of Chandravansha Mahal, the seat of Maharaja Janak and the centre of power of the Videha nation. It had been three hundred years since he had last come here. On that occasion, the palace was a mass of halfcaved-in ruins, the result of an asura assault. Looking at it now, it was hard to tell it was the same place.
Two decades of peace and prosperity had restored the palace to its former glory. Enormous sculpted likenesses of the great ancestors of Janak watched benevolently as the brahmarishi and the two rajkumars followed the maharaja up the sweeping marble stairway that led to the administrative annexe of the palace. A sense of majesty and magnificence swept one’s senses, yet it was a spiritual rather than a rich majesty. The colour white dominated the architectural design rather than the traditional gold and silver bejewelled patterns of Ayodhya; Chandravansha Mahal, like all of Mithila, celebrated the majesty of the aatma, not regal splendour and wealth.
As they ascended the vaulting stairs, Vishwamitra recognised almost every one of the larger-than-life sculptures, and those he had not met personally, he could name by their position in the order of ascendance. Nimi, founder of the dynasty, his son Mithi, who built this capital city, Janak the First, Udavasu, Nandivardhana, Suketu, Devarata, Brhadratha … all the way up the stairway through twenty-one generations, the last of which was Janak himself and his younger brother Kusadhvaja. From the garlands and joss sticks adorning each statue, it was evident that Janak respected and honoured his ancestors in true Arya tradition.
But none of this distracted Vishwamitra’s sharp eyes from noting the absence of armed guards in the palace. Except for the pair of lightly armed sentries at the main gate and an occasional guard walking his rounds, there was almost no palace security visible. It was a sharp contrast to Ayodhya’s heavily guarded royal residences.
They entered the throne room, a smaller chamber than the enormous assembly hall of Ayodhya. Unlike Dasaratha, who presided over his own court and made all major decisions himself, consulting his prime minister and council only when required, Maharaja Janak left the daily administrative part of governance entirely to his ministers. The maharaja spent far more time in prayer, meditation and philosophical and spiritual discussions than on statecraft.
Vishwamitra knew all this despite his long retreat from the physical world during his two-hundred-and-forty-year bhor tapasya; he knew it in the same way that he knew that Janak had renounced the eating of flesh and the taking of intoxicants in any form twenty years ago. The flow of Brahman revealed everything to those who had the power to see.
After a further round of formalities and ritual greetings, Maharaja Janak turned his attention to the rajkumars standing beside Vishwamitra.
Rama and Lakshman were still in the same ang-vastras and dhotis they had worn when they left Siddh-ashrama the previous morning. Although only a day, a night and another morning had passed since then, so much had happened that they looked less like princes of Ayodhya and more like travellers who had been on the road for weeks. Their clothes were soiled by dust and mud and various dubious stains that the sage knew was the blood of vetaals spilled during the fight last night. Their vastras were torn in several places, ripped by the clinging barbs of the vinaashe-wood bushes and leaves. Their hair was unkempt and matted with dust and dirt, their skin grimy. And this was despite their having bathed in the sacred Ganga at dawn today.
Yet none of this seemed to trouble Maharaja Janak. He was accustomed to meeting with sadhus and rishis who regarded any concern for personal hygiene as being a sacrilegious waste of precious time needed for devotion and meditation, the twin goals of every Brahmin.
The maharaja smiled warmly at the princes as they greeted him with polite namasakars.
‘You are fortunate to be travelling in such illustrious company, young shishyas. Your proud bearing and gracious manner impresses me. Guru-dev, are they the sons of some noble sage? Or perhaps the scions of some great Brahmin house? Clearly, they have spent their young lives devoted to religious pursuits and holy activities only. They have an enviable Brahmin air of serenity and peace about them.’
Vishwamitra replied without preamble.
‘They are Kshatriyas. Valiant warriors both. Their serenity comes from following the path of dharma scrupulously.’
Maharaja Janak blinked, taken aback. He looked disappointed but smiled on regardless, acknowledging the namaskars performed by the two princes. ‘Well met, young Arya-putras.’
‘Well met, Janak-chacha,’ Rama said, echoed by Lakshman.
In Mithila, the royal dais was on the same level as the rest of the chamber, reflecting Janak’s famous writ that a king was no different from his subjects. Only the moonwood throne, massive and magnificent, suggested the maharaja’s great warrior ancestry and hinted at the heritage of the Chandravansha dynasty. Dwarfed by its looming carved bulk, the lithe, slim and smiling Janak looked more like a young prince than the descendant of a great line of warrior-kings.
Rama approached the throne and bent low to touch the feet of the maharaja. Lakshman did likewise. Janak gave them his ashirwaad without showing any sign of recognition. Even Rama’s affectionate use of the term ‘chacha’ hadn’t rung a bell. It was customary in Arya society to politely address any older man as ‘uncle’ and woman as ‘auntie’. Janak would have to be given more than a subtle hint to recognise the two rajkumars, Vishwamitra saw.
The sage said, ‘The grime of the road conceals their true identities from you, Mithila-naresh Janak. When last you saw these two lads they were probably little more than half as high and certainly no more than half as old as they are now. Eight years at Guru Vashishta’s gurukul, the inevitable progress of time, the appearance of maturity on their faces and bodies, and their adventures these past ten days have lent them an air of the unfamiliar to your eyes. Yet they are your own distant relatives by marriage, the rajkumars Rama Chandra and Lakshmana, sons of Dasaratha, Maharaja of Ayodhya, ruler of Kosala.’
Janak sprang up from his throne. ‘Rama and Lakshman? Impossible!’
He came forward, taking Rama by the shoulders, then Lakshman, looking at each one with stunned amazement. ‘Yes! Of course. I see the resemblance now. You, Rama, have inherited Maharani Kausalya’s striking beauty and complexion as well as your father’s magnificent physique. While you, Lakshman, have inherited your father’s features and gentle Maharani Sumitra’s grace and charm! What magnificent young men you have become!’
He embraced them both, unmindful of their grimy clothes and unwashed bodies. ‘When last I saw you both, you were mere boys! You were still innocent enough to run around and play childish games with my daughters, I recall! Look at you now. It makes my heart proud to see you grown so well. And under the tutelage of such a great brahmarishi no less. Truly, this is a doubly happy day. I knew the omens were unmistakable: this day shall go down in history, mark my words. I have studied the configuration of the constellations and cast my predictions at daybreak, as I do every day after my pre-dawn meditation. Great things shall happen in Mithila before the sun sets on this happy day.’
Rama and Lakshman exchanged a glance. Rama spoke for them both. ‘Janak-chacha, we are happy to see you as well. But—’
‘But, raje,’ Vishwamitra said, ‘as you yourself have read in the stars, today is destined to be an eventful day in your kingdom’s history. Much as you would like to sit and pass the time talking with the rajkumars about how the intervening years have treated them, we have important matters to discuss and much to do.’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Janak said. ‘In the excitement of hearing of your arrival, Guru-dev, I neglected to mention that I have a swayamvara to preside over as well. It would do my house great honour if you would join me there. The rajkumars as well, of course.’
Janak laughed as he looked disbelievingly at the two princes. ‘Rama and Lakshman. With the brahmarishi Vishwamitra. On a feast day no less. Who would have believed it?’
‘A swayamvara?’ Vishwamitra kept his voice devoid of inflection. It was good to be able to know all by dint of the powers of Brahman, but it was not always appropriate to let others know that you knew. ‘Who is it who will choose a husband today? Is it one of your daughters?’
Janak’s smile reduced in intensity. ‘Yes, Guru-dev. My daughter Sita.’
‘Then this is a fortunate coincidence indeed. It will give me great joy to see you give away your daughter Sita today, raje. You can count on my attending both the swayamvara and the marriage.’
Janak laughed nervously. ‘You honour me, maha-dev. But I must inform you of all the facts of the matter. If left up to me alone, I would have given my daughter away years ago. But as you must know already, we of the Chandravansha and Suryavansha dynasties do not wed children. We believe an Arya has the right to choose his or her own life-partner. Hence the practice of a swayamvara, which enables any suitor, regardless of stature, wealth, appearance, caste or creed, to come forward and seek the hand of my daughter. Whom she chooses, or even whether or not she chooses at all, is entirely up to her. I can only watch and offer suggestions when called upon.’
‘An excellent and commendable attitude, raje. In my experience, most swayamvaras result in marriage. After all, when a mature young woman has every imaginable choice before her, it’s usual that she will make her pick wisely and well. You must expect that Rajkumari Sita will find a groom worthy of her taste and inclination this very day.’
Janak’s face lost its smile entirely. ‘One would normally expect that from a swayamvara. But, maha-dev, my eldest daughter is as particular about her choices as I am particular about my prayer rituals. On several previous occasions, at occasions much like this one, she has rejected more suitors than I could count using a bead-table!
‘Even today, I hesitate to raise my hopes yet again. But I am heartened by the fact that the stars are most auspicious for a marital match. That is why I have set the swayamvara for the hour of noon. If the devas–and my daughter–so decree, then I shall give her away in a marriage ceremony this very afternoon. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Guru-dev, you must say a mantra to ensure this fruitful union. I am aware of the power you wield. It would give my ageing heart great relief to see my Sita settle down with a suitable husband this very day, blessed by your auspicious ashirwaad. It would ensure her long and blissful cohabitation.’
Vishwamitra nodded before replying. ‘I should gladly speak the most powerful mantra I have knowledge of, good Janak. But even I cannot change the mind of a woman who knows what she wants. Sita is right to wait for the groom of her choice and to refuse to lower her standards and expectations.’
Janak’s face showed his disappointment.
Vishwamitra went on, ‘However, take heart from this, raje. I too see propitious stars aligning themselves. And like yourself, I predict that before the sun sets on this auspicious day, not just your daughter Sita but all four of your daughters shall have husbands of their choosing. And shall live long and happily married lives.’