The Story of a Princess 1.6

It was a blistering summer day and I was cooling my feet in a small garden stream when the normally calm palace shook its feathers and started preening itself. Maids rushed down the corridors cleaning and screaming and gardeners went about the flower-beds inspecting and pruning and sweeping.

"What's all the fuss about?"

"Haven't you heard? The new king of Lanka is coming to Mithila on a State visit."

"What's a state visit?"

"It's when kings meet and discuss important matters?"

"What sort of important matters?"

"How would I know what kings discuss, my girl? I am just a maid. Why don't you ask your father, the king himself?"

"Okay. I will. When is the king of Lanka coming?"

"In a week."

I hopped off to see father.

-----

"Father, what will you discuss with the king of Lanka?"

Father laughed. "If you want to know, you'd better hang around with us."

"Can't be interesting, the way you are trying to get me to stay."

Father laughed again. "The talks may be boring. But I am sure that you will find the king of Lanka himself quite interesting."

"Why?"

"Well, he is a new king. Up until two years ago he wasn't even a prince.  He comes from a very common background. The talk is that he hasn't had any formal education. Everything that he knows or does, everything that he is, has been bitterly won."

"You like him."

"I admire him for fighting life the way he has fought. If talks are to be believed, he is far from perfect. He snatched Lanka from his own cousin, something that is not ethical. But enough gossip! For now, let's prepare for our guest's arrival."

------

The king of Lanka was indeed interesting. He was huge, for one, almost two heads taller than father. He about as wide as I was tall, with  black and curly hair that reached his shoulders. He was fair with really thick eyebrows that curled at the tips. His headgear was made of metal and had a pair of bull-horns attached to it.

Hanging on his chest was a metal mask. It depicted the most horrible face I had ever seen. The king's face was not so bad. His eyes were big and expressive, almost like a dancer's. He must have had a long nose once, which was now crooked, possibly as a result of a fight. I respected him for it. Injuries give texture to a warrior's story.

"You haven't introduced me to you lovely daughter, King Janak." He broke through my inspection of him. Knowing that I had been caught staring, I quickly hid behind father.

Father pushed me forward. "Dear King, meet my daughter and the princess of Mithila, Sita. Sita, meet the king of Lanka, our guest, King Raavan."

I folded my hands into a namaskar and said,"Welcome to out home, King Raavan.' 

Shreeman had made me repeat the words so many times that I could now welcome a state guest in my sleep!

"Thank you, Princess Sita." King Raavan also did a namaskar. Then he said,"She is a pretty child, King Janak. Someday she will grow into a beautiful queen."

"I hope not too soon! She is growing so fast I sometimes wish I could stop time and make her stay a child forever!"

King Raavan laughed. "I can understand. I also have a son, Meghnad, about the same age as princess Sita. Sometimes I also feel that he is growing faster than other kids."

The two kings laughed. Seeing a gap in the conversation, I decided to put in the question that had been zipping through my head the past five minutes. Now or never, Sita.

"King Raavan, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, dear Princess. Anything."

"Why do you wear that mask?"

"Ohh, this! This is to scare my opponent in battle." He put the mask on and knelt down in front of me. Now he looked really scary, with that horrible mask and those terrible horns, right in my face. "The mask also makes my battle cry louder, princess." His voice was already booming, like those monsters in my nightmares. It was all I could do not to fall or faint.

He removed the mask. "See, now I am not as scary, am I?"

"No." I smiled.

"It is called psychological warfare, Sita. When you are afraid of your opponent, your strikes are not as accurate or powerful. It is like your friend in the archery practice. Till you were afraid of him, you weren't doing so well. The moment you got over your fear, though, you were brilliant. On the other hand, if you manage to scare your opponent, you gain the advantage in battle."

King Raavan had risen up by now. "Well explained, King Janak. It is heartening to know that the old ways still live on in your kingdom. I had thought that with Devi Durga and her troops of female warriors retiring to Kailash and the Manu school gaining importance, the days of women warriors were numbered. But perhaps this is just a lull, and the next generation of women warriors is just preparing to take Devi Durga's place."

"I hope so too, King Janak. But even in Mithila, there are a lot of followers of the Manu school. Your friend from archery practice, for example, Sita."

"Who is this person you keep referring to, King Janak?"

"Sita, why don't you tell the story? Don't reveal the poor guy's name though. Let's give him another chance, shall we?"

"I'll call him Devdas, then." Apt, considering his job description. I was proud of myself.

So I told King Raavan the entire story, starting from my first day at archery practice, to the point where I had given up, to father's pep talk, to the hours of practice I had put in everyday, to the day when I could finally stare down my opponent.

King Raavan was solemn as he heard me. He smiled when I got to the part where I shot those arrows straight to the center of the target, one after another. He bent down and took my small hands in his giant ones. I showed him the calluses I had got from the practice.

"I am sorry, dear princess Sita. I have misjudged you. You are not just beautiful, you are an extremely brave and determined girl. And King Janak, you are indeed a wise king and father, as I had heard. I have come to the right place after such a long search."

The Story of a Princess - 1.5

When morning came that day, I didn't want to wake up. I didn't want to go out to the garden, didn't want to pick up my bow and didn't want to shoot at the target. I didn't want to see my arrow drop only halfway there. I definitely didn't want to have to turn around and see the fat priest smirking. That had been my daily routine for the past month and I was tired of it.

But my father would never let me quit. So I got up, got dressed and went out. Father met me in the gardens. He smiled. I gave a weak smile in return. 

"Shreeman Vidyarup told me how well you have been doing in your studies. He tells me you can add and subtract now. Is it?"

I perked up. "Of course, father. I can even do that with big numbers."

"Really? Then will you do some maths for me? I really could use your help."

"Sure."

"So what is 5 units subtracted from 10 units?"

"5 units!"

"Very good! Now what is 4 units subtracted from 10 units?"

"6 units!"

"And 3 units subtracted from 10 units?"

"7 units. But ask me something difficult. This is too easy!"

"Beta, that target is 10 units away from you. The first week you practised, your arrow covered only 5 units' distance." My face fell.

Father continued,"The second week, it reached 6 units and the after that, 7 units. Do you know what that means?"

"I am a bad shooter."

"No. It means that you are getting stronger. Soon you arrow will be hitting the target."

"Really?"

"Really."

He was right. It did. Our next step was to try and hit the small circle father had made in the center of the target. It took a lot of effort. But now I had a lot more faith in myself and I would not be stopped.

I practiced day after day. Even when my father left to take care of his other duties, I stayed on, shooting arrow after arrow. When my fingers bled from the bow-string, I tied strips of cloth on them and continued on. Eventually my skin on my fingers grew harder and stopped hurting. I practiced on hot-sunny days and on rainy days and on wintry days. I would NOT be stopped.

The day I hit the center of the target five times in a row, I finally turned around to face my tormentor. Up till now I had kept my back towards him. I wasn't sure what it would do to my new-found confidence if I saw that man smirking again. 

I turned around and looked straight at him. Initially he tried to act as if it was no big deal and shrugged his shoulders. But I didn't react or say anything. I just stared. Finally he broke eye contact, gathered his things and walked away.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Father kept setting me tougher targets. He moved the board back another 10 units. When I matched this, he moved it another 10 units, and kept on like that till I could shoot actual long-range shots. We also practiced hitting moving targets.

Since I wouldn't hit a bird or an animal, he used a gulel (a hand-held catapult) to throw small objects up in the air. Someday, he warned me, I am going to take you into the forest and you will have to get over this mental block as well.

"But that day is not today," I was thankful.

 

The Story of a Princess - 1.4

One person who I really hated when I was a child, was the fat priest who took care of the palace's temple. He was always on my case. Don't walk that way. Don't talk this way. Don't wear such clothes. Lower your eyes while talking to men. Speak in a soft voice. Don't answer back. Speak only when you are asked something.

He actually tried to dissuade my father from giving me archery lessons. They had a confrontation in the palace garden where father had brought me for my first lesson. Father tried to calm him down. But he threatened to quit his place. For a moment I was hopeful that he would deliver on the threat. But when he realised that father will not give him what he wanted, he backed down. 

"Coward!" Father said after he had left.

I agreed. "Why is he always so mean to me, father? Why doesn't he want you to teach me archery?"

"It is difficult to explain, beta. He belongs to a new school of thought that believes that women are inferior to men, that they should not be given the same education and the same responsibilities as men. Archery training, for example. Thankfully, he does not have many followers. But, since he is our temple priest, he expects at least us to follow his teachings."

"But you do not believe that, right father?"

"No, my child. I don't. I am still an old-fashioned man." He smiled and handed me the Sita-sized bow.

"Now, the first thing you need to know is how to carry your bow. You sling it over your shoulder, like this. Tie around your quiver like this. Now, hold out your bow in your left hand. You are a right-hander, yes?"

I looked at him, perplexed.

"Do you eat with your right hand or left hand?"

"Right"

"Okay, so hold the bow in the opposite hand, the left hand. Keep your hand stiff, like this. Now, with this hand, pull out an arrow. Put the pointy end on the shaft of the bow, support the arrow on your finger."

He opened my index finger. "Yes. Support the arrow on that finger. Now hook the feathery end of the arrow on this string. Pull back. Pull back. A little more. Good."

He pointed towards the target. "Now close one eye and look at the target down the length of the bow. Is it in line? Yes? Now release!"

I let the arrow fly. It dropped only halfway to the target. 

Behind me, I heard snickering. I turned around. It was the fat priest. I could see the mockery in his eyes. "I told you, my king. God has made girls for a purpose. And that purpose is not archery."

So saying, he turned around and walked away.

My face was hot. As I ran back to my room, I let the tears flow.

------------

My father came to meet me a couple of hours later. He is clever that way. He knows not to bother me when I am in a passion.

So by the time he reached my room, I had calmed down a little.

"So how is my little girl?"

"Fine."

"That's good. Now, why did you leave practice midway?"

I hid my face back in the pillow.

He gently pulled me into his lap and turned my face towards him. I buried my face into his shoulder. "I don't want to learn archery."

"Why?" He asked in the exaggerated surprise he used with me sometimes.

"Because the fat priest laughs at me."

"He doesn't laugh at you, my girl."

"Then?"

"He laughs at me."

"Why?"

"Because he thinks that I am a fool to teach you about arms."

"Why?"

"Because he believes that girls can't shoot. They are too soft. They cannot work as hard as boys."

"Then why do you teach me?" I asked in a subdued voice.

"Because that man is a fool! He has no idea what he is talking about. He has seen one rain drop and he thinks that he has seen the ocean! He is an utter, incomprehensible fool!"

I giggled. "Do you want to be a fool too, Sita?"

"Nooo"

"Then don't let him bring you down. It was your first arrow. It takes years and years of practice to become an expert archer. and you cannot become one if you let yourself get affected by people like him."

"I don't want him to laugh at me."

"How will you stop him? He might come to the practice grounds everyday just to tell you that you can never shoot. Who can stop him?"

"Can't I hide somewhere and practice?"

Father laughed. "I wish it were that easy, my child."

"Now Princess! I shall wait for you at the practice grounds at day-break tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay."

I hugged him. I just wanted to stay there, encircled in his arms, knowing that I was protected. I didn't want to face the next morning.

 

The Story of a Princess - 1.3

It was the festival of Raksha-bandhan. The entire town was in a tizzy. The market place had been covered with colourful Rakhis for the entire past month. And today, people ran around with rakhis in their pockets to complete the ceremonies of the day.

The first three hours belonged to the warriors. Since the purpose of this festival was to thank those who protected us, people flocked to the palace to tie rakhis on the wrists of the King and his warriors. They also tied rakhis on my wrist. When I wondered why, father told me that as a princess and future queen, they expected my protection when I grew up. The rakhi was a thank-you as well as a request for continued protection. I nodded, realising the importance of the promise.

The next three hours belonged to the learned and skilled men and women of the country. They protect our knowledge from getting lost, father explained. It is their responsibility to pass on their knowledge so that coming generations may use it and prosper like we are prospering. "Like Shreeman, who teaches me about ants and not wasting food?"

Father nodded.

I hopped off to Shreeman's rooms.

I found him in the gardens, talking to two strangers - a man and a woman. The man was really tall, well built, with skin the color of old temple bells. He had really dirty and long hair. They were tied in long braids that then coiled around his throat. The woman was as pretty as the moon, I remember thinking at the time. She was of medium height. Both were dressed in warriors' garb and carried weapons. 

"Namaste Shreeman! I have come to tie you a rakhi!" I broke into their conversation. 

"Of course, my child." 

"And I must also tie you a rakhi, my dear. Do you know why?"

"Of course I do! It is because when I grow up, I am supposed to protect the people of the kingdom." I was very happy to show off my newly acquired knowledge in front of Shreeman. 

All three of them smiled. "That is true," the man said.

I turned to him. He had a strange effect on me. I felt as if I could completely trust this person. They were sitting on a platform that went around a tree trunk and I had been standing on the ground. I climbed into his lap.

"Are you a warrior, sir?"

"Yes. But I am thinking of quitting now, at least for a while."

"Can you quit being a warrior? And why do you want to quit?"

"Of course you can! And I want to quit because I have been a warrior for many years. It is time to do something new now."

"Then, as a thank-you for protecting us for so many years, please accept my rakhi."

He nodded. As I tied him the rakhi, I noticed that there were no prior rakhis on his wrist. I checked the woman and she didn't have any either. So I tied rakhis to them both. 

"How will people thank you if you are hiding in this garden?! That's why you don't have any rakhis!"

They laughed and hugged me. "We must leave now, dear girl."

I was so reluctant to let them go. I had climbed off the man's lap and onto the woman's. She was so warm and soft and comfortable. "Is this what a mother feels like?" I wondered, hugging her. 

The woman sighed. "Well, you carry on. I'll hang around for tonight, I guess." And she put her arms around me. I smiled contentedly.

The man looked at Shreeman meaningfully. Shreeman nodded. "You can leave it with King Janak. It will be safe."

The man took off his bow and dropped it to the ground. "Alright. From now on, I am a hermit. No longer a warrior."

And he left. I guess the woman also left after a while, after she had sung me to sleep. It was the best sleep I had ever slept.

The Story of a Princess - 1.2

Shreeman taught me all sorts of wonderful things. The one I liked be best was counting. We started with counting flowers on a rose bush. Then we counted flowers in a flower-bed and, in a few days, the entire garden. Shreeman taught me how logical the construction of big numbers was. Soon I had undertaken to count all the leaves on the mango tree closest to the window of my room. It was my first big assignment. I did it as a favor to Shreeman who didn't have such a good eyesight as I, and he really did need to find out the exact number of leaves on that tree. I forget why. So I started counting. Shreeman sat under the tree listening to me count and only correcting when I said things like 'ninety-ten'.

Once I had successfully counted the leaves, I started looking out for a more challenging task. One night when the household was sleeping on the cool terrace, I counted all the stars in the night sky. The next day I told Shreeman the exact number of stars in the sky. He laughed and shook his head.

"Are you sure you haven't missed any?"

"I am sure."

"And if you were to count again tonight, do you think the number will be same?"

"Not sure about that! Who knows, perhaps some stars will stay at home tonight. Perhaps some stars will get star-visitors."

Shreeman laughed so hard that his eyes started watering.

The Story of a Princess - 1.1

I had a blissful childhood, with only a few hiccups here and there. My father insisted that I study hard.  He got me tutors in languages and arithmatic when I was only 4 or 5. I remember my first day with Shreeman Vidyarup. My father asked me to come see him in his private reading room once I had finished my morning meal. When I got there I saw him talking to a stranger. Father introduced him as my teacher. He asked me to touch Shreeman's feet. I obeyed. Then he explained that Shreeman would spend 3 hours with me everyday and would teach me many new and exciting things. I was supposed to respect him and obey him. I nodded. Thus satisfied, father left the two of us together to attend to his other duties.

Shreeman started by asking me what my name was. I didn't understand why he was asking me my name. Hadn't father addressed me as Sita just now while he was introducing us.

But I replied respectfully,"Sita"

"Ahh..Sita! Such a pretty name! Do you know what your name means?"

"Daughter of the earth"

"Close. It means 'born of the earth', literally it refers to the furrow in the field that a plough makes."

"Have you ever seen a plough?"

"Father drew one for me once"

"Okay. So today we will go out to the fields and see a plough."

It took us about two hours to get to the fields walking. Our towns were not as big as the towns you have. Also, I think we used to walk faster than most of you do now. Anyhow, that day I saw for the first time the instrument that had given me my name. The plough was attached to a pair of big, white animals. "Those are oxen," Shreeman told me. 

Then we went round the fields to where the farmers had their homes. Shreeman told me about the different animals and birds we saw there. There was the cow. I had seen cows before.  There were a lot of them in my father's house.  He showed me goats, dogs, wild cats, sparrows and pigeons. We ate the lunch that Shreeman had brought along. Then Shreeman showed me what the animals ate. I didn't like that cats ate up the poor rats.

"Can't they eat milk and roti all the time?" Shreeman laughed. "Cats are very important to villagers. If the cats didn't eat rats, there would be so many rats that they would eat up all your food. What would you eat then? Don't worry. Prakriti mata has made the cats this way for a reason." 

"Hmmmm"

I thought it over. The world was a little more complex than I had imagined till now. So rats ate grains and mostly anything they could get their teeth into. Cats ate rats. Cows and goats ate grass. Why can't rats eat grass, then there would be no need for cats to eat rats and everyone would be happy? 

"Hmmm...Tough question. How about you? Why don't you eat grass?"

"I don't think I would like graaass! I don't like any green food!"

"Well, maybe rats don't like grass either."

"Yes that's possible."

A row of ants was walking by me. They were walking in two lanes, one coming and one going. 

"What do ants eat?"

"Ahh ants! They eat many things. Grains, dead insects, most of the things that you eat, they would also probably eat."

"Why are some ants going one way and others the opposite way?"

"Have you ever seen people and chariots going in only one direction on the rajpath?"

"No. I always see people going in both directions. "

"So you are looking at the ants' rajpath, my child. The ants' house is in that direction." He pointed towards a tree. " And they must have found some food over there. So these ants are going to pick up food, and those ants have collected their share and taking it back to the house."

"Wow, Shreeman! You are so smart! I wish I was as smart as you are!"

Shreeman laughed. "Do you want to check out where the ants are bringing the food from?"

I nodded eagerly. We followed the trail of ants. It led us to the place where we had been sitting a while ago for lunch. The ants were marching towards a small mound of rice I had thrown away after eating my fill.

Shreeman stared at it for a second. Then he twisted my ear. "Your lesson for today: Never waste food. Take only as much as you can eat. Not more. And finish every bite you have taken on your plate. Do you understand?"

My ear was hurting so much that my eyes started watering. "Yes Shreeman. I understand!"

He let go. We walked back to my home in silence.

"Shreeman, may I ask a question?" I inquired timidly.

"Go ahead."

"If I hadn't thrown away that rice, what would the ants have eaten?"

"Think of it this way: you hadn't intended for the ants to find that rice. You didn't even know if an ant colony was nearby who could pick up that food. So your intention was to waste, right?"

I nodded.

"But Prakriti mata decided to give that rice to the ants. Even so, that rice was probably too much for the ants. A little less rice would probably have been sufficient for them."

"Yes. They are so small."

"So, as far as possible, you should not waste food. Do you know that when I was small, as big as you are now, my family never had enough rice to eat, so we were always hungry?"

My eyes opened wide in surprise. 

"Yes. We were very poor. Once I and my sister were so hungry that we snatched a roti from a dog and ate it. Luckily for us, the dog was a domesticated and timid one. So he didn't bite us for stealing his food. Your father, the king, was passing by and he saw us. He took us with him and fed us and clothed us, found a job for my mother so that we could live with dignity."

Shreeman looked at me. "So Sita, never waste food. Give your extra food to someone who is hungry. Okay?"

I nodded. I was feeling ashamed. 

"I am sorry, Shreeman."

"It is alright. You didn't know. And as for the ants, you can drop a few grains of uncooked rice near their colony. That would be sufficient."

"Don't ants like cooked rice?"

Shreeman laughed. We were back to normal.

The Story of a Princess - 23

Kundan was scared. Last night as he was returning home after work, some hooligans had jumped him. They had beaten him so badly that he passed out. When he woke up he found himself in a small room with stone walls and a metal grill for a gate. It looked like a prison and stank of urine and vomit. There were blotches of blood on the floor, walls and, Kundan stared horrified, on the ceiling. Kundan wondered what had happened to the previous occupant of the room.

"Where am I?" He shouted, but no one replied. "Anybody here? Why have you brought me here?"

A low growl came from the end of the corridor. Like a predatory animal's.  Kundan shut up. Whatever was at the end of the corridor, he didn't want its attention.

He heard voices. Someone was shouting. Then came the sound of a blow and a cry of pain. Some more shouting. Presently a boy came shuffling down the corridor. There was blood on his face, trickling down from a cut on his cheek. He slid a bowl of rice through the grill and stood back.

Kundan pulled the bowl towards himself and realised that he was really quite hungry. 

As he put the first bit of rice into his mouth, he heard footsteps. Another growl. I front of him, the boy was shivering. A tall, dark man came striding down and halted in front of his cell. He was dressed in a single piece of cloth,  a white dhoti. Kundan noticed, with a shiver, the blood smattered over the dhoti and over the torso of the man. The man was muscular, with a lean face. He was about middle-aged with white hair extending back from his temples. He held a wicked-looking curved dagger in his right hand. 

"Who told you to give food to this dog?" The tall man shouted. The boy cringed as if expecting a blow. But the newcomer opened the grill and snatched the bowl of rice from Kundan's trembling hand. The bowl dashed against the wall and smashed to pieces. 

"I made the mistake of feeding you once, dog! Never again!"

The stranger had bent to his level and his face was very close to Kundan's. Kundan gagged on the stink of his breath.

"You must be mistaken. I don't even know you. I have never eaten from your kitchen."

"You don't know me?! You destroy my entire tribe and you shamelessly tell me that you don't know me!"

Tribe. Something clicked in Kundan's head and images from his past began streaming past his eyes.

"I see you recognise me. Good. You are ready. You have till midnight to say your last prayers. I do not know what god will have mercy on your pathetic soul but I cannot deny you that right. At midnight tonight you will be sacrificed to Vandevi to pay for her children whom you killed."

Kundan was speechless with terror. He threw himself at the man's feet, unable to utter a word to save himself.

The man kicked him away. "At midnight tonight, I will cut open your stomach with this very dagger and gut you like a fish. You will beg for death but death won't come, not for a while. Do you know how Vandevi accepts our sacrifices? She sends her spirits in the form of animals to devour them. You will still be alive when the vultures are eating your insides!"

"NO! No no no! Please forgive me! Garib Das made me do it. I didn't want to. I didn't."

The man, no longer a stranger, kicked him aside. On his way out, he smacked the boy hard on the ear. 

"Mind you don't give this worm food or water or I'll make you wish you were never born."

The boy fell down hard on the floor. The man left him there and went away.

It took Kundan a while to regain his senses. Death which had only been a distant possibility till now, now became an imminent reality. No! He wouldn't let that happen. He had to find a way out.

The walls were solid, no windows. The only way out was through the grill and that was locked. Where were the keys? There! On the wall right behind the boy.

Then his eyes reached the boy. He was sitting with his chin on his knees and looking at him. 

"Did you really kill Jatayu's tribe?" He asked.

"Jatayu? Oh, that man? Leave it.  Can you unlock this door. I will give you a bag of gold!"

The boy shook his head.

"Did you kill his tribe?"

Oh, what the hell! Maybe if Kundan engaged the boy in conversation, he might discover a way to save himself.

"I didn't kill all of them. A couple, maybe. I was with other warriors who killed most of them."

"And good riddance!" The boy said under his breath, but Kundan's ears were sharp.

"Who are you, boy? Why are you here?"

"My name is Shesh. When I was nine, I stole an apple from Jatayu's lunch. It was just a game! He got so angry that he kidnapped me and brought me here. Makes me do all the work. Cooking, cleaning, washing. Beats me. Daily. My poor parents never raised a hand on me. It will break their hearts to see me like this. I miss them so much!"

"You know, my parents are kshatriyas in the king's army. So what if I stole an apple. Don't high caste people have some rights? He is just a tribal. I am not even sure if he is human!"

"Of course they are not humans! In the jungle they don't even wear clothes."

"What! Not even the women?!"

"Not a thread"

"Have you seen any?"

Kundan winked. "I did more than just see, my boy!"

"Really?! Tell me!"

This is good. Keep the conversation flowing, Kundan.

So Kundan started telling him the tale of the day they lost their way in the jungle.

He was so engrossed in his narration that he didn't notice the two people who came and stood besides the grill.

Ram, the prince of Ayodhya and the chief of guards were listening from the adjacent cell. They had been so quiet throughout that Kundan hadn't realized anyone was in the building except himself and the boy. 

The boy! He had been fooled by a mere boy!

Of course, now he had no option but to testify in front of the king. Ram told him that if he helped the king's guards by telling them all that he knew, they would be lenient with him. Otherwise he would be beheaded and all his property confiscated. His descendants would be reduced to beggars.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"He gave us everything - the entire team's names and what they had done, their buyers and helpers in other towns!" Lakshman was exuberant. "I told you I'd get it out of him!"

We - Lakshman, Jatayu, Ram and I - were in the gardens. Lakshman was still in the garb he had used in his little skit. His face was swollen now. He had insisted that Jatayu hit him with force instead of just pretending. They couldn't afford to make their quarry suspicious. 

Jatayu was reluctant, so Ram had done the honors with the first blow. It had cut Lakshman's cheek. 

Jatayu had hastily taken over then. At least he would soften the blows.

I was completely in awe of Lakshman. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty to help Jatayu, had suffered personal injury, had bled for another man. Bleeding in battle was different. It brought honor and glory to the warrior. But Lakshman had allowed himself to be man-handled. He had allowed them to beat him like a rag-doll, had taken blows not just to his body but also to his self-respect. 

And now he sat there, so happy that his scheme had worked.

I could see my awe mirrored in both Ram's and Jatayu's faces. In that moment, we knew we were looking at a Vishnu.

The Story of a Princess - 22

It was Lakshman who broke the silence,"You did nothing wrong. I would have done the same in your place."

Jatayu looked relieved, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. He nodded.

"You said it was a group of riders who did this to you. Do you remember their faces? Can you identify them if you saw them again?" Ram asked.

"I will never forget them as long as I live."

"Good. We shall start with scanning the near and dear ones of Garib Das and the servants in his house. If we can catch even one of them alive, it will be a huge help."

Over the next ten days, that's what we did. We took Jatayu, of course in disguise, to our meetings with Garib Das's family and friends. The pretext we used was that we were investigating the murder. He was able to identify a few of them as his tormentors.

Once we had covered the inner circle of Garib Das, guards were sent out in the dead of the night to pick up the culprits. We wanted the arrests to be kept secret for as long as possible. This enabled us to work without any political pressure, at least for a couple of days.

The really tough part came next. We needed at least one of these people to confess to the crime. Jatayu had murdured a man, so his word in the case was suspect. The law required us to verify his claim.

"Just give me an hour with one of them. I can get you the confession," Lakshman said.

"What do you have in mind?"

As Lakshman explained, we couldn't help smiling. This should work.

The Story of a Princess - 21

"I don't believe it. Jatayu could not have murdered a man. We know him!"

"How much of him do you really know, Sita? We hardly spent one evening with him."

"I know, Ram. But don't you ever get a feeling that you can trust a person even though you don't know everything about them?!"

"I felt that way about Jatayu, bhaiya."

"So did I, Ram."

"The two of you should remember that you are royals. You have a duty towards your people. You cannot afford to make judgements based on 'feelings'. Besides,Jatayu has confessed. After he left us the night before last, he went to Seth Garib Das ji's residence. He found him in his study going through some papers. They had an argument and in his rage he loaded his bow and killed the man."

"But don't you see! He is not telling us everything. Why did he go to Garib Das's place, what argument did they have? Jatayu is a pretty level-headed person. It would take a lot for him to kill a human being in rage. You have fought with him. Tell me that is not true," I argued.

"I think we should talk to him bhaiya. Just the three of us, his friends. Without any security officials."

"If it will satisfy you, fine. Let's go down to the prison cells"

Jatayu had been classified as a dangerous criminal. The officials would have been foolish to assign him a lesser category, given his talent and the brutality of Seth Garib Das's murder. A total of 80 needles had been recovered from the dead man's body, none from his heart or another organ. His death must have been slow and painful. 

When we arrived at Jatayu's cell, he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He had removed his feathers and his face paint. I noticed for the first time a long scar running along his left cheek. The face paint had been doing a really good job of covering it up.

"Welcome, my friends. I am sorry I cannot offer you a seat here."

"Why?" Lakshman burst out. 

" Why did I kill Garib Das?"

"Why did you confess to a crime you didn't commit?"

Jatayu stared at him.

"You didn't kill him! You couldn't have."

From the corner of my eye I saw Ram shift, impatient and uncomfortable with the open display of emotions.

Jatayu looked at Lakshman. There was a deep sadness in his eyes as he spoke the next words.

"I did kill Garib Das, my prince. And I am not sorry for it. I am honored that you would have so much faith in me and I am sorry for breaking your simple faith, but I am not sorry for killing that beast. Garib Das indeed!"

"Why?" I asked.

"I did not lie. I did kill that man."

"Why did you kill him?!"

Jatayu suddenly looked at us meditatively. 

"Why do you want to know, mitr? It will not do any good. I am still going to be beheaded for murder."

"Tell us, please!" Ram said. Besides him, Lakshman looked distraught. This was the first time he was experiencing a hero's fall from the high pedestal he had placed him on. 

Jatayu glanced at Lakshman, took a deep breath and began.

"I was born in the forests surrounding Ayodhya. I have already told you what an  idyllic life we lived. The forest took care of all our needs. We never had to worry about tomorrow. There was no need to save, as there was food all the year round. There was no money, and no greed. In summers we roamed around uncovered. In winters we arranged leaves and skins to protect ourselves. Clothing was about functionality and beauty, never about modesty. We didn't even know that such a thing as rape or murder or theft existed. We loved one another, so there was no question of violating the sanctity of another person by rape or murder. We didn't know the concept of ownership, so there was no theft."

"All that changed one summer."

"A group of riders was hunting in the forest that day. The sun was high and they had finished all the water they were carrying. They saw some of my tribesmen at the stream where we had made our fire. They looked so hungry that my tribes-people offered them some meat. We were as fascinated by them as they were by us. We had never seen such pretty skins before, with all the colors of the forest, and they had never seen a people who walked about in the jungle naked."

"After satisfying our hunger, we started singing and dancing. The newcomers joined us. It was a full moon night. The revelry lasted for many hours. One by one, we dropped off to sleep."

"We woke up to sounds of screaming. The moon was still up. By its light I saw some of the riders on top of some of my tribes-women. At first we didn't understand what was happening. Then we realised that the women were trying to push the men off, they were begging them to stop, they were screaming that the men were hurting them, they were trying to tell the men that they didn't love them and didn't want to have sex with them."

"It didn't look like the men were trying to stop themselves. On the other hand, they slapped the women, punched them, covered their mouths so that they couldn't scream. And carried on. And on. And on."

"Finally we realized that we must forcibly stop what was happening. So we pulled the newcomers off the women. Then we tried to explain to them that the women didn't want them. I think that even if they had been able to understand our language, they wouldn't have kept off the women. How do I know this?"

"I know this because the newcomers then pulled out their blades and hacked all who were unlucky enough to be standing near them. We were unarmed as we were not expecting to be attacked by any wild animals. They don't come while the fire is burning. By the time I reached my weapons, most of my tribe was destroyed."

"They defeated the rest of us easily. We were not trying to kill them, you know, even after what they had done. None of us had ever killed a human being before."

"They tied the men up. Then, right in front of us, they finished what they had started."

"When morning came, they tied us all behind their horses and led us away."

"They took us to a big town. As we walked through the streets, naked and tied, a big crowd followed us. They were discussing something heatedly with our captors. We were thankful that these good people were trying to rescue us."

"And they succeeded. One by one they rescued us and took us away with them. Little did we know that we were being sold off. We, who didn't even know the concept of owning a thing, an animal, a piece of land, were now the property of another."

"Our new masters had to literally whip us into obedience. Some of us died during the torture, some got so dejected that they quit food and water and died. I though, persevered. Hate was a very new emotion for me, but it kept me alive. Hate for the outsiders who destroyed my home, my people, who inflicted unspeakable torture on my tribes-women. 

"For it was our women who were the worst affected. We men were merely put to work in the fields, but the women were used in the bedrooms. Day and night we would hear their screams and find ourselves helpless to respond. Gradually the screams faded, as did the life of those beautiful flowers. Oh yes, I knew hate. And the face of that hate was the man known as Seth Garib Das, the leader of our tormentors."

"Eventually I managed to escape. Garib Das was a frequent visitor to that town, so it was no trouble finding him. The trick was to get close enough to him. I only succeeded the night before last."

"He was alone in the house. The rest of the family was out enjoying the festival."

"He didn't recognize me at first. Imagine, the man who destroyed my life, my home, my family, didn't even know who I was!"

"In his own language, I told him who I was and why I was there. It was gratifying to see the pool of stinking liquid that formed around his feet as I reminded him of what he had done."

"Just as he opened his mouth to speak, I shot him. I shot him right between his legs. As he screamed, I shot him again and again till I ran out of needles."

Jatayu paused and looked at us. "So now you know why I killed a man, Lakshman. I hope you can forgive me."

The Story of a Princess - 20

Jatayu was a really interesting character. We, that is Ram, Lakshman, Jatayu and I roamed around the festival market, talking and checking out the wares on display. Jatayu had removed his wings and feathers but had kept the face paint. "To honor the festival," he explained. He was a very good story-teller. He entertained us all the while telling us stories about his people.

We asked him where he had come from. He was a forest-dweller. His tribe lived in the forest to the west of Ayodhya. They spent the day gathering berries from the forest and hunting. Sometimes they got good game, deer, or rabbits, or forest goats and sometimes they had to satisfy themselves with squirrels and berries. The forest had several streams flowing through it. Once they had gathered sufficient food for the day, they grouped around one of the streams and lay down. The cooking duty rotated everyday, so everyone could enjoy the serenity of the forest.

"You haven't lived life till you have lain down on the forest floor, beside a cool stream, listening to the sounds of the water and the birds and the air whooshing through the trees, watching the light filter through the leaves," he said.

We contemplated the scene in silence.

"Maybe we'll visit you someday," Lakshman said.

"Maybe you will," Jatayu smiled,"If I am around at that time, I will personally show you all my favourite spots. We'll hunt and I will cook for you. I am a very good cook, by the way."

"Don't make the offer," Ram said,"Lakshman will hold you to it."

Jatayu laughed.

We had dinner together in the palace. After Jatayu had left, the three of us spent half the night discussing what the challenge for the next day's archery contest was going to be. The likeliest candidate was a blindfold contest.

The challenge defied all our conjectures. Overnight, a new arena had been created for the final contest. I guess that the judges thought we were getting too simplistic tasks. So, for this task a circular area had been cleared. A bell was hung in the center of the arena, at about twice Ram's height. We had to ring the bell with our arrow, and at the same time ensure that our opponents were not able to ring it before we did. There were walls constructed at regular intervals, around the bell. The contestants could use them for protection. Since the judges could not find suitable targets for our skills, they made us target one another.

We loaded our bows and the contest started. Ram was the first to aim at the bell. I shot his arrow out of the air. Next I sent an arrow flying towards the bell. A counter-arrow from Ram broke its shaft. I aimed at Ram. He looked surprised. I guess he wasn't sure if I would have the heart to hurt him. He jumped sideways and hid behind a wall.

I shot another arrow at the bell. It was deflected by a couple of needles from Jatayu. He sent needles at the bell, but Ram stopped the needles from reaching the bell. Jatayu sent another salvo, but I was ready this time.

All three of us realized simultaneously that while the other two were still in the game we couldn't hope to touch the bell. So we finally directed our attention to one another.

I broke Ram's bow, but he got another. Jatayu aimed at me and I got away only by dropping to the ground and rolling away. Ram sent a volley of arrows at Jatayu's wings. The cloth tore away and finally we could see Jatayu's technique.

He had tied a belt with pockets to his arms and forearms. The needles were kept in these pockets. A small cross-bow was tied to each of his wrists and the trigger was tied to the middle finger of the same hand. He just needed to twitch the finger a little to send the needles flying. Diverting the attention of his opponent with the flowing feathers further helped.

I decided to break Jatayu's cross-bows. My first attempt was in vain. He deflected it easily. My second attempt touched one of the cross-bows, but didn't break it.Meanwhile, Ram had sent another arrow towards the bell. This also Jatayu stopped. This was looking hopeless. At this rate, we would keep going till evening and the last one to drop of exhaustion would win. This called for desperate measures.

I loaded my quiver with arrows. I came out into the open and started raining arrows at the two of them, forcing them behind the walls. Hoping that they were sufficiently distracted, I shot at the bell. They weren't. Ram shot down my arrow with one of his own. He had also come out and was answering me with a rain of his own arrows. Jatayu also got the same idea and came out. Now I was pointing my arrow at Jatayu, Ram was pointing at me and Jatayu was pointing at Ram. It was an impasse.

The was a commotion in the crowd. Suddenly the closing bell sounded, even though it wasn't the end of the day yet. Perhaps the judges had decided to give us another test. Or perhaps all three of us would be declared winners. I was sure we were equal in talent. It would be only by sheer luck that one of us could win.

The crowd parted. The palace security came marching into the arena. They went to Jatayu and told him that he was being arrested.

"Why?!" we exclaimed.

"On charge of murder."

We were stunned. Jatayu just smiled and went with them.

We rushed to the court where Jatayu was being brought before the King. A dead man was lying on the ground. His face was covered with cloth and the rest of his body......the rest of his body was covered with thin, black needles.

The Story of a Princess - 19

Jatayu was the most magnificent man I had ever met. He was extremely good-looking, with a rugged quality, tall with a lean face and reasonably well-built. He must have been in his late 30s. A thin streak of white hair went from his left temple all the way back, where he had tied his hair with a piece of braided string. He walked with such an assured gait, you could easily mistake him for a prince. The first time I saw him, he was performing in the marketplace.

He had a unique act. A small ber was kept on a raised dias, about as high as my waist. Jatayu was dressed like a bird of prey. He had painted his face as the bird's face and his dress was a collage of cloth strips that made the bird's wings and feathers. He was dancing around the dias, using his wings to good advantage.  He would jump, roll, fly like he were a real bird of prey. And suddenly he stopped. He went to the dias and picked up the ber. He held it high for all of us to see. There was a collective gasp.

The ber was punctured throughout with very fine black needles. This was the real act.  While we were engrossed in Jatayu's dance, he was shooting these needles out. We couldn't see him doing it because the motion of his hands was obscured by his wings. All at once, the audience broke into applause. Jatayu folded his hands and indicated the collection plate, requesting the audience for his reward. We were so mesmerised by what he had done that the plate was soon full. Jatayu collected the money and went off whistling.

I saw him again later that day at the archery competition. He was competing as well. I wondered what other tricks he had hidden in his wings, the wings that he was still wearing. Everyone around was amused by Jatayu's get-up at the games and he earned a lot of ribbing.

The first round was the practice round. We were lined up in front of targets. Jatayu was allotted the target beside mine. He was not using any bow. I really looked forward to his shot. I saw Ram, Lakshman and the other brothers some targets away. I had entered the game as Dharti, not as Sita. I had also covered my face for added protection. But I caught Ram's eye and he smiled.

We mounted our bows. As one, we shot. I was more interested in Jatayu's shot than my own. So I didn't even check my target to see how my aim had been. My attention rushed to Jatayu's target. There, right in the center, was a black needle sticking out.

After the practice shot, the competition started in earnest. Each challenge was tougher than the last. Ultimately there were only a handful of contestants left. Luckily I was still in the game. My practice shot had been slightly off-target. But having satisfied my curiosity about Jatayu's shooting, I focussed all my attention onto my own bow. My subsequent shots had all hit the target dead-on.

For the past three rounds, the only contestants were Ram, Jatayu and myself. A huge crowd had gathered around us, cheering us on. There were various members of the royal family, a lot of important members of the king's court and hundreds of city-folk watching us in anticipation. Some of the other archers who were no longer in the game were also there. 

The bell rang to end the day's games just as the last round was being announced. That was good. I could do with some more practice. It would be tough to beat these two. The Games Committee was infamous for the devilish tests it devised for the final rounds of the warrior games. Last year the contestants were blind-folded for the deciding shot.

I caught up with Ram and Lakshman as they were leaving the ground. As usual, Lakshman and I started right off on the question top-most in our minds.

"Wasn't he amazing?", Lakshman gushed.

Ram gave a dry smile. "Dare I pretend that you are talking about me?"

"Oh you are always awesome!", Lakshman teased him,"But did you see the way that feathered guy was shooing?!"

"It was as if he wasn't even moving a finger while shooting out his needles!"

"You were there?!" Lakshman asked with an innocent baby face.

"Mitr, you are looking at tomorrow's winner!"

We walked back, talking and laughing all the way.

At the palace gates, we saw Jatayu again.

"Oh, did I mention I invited Jatayu to have dinner with us?", Ram said.

"You did?! That is great!", said Lakshman.

"Well I thought it would be good to know more about such a skilled warrior or artist, whatever you wish to call him. But now, looking at the hero-worship in both your eyes, I think perhaps I made a mistake", Ram teased.

"What! Are you jealous?!", I laughed. 

"Of course I am! Not just my baby brother but my wife also seem to be smitten by the great Jatayu. Who bothers about poor Ram now!"

"Hey! I am not a baby!"

"So you accept that you are in love with him!", Ram said, running away from Lakshman. Lakshman ran after him, blushing scarlet. They fell on the grass laughing, Lakshman on top of Ram, trying to push grass into his mouth. I too jumped down beside them, clutching my sides. It was a good day.

Many lives

I am a lot of people, I live many lives
I dream many dreams, like bees in a hive
My dreams are varied, they have many hues
Yet similar, all want my heart and my soul too
I want to live all these dreams, I cannot choose
I want to be all that I can be
Do all that I can do
I want to sit on the shores of time
See the waves that form my life
I want to soak in Stillness
That only a life well lived provides
I want to see the beauty of creation
I want to live the joy of creating
To leave behind a mark, however small
Of my destiny.

Rameshwaram -3

Sun 30 Mar'14, 5:15 am
We set out for the Dhanush Kodi beach. There is a strip of land that stretches out from mainland India towards Sri Lanka. It tapers to a point and then bulges up again to form an island. Rameshwaram is this island. Dhanush Kodi is the easternmost extreme of Rameshwaram. It is the point where the land ends and the sea begins.

Dhanush Kodi is the likeliest place where the old Ram Setu might have existed. The sea is shallow for some distance. It might have required some ingenuity, but it would not have been impossible to connect India and Lanka at this point.

We take two autos to get to the nearer edge of Dhanush Kodi. Then we change to a mini-bus that takes us another 6.8 kms over sandy beach to the pointiest end of the beach.

The water is so clear here that you can easily see the bottom of the shallow beach. A few feet on, the sea floor rises and forms a small island.  Looking at the island from across a thin strip of sea, I feel as if I have entered a magical place in a fairy tale.

We wade into the water to try and reach the small island. We decide that if the sea floor drops too deep, we will turn around. Three of us holding hands walk towards the shining island. The highest that the water reaches is upto my hips, and I am the smallest person around.

The floor rises very sharply as we near the island and it is a fight to move forward, with the sand slipping beneath our feet. But we finally make it.

The island is just about 10 feet across. Small waves lap at the miniature shore. They are like little shining fish in the soothing red sun.

We are a varied group that has collected on this small island - my husband, mom-in-law, a friend with his wife and his 3 year old son. The child and I seem to share the same delight in the waves. I sit down cross-legged in the shallow water and dig my fingers into the wet sand. The child (S.) seems delighted by the idea and does the same!

It is complete peace and tranquility that we are experiencing right now and we don't want to leave. But we were given only 20 minutes by the mini-bus driver who brought us here. So, very reluctantly, we come back to the main beach.

From here the bus takes us to the old Dhanush Kodi village. The village suffered a cyclone in 1964. The bigger stone buildings - a church, a railway station- were all destroyed, but the residents returned afterwards.

We see the remains of an old church. The broken stones in the walls have coral patterns. We wonder if the church was under water for some time and the coral grew on it, or if coral stones were used in the construction.

We meet an old man who was actually in the village the day before the cyclone. His brother-in-law was the station master at Dhanush Kodi at the time and it was his wedding that day.

The village has ground water wells in a couple of spots. A few women are pulling out water with the help of cups made of 2 litre water bottles that have been cut in half and attched to long sticks. We request for a drink. The water is sweet.

A boy in a small shop shows us a floating stone that he says is part of the floating bridge that Ram made to get to Lanka. It is a coral stone. It is an interesting idea, except that I am not sure that a bridge constructed out of floating corals would have been able to sustain the weight of the army. There must be another explanation.