SITA’S SISTER (17 page)

Urmila was not ignorant of Manthara’s insidiousness. Her remark was double edged insinuating that Sita was an opportunist and Urmila had not been able to do what she had—get herself a better catch. She remembered what Mandavi had said about Lakshman and Queen Sumitra being servile and felt an anger stirring within her again. Suppressing an angry retort, Urmila cut her short curtly, ‘That will do, Manthara. Thank you,’ she said dismissing the maid.

The brusque dismissal had the effect Urmila desired; it was a tiny vindication. Manthara went crimson with fury.

‘Don’t try that tone on me, young lady!’ she shouted, her lined face mottled red. ‘I am the queen’s head maid, her wet nurse since she was a baby. So you will show me some respect! I am not one of your servants running errands or serving you! What inflated pride! No wonder everyone likes Sita more than you, you haughty princess! She is the more loved, more popular princess of Mithila, not you, though you might be the natural daughter of King Janak. Why, even your own parents, I hear, love her more than you!’

Urmila, taken aback by Manthara’s outburst, did not deign to react. The words did sting, however much she had prepared to remain unaffected by them. The wily Manthara had succeeded in hitting her where it hurt most. Did that mean that she, too, was susceptible to an unacknowledged insecurity? Was she secretly envious of her elder sister?

Manthara had touched a raw nerve. In a quick flash, Urmila reminisced all those instances when her parents had favoured Sita and not her. But, surprisingly, she had been angry with her parents and never with Sita. She could never vent her annoyance on her sister because, each time, she saw Sita squirming as uncomfortably. After each of those instances of childish unpleasantness, it was Sita who apologised frantically, consoling her, comforting her and taking the sting away from her anger. And now this woman was forcing her back into that world she had long forgotten, the memories flooding her troubled mind.

Urmila realized she might have earned herself an implacable enemy in Manthara. Not that the vicious old lady was a friend to anyone but herself and her self-interest.

‘Nor can you use that tone on me, Manthara,’ she retorted icily. ‘You have explained so well who you are—the maid of the queen. Let me remind you who I am—a princess and the wife of the most feared prince in the palace. And pray, henceforth, do not dare to step into my palace without seeking permission. As told earlier, you may leave. Right now!’

Watching Manthara leave in a fit, Urmila hoped she would not try her wile on her again. She had barely managed to sigh in relief that she heard a commotion.

‘What the hell!’ she heard Lakshman’s angry exclamation. ‘What are you doing here? I have told you before, Manthara, I do not want you anywhere near my palace or my wife. I hope this is the last time I see you here. Now leave!’

With amazement, Urmila saw Manthara muttering copious apologies and weakly explaining how she had come for an errand and scuttled away before Lakshman had anything more caustic to say to her.

‘Why was that harridan here, Mila?’ he asked her sharply, more curt than he meant to be. Urmila did not resent his tone; clearly he disliked the old maid as openly as she did.

‘As she said, to make me taste some of the savouries prepared by Sita.’

‘And?’ he asked shrewdly. ‘Manthara is no errand girl to pass on messages or sweetmeat. She had more on her mind.’

‘And her tongue!’ Urmila concurred with a laugh. ‘As I didn’t subscribe to her wily winsomeness, she bared her claws, and was leaving in a huff, when you chased her away so effectively. That was some sight!’ she giggled.

‘Oh good,’ he looked relieved. ‘I thought I would have to warn you against that troublemaker. But you did well and seem to understand her quite well, my smart little woman!’ he smiled affectionately, a gleam of pride in his eyes. ‘But seriously, she is the devil, stay away from her.’

‘But she won’t stay away! She’ll meddle and manoeuvre and manipulate—that’s why she’s so scary—the things she can do…’ she shuddered and Lakshman drew her close.

‘Relax, she won’t harm you,’ he said comfortingly. Urmila hugged him tighter.

‘I can handle her,’ she looked up and said cheerfully. ‘But how has she been able to stay here for so long?’

‘Because she is like a mother to Ma Kaikeyi. She brought her up.’

And he recounted a strange story. ‘Queen Kaikeyi’s childhood was as intriguing as the queen herself,’ he said. ‘As a young girl and the only sister to seven brothers, she grew up motherless, in the care of her wet nurse, Manthara, who served her devotedly. Her father, King Aswapati had banished her mother from his kingdom, Kekaya—a deed unheard of but not without a reason.

‘Aswapati had a strange boon; he was able to understand the language of the birds. But he could not reveal what they said, for, if he were ever to do that, he would fall dead that instant. One day, the king and his queen were strolling through the palace gardens when Aswapati happened to overhear the conversation of a pair of mated swans. The conversation so amused him that he started to laugh loudly. His wife was unnaturally inquisitive, wanting to know what had amused her husband. And she insisted he tell her, knowing full well that if did so, he would lose his life. Incensed and hurt at his queen’s insensitivity, he banished her from his palace and kingdom. The little princess Kaikeyi never saw her mother again and was raised by Manthara who accompanied her to Ayodhya and she stayed on.’

‘In such a short time, she was able to poison the mind of both Sita and Mandavi, so I cannot imagine the damage she must have done in all these years!’ observed Urmila.

‘That’s because you sisters are still new here,’ he said. ‘Fortunately, everyone knows about her insidious ways and fake charm. She doesn’t fool anybody. In fact, everyone hates her, poor woman, and barely tolerates her because of Ma Kaikeyi.’

Manthara had an irrevocable power over the queen and she must have worked her evil on her as well. How had Kaikeyi managed to promote herself from a second consort to the chief queen, a title enjoyed so far by Kausalya? How did she eventually get to be the king’s favourite? From whatever Urmila had witnessed, the equation between the queens was coldly cordial, the undercurrent of hostility staunch between them. Clearly, Manthara must have been instrumental in fracturing their relationship. There was no doubt about it.

People like Manthara did not remain idle. They were parasites; preying on their host’s fear and anxiety, slowly destroying them. So who would be her next victim?

From the filigreed veranda, Urmila could see the entire expanse of the manicured garden surrounding the palace. It was as pretty as the structured landscape she was painting. All the sights around her were designed to give the impression of perfection—well-trimmed hedges, neatly lined trees and the grand palace that arose from the green bowels of that garden. Urmila knew that this was not the truth. In the last few months, she had seen the ugly cracks in the facade. They were deep and cavernous, hiding a lot more than they showed. The beautiful palace held a host of not-so-beautiful intrigues. There was the wicked old Manthara who was spreading her poison, the king was old and worried having a spate of nightmares he was terrified about. The four princes, however, remained unaffected by the guessing game of who the crown prince would be. They were their usual loving, laughing, lively selves, brightening up the palace, helping their father with the royal duties and administration.

The most unhappy person in the palace seemed to be Kausalya… She did not miss a chance to complain loudly about her plight. She reminded Urmila of a wretched soul, living in her world of darkness—very much like her chamber—a dark, gloomy dungeon, with thick curtains, the sunlight rarely streaming in bringing warmth and cheer. And in here, she had a grotesque pet—a vicious-looking parrot, in a golden cage hanging close to her bed. And all he called out was, ‘Fie the enemy!’ something he had clearly picked up from his mistress. And the loquacious red-beaked bird repeated this in shrill tones, ringing eerily in the palace of Kausalya. This was a taunt meant for no one but the beautiful Kaikeyi—her rival who had usurped her power and position in the king’s heart, and in his bed.

Urmila avoided stepping into that wing of the palace, finding herself frequenting the chambers of Sumitra instead. It was she Urmila felt close to as she was almost like her mother, whom she missed every single day. She was kind but unfussy unlike Kausalya who hovered around like a protective, fiercely possessive hen. She did not speak much and believed in something done as opposed to something said. She was always calm but her placidity could not be misconstrued as timidness. She could be firm and staunchly resolute, almost stern, again like her mother. She was erudite and had an incisive wisdom, just like Sunaina. It was her calm sagacity which had drawn Urmila to her.

And matters had improved vastly with Kaikeyi since their first disagreeable meeting. She was immensely different from what Urmila had once thought of her. As Lakshman had correctly surmised, she was a candid person—clear in her opinions and very direct in her manner and speech without subtlety or evasion. She was informal and uncontrived, sans the royal reserve or secretiveness. The sum of this made her immensely likable and she was hugely popular with people in the palace and the subjects alike. Though she possessed a formidable fury, she was also generous and earnestly fair—especially in her love for the four princes. Unlike Kausalya whose world revolved around Ram, Kaikeyi was not as blatant about her love for her son Bharat. For her, the princes were all sons of her husband and she loved all of them equally. She knew each of them very well and treated them accordingly. With Ram she was openly affectionate, more than she was with Bharat; with Lakshman, she was careful as he could be irreverent at times but she respected him for his unwavering loyalty to Ram. Bharat was a quiet and soft-spoken person and with him, she was tender and protective. With Shatrughna, she was as warm and generous as she was with Ram, matching his boisterous humour with a hearty laugh and her brand of dry wit. But to Urmila’s discerning eye, she was partial to Ram—probably because he was the most likeable of the four brothers. Or possibly because she knew her husband loved Ram the most—Dashrath simply could not survive without Ram. Kaikeyi loved her husband so much that she generously accepted all that was his.

If Dashrath was obsessed with Kaikeyi, she too doted on him. And Kausalya could never forgive the younger woman for that, as she had, unwittingly, distanced Dashrath from his other wives. The senior queen was often heard claiming that though Kaikeyi might be Dashrath’s favourite queen, Ram was his favourite son. That equation was supposed to balance out the inequality amongst the queens but it could not douse the embers of resentment. Instead, over the years, it became a raging fire of ambition in Kausalya’s heart to see her son crowned king.

Matters were not too great between the four sisters either with Mandavi keeping a cool distance from them. Urmila had tried several times to speak with her but she remained steadfastly aloof, maintaining a bare cordiality with them. She had stopped meeting them since that morning and made no attempt to liaise further. Urmila was fuelled with a firmer determination to dispel these newly sprouted yet deep-rooted differences at the earliest possible. Misunderstandings were malignant: they spread and seeped, corroding one’s mind and eating into emotions. Their showdown had turned ugly: the spillover messy and uglier. But Mandavi was unapproachable, not allowing her a chance to reason or express regret. She was like a wall, blocking them from her world.

Urmila could not but compare the four sisters with the four brothers. They, too, must have suffered this sort of a misunderstanding. How had they handled it? How did they manage to stay so symbiotically together? Urmila knew the unspoken answer. It was the deep mutual trust they had for each other. It was not mere love that bound them: faith and respect ranked higher. Had they failed each other in these regards? Urmila was feeling wretched: Mandavi and she had been very close. Could a silly, egotistical fight mar all that bound them together? She knew it was not ego, but something else that had built the wall between them, though she could not gauge exactly what. Urmila despaired helplessly, as she vacantly painted in the upper room not noticing the messenger from Kekeya entering the palace.

She continued with the painting she had recently started. It was a scene of her wedding. She had planned it on a scale as grand as the wedding itself. She was not making much progress though, the worrying thoughts kept intruding relentlessly. Painting, for some, was a distraction from their troubled world, but not for her. She could not paint when she was troubled. All she could do was to stare at the blank canvas, her thoughts clamouring within her.

‘Why are you grimacing?’ She had not noticed her husband enter the room. She looked up with a start.

‘Oh have you heard the bad news?’

‘Bad news?’ she repeated, uncomprehendingly.

‘Ma Kaikeyi’s father, King Aswapati, is precariously unwell and since he could not make it for the wedding, he wants to meet Bharat and Shatrughna with their brides,’ informed Lakshman. ‘Worse, there has been an enemy attack on their kingdom and Bharat’s maternal uncle, Prince Yuddhajeet, hopes for help from his nephew. They are leaving right away. I just met Bharat…’