THE SWAYAMVAR

                                    

                                          
Urmila's words seemed to have worked their magic on Sita; she looked neither impassive nor morose, the twin emotions that had been afflicting the bride-to-be the previous week. She was her expected composed, collected self, wearing a bright smile. 

She was sitting down, her slim hands resting on her lap, her eyebrows slightly raised in expectation, her self- assured smile in place. She tugged at Urmila's hand and whispered, ' Urmi, as you always do, you promised me a new hope.' And her eyes, discreetly through her long lashes, travelled to where Ram was sitting in the huge rajsabha where the swayamvar was being organized. 
The hall was exactly the same as Urmila remembered it. Long and stretched as she had found it when she had dared to enter the forbidden place so many years ago. Urmila hadn't had the courage to step inside it ever again. Even now, through adult eyes, the hall appeared vast and overwhelming.

The long rows of high columns, the high domed ceiling from which dropped down a most exquisite, huge chandelier flickering the sidewalls with strange shadows, even as the late morning light entered the room through aseries of long windows in the aisles. And in the middle of the long hall, was the Shivdhanush—worshipped by her father—the divine bow of Lord Shiv given by Sage Parshuram to one of her father's ancestors to look after while the famous rishi performed his penance.
Rishi Parshuram was known to be very fond of the Rudra bow as it was presented by Lord Shiv himself to the rishi for his penance and devotion. Keeping this in mind, Urmila's ancestor and many after him had vigilantly kept the bow in safe-keeping for many decades.
 That bow remained locked in a strong iron casket in a latched armoury room where no one was allowed to enter—a rule that Sita and she had dared to break once and had never been able to forget their reckless temerity ever since.It was eight and a half feet long and had to be carried on an eight-wheeled carriage and dragged like a temple chariot even if it had to be moved within the hall.

Today it had been displayed in public and King Janak had declared that whoever could string this bow of Rudra would marry his elder daughter, Sita. The sight of the great dhanush still made Urmila wonder how Sita had managed to lift it using her tiny, ten-year-old wrist. The sight had been blinding and Urmila shivered at the memory. 
The image of her father bowing and looking up reverently at the little Sita flashed through her mind and Urmila felt a strange knot within her. Was Sita special? Or more specifically, did she have special powers? Urmila had not been able to clear this doubt which had bothered her all through her growing years and today, she was again faced with the same question.
Her parents had resolutely considered Sita unique and extraordinary but Urmila had always assumed it was because Sita had been an adopted child and hence the shower of ceaseless attention and affection. But their love had always been deferential— it was almost close to worship.
That is why Urmila was never jealous or angry; she simply felt awe at her parents' veneration for her elder sister. Urmila found this distinctly odd coming from her parents who were in other ways the most intelligent,sensible beings, devoid of any superior airs or fatuous truculence, often associated with royal hauteur.

Her father Seeradhwaj Janak was, besides being powerful, a hugely popular king andwas affectionately called simply King Janak—the family name of the dynasty which had been ruling Videha for so many centuries from Mithila, the beautiful capital city. Urmila still found his popularity quite overwhelming and as a child she used to beam with a certain smugness when the crowds cheered and bowed their heads in collective homage wherever he went. 

But her parents had reigned in her pride by teaching her lessons in humility. Privileged did not mean special; just fortunate. And fortunes could change in a flash, they warned.
Janak was a striking personality— tall, thin, aristocratic with a long, hooked nose and a neatly trimmed silver beard which showed his age truthfully. His face was creased, not with worry, but with light age lines marking years of wisdom. Janak was no ordinary king; he was a renowned rishi as well, the favourite pupil of the famous sage Yajñavalkya, the author of Shukla Yajurveda as also Sage Ashtavakra, from whom he learnt about the soul and the true nature of the self.

Janak was the royal sage, rajrishi,who was well-versed in the Vedas and shastras and as spiritually advanced as other rishis. He was a king who believed in the discipline of action and selfless philanthropic service to mankind. He never turned away from his responsibility of administrating the kingdom of Videha with kindness and humility. And today, while the yagna was still going on,Janak was hosting a different ceremony— the swayamvar of Sita, graced with the presence of the bravest and most famous kings of the country.
Urmila looked at her sister more closely, trying to recognize the special powers within her. She was sitting with her arms folded, her head tilted to one side, as she often did. Not in her favoured light pastel shades today, she was instead attired in rich, deep yellow silks, adding a golden glaze to her etherealness.
Unlike most princesses who looked lost and weighed down by the heavy, elaborate, glittering gem-studded jewels at their wedding, Sita, with her delicate gold-filigreed ornaments, was the very embodiment of earthy elegance. This was the swayamvar of the princess for whose hand kings,emperors and princes from within the country and even outside were competing against each other.
Thinking of faraway lands, Urmila's eyes sought out a tall, strapping, lumberingfigure amongst the host of kings present in the hall. It was that of Ravan, the emperor of Lanka, whose presence had created a furore in the raj sabha. She spotted him soon enough, sitting close to her father. She wondered what he was talking about so seriously with her father. But he was supposed to be an exemplary scholar too, Urmila acknowledged, having done her homework well, with valued inputs from Mandavi as well, on all the suitors vying for Sita's hand in marriage.

Ravan was an accomplished scholar, keenly knowledgeable in the Vedas, music—he played the veena splendidly it seemed — and abstruse subjects as assorted as astrology, architecture, Ayurveda and political science. He was said to be the mightiest of all king sand it showed lavishly. From the sparkling jewels, dripping about him and his resplendent crown which dwarfed herfather's simple one to ignominy, Ravan looked as dazzling as all the gems he was splattered with. He was immensely tall, almost gigantic, dwarfing all those around him.

He looked and seemed powerful, his massive shoulders magnifying the effect. He was handsome, Urmila acknowledged with a discerning eye, but not regularly good looking. It was his overpowering personality that was so arresting that set him apart from the others. He was renowned—he knew it, he looked it and amply showed it. He had brazenly announced that he would be the first one to string the bow, silencing any protests and ruling out any opposition or contest.
Urmila heard Sita gasp and she patted her hand reassuringly. She saw Sita's eyes wander towards Ram, sitting at the opposite end, between Vishwamitra and his younger brother. Urmila had promised herself that she would not glance at Lakshman, hardening her heart and her resolve to keep her eyes away from the brooding prince throughout the swayamvar but she had broken her self-imposed decree in just a matter of minutes....

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JAY SIYA RAM !!