I blinked at her, my heart unexpectedly full. “That is wonderful,” I said.
“It was a pleasant break from sitting and reading,” she said. “I do enjoy archery.”
“Is that why the swayamvara contest will be archery?” I asked. It was no longer a secret, for Janaka had told us upon our arrival of his coup in being granted the Shiva Dhanush.
She shook her head. “I do not think they are related. My father simply wanted a task that only the most powerful of suitors could accomplish. The Shiva Dhanush was supposedly carried into the palace by four men. Although I think they must have exaggerated that.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Well, I wished to see it for myself, so I slipped into the room where it is kept when everyone was sleeping. I thought perhaps it would be fun to see how heavy it was. But I lifted it with little difficulty—it is not much heavier than a normal bow.” She said it without guile, her shrug dismissing the incident. But I bit on the inside of my cheek to keep from gaping at her.
Janaka would not have lied about the weight of the bow, nor its origins. It seemed much more likely that Sita had simply lifted a bow made for a god.
She was a worthy match for Rama indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RAMA AND LAKSHMANA ARRIVED the day before the swayamvara.
We had not seen them in two years, and Bharata, Shatrugna, Kaushalya, Sumitra, and I waited in their empty chambers to greet them together on their arrival. We all began shouting when the door opened, but it revealed only Dasharath, who gave a sheepish grin and came to stand with us.
“You might look less disappointed to see me,” he muttered, and I was about to tease him back when the door opened again, this time revealing my two sons.
I could not stop the tears that sprang to my eyes as we swarmed around them, embracing and laughing. They both were over a full head taller than when they had left, and all traces of childhood had vanished from their faces. Our boys were gone. They had become men. They had become warriors.
I was grateful to see that Kaushalya and Sumitra also had tears running down their faces at the sight of our sons, and even Dasharath dashed a hand across his eyes when he thought nobody was looking. I clutched Lakshmana close and then Rama, my heart overflowing.
But we had little time to ourselves, for they had to clean away the dust of their travels and prepare for the swayamvara itself.
When I saw the Shiva Dhanush the next morning, my heart sank. It was even larger than I had imagined, nearly the length of two men.
The wood was a rich, deep maroon, rare and precious indeed, and lustrous as though lit from within. Although there were no carvings, a spiraling ribbon of gold was inlaid in its surface, like a curl of fire. It lay, unstrung, in the middle of the training field, carried out by four strong men. The eyes of the suitors grew to comical proportions when they realized the magnitude of the task at hand. The idea that Sita might have lifted it seemed laughable and yet…
Lots were drawn for the order of the competition, and Rama’s was drawn last.
Before him, among all the other suitors, only one man managed to even lift the bow: Ravana of Lanka.
News of the death of Ravana’s beloved Mandodari had reached Ayodhya some two years past. Had Rama not been competing, Ravana would not have been the worst match for Sita. He was old enough to be her father, but I knew he would treat her kindly, for he had treated me with kindness even without cause to do so. Kindness was still not a custom for brides across the land.
Ravana was in the middle of stringing the bow, arms trembling with effort and sweat drenching his brow, when he glanced up at Sita, seated on a dais. Something about her—perhaps her beauty or perhaps some sense that warned him she was gods-touched—seemed to greatly move him, because the string slipped from his finger and he dropped the bow with a resounding boom that shook the very earth. In the silence that followed, Sita giggled, and the bell-like sound echoed around the field.
Ravana flushed a bright red and hurried off the field.
I felt sorry for him, but I could not follow my old friend now. So I put it from my mind as my son took the field.
There was a strange, almost palpable hush that fell over the watching crowd as Rama stepped up to the Shiva Dhanush and grasped it. He lifted it in one easy motion, and the silence broke with a collective intake of breath.
With his other hand, he slipped the bowstring into place and pulled upward. The bow bent like the neck of a swan, held steady by Rama’s hand, and he finished stringing it with ease. He held the bow loosely at his side as he stepped up to the mark and inspected the arrows provided in the quiver.