The joint wedding had all the usual pomp and ceremony of such a momentous occasion. The yuvrajas and rajas of the other kingdoms largely stayed for the wedding. There were weeks of feasting in the great hall in Mithila, and for each of the seven days of ceremony, Janaka sacrificed several prize animals to the wedding fires.
Sita outshone all others in the wedding. Her neck and arms were heavy with pure gold, crafted into intricate loops and whorls so that it appeared to be embroidered onto her glowing brown skin. She wore a yellow sari in the custom of Videha, but it had been embroidered with tiny jewels that flickered and shifted constantly. As she took seven steps with Rama around the sacred flame to sanctify their marriage, it was as though she herself was made of flame.
My own wedding had been exhausting, but the wedding of my children was a time of joy. It was selfish, in a way, because men did not leave home after a marriage—so I was losing nothing. I could tell Janaka truly grieved to part with his daughters and his nieces all at once. I imagined the palace at Mithila would seem quiet, desolate without them, and I was sad for him.
But there was much to do, both in Videha and awaiting us in Kosala, and so at last we took our leave.
For all the pain it might have caused Janaka, it was a pleasure to have all our sons back, and their wives besides. And we needed some bright moments for it was harvest time, and the monsoons had not come with their usual strength. It was Kosala’s second such year in a row, and there would not be enough grain to feed the entire kingdom. Our small stockpiles provided barely enough grain to last one bad harvest. Usually in such a situation, our traders in Southern Kosala, beyond the Riksha Mountains, could obtain supplies from the fertile southern kingdoms. The region surrounding the city of Janasthana was especially productive and traded away their surplus in exchange for cloth and tapestries and other beautiful wares. But this year our caravans were returning empty-handed, with tales of hostile guards and forest fiends. I hardly had time to think on it, though, for the situation at home was dire.
One morning, a quiet knock startled me as I prepared for yet another meeting of the Mantri Parishad. Manthara went to answer it, then quickly reappeared.
“You should come.”
I followed her to my antechamber, necklace still in hand, to find Sita sitting on a stool, her mouth downturned and trembling as though she might cry at any moment.
“Sita?” I asked, shocked to see her looking so distraught. “What is it?”
She lifted her head and I saw dark shadows under her eyes. Her hands shook as she brushed her hair from her face.
“What has happened?” I asked. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head, and her eyes darted to Manthara. Before I could even turn, Manthara made an excuse and quietly left the room. Of course, I would tell her everything that transpired later, but for now Sita’s comfort was paramount.
“I think I am losing my mind,” Sita whispered. “Or else I have been cursed. I did not know who else to turn to, but I remembered our conversation by the stables, and I thought—” She rose to her feet, and the stool fell with a clatter. “I am being stupid. This was a mistake.”
“What is it?” I asked. I entered the Binding Plane and sent a suggestion of comfort through our silver bond. “You can tell me anything.”
“When we spoke that day, you said that the gods never answered your prayers.”
“That is true,” I said. “Is there something you need? If the gods won’t answer—”
“The gods are answering,” Sita whispered. “Or I suppose, they are speaking to me, for I never asked a question for them to answer.”
I had not expected this. “What… what do you mean?”
“A few days ago, Rama and I argued. It was small, really—he mentioned that he had seen a wife contradict her husband in public and he hoped I would never do so. I told him that I would not contradict him in public so long as he did not say anything that needed correcting. I was partially jesting.” At this I gave a slight laugh, and the corners of her lips turned up in response. I could imagine myself saying something similar to Dasharath.
“That night, I dreamed of the goddess Lakshmi. She told me that my husband was destined for greatness and that my first job was to support him. She said it would bring me great prosperity. I thought it was just a dream, but at the end of it, she handed me a gold coin, and when I woke…” Sita reached into her blouse and handed me a golden disk. It was unlike any coin I had ever seen before, perfectly round and smooth, decorated with an eight-pointed star.