Six Times Sita

Chapter 5: Minstrels at the Court

Rama eyes the prodigious young twins seated on the floor of his court. They are young, barely a year older than Bharata's oldest, and the sight of them makes something in Rama's chest tremble. It has been a long time since he has been blessed with the sight of his wife, save in the terrible gilded statue that occupies her place beside him. Today, though, he sees her everywhere – in the curls of the twins' hair, in the way the older one smiles, and the younger wrinkles his nose. He sees her even in the way they hold their veena, which makes little sense, given that most people hold their instruments the same way.

They had introduced themselves as students of Rishi Valmiki, without any patronymic. That means nothing. They could simply be referring to the one who sent them here. But their mother must have been pregnant the same time as Sita, if age is any indication, and Sita had been having twins, and they did look awfully like her...

"Greetings, Your Majesty," says Kusha, the older twin, his hair sticking up like the grass he was named for.

His voice is a blessing, for it derails Rama's terrible thoughts, and a curse, for it sounds so like Sita's that he may as well be in Mithila's gardens more than two decades ago, facing a demure princess who would later be his wife.

This is folly, he thinks, nodding at the young ones, permitting them audience.

Kusha continues, "Our Guru, the mighty sage Valmiki, was immensely inspired by your tale. Thus, he composed an epic, so all the world may remember the valour of Shri Rama."

"It is still being written as we speak," Luv says, picking up where his brother left, "but we have learnt in song all that was penned down before we departed. If His Majesty pleases, we would be honoured to present it to you."

Rama stares, then hesitates. Seeking self-praise is the path to downfall, and the story is painful besides. All save Lakshmana look eager – even Urmila, though she must have been told everything, either by her husband or by Sita. He should praise their dedication and send them away with blessings and a few gifts. There is no point in unearthing such sorrow again, not when the story has no triumph, and Sita is not by his side.

Luv and Kusha look up at him, familiar doe eyes wide and beseeching. They are clutching each other's hands, tense with anticipation. Rama opens his mouth to disappoint them, and instead says, "Very well, we shall hear you."

He could have cursed himself them, but the answering smiles he receives wash away all self-recrimination.

The courtiers clasp their hands and lean forward, and the boys bob their heads in a semblance of a bow.

"Hear us," Luv proclaims, "for we sing of Rama, son of Dasharatha, of blessed Ayodhya."

It is a familiar tale, of the joys of his childhood and the days at the Gurukul, the love of his father and three gentle mothers. But Rama knows, the grief is about to come.

He allows a tremulous smile when they sing of Sita's Swayamvara, for it was a joyous occasion. He holds his breath when Ravana of the tale carries Sita away, but pain lances through him only once. He trembles when they exalt Sita's resolve in the face of misery, trapped in her golden prison, and shivers when they recount Lakshmana's deadly injury.

But just as he thinks that perhaps, having lived through it once, he has numbed himself enough to be able to get through this without the waterworks, the song rolls to their victory, and to Sita's freedom.

"And then Rama of the golden bow," Kusha intones, "says 'I have not yet sunk so low, to take back unquestioned a spouse that has lived a year in another's house.'"

Half the court inhales, and Rama feels a telltale burn behind his eyes. What has he done? He wants to throw out the boys, forgetting his fondness for them, wants to scream and curse and run away. But he is an Emperor, and this is his court, and such behaviour is unbecoming. The lay turns stern and punishing, quickening to a chant.

Sita in the epic stands as straight and bold as she had all those years ago, before an army of thousands. Her hair is a riot of curls blacker than the length of Nisha's dread night; her face is as gaunt as Dhumavati's terrible mien. When she speaks her voice is Indra's thunder across the sky, devoid of any love or affection. "If you shall question me, husband," she says, "then may Agni judge me. Lakshmana, son, make me a pyre."

Lakshmana of the tale weeps, as he does in real life, both then and now. And Ravana's captive, all molten iron clothed in a delicate body, walks out of the pyre unblemished and unburnt, lit red and orange and yellow – a living flame. For she is Janaka's daughter and Rama's wife, but she is also the mightiest woman that Aryavart would ever know, and the most virtuous.

The song ends with exaltations of their victory, and the joy of reunion, but Rama, seated beside a lamentable golden mockery of a woman he once named his own, hears none of it. His tears come hot and unbidden, like summer tempests across the plain, and he weeps and weeps and weeps.

Notes/References:

1. Nisha:  Vedic Goddess of the night, often referred to as Raatri. She is considered to be a very beautiful maiden, and is associated with vital power, especially in Tantra, and the cyclic nature of time. Her sister is Usha/Ushas, the goddess of the dawn.

2. Dhumavati:  One of the ten Mahavidyas, and is a representation of all things inauspicious. She is considered to be an old and ugly widow, and is usually associated with crows; therefore her worship is considered a way to look beyond the physical aspects and attain ultimate knowledge. There are those who consider her exclusively a goddess of the widows, and some foreign studies that appear to equate her with Nrriti (goddess of poverty), Alakshmi (goddess of misfortune) or Jyestha (goddess of sloth(?)).

3. The appearance of the twins: By and large, most people consider that both of Rama's children look like him, and therefore like Vishnu (Rama is said to have looked like Vishnu). However, I do think Rama, separated from his wife and missing her presence, would actively pick out features that look like her, to justify thinking of Luv and Kusha as his sons.

4. Kusha: The word Kusha is supposed to have come from the word for a special type of grass (Kusha) which is long and sort of spiky-ish and is used for making mats, One version of the story says Valmiki cut the upper spiky part of the grass for one child and the lower part (Luv) for the other, and used them to protect them from ghosts, and each of the children were thusly named. Another version says Sita asked Valmiki to look after Luv when she went for a bath, and the sage nodded absentmindedly. But Sita noticed the sage was busy with studying, so she took her son without disturbing him further. When Valmiki looked up next time, he saw there was no baby, and not realizing Sita had taken him, he panicked, plucked up a grass (Kusha) and turned it to a twin of Sita's son. Thus both Luv and Kusha were born.
In this fic however, I headcanon that Kusha has spiky hair and Rama, who does not know the story of his birth, believes that is where he got his name.