Panigrahanam - The Taking of the Vows
Almost the entirety of the Mithilan population had converged at the royal pavilions. Travellers from lands unheard of had gathered to celebrate the most anticipated marriage in living memory. The kingdom of Videha sparkled as the auspicious day dawned upon them. The city of the King had been decorated to rival the magnificence of the to-be bride herself. Garlands of exquisite blossoms had been strung across every wall of the palace. The main street was strewn with flowers lest even the carriage horses of the wedding party endure the harsh ground beneath their feet. The royal workers washed streets with the scents as though it were water.
Women huddled in small groups, pouring fragrant oil into the multitude of lamps set to be lit after sunset. The monarch had issued orders forbidding any street from sulking in darkness. Young maidens competed with each other, filling up the streets and yards with beautiful rangolis. The children revelled, munching on the royal delicacies that were distributed as if they were mere grains. The Queen had declared that not even a stray animal was to return from her daughters' wedding unfed.
Excitement saturated the atmosphere. Every child and adult eagerly awaited the commencement of the main celebrations. Gossip pervaded every house like the fog enveloping every street on that biting winter dawn. Even the cold winds sweeping down from the mountains couldn't temper the joy that ran amok through the bristling streets. After all, this was the biggest carnival hosted in the kingdom ever since the first birthday of the oldest princess!
Janaka, the King of Videha, abhorred the blatant exhibition of wealth usually seen at royal events and had stripped down the marking of all personal milestones to bare-boned charity outings. The people decided that it must've been Dasharatha, the King of Kosala, one of the wealthiest kingdoms, who finally convinced the King to splurge on the occasion. Seeta and Urmila, the princesses of Videha, along with their cousins, Mandavi and Shrutakirti, the princesses of Samkashya, were betrothed to be married to the four princes of Kosala.
Bards employed by the royal family danced through the streets, reenacting how Rama, Princess Seeta's fiance, had broken the divine bow of Lord Shiva into two pieces, winning her hand by the show of strength. They also sang of the princess herself; and her sisters. They acted out the part of the shy prince Rama, hesitating to touch the heavy bow that had thwarted the efforts of innumerable previous suitors. The bow must've been made lighter by the princess's assent. After all, the bow had once previously bent to her will! They also sang of Rama's brash brother who hit the roof at every perceived slight to his brother's honour. The bards also told stories about the King himself and the divine Seeta. They sang before a mesmerized audience the story of how the princess had been found as a giggling infant inside a furrow in a trench dug by the devout King himself. He had brought the baby home assuming her to be the fruit of years of prayers- a gift from the heavens. The singers extolled the virtues of Ayodhya as well. Articulating the long journey that the young Rama had undertaken with his teacher Vishwamitra and his younger brother, they recounted his fierce battles with the rakshasas.
Inside the palace, a frenzied flurry of workers dashed about, as their supervisors ran after them. All hallways were strewn with soft flowers, just like the roads outside. In specially constructed rooms across the main palaces, several scholars sang auspicious hymns. Yajnas were being performed, on behalf of the King, by the more senior of them. The King himself paced hither and thither, tending to the sages and his guests. A similar deliration engulfed the women's chambers. The Queen, visibly stressed, coordinated the women assembling all things required for the auspicious rites. The brides-to-be sat in a covert chamber covering their moon-like faces in their laboriously decorated, henna-stained palms as their friends teased them relentlessly.
---
Seeta's sisters sat at the center of the room daunted by the sudden change in the course of their lives. Just a week ago, they had accompanied their sister to her swayamvara. Elated, they had celebrated as prince Rama had won the challenge set for Seeta's hand. Never in their wildest dreams had the three sisters imagined that within a week, they themselves would be sitting alongside Seeta dressed in their own wedding garbs. King Dasharatha, the moment he came to know of their existence, had suggested the four sisters be married to his four sons. King Janaka too had agreed enthusiastically. As a result, one wedding had turned into four, throwing the sisters into a roller coaster of customs and rituals over the short period they had before the closest auspicious date set by their family priests.
Seeta's ruby-coloured wedding dress had been picked out by the queen herself, who had had it designed back when the King had first announced the swayamvara challenge. The dress had gotten slightly discoloured while resting in an ancient trunk for all the months spent waiting for the perfect husband for her. The queen had spent a whole hour berating the king, much to the amusement of the sisters, for delaying her daughter's wedding by settling on an impossibly difficult task. Finally, Seeta herself had stood between her parents, chuckling, "The Goddess must be happy with me," She had declared, putting an end to the royal argument, "For I had wanted a paler shade anyway!"
Seeta had however firmly refused to select any new jewellery. Her headgear and tiara belonged to the queen's late mother. The parrot-motif nose ring almost the size of a human palm came from her grandmother's collection. The seven-stringed necklace, bearing the image of an eagle, had been sent by her mother-in-law. Her future husband had expressed some liking for it at some point, so the Queen of Kosala had sent it over with a note to use it as an ice-breaker if her son proved to be too shy. Her father-in-law had sent her a heavy ring with the sun engraved on it- the Kosala family crest, in lieu of blessings. Another necklace was made entirely of gold coins; it hung up to her waist, the design being one of a kind. Her father's ministers had had it made as a wedding present to their beloved princess. Her bangles were gifted to her by her attendants. They had each given her a single bangle, each of a different colour. "So you may never forget us," they had tearfully proclaimed. Her waistband was a birthday gift from her father. Rishika Gargi, her old teacher, had brought her her ruby-studded earrings from a faraway land. She had laughed with the princess the last time they'd met, "I never understood why you girls like these rock pieces so much, but they reminded me of you, so I brought them along!" Gargi had never liked attending social events and had left the kingdom despite the princesses' teary protests. Urmila had gifted her her pearly anklets on a mindless run along the city's marketplace when they were young.
Urmila had chosen, much to her mother's annoyance, a caramel dress. Opting for light beryl-encrusted jewellery she stood out from the other three. At least prince Rama had seen his fiancee properly, even if it was that one time. So, why should Urmila not make it a little easier on her unseen future husband?!
"Wait, wasn't he at the swayamvar though?" Seeta asked.
Urmila nodded, "He was, but he was too busy screaming at that sage. What time did he have to look at me?!" She complained dramatically, resulting in her sisters breaking into peals of laughter.
Seeta teased her, "Be honest now, Urmi, was that the moment you fell for him?"
Urmila blushed slightly, but replied in her cheery tone, "Well, it was the first time I saw a man who could squabble and scream as much as me!"
Turning to her sister she continued starry-eyed, "Say, isn't it ironic? How you found the only other human who could lift your precious bow, and fate matched me with the only other human as tempestuous as me?! Now mother must be relieved to know that my husband will not only be able to tolerate me but will match my fervour at every turn!"
Seeta laughed and turned to question her cousin, "Mandavi, what about you? Which aspect of your husband matches you?"
Mandavi had never been one to talk much. Even her wedding dress was plain, the colour of a muted chestnut. All her jewellery was from her mother's coffers, simple yet elegant She protested softly, "My husband is completely unknown to me and you know that, Seete! If Uncle has agreed to this alliance, he must've judged its merit. I look forward to finding out!" After a moment's silence, she continued, "I am scared, but it seems of some reassurance that we will have each other to navigate this new, uncertain world that we will be thrown into after marriage!"
"I am sure our new life will be lovely, dear. There's no need to be so apprehensive!" Seeta piped up, "Shrutakirti, what do you think?"
The youngest princess looked up. She had been silent for all this while, lost in deep contemplation. "Yes," She nodded, as her sisters broke into laughter as it became clear she hadn't heard a single word of the conversation. Shrutakirti laughed alongside them, even though her heart was racing. She had come to Mithila only to keep her older cousin company for a little while, and now here she was, dressed in a traditional auburn dress, decked from head to toe waiting for her soon-to-be husband to arrive. She fidgeted absentmindedly with her ring, bearing the same crest of Kosala. Sometimes she'd look up at Urmila apprehensively. Their husbands were twins. Their mother had sent over simple lapiz-lazuli armlets for the two of them to wear. While Urmila's armlet blended in perfectly with her other jewellery, Shrutakirti's one stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't like she disliked it, but it scared her somewhat. Her husband was Lakshmana's younger twin. What if he had the same temper? Urmila was spirited enough to keep up with it, she might even take pride in it, but would she be able to be such a man's wife?
---
As she walked through a flowed-laden aisle, under the twinkling canopy, behind her sisters, Shrutakirti looked up at the four grooms waiting for them. Their faces were hidden by a traditional curtain of flowers. However, it wasn't difficult to identify Seeta's husband. He was tallest and stood with a stillness that was befitting a future king. Behind him, stood an older man, surely the King! On either side of Rama stood two bright-complexioned men. As the princesses lined up, Shrutakirti deduced that they were indeed her sisters' husbands. She found herself face-to-face with a man only slightly taller than herself. Through the flower curtain, she could see his pearly-white teeth. How unfair, she thought, that he got to size her up alright, but she could hardly make out what he looked like.
She wondered. Her groom was the youngest of his brothers. Just like her. He looked young and pampered. Wasn't she pampered herself?!
Suddenly, Shrutakirti was distracted by a ripple of laughter that shot across the pavilion. She turned around to see Rama nodding and laughing bemusedly. Lakshman knelt at his feet, also laughing. She looked up at Seeta's face. Her expression was of subtle pride. With a jolt, she put it together. Rama was the future King, with a vow never to bend to anyone. Apparently, that vow extended to his wife as well. Unable to garland him, limited by her petite structure, Seeta had shot a meaningful glance at Lakshman who had promptly fallen at his brother's feet, catching him off-guard. Seeta had taken advantage of the split second that Rama bent down to check on his brother to throw the garland around his neck. Shrutakirti couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Seeta did have the most unique techniques to get her way.
When their turn came, Shrutakirti heard her husband, quiet but clear, "Don't you dare try that!" Her eyes shot up at his covered face. She was relieved to see that even though his tone was flat, he was indeed beaming. She exhaled. "I won't need to." She whispered back, with an equally radiant smile, as she stood up on tiptoes and gently slipped the garland over his crown.
As her father placed her palm over her new husband's, Shrutakirti looked up at the man standing before her. Her father's eyes glistened with a tear tottering over the edge of his eye. Looking at him, she felt her eyes cloud as well, and she quickly lowered her gaze and concentrated on the palm beneath hers. It was small, almost like that of a woman; covered with henna for the ceremony. Shatrughna- she silently repeated his name, the killer of his enemies. The priest ordered her groom to hold her hand in his. It was time to officiate the marriage by swearing upon Vishnu, the Lord of the cosmos, and Agni, the mouthpiece of all Gods. She was surprised to find her palm grasped in an unnaturally strong grip. She was even more surprised as it squeezed her palm, away from all eyes. He shot her a discreet smile in between the mantras.
Almost as if he heard her trembling heart.
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