The little girl had run out of the palace gardens again. The
maid sighed as she stepped out of the cool shade, muttering to herself about
having to run after her ward in the blazing sun. Her back wasn’t getting any
better, and she felt her bones creak with every step, but thankfully her mind stayed
quick and nimble. She knew where she would find her little princess.
Sita smiled as the sweat trickled down her brow while she out-ran
her mates. Some of the boys were taller than her, but she had picked up this
trick of changing track suddenly and hence could dart out of their reach while
they struggled to catch her. She could sense that the boys chasing her were
tiring, and she turned around and started running backwards, to tease them. “Faster,
you idiot. Are you lame like your father?” she mocked, feeling a strange thrill
at mouthing such uncouth language which she had learnt from her best friend, a
daughter of one of the palace’s maids.
“Lame he might be, but at least I have a real father. They
say the king just picked you up from some place, and that you are not his daughter”
the boy sneered.
Sita charged at him, her fists bunched up tight, and punched
him hard on his face. As he fell back in shock, she turned and darted back
towards the garden, passing the old maid in a blur.
The maid sighed again, this time partly in relief since she
was headed back to the shade of the garden, and slowly started back. She was
surprised that her princess was done with her play session so early, since Sita
usually spent all waking hours outside in the filth in spite of her repeated threats
that the sun and the dust would burn her fair skin.
“Come here, little princess, you should stop running like
that. Soon, you will be married and become a queen, it’s time you learnt to
walk gracefully.”
“I don’t want to be queen. I want to be like these boys, to wrestle
in the mud, to shoot arrows, to dive in the river...”
“Those violent games are for those street urchins. A high-born
princess like you should be learning to sing, to converse with poise and to
walk with dignity. ”
“Who said only boys can have fun with violent games?
Besides, they say I am an orphan, not some high born princess.”
The maid took but an instant to recover from her shocked
silence before asking who had dared call the princess of Mithila an orphan, and
how she would get the king to cut their tongues for such blasphemy. Sita noticed that initial hesitant silence,
and knew that her words had struck a nerve. She hadn’t believed her playmates,
had thought they were just teasing her since she was better than them at their
stupid games. But her maid’s confused silence, followed by the loud denial had
just confirmed the bitter truth. At the
court, I am the princess of Mithila, daughter of mighty King Janaka, but in
reality, I am but an orphan.
She clenched her fists and bit her lower lip, the way she
always did when she was angry. Her nails dug into her palm, the physical pain
somehow diverting her mind from the emotional wound. Tears welled up in her
eyes, and she turned and ran, as if in a trance. Her maid started after Sita,
took two steps before her aged knees buckled and gave up all thoughts of
following her. Again, the maid knew where she could find Sita.
And as usual, she found Sita sitting in the trench with her
back against one of its mud-walls, knees bent up to her chin, her face hidden
against her hands trying to muffle her sobs. The maid backed away, knowing the
child would calm down, as she always did when she sat in her favourite place.
“A princess who has golden thrones embedded with rubies and emeralds, and she
still chooses this hole in the ground” mused the maid, “Maybe because this was
where she was found.”
You've been posting more frequently now so
ReplyDeleteSo yay!
Are you seriously working on a book alongside?
You are expected to.
@ Anon:
ReplyDeleteLooks like you jinxed me. frequency of posts came down after your comment :)