Urmila
A Husband Departs
How can you go, Lakshman, my darling husband? How can you leave me here alone? I cannot survive fourteen years without you. Take me with you.
Many words, many thoughts, many desires, many reasons to fall to my knees, wrap my arms around your legs and beg you not to go. But I pay no heed to my selfish desires. Instead, I stand in our bedroom, hands empty. I look from them to Lakshman’s face and back again, trying to maintain composure and find the strength to say the right words.
“Go if you must,” I say, “but promise me that you will not think of me while you are gone. You say you must go to protect Ram bhaiya and Sita didi from the dangers that await them. So if you must go, do not be distracted by thoughts of me. Know that I will be fine, and that I will be here when you return. Go with Ram bhaiya.”
A woman’s place is with her husband. I know this, and so Sita will join Ram. But my Lakshman was not banished; he does not have to go. He goes as a bodyguard, a soldier. And I cannot ask him to breach this duty.
“I shall miss you, dear Urmila,” Lakshman tells me.
How can I tell my husband to go when I look upon his face, with his large brown eyes looking at me so lovingly, moist from trying so hard to keep from shedding any tears? I know this moment is as difficult for him as it is for me, and that his impulsive offer to accompany Ram makes him no less reluctant to leave me. Our twelve years together have taught me to read his face and know his thoughts. And he can read me as well. Having married at age nine, I have spent more than half of my life knowing only what it is to be his wife. I cannot ask to accompany him, for he does not want to say no to that wish. I cannot ask him to stay any more than a soldier’s wife can ask her husband not to go to war. I cannot be weak or he will be weakened.
“No, Lakshman, do not miss me. You must not think of me. Protect your brother and my sister. Protect yourself. Just come back to me safely after Ram’s banishment is over.”
Ram’s banishment. How strange the words sound. Ram has done nothing in his entire life to deserve even the slightest rebuke, and yet, on the eve of his coronation, the king banishes him for fourteen years? I cannot make any sense of it. I shall have plenty of time to understand. Perhaps that which my twenty-one year old mind cannot grasp will be clear when I am thirty-five. Thirty-five… I shall be thirty-five years old when Lakshman returns. And he will be forty-four.
Surely I will awaken soon to find Lakshman staring at me, smiling and holding a freshly picked flower from my cousin Shruti’s garden. As happens every morning, he will rise before me, sneak outside our home next door to his twin brother Shatrughan’s house, and steal a single flower from my cousin’s lush garden.
Shruti and I have always been together. Now, when I really need to talk to her, she is gone. I was certainly happy that all four of us married into the same family, Sita to Ram, Mandavi to Bharat, I to Lakshman, and Shruti to Shatrughan, Lakshman’s twin; four brothers marrying four sisters. Sita and I never could think of Mandavi and Shruti as just cousins. We were simply sisters with two sets of parents. But now with Mandavi and Shruti accompanying their husbands as they visit relatives, and Ram, Sita and Lakshman leaving for the forest, I have nobody to talk to. I am the only one of the eight left in Ayodhya.
This cannot be so, I think. Shruti will come home and complain that her garden has suffered while she was gone. And Lakshman’s morning ritual will continue. He will once again steal a flower from her garden. Then he will lie in bed next to me, watching me until I open my eyes and smile at him. And so will pass every morning for the next fourteen years.
* * * * *
“Urmila?”
“Yes, Lakshman?”
“I am sorry, but this is Bharat. Are you all right?”
Bharat bhaiya? Not Lakshman. Where is Lakshman? And I thought Bharat was gone. But no, here he stands before me.
“Lakshman has been gone for a week. We have just returned and learned what has happened. I wanted to tell you that I am going to them,” says Bharat.
They’ve gone? Is it possible? Certainly Lakshman would not have left without saying goodbye. And Sita, my own sister, certainly she bid me farewell. I look down and see that my hands are empty. My hands move at the memory of a flower. I look around and see that I stand now in the drawing room, sunlight entering the southwestern windows. The sky hints at the coming sunset, a pale blue palette streaked with pink and lavender. I look down again and see that my sari is not of red silk but of blue chiffon. I look up at Bharat’s face, which is full of concern.
“Father banished Ram, but since he has passed away, certainly Ram must not have to stay away,” continues Bharat.
“Father has passed away?” I say.
“Yes, while we were away. He died of grief,” says Bharat.
“So why did he banish Ram if it would grieve him so?”
“Because of my mother. She wished for me to be king so she made him banish Ram.”
Bharat is visibly perturbed, almost angry on mentioning his mother. Mother Kaikeye? It is not possible. Certainly so noble and loving a woman would not ask for such a thing. Certainly Father could not grant even his favorite wife such a request.
“How could Father grant this wish?” I ask.
“You remember the story. Years ago, he was injured in battle and she saved him. So he granted her two wishes. She asked for them now. She asked that I be made king and that Ram be banished. Father would never go back on his word, so he was bound to honor his promise. The price was too high. Father could not live with his actions.”
“But your mother adores Ram. What would lead her to do such a thing?” I ask.
“I do not know,” says Bharat, “but I must go to Ram.”
“Let me accompany you on this journey. Let me visit my husband one more time.”
“Do not think like that, Urmila. You do not need to join me, for I shall soon return with your husband, with all three of them.”
Yes, they shall all return. Then this will have been no more than a dream. Except… the pain is real. Dasharat is king of Ayodhya no more, my father-in-law no more. My three mothers-in-law have no husband. What must they be feeling? Mother Kaushalya has seen her son banished and has no daughter-in-law to comfort her. Mother Kaikeye – well, I cannot fathom how she must be feeling to have the weight of dear Ram’s banishment and Father’s death on her conscience. Hopefully having Bharat and Mandavi here gives her some comfort. And Mother Sumitra – well, one son has voluntarily exiled himself, but she has Shatrughan and two daughters-in-law, Shruti and myself. Certainly she is the most fortunate of the lot, if anyone can be considered fortunate now.
Lakshman is gone. How can I not recall his departure? I know I wore my red silk sari with the gold border.
I remember I had just gotten dressed and sat at my dressing table before the mirror putting on my jewelry for Ram coronation when Lakshman entered the bedroom. He did not speak, but instead stood in the doorway and watched my reflection in the mirror. I finished putting on my earring, and turned to face him.
“What is the matter, Lakshman?”
“I am memorizing your face, my dear. I want to remember how you look at this moment.” Lakshman’s voice faltered and his golden brown complexion was tinted red.
“What is wrong?” I went to him. He took my hands and led me to the foot of the bed. We sat down, knees touching.
“There will be no coronation today. Father has banished Ram to the forest for fourteen years.”
Lakshman paused, but I said nothing, trying to make sense of the words.
“There’s more,” Lakshman continued, “Sita bhabhi will be going as well.”
A woman’s place is with her husband. I know this, and so Sita would join Ram. I was sad imagining Sita sleeping on the ground and living with no comforts. I could not imagine spending fourteen years without my sister, but I understood.
“When do they leave?” I asked.
“Wait… there’s one more thing.”
“What more is there? Is Father all right?” I began to worry that whatever Ram did that could have made Dasharat banish his favorite son must have been so grave that it could destroy him as well.
“He is rather upset…”
“We should go see him. How are Mother Kaushalya, Mother Kaikeye and Mother Sumitra?” The three wives of Dasharat all love Ram dearly. They must be quite distraught, I thought. I rose and smoothed the front of my sari, preparing to head to the king’s home, two houses down from our own.
“Wait, Urmila,” Lakshman stood up. “I am going with them.”
I gasped.
His slender face lost its look of resolve, and furrowed with concern. That was when I realized I had to shut off all my emotions, to be strong for him. In that instant I realized my enormous responsibility. I needed to believe that one word from me would stop Lakshman from leaving. Though he was a brave and valiant soldier, he was not strong enough to leave a reluctant wife. If he could, I knew I could not bear to find out.
He knew he had to accompany Ram. The rightful king of Ayodhya could not be left to fend for himself in the wild for fourteen years, and Ram should not be solely responsible for protecting the future queen. Lakshman must protect his brother and sister-in-law. He must protect the future of Ayodhya.
I considered asking him if I could join him as they wander the forests of India. But of what use would I be? Demons roam freely in the forests, and I am not skilled in archery. While I was taught to ride horses as a child, I was not taught to wield any weapons. Certainly Sita could handle any cooking and cleaning that would need to be done. That would leave me as just another mouth to feed, a burden upon the group. And I am a daughter-in-law as well as a wife. Since Ram had to leave, Sita may join him. But since Lakshman joined them voluntarily, my accompaniment would be purely selfish. Nothing binds Lakshman to a fourteen-year banishment. Conceivably he could return at any time, though I know he will not.
Since Ram willingly accepted his lengthy banishment, certainly I could not selfishly attempt to stop destiny. My heart went numb and I did what was required of me. I stopped feeling for a while, so that I could bear this burden. I watched the scene unfold as if I hovered outside my body, watching my spiritless body rise with Lakshman, accept a kiss to my forehead and a long embrace. I watched soundlessly as my body sat on the bed waiting as Lakshman changed into the simplest cotton dhhoti and wooden sandals.
Even the sight of his muscular chest and slender waist could not evoke the passion to draw my spirit back to my body; so sad was I at the prospect of not seeing him for fourteen years. I followed as Lakshman walked out of our bedroom, down the spiral staircase, through the front doors of our home and out into the sunny Ayodhya morning. We walked along the red sandstone path through our garden, walked past Shatrughan and Shruti’s palace home and into the king’s palace. For the first time, I did not stop to admire the marble façade with its intricate floral etchings. The arched walkways were suddenly sinister, as they became a portal to my husband’s departure.
The family bid farewell inside the palace. The king’s quarters were large, but with all the curtains drawn, the darkness mimicked the mood of everyone present.
Father lay in his bed, unable to rise from the grief that overwhelmed his aged body. His grey hair and beard lacked the luster of just a day ago, and his body seemed emaciated rather than slender. His tear-ridden eyes were dark and his usually compassionate face was overrun by wrinkles. I could not understand why Father would send Ram away, especially when he was so obviously ill. Mother Kaushalya and Mother Sumitra sat on either side of Father, comforting him, despite the streams of tears flowing from their eyes. Engrossed in my own concerns, I failed to notice Mother Kaikeye’s absence.
Ram talked to me first, his beautiful dark face so calm that it brought me back into myself.
“You are a strong and brave woman. Thank you.” Ram’s soft voice was comforting, and his words gave me the strength he claimed I possessed.
“It is you three who are brave and strong. I shall remain in the comforts of Ayodhya.” Although I did not want to believe my words, I knew them to be true and necessary.
Sita walked to me and hugged me tightly. “I shall miss you, dear sister. Please take care of Mother for me.”
Mother Kaushalya rose and shakily walked to the foot of the bed where we stood. She put an arm around Sita’s shoulder.
Her voice was heavy, and she spoke through tears. “Dear daughter Sita, do not worry about me. Your burden is greater, and while I am comforted to know that my Ram will not be alone, it saddens me to think of you sleeping on the ground and suffering great discomforts.”
“Mother,” said Sita, “I shall be fine. As long as I am with Ram the ground shall not be uncomfortable.”
Sita then looked at me with horror in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Urmila! I did not mean to be so insensitive. Please do not think ill of me while I am gone for saying …”
“Didi, I could never think ill of you. You meant no malice. I know that.”
“You know I only wanted to reassure Mother not to worry about me, right?” She took both my hands in hers and held them tightly.
“Yes. I know.”
“Are you certain? Will you be all right?”
I reassured her with a faint smile. Her hazel eyes sparkled and she smiled softly. I lowered my head and she kissed me on the forehead.
Just then, the door slowly opened and Mother Kaikeye walked in. The sound of her anklets jingling roused Father and he sat up abruptly.
“Get out, you vile woman!” Father shouted, “Leave my sight. You have no right to be here!”
“I wish to say goodbye to Ram.” Mother Kaikeye spoke calmly.
“You have already used your wishes. Now be gone!” Father’s uncharacteristic anger surprised me, but I seemed to be alone in my shock.
Ram walked to Mother Kaikeye and spoke calmly.
“Farewell, Mother Kaikeye. I am happy to fulfill your wish.” Ram bowed and touched her feet, and Mother Kaikeye touched the top of his head to offer her blessing. Sita followed Ram’s lead, but Lakshman refused to bow, staring at Father.
Mother Kaushalya and Mother Sumitra gently coaxed Father back into a reclining position. Ram faced Lakshman, and turned his upward facing palm toward Mother Kaikeye’s feet. Lakshman relented and bent to receive Mother Kaikeye’s blessing.
After touching Lakshman’s head, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving everyone staring behind her.
Ram, Sita, and Lakshman touched Father’s feet, their foreheads, and then their hearts. They bowed in front of him, palms touching in prayer to await his blessing.
Reluctantly, Father touched the top of each of their heads.
At the door, Lakshman gazed at me, a tear forming in his left eye.
I took a deep breath as I stared at him, and forced myself to smile. I didn’t trust myself to speak as he came to me, squeezed my hand, and then let go.
Ram, Sita, and Lakshman began the procession out of Ayodhya. I followed the trio, walking between Mother Kaushalya and Mother Sumitra, who paused to wipe their eyes dry before walking outside. We stood at the gates until we could no longer see the trio, then turned around and stood gazing at the crowds that had gathered around us. Citizens of Ayodhya wanted to catch a last glimpse of their beloved Ram. I detected Mother Kaikeye standing alone on the balcony of the king’s palace, looking toward the travelers. I thought I saw her smiling. But a moment later, she had turned to talk to her maid, Manthara, who had just walked onto the balcony. I glanced to each side and observed that neither Mother Kaushalya nor Mother Sumitra saw them.
I looked down and noticed that my left hand held a single flower. A tear slid down my cheek as I realized that this would be the last flower I would receive from my husband for fourteen years.
I skimmed the sad faces of all the people of Ayodhya before me. I quickly wiped my tear away and berated myself for not being stronger before the people who needed all of us to remain strong in the face of this tragedy. The people were too engrossed in their own sadness to notice me, however, and I led my mothers-in-law back toward the palace. Mother Kaushalya and Mother Sumitra returned to Father’s bedside and gave me leave to return to my home. I was not ready to return to my house. Instead I went to the balcony at the top of the stairs in the king’s palace and stared off in the direction of the travelers. I noticed that a large number of people were walking along the same path. The citizens of Ayodhya were following their beloved prince. I longed to run down the stairs, out of the palace, and down that same road. I longed to run to Lakshman and tell him that I had changed my mind, that I would accompany him after all. But the bridge between desire and reality is long, and decency prevents many from crossing. I was not just a wife, but also a daughter-in-law, and I could not ignore that fact. Suddenly I felt horribly overdressed in my red silk sari and intricate gold jewelry, dressed for a coronation.
I walked back inside, relieved that I could leave without seeing my mothers-in-law or Father, since the decorum with which I would have to conduct myself seemed unbearable at the moment. I returned home with as much composure as I could summon and went upstairs and to our bedroom. Unable to bear yet the memory of my last conversation with Lakshman, I quickly removed my jewelry, and carelessly dropped my gold and red bangles, necklace, and earrings on my dressing table. I unwrapped my sari and tossed it on the bed. Then, standing in my red blouse and petticoat, my eyes fell upon the flower that Lakshman put into my hand before he left.
* * * * *
I don’t know how much time passed where my only thought was the flower. I rose each morning, bathed and dressed, had breakfast by myself, and then went to Mother Sumitra, as was my duty. I lived mechanically, relying on the routine from the past twelve years to guide me.
In this period of stupor, I failed to notice Father’s passing, and the return of Bharat, Mandavi, Shatrughan, and Shruti. I attributed the sadness around me to the grief over the travelers’ departure instead of over the loss of their king.
How could I have become so insensitive?
My mothers-in-law lost their husband and I barely noticed. How could I have become so consumed in my own selfish sorrow so as not to notice the greater grief of others? What would become of Ayodhya if everyone fell into such a state?
I must not think like this, I told myself. Bharat will bring the travelers back and Ram will become king, as he should and all will be well.
“Urmila?” I was startled by the interruption of my thoughts and looked up to face him.
“Yes, Bharat bhaiya?”
“I am so sorry.”
“For what?”
“I have failed. I promised you that I would return with your husband. Instead I return alone.”
Alone. Bharat returns alone. Of course he does. A promise made by Ram is a promise fulfilled. And wherever Ram is, you shall find Lakshman.
I was told this when I first came to Ayodhya, and at the time I found it sweet. I could certainly understand that devotion, as I felt the same way about Sita. And even now I love her dearly, though as a wife and daughter-in-law I was no longer free to follow her around as I once did. With those new rules came certain duties and obligations, to take my place in my new world, my new life in Ayodhya. My devotion had shifted from my sister to my husband. And it was my great fortune that for twelve years I could spend time with both.
So then where does that leave me now, with neither one here? I have been in a daze since they left. I didn’t notice that Bharat left and returned, time passed unseen.
Once again I am in my drawing room, but the day is further gone than before. Darkness is beginning to seep in and the maid is lighting the lanterns throughout the house. Ironic. I am surrounded by light when my last glimmer of hope has been extinguished. More fitting that I should be outside in the looming darkness.
Bharat has left me now; two weeks have past since Lakshman left. As I walk upstairs to my bedroom, I step out onto the balcony and lean against the marble railing. Even the few mosquitoes that irritate my skin make me lonely, for I think of how Lakshman must be overwhelmed by them in the forest. I look to the east, out beyond the gates of Ayodhya, in the direction where the travelers went. Far in the distance, among the trees, I think I can see a small streak of smoke rising. I imagine my husband crouching next to a small fire, cooking a small rabbit or some other small creature over the flame. I picture Lakshman preparing a meal for his bhaiya and bhabhi as they rest nearby.
I know this is not happening. They would not draw attention to themselves by lighting a fire. The demons that live throughout the forests do not need any assistance in finding victims. Ram, Sita and Lakshman are more likely to be taking turns sleeping under trees and subsisting on berries. When darkness covers even the closest line of trees, I return to my bedroom. I pull the cover from my bed and spread it on the ground, and then pull the sheet from my bed. I lay on the floor atop the bedcover, pulling the bedsheet over me. I close my eyes, and imagine myself lying next to my husband. The only time I feel a moment of peace is when I imagine this. I fall asleep, as I do every night, thinking about how I must rise and put the sheets back before the maid arrives and discovers me.
