lie down with her baby. With cloths soaked in warm water and
turmeric, Urmilla and the attendant sponged Sita and the newborn. Hot milk laced
with turmeric and crushed pepper was brought and Sita drank it eagerly holding on to
her baby, lying face down on top of her. With the birdsong of early morning, her
racing heart started to slow down, the milk and turmeric soothed her throat, and
with a feeling of lightness and joy, and a heaviness in her body she slept,
smiling.
The morning hours passed in bursts of
sleep for Urmilla as she watched over Sita, the attendant and even Valmiki. In the
hour before midday, the visiting deer, the goats, the cow and her calf heard a
shrill cry. From the haze of sleep everyone jumped up. The raw cry of hunger
spiralled from the women’s hut making the leaves shiver in the warm
breeze. The realization that life in the hermitage would be changed forever dawned
on Valmiki as he decisively walked, then hesitated, then moved towards the
women’s hut as the birth had been announced to him. He had not seen the
newborn yet. As he approached the hut he was waved away vigorously by Urmilla:
‘Sita’s giving the first feed! I’ll tell you when is a
good time to come.’
Valmiki was indignant, but after years
of discovering how events change human responses, he smiled wisely and withdrew. He
witnessed his reaction: ‘How dare she! She is a guest here and now she is
dictating when I can and cannot see Sita! Am I to be treated as a stranger in my own
hermitage?’ He began to hear the same phrase from another corridor of
thought in his head: ‘Sita has just given birth and is exhausted; Urmilla
is the only one who can tend to her needs. Why am I interfering with thoughts of
power, about who is playing host and who is the guest? What a terrific and
unexpected stroke of genius in the grand accident of life that Urmilla should appear
at the time of Sita’s labour. What could I have done? Who could have
predicted that Sita would be exiled? It has changed the whole course of the story
and, so many lives.’
Inside the hut, the newborn was gorging
on Sita’s breast secreting the ivory-coloured, sweet milk-sap of life.
Sita’s heart danced with happiness. Urmilla and Sita laughed at the way
the infant made smacking and chortling sounds as he suckled. Sita stroked his tiny
head of jet black hair, saying, ‘May you never be in want of anything. Let
your heart and mind always be your best friends in life.’
‘He certainly has strong
lungs! So he will know how to shout and get whatever he wants,’ said
Urmilla cheerfully.
Valmiki entered the hut when Sita was
ready to receive him. He bowed low with folded hands, saluting the newborn. He could
see the signs of Brahma’s visit in the luminous dot on the
infant’s forehead. The tiny window of the hut brought in a draft of fresh
air and the dazzling sun streamed on the heads of mother and son, thick with
blue-black hair. ‘Well, Maharaj! You picked a fine spot for a hermitage!
Now it has become a township!’ was Sita’s welcoming remark.
‘What better way to
contemplate Truth than by applying all of life’s variations to experience
the Veda, heh? So, you are well, Sita? What have you named the child?’
‘Lava. I hope he and I can
have a home here. It is true I don’t have a home, but I want this boy to
be learned and who could be a better guru than you, Maharaj? Urmilla and I
…’
‘Done! You don’t
have to say another word, Sita. He may not learn the ways of the court, but he will
learn to tell the story of Truth,’ said Valmiki emphatically, wiping his
tears.
So, within a few days everyone was
getting into a new routine that at first seemed all-consuming and centred on
Lava’s hunger patterns. But soon, everyday rituals were threaded together
with making the fire, cooking, feeding, washing, listening to thoughts of the day,
turmeric, Urmilla and the attendant sponged Sita and the newborn. Hot milk laced
with turmeric and crushed pepper was brought and Sita drank it eagerly holding on to
her baby, lying face down on top of her. With the birdsong of early morning, her
racing heart started to slow down, the milk and turmeric soothed her throat, and
with a feeling of lightness and joy, and a heaviness in her body she slept,
smiling.
The morning hours passed in bursts of
sleep for Urmilla as she watched over Sita, the attendant and even Valmiki. In the
hour before midday, the visiting deer, the goats, the cow and her calf heard a
shrill cry. From the haze of sleep everyone jumped up. The raw cry of hunger
spiralled from the women’s hut making the leaves shiver in the warm
breeze. The realization that life in the hermitage would be changed forever dawned
on Valmiki as he decisively walked, then hesitated, then moved towards the
women’s hut as the birth had been announced to him. He had not seen the
newborn yet. As he approached the hut he was waved away vigorously by Urmilla:
‘Sita’s giving the first feed! I’ll tell you when is a
good time to come.’
Valmiki was indignant, but after years
of discovering how events change human responses, he smiled wisely and withdrew. He
witnessed his reaction: ‘How dare she! She is a guest here and now she is
dictating when I can and cannot see Sita! Am I to be treated as a stranger in my own
hermitage?’ He began to hear the same phrase from another corridor of
thought in his head: ‘Sita has just given birth and is exhausted; Urmilla
is the only one who can tend to her needs. Why am I interfering with thoughts of
power, about who is playing host and who is the guest? What a terrific and
unexpected stroke of genius in the grand accident of life that Urmilla should appear
at the time of Sita’s labour. What could I have done? Who could have
predicted that Sita would be exiled? It has changed the whole course of the story
and, so many lives.’
Inside the hut, the newborn was gorging
on Sita’s breast secreting the ivory-coloured, sweet milk-sap of life.
Sita’s heart danced with happiness. Urmilla and Sita laughed at the way
the infant made smacking and chortling sounds as he suckled. Sita stroked his tiny
head of jet black hair, saying, ‘May you never be in want of anything. Let
your heart and mind always be your best friends in life.’
‘He certainly has strong
lungs! So he will know how to shout and get whatever he wants,’ said
Urmilla cheerfully.
Valmiki entered the hut when Sita was
ready to receive him. He bowed low with folded hands, saluting the newborn. He could
see the signs of Brahma’s visit in the luminous dot on the
infant’s forehead. The tiny window of the hut brought in a draft of fresh
air and the dazzling sun streamed on the heads of mother and son, thick with
blue-black hair. ‘Well, Maharaj! You picked a fine spot for a hermitage!
Now it has become a township!’ was Sita’s welcoming remark.
‘What better way to
contemplate Truth than by applying all of life’s variations to experience
the Veda, heh? So, you are well, Sita? What have you named the child?’
‘Lava. I hope he and I can
have a home here. It is true I don’t have a home, but I want this boy to
be learned and who could be a better guru than you, Maharaj? Urmilla and I
…’
‘Done! You don’t
have to say another word, Sita. He may not learn the ways of the court, but he will
learn to tell the story of Truth,’ said Valmiki emphatically, wiping his
tears.
So, within a few days everyone was
getting into a new routine that at first seemed all-consuming and centred on
Lava’s hunger patterns. But soon, everyday rituals were threaded together
with making the fire, cooking, feeding, washing, listening to thoughts of the day,
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