Sita's Sister

THE TWO PRINCES (pt-1)

'We have unexpected guests,' proclaimed Mandavi with elaborate enthusiasm.

But her dramatic declaration failed to evoke the response she desired. The three othergirls allowed her words to drift meaninglessly in the sun-warmed room and continued with what they were doing. 

The oldest among the four, Sita, was distributing the morning prasad after having returned from her customary ritual of visiting the temple of Goddess Gauri early morning. Sita's sister, Urmila, was getting ready to mix some fresh colours in the palette and settling down to her morning hours of marathon painting. The canvas was still blank; she hadn't painted a stroke. This meant Urmila was troubled; and it must be about Sita, Mandavi deduced perceptively.

That girl worries too much about her sister.The quiet, efficient Shrutakirti, her younger sister, was competently assisting both her cousins— getting out the colours for Urmila while helping Sita with her pooja thali.They were a picture of contrasts. Sita — elegant and ethereal, whisper-slim and delicately framed, always meticulous and impeccably dressed, she was a girl of few words.

Shrutakirti was smart and striking with her long, thick mane of curly hair framing a small,sharply cut face, illuminated by her large, dark intense eyes. She was the youngest of the  four sisters but was the tallest of them all, though all the four girls were quite tall. But Kirti, right now, seemed to almost tower over the feisty, voluptuous Urmila. Urmila's fetching roundness blunted her height. She was like the colours she was blending so dexterously —warm, vibrant and sparkling, her quicksilver temper included. She had an effortless easy-going manner that made her very agreeable. Mandavi, who looked every bit the proud princess, envied Urmila's facile charm.

 The scene in the room was a familiar sight for her and Mandavi realized that there was an endearing, emblematic quality to their everyday mornings. There lingered a certain sense of contentment in the sameness and she felt a sudden urge to dispel it. Her opening words had evidently not made an impact as each of the girls continued doing what they were busy with.

'I heard from the maids that two young and handsome princes of Ayodhya have arrived here,' Mandavi persisted in her usual loud, authoritative voice, '...and that Uncle has invited them to stay at the west wing of the palace.'

'How many times have I told you not to overhear maids gossip?' Urmila said perfunctorily, without paying any serious attention to what Mandavi was saying, blending the reds furiously with the yellow. As she helped Urmila help get the right tone,Kirti suppressed a smile, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Mandavi, throwing her immediately on the defensive. Whenever Kirti and Urmila got together, Mandavi felt absurdly left out, a sliver of jealousy snaking insidiously inside her. She idolized her cousin and believed she was closest to her as they were almost the same age. Kirti washer kid sister; she was not supposed to intrude into the elders' domain.

Mandavi's possessive streak went on an erratic overdrive, propelling her into an unreasonable irritation.

'But one gets to know so many things from them!' She snapped, but without vitriol.'News you wouldn't get to know otherwise. One needs to be sufficiently aware and armed of information, as they say, an ear to the ground, and eyes in the wall. You can't isolate yourself in the palace,' she sniffed delicately.

Mandavi was svelte and sylphlike and as tall as Urmila, but here the similarity ceased. Mandavi always stood tall and straight, sinewy and strong—courtesy her astonishing equestrian skills unlike Urmila's curvy, sensual softness which made her appear more diminutive. Urmila had an open, vivacious countenance, her oval face accentuated by a pair of wide spaced, big, flashing eyes, a trim, pert nose, full rose-bud lips which curved often and generously in a potently appealing smile and which none could resist. Mandavi appeared somewhat stern, with her solemn, steady eyes and straight lips which rarely deigned to smile, giving the impression of deliberate aloofness and an air of cold aristocracy.