Searching- A saga ✔

30- When we met in Mithila

Do you remember, Sri Hari?

When I used to be a lady's maid,

At the grand palace of Mithila,

Going by the name of Neela?

I recollect vividly, each detail,

Of the little time we had together.

You were an illustrious Prince,

The heir to the throne of Kosala.

And I was the bashful servant maid,

Who strung together flowers for Pooja,

Drew portraits that hung on the walls,

And dressed the Royal Princesses.

Ah! You do remember, I see.

Ofcourse, how can you forget?

The woman who painted your visage,

And sent to my dearest Sita.

Or the woman who threaded-

All the lotuses into a garland,

For her Swayamvar, for You.

The woman who watched hidden,

That acclaimed sight, truly divine,

When you strung the majestic bow,

And broke it in two, a long way,

And perhaps my heart too, that day.

Those were the red lettered days,

Definitely a colossal grace;

My days at the Palace of Mithila,

When Mythili's maid was Neela.

Oh, I hope you do remember,

Or else I'll pull your ear.

When enamored by your beauty,

I  bumped into another maid,

And blamed her for my mania.

That was the morning, when You-

Reached Mithila, and I was ordered,

To get water from Ganga, to seek,

The blessings of Maharshi Vishwamitra.

Soon came Vaidehi's Vivaha in Videha,

And I am positive you do recall.

When I watched the wedding concealed,

Behind the wall decorated with that tapestry,

Of Janaki garlanding Daasharathi.

You can only imagine how beautiful-

It could've been, if I can still remember,

That spectacle Janma after Janma.

And then your troupe left to Ayodhya,

I stayed behind, in the sacred sands of Videha,

Watching you all leave, and felt my heart cleave,

Those were long nights, without lights.

News is so easy to come by,

When you are a quality servant,

Working for Rajarshi Janaka.

Rumors spread like fire in a forest,

And with it the actual facts and happenings;

Whispered from mouth to mouth,

In dining halls and pavilions,

At bazaars and evening fires.

I heard about your exile to forest,

The coronation of your sandals,

The kidnapping of sister Sita,

The meeting with Vaanars,

The defeat of King Bali,

The surrender of Vibhishna,

And then Greatest War of the age....

In which you slew Ravana.

And then came the news of your return,

And with it the rumors of Coronation.

Gossip was that our king would visit,

Ofcourse wouldn't a father meet his daughter?

I packed my bags and merged in-

With the congregation led by Janaka himself;

From Mithila to Ayodhya, a long journey.

Once again I was a servant hiding,

Behind a huge pillar, camouflaged,

By other citizens, during the event,

Of your Coronation, Mesmerising....

I left after the ceremony, to my place,

Never once turning back,

I knew I wouldn't regret it.

Because I was a maid in Mithila,

Whereas You were the King of Ayodhya.