Agnipariksha
The wood crackled and hissed as the flames hungrily consumed the wood the sages kept feeding. Black smoke reached the tops of the trees, obscuring the faces of the men who waited for her on the other side.
All except his.
The dancing flames cast a reddish shadow on his impassive face as he stood aloof. His eyes, their expression a mixture of love, regret, longing and shame, revealed the secret of his heart.
Shame, that she was being forced to do this.
Shame, that he, was the one forcing her to undergo this humiliation.
Her eyes ran over his body, taut with muscles, covered in battle scars, some of which had yet to heal. She remembered the callus on his right forefinger from the string of his bow. She used to love rubbing her fingers against his, delighting in the contrast of her softness against his hardness.
Her heart had burnt with longing for him in the long days and nights separated by him.
A log hissed as it broke.
The chants of the sages brought back memories of another sacred fire. Instead of homespun robes, they had worn silks and ornate jewels befitting their station as royals. Circumambulating that fire seven times, they had vowed to love, care, honour and respect each other.
Vow that now lay in tatters around her. For how could there be love without trust?
She looked away, unable to bear the sharp pain of betrayal.
She had once thought he was the mightiest warrior in the land.
And he was.
Hadn’t he proved it by defeating the demon king and ridding the world of evil?
Then why today, was he the weakest?
For weak, he certainly was. He had not fought for her when she was asked to prove her innocence.
“Devi…” a soft voice to the right prodded her.
Reminding her, that she needed to walk through the blazing fire to go to the other side, where he waited.
It was this hungry fire that would determine her innocence.
Not she, nor her words.
If the blaze left her unscathed, she would take her rightful place on the throne of Ayodhya, next to the King. If not, the flames would consume her for a crime she didn’t commit.
The men trusted the flames more than they trusted the word of the daughter of Janak.
“Devi…” the voice prodded again.
She looked across the smoke into his eyes again.
They were full of anguish. Pleading.
She took a step towards the fire, towards him and then stopped.
She realized that if she gave in now, she would be responsible for taking the blame for someone else’s misdeeds. Women of the generations yet to come, would ask, why a woman’s word was not trusted. Why did she have to prove her innocence when in truth, she was the victim?
“No,” said Sita, before turning away from them all.
The flames continued to devour the wood.
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