“Don’t pluck the rose! What if it pricks your finger? You want to garland your handsome groom with pricked fingers?”
Sita shook her head at Pratima, her lady-in-waiting. “My supposedly handsome groom should be grateful I am willing to risk my fingers to pray for his longevity,” she replied.
The rest of the ladies of court laughed at Sita’s words, but undeterred, Pratima continued with her warnings. “I heard one should stick to marigolds for this puja as they are auspicious. What if thorns on the rose mean troubles in marital life?”
Sita rolled her eyes. “Aren’t all flowers auspicious? Why do you fill such nonsense in your head?” she replied, reaching out to pluck another rose.
Pratima pouted at the rebuke. “Ok! But can you hurry? After the puja, we need to get you ready. We need time to deck you befitting your status as the Princess of Mithila before the swayamvar!”
The ladies giggled at the mention of swayamvar. Sita gave them a serene smile but couldn’t ignore the burst of panic in her veins at that word. She wondered what would happen in the swayamvar. Who amongst the invited kings and princes would pass her father’s test of stringing the bow of Shiva to claim her hand? Would he be young and handsome? More importantly, would he claim her heart, too?
Questions buzzed in her head. A dutiful daughter, she had always followed her father's instructions, but something about choosing the groom on a skills test, without knowing him, made her uneasy. Wanting a few moments of solitude to sort out her thoughts, she told Pratima. “You inform Pujari Ji I am on the way. I want to gather a few more flowers.”
Pratima looked at the full basket in Sita’s hands, but understanding the look in Sita's eyes, nodded. “Don’t be long,” she murmured, gesturing to the other ladies to follow her.
Moments later, Sita was alone. Lifting her face towards the sun, she let its warmth soak away the doubts swirling in her head. Her father wanted the mightiest warrior of the lands for her. There was no reason to doubt that the warrior would not cherish her.
Gathering her spirits, she started walking towards the temple that stood in one corner of the palace grounds. She had almost reached it when she spotted a rose on a vine that climbed the banyan in front of the temple. It was a perfect red bloom with petals in a symmetric swirl.
Later, Sita would wonder what foolish impulse made her go on tiptoes to reach the rose that was higher than her head.
But she did.
She had almost plucked it, but then the thorn just below the bloom pierced her finger. Sita cried out softly as she lost her balance. She swayed, but before she could fall, a pair of strong hands came to steady her. Startled, the rose dropped from her hands on the ground as her eyes clashed with a pair of dark eyes.
It was a stranger dressed in simple garbs.
What was he doing in the temple reserved for nobility? The thought raced in her mind, as she righted herself, trying to ignore the tingling of her senses at his touch.
The moment she found her footing, he released her.
“Devi,” he said, inclining his head to her before walking away, where a younger man stood waiting for him.
She watched their retreating backs for a moment before walking into the temple. But when she closed her eyes at Pujari Ji’s instructions to pray for her future husband, unbidden, the stranger's face popped up.
“Please, Mahadev, please!” she chanted in her mind.
***
Thunder rumbled, jerking Sita awake from her dream. The garden was dark, save for a couple of torches flickering at the entrance. The clouds hid the stars, so Sita couldn’t determine the time, but from the coolness of the breeze, it felt like the hour just before dawn.
Shifting, she sat upright, resting her back against the tree trunk. The ground was hard beneath her, but she was used to it after years of exile. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed the thumb of her right hand over the tip of the index finger, as if to soothe the prick that had happened all those years ago. Weighed down by the pressure of the memories of that first glimpse, her heart felt as if it would burst.
Suddenly, there was a commotion at the gate. The demon women assigned to guard her, forgetting their somnolence, sprang to their feet.
Ravan, the King of Lanka, stood before her in all his royal glory in a few minutes. His purple silk robes hugged his powerful frame, and the gold of his ornaments made the torchlight look weak in comparison.
Gathering the folds of her saree closer, Sita pulled the pallu over her head, creating a barrier. Ravan could imprison her, but she would not let him see her face. It was the only way she could defy him.
“Devi!” he intoned, his voice carrying the power he concealed within. “Have you reconsidered your answer to my question? Become my queen and the most powerful woman in the world. Whatever you wish for will be at your fingertips. Come forget this stubbornness, submit to my will.”
Sita snorted. “I had heard that the great Ravan, King of Lanka, had read the four Vedas. It seems to me you only read them; you didn’t imbibe anything. You certainly didn’t learn that our shastras forbid coveting someone else’s wife. I am married to Rama. He, who is radiant like the sun. How can you even think I would leave him for a monster like you?”
Bristling with suppressed rage at Sita's derision, Ravan retorted, “If Rama is such a paragon of virtue, where was he while his wife was being abducted? Why has he not come to rescue you?”
Ravan’s words inflamed the doubts in Sita’s heart.
Rama…my love, where are you?
Forcing herself to laugh, she replied, “You should be happy he still hasn’t come, for the day he comes will be your last day in this mortal world!”
Ravan’s sword hand lifted, but visibly controlling himself, he replied, “You seem too sure of this mortal whom you call your husband. I will leave you to your foolish thoughts today, but I will return in a month. That day, you will either give in to me or else I will kill you myself.”
Pivoting on his heel, he walked away. The guards, emboldened by Ravan’s ultimatum, started taunting Sita before Trijata bade them all to back off.
Left alone once again, Sita sank to the ground. The interaction with Ravan had drained her. She couldn’t muster the strength to fight the black clouds of despair that hovered.
“O stars! I beg you to lend me your flames so that I can make a pyre and turn myself into ashes before the monster subdues me! I cannot bear this misery any longer!”
Her anguished cries filled the darkened garden, but then a soft plonk sounded, penetrating misery.
Surprised, she looked at the small object that had fallen near her.
It was a ring. A familiar one.
Rama…
***
The stranger’s name was Rama, and he was now her husband.
A few hours before, he had picked up the mighty bow of Shiva, the one that other princes could not even budge a little, as if it weighed lighter than a feather. The muscles in his back rippled as he strung the bow, letting the string go with a mighty twang before the bow splintered. Shock, awe and finally, jubilation filled the assembly room.
As if in a dream, Sita walked towards him, garland in hand. For a split second, their eyes had met and held. A fire flamed in his eyes that was quickly masked, arousing emotions Sita was afraid to analyse.
But the moment had been too fleeting. They had been whisked away to solemnise their union under the watchful gaze of the sages.
Sita followed the motions of the ceremony, and yet, at every step, she was aware of him by her side. Warm, unfamiliar.
When her hand, trembling with nerves, had been placed in his larger, callused one, something clicked in her heart. She looked at their clasped hands in front of the holy fire and felt an answering fire rising in her heart.
Now, as the city and the palace quietened down, she waited for him.
A part of her was eager to see him again. But a part of her wanted to flee from the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, suddenly he was in front of her. Dressed in yellow silk robes, his radiance exerted a magnetic pull towards her. Suddenly overcome with shyness, she bowed her head. With a gentle finger under her chin, he lifted her face.
Instead of meeting his gaze, Sita kept her eyes fixed on the ring on his finger. Her heartbeat picked up pace as he reached out to take her hand. Mesmerised, she watched his fingertips touch the skin of her right index finger, where the thorn had pricked her. He rubbed it lightly, as if trying to soothe the pain of the prick.
He glanced up, and this time. Sita couldn’t help but meet his gaze. With no one to interrupt them this time, Sita could read what they said. For without saying a word, they promised he would always cherish her. His promise sparked a fire in Sita's heart, burning away her doubts.
At that moment, Sita knew she would follow him to the ends of the earth.
***
Rama…
A frisson of fear travelled up her spine.
How did the ring reach here? No, it couldn’t be! This must be Ravan’s sorcery, for the alternative was too hard to believe…
Before Sita could imagine scenarios that threatened to break her heart, a soft voice started speaking. It talked about how great Rama was and how he was searching for Sita high and low.
Confused, Sita looked around the dark garden but could not spot the speaker. Suddenly, a small creature dropped down from the tree, kneeling in front of her.
“Pranaam Mata!” the creature said.
Sita let out a startled gasp. The creature looked like a monkey but spoke like a human. Clutching the ring, Sita took a step back.
“Don’t be scared, Mata. I am Hanuman, a devotee of Shri Rama. He sent me to find out where Ravan had hidden you. Lord Rama is taking help from Sugreev, the King of Kishkindha, and his army of monkeys to free you!”
Hanuman’s gentle tone assured Sita, but her heart was still full of doubts.
“An army of monkeys? How will such small creatures defeat the might of the Asuras?” she asked.
Hanuman smiled. Folding his hands, he startled Sita as his size increased until he was taller than the trees.
“Have faith, Mata! The evil will soon be vanquished and you will be free!” he said, his voice still soft.
Sita couldn’t stop the tears from falling as she clutched the ring close to her heart. Her Rama was coming to rescue her.
***
The war was over. After days of cries of anguish rending through the air, it was finally quiet. One could hear the birds sing and the leaves rustle.
Mighty Ravan, betrayed by his brother, had fallen to an arrow shot by Kshatriya Rama. Her guards had told her before fleeing and leaving Sita alone. They did not want to be punished by the army of monkeys streaming in through the city gates.
Seated under the tree, Sita lifted her face to the sun, letting its warmth soak away all the misery of the past few months. Eagerness coursed through her veins. Any moment now, Rama would come to the garden and take her in his arms again.
Oh! How she had suffered, how much she missed him!
Rama…
From the corner of her eye, she saw a small band of people entering the garden. The person leading them was dressed in clothes made from bark. Her heart leapt.
He had come!
She stood up, forcing herself to wait and not fly towards him as she wanted to. But her happiness soon gave way to confusion. It was Rama who had come, not Lakshman.
Looking past Lakshman, her eyes continued to search for Rama when the group came to stand in front of her. Lakshman bent down to touch her feet, and her hand automatically rose to bless him, but her gaze continued to search before the truth slammed into her.
Finally, she looked at Lakshman. “Rama…” she whispered.
Lakshman’s eye skittered away to rest on the tree behind her. He spoke softly. Sita did not reply but followed to do his bidding. In the silence, everyone could hear her heartbreak.
***
The air was soft after the rains. It had washed away the dust that had coated the trees and brought down the temperatures, making the whole world sparkle. With the chores all done, Sita sat under the tree surrounded by madhumalti flowers. She hummed softly to herself as she wove the blooms into a garland.
Suddenly, he flopped down next to her, sweaty after his daily war exercises.
Sita gasped in fake annoyance as the garland slipped from her fingers.
“Look what you made me do!” she said, playfully poking him in the chest.
He took the opportunity to take her hand in his, holding it close to his chest. “I am glad you are sticking to madhumalti and not plucking roses. I do not like to see you hurt,” was his answer.
His fingertips rubbed against the tip of her right finger, in a gesture that was as much a declaration of love as words.
Sita looked at the patrician lines of his nose and the inky-black hair that skimmed his broad shoulders, which even after all these years sent her pulse skyrocketing. But today, in his eyes, apart from love, there was regret as well.
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
“Nothing gives me happiness more than being here with you, away from all the concerns of the world. But I cannot help but feel guilty that this time has come with the cost of you having to rough it out with me in the forest. You belong in the palace, surrounded by silks and luxury. I am sorry I could not give you that.”
Sita mulled over his words before replying, “It is true that I married the Prince of Ayodhya and hoped to be his queen one day.”
She sensed rather than saw him shift away from her. Smiling, she placed the garland around his neck. He raised an eyebrow at her.
Resting her head on his chest, she said, “But for this lifetime and the rest that are yet to come, I choose you over anything else. I will do anything to make sure I am always by your side. Even if it means leaving the palace and following you into the forest.”
His arms tightened around hers. “And I will do anything to make you happy,” he vowed.
Sita laughed, for she knew, Rama was not the one to break his vows.
***
“Devi,” a voice prodded, dragging Sita out of her memories.
Sita blinked as the scene changed from the forest of Panchavati to Lanka.
In front of her, a fire raged, the wood cackling and hissing as the flames hungrily consumed whatever 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.
Rama…
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, 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.
She remembered the sacred fire of their wedding ceremony. Circumambulating that fire seven times, they had vowed to love, care, honour and respect each other. Vows 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.
I will do anything to make you happy. His vow reverberated in her mind.
The mightiest warrior of the land appeared very weak today. He had not fought for her when she was asked to prove her innocence.
“Devi...,” the voice prodded her again, 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 these flames more than they trusted the word of the daughter of Janak.
Robes rustled as the men shifted impatiently for her to do their bidding.
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 looked at the flames reaching for the sky and felt a spark igniting in her heart.
She realised 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 she was the victim?
Rubbing the tip of the index finger of the right hand with her thumb, Sita said, “No.”
She walked away from the clearing as the flames continued to devour the wood.
***
Dear friends, I have taken the creative liberty of tweaking the story of Ramayana and the incident of Agnipariksha. For the prompt, I used my story, Agnipariksha.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction and it is not the attempt of the author to hurt any religious sentiments.