SITA: The Peace Within

A Memory

Ram patched his hands into the silvery shining sand of the place that later will be called Rameshwaram. He looked at his hands ardently thinking of the war at lanka, his beloved Sita's return from captivity. The ocean made a melodious humming with waves surrendering against each other as the dusk approached them. Laxman was particularly elated. His eagerness to return to Ayodhya was palpable. But Ram, couldn't really rise up to the occasion.
He had thoughts. Fighting against each other- jamming at margins, trying to make one clear picture.

He looked again at the sand- a wide canvass- empty and waiting to be marked.

He searched for a stick. He'd make something on it. Pictures, small and funny. Or he'd draw Ayodhya's palace. The way he remembered it. He wondered what could have changed in 14 years? Boys and girls- now grown into men and women- some of them will stand with their children in arms. He chuckled thinking about the citizens of his kingdom- aged and smiling- looking upto him. That worried him. He was too engrossed in worldly  affairs and killings and war- that now he wanted to set his mind clear for sometime.

He realised this while setting up the Shivling. He carefully sculpted the ling- with Sita decorating it- and felt the warm and moist mud become wonderous in appearance. He looked at his wife- her eyes fallen in agony over the past 1 year, her face carrying lines of undeterred determination. She glowed in her own glory. Her core was warm and emitting of light- she looked at him with all the solutions he could read and understand for his unknown problems. She was already a queen in exile.

Someone came behind Ram- handing him a branch of wood.
'The coconut water here is delicious Raghnunandan, we'd take some back to Ayodhya.' She had one coconut rest in her palm as she handled it against her waist. The hem of her saree was smeared with sand and ocean water.

'Look at you.' Ram held her hand and signalled her to sit. He looked at her with his eyes resting at her smile. He didn't realise till now- that at this point- Sita and him- all togther and away from the world- was what he had dreamt of everytime he had closed his eyes since the day her absence had stung him and dug a hole in his soul.

'I'd draw for you.' Sita offered her assistance. Ram readily handed over his inscription tool.

And both of them looked down on the canvass still not tainted.

'It's been ages.' Sita sighed. She spared a loving look at Ram before throwing herself to drawing her favorite thing. 'I'd draw your eyes.' She announced.

Ram chuckled at the artistic endevaour Sita entrusted herself with. She had a natural talent of making potraits. She wasn't a painter- but she drew in abstract. Like- she draw what she felt more than what she saw. Her caricatures and cartoons impressed Ram. She was always witty with them. She drew stories. She narrated them to Ram and Laxman-during their exile- with great fascination and oration- as both the warrior brothers lent their hearing to her with utmost interest.

Sita drew a flower first. She drew the petals wide and delicate, as it lay horizontal- almost like a flower she would leave at Shivling  during every evening prayer. She made another flower touching the first one- with its petals. Both of them lay transverse- in symmetry - like eyes of a man. She was clever with her art.

She took one petal each of every flower and proceeded to mark them with pupils.

Her softness almost cut Ram's heart into two. Sita's love was overwhelmingly passionate but still she never forgot to worship it.

'I was feeling rather uneasy....' Ram couldn't hold his thoughts anymore.

'About your arrival in Ayodhya.' Sita completed his statment without sparing a glance at him.

At this Ram just nodded. He had expected his wife to understand. He had a faint clue that she might already know.

'I know you Raghunandan. Your soul aches for all the innocent vanars and asurs killed in the war. Your face though relived looks so ashen.' She let her palm rest on his cheek.

'What am I supposed to do Sita?' Ram asked- half agony half hope.

'We had to face innumerable trials in the past 1 year Raghunandan. But the three of us- me, you and Laxman can't forget our duty towards our family and the citizens of our great kingdom Ayodhya. They have waited for your return with baited breaths.' Sita smiled slyly. She too wanted to forget of any duty- after the mental distress the last year of their exile had thrown on them.

Ram held her hand tight. He let his eyes wander to the potrait Sita had carved on the sandbed. He took over the inscription tool as he began to draw Sita's face alongside his.

At this Sita laughed- like some melody jingling out of an instrument.

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fin~