Two Bodies, One Soul: The Shakti Spear

4. Ravan's prideful plotting

Indrajit woke up to find Lakshman gone. His eyes darted around the battlefield, now eerily silent. Realization dawned on him: Hanuman had taken the token of victory to their camp.

A flicker of envy crossed his mind-he had been unable to lift Lakshman's body, yet Hanuman, somehow, had managed it. Still, Indrajit felt a dark satisfaction. The deadly spear he used was unstoppable. No one could heal such a wound in time to save Lakshman. With Lakshman's inevitable death, Ram would surely fall into despair. Ravan's dream of marrying Sita would soon be within reach.

Triumphant, Indrajit entered Lanka. The city erupted in cheers, demons roaring their pride for their Crown Prince.

Flowers rained down, and the streets were alive with celebration. Indrajit reveled in the adoration, the chants of his name echoing through the air. He basked in the hero's welcome, his heart swelling with pride.

In the palace, Ravan heard the jubilation and knew it could only mean one thing. His son had emerged victorious.

Overjoyed, Ravan welcomed Indrajit with open arms, his voice filled with love and pride. "Welcome, my boy, my warrior, my heir, and my precious son. Congratulations on your victory! Today, you have made me prouder than ever. Tell me, my son, how did you kill that hermit Ram?"

Indrajit, standing tall and confident, replied, "Father, I killed him by killing his brother Lakshman. It is well known that no one has ever survived my Shakti spear, acquired through great penance."

He paused, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice. "But I regret not being able to bring Lakshman's dead body as a token of my victory. Hanuman intervened and took him away."

Ravan's eyes gleamed with pride.

"Let it be, my Prince," he said, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. "A dead body is impure and should be left on the battlefield. Today, you have proven my wisdom incorrect with your valor. I am so proud of you."

From the shadows emerged Malayavan, Ravan's granduncle, his voice filled with sage wisdom. "Prince Indrajit, that hermit built a bridge to conquer Lanka! Now, it will serve only to carry Ram and Lakshman's bodies back to Ayodhya."

Ravan, his face twisted in a sinister smile, said, "My son, you are right. You have killed two men with one spear. Let Ram weep over Lakshman's dead body. After their deaths, I will crown myself king of Ayodhya!"
He turned to his spies, his voice a sharp command. "I want to know about Lakshman's condition by the minute. And ensure that Sita learns of her brother-in-law's death!"

He laughed, a cold, sinister sound that echoed through the hall.

*****

I

n Ashok Vatika, the demoness Trijata ran with urgent news. She was pure and pious by nature, showing great sympathy to Sita, the princess of Mithila. Trijata often encouraged Sita to believe in Ram's valor. Breathless, she reached Sita, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Sita," Trijata gasped, "hear me. Your brother-in-law has been deceitfully struck down by Meghnad's Shakti spear. His condition is critical."

Sita's world shattered. Her eyes widened in horror, her breath catching in her throat. Ram and Lakshman were inseparable-two bodies, one soul. If Lakshman was critical, Ram must be in unimaginable pain.

After a moment of stunned silence, Sita spoke, her voice trembling, "Mata, I don't believe it. Lakshman is a valiant warrior. It is not possible for a devoted brother like him to leave his elder brother in the middle of a war. No, mother, this cannot be true. My son cannot be defeated so easily!"

Trijata's face was grave. "Unfortunately, it is true," she said softly. "I am coming from Meghnad's victory procession. He used demonic magic and trickery in the war and is triumphantly entering the palace."

Sita's tears flowed freely. She clenched her hands, her heart breaking. "This is all my fault! I forced him to leave me that day. Lakshman, you must not give up!" she cried inwardly.

She felt utterly helpless, unable to aid her husband or be with Lakshman in his time of need. All she could do was pray.

"O Goddess Parvati," Sita implored, her voice filled with desperation, "you have always been merciful to me. Please save the House of Raghu from this distressing moment. Protect Lakshman, Mata, please save him." Her prayer was fervent, filled with hope and desperation, as she clung to her faith.

Trijata, moved by Sita's pure heart, felt her own eyes fill with tears. She knew that even the Goddess Parvati could not deny such a sincere prayer. To her, Sita was like a daughter, and no mother could bear to see her daughter in such pain. Sita's worry became Trijata's own, and together, they shared in the sorrow and the hope for a miracle.