Six Times Sita

Chapter 3: The Forest

Rama is broken. There is no other way to put it – this empty haze that mars his sight, this endless sorrow that mires him down, this bleak, bleak search that shall never end – Rama is irrevocably ruined.

He feels nothing save grief and rage, and knows nothing save that they must go on and on and on, till they have eclipsed the earth thrice over, till they have searched every nook and cave and treeshade, pausing neither for food nor rest nor death.

He screams, sometimes at the forest and sometimes into the earth, and sometimes at foolish, foolish Lakshmana, who is so exhausted and so dear, and Rama thinks he knows what the Pinaka's master will do at the breaking of the world, for he feels that catastrophe within the traitorous organ beating in his chest, calling through the bars of his bones like a forgotten prisoner, 'Sita! Sita! Sita!'

"Bhaiyya, please," Lakshmana begs, gripping his shoulders tighter than ever before.

Once Rama was stronger, but now he even struggles to loosen his hold. "Let me go," he wails, writhing and unseeing. "I will not, I cannot- "

"You need to, Bhaiyya," Lakshmana insists, tightening his hands, pressing fingers to the hollow between Rama's clavicle and collarbone.

Rama shakes like Mount Meru trembling under Sachi's wrath. "I need to?" he demands. "I need to? Like you needed to leave Sita, needed to search for me, despite your faith in me, despite knowing that- "

Lakshmana's hands unclench, and Rama finds himself sinking. His gaze clears, little by little, and he hears his brother make a strange, muffled sound, and he is sinking to his knees, familiar hands guiding him, but no longer restraining. There is an Asoka's trunk to his right, and he is made to lean against it, all gentle-soft and slow. When he looks up, Lakshmana's face is turned away, tears leaking out of the corner of his eye, mingling with the blood on his chin from where he has bitten his lip to hold back a sob.

"Lakshmana," he murmurs, reaching out to him, and oh, there are flecks of dried blood on his knuckles, and oh, Lakshmana's temple is a sickly purple when he looks back, like the costliest dhoti muddied by rain, and when, oh, when did he strike the most beloved of brothers, and why?

Lakshmana is kneeling beside him, always one reverent inch behind the bend of his arm, running a thumb over the crimson remnants of violence.

"It was not your fault," he soothes, lilting like a childhood song. "You did not see me coming."

When? he wants to ask, how? But the haze returns like insidious tendrils of fog. He should be comforting Lakshmana, he thinks, for it was always his job to quieten his brother's temper. Lakshmana needs comforting, he knows, but Lakshmana is not angry. Why, then...

Someone shakes his shoulder. "Bhaiyya?"

"Uh," he offers intelligently.

"I am going to get some water, okay? Please, please do not leave. You need to rest awhile; we are no use to Bhabhi if we are dead."

He waits for Rama to nod his assent, and leaves with tear-tracks on his cheeks. That was why Rama should have comforted his brother – Lakshmana was crying. And now he is gone, and Rama is seated under a tree waiting for him to bring water, like that blind old couple had so many years ago waited in vain for Shravana Kumara. They cursed his father for slaying the boy, and that curse drags ever on, even today. What would Rama do if some stray arrow found his brother's heart? Would he curse the shooter, even if it was a chance of fate? No, he thinks, he would hunt them down, and then burn cursed Dandaka, all the way from the Vindhyas to the unresting sea, with every man and beast and rakhshasha in it.

Perhaps because he has such a keen ear, or perhaps because he is thinking about it, he hears a terrible, piercing groan, and shoots up. The sound comes again, and Rama runs. It does not occur to him that he runs the other way, or that he should take his bow. All he does is plough through the tall trees, tripping on roots and choking on outstretched branches, fighting against Aranyani's will.

When he finally stumbles upon the body, all he can think of is that it isn't Lakshmana. Then the groan comes again, and he rushes over to the feathered being, kneels by its side. Once, it must have been a great bird, but now there are only stumps where the wings would have been, and it has a gaping hole in its stomach.

"My dear," Rama says, already knowing it beyond saving, "rest. All will be well."

To his surprise, the bird opens its eyes. "Who are you?" it asks, in a distinctly masculine voice.

"Rama, son of Dasharatha," Rama says, and looks up to some scuffling. "That is my brother, Lakshmana," he adds, as said brother tumbles into the clearing with wide eyes, twin bows and ruffled hair.

"Dasharatha?" Clarity rushes to the bird's eyes. "Once, I, Jatayu, named him friend. Wait, you are Rama and Lakshmana? That woman called for you."

"So we are," Lakshmana agrees, kneeling as well. "What woman sought us, noble Jatayu?"

"The fairest of them," Jatayu says, "with the darkest curls and most beautiful mien I ever knew. She wept from the perch of the Pushpaka Vimana and called high and low for aid, even as Ravana took her ever southward to his golden state. I sought to free her, friends, and so I fell wingless from the sky."

Rama dares not hope, dares not breathe. "Southward?" he asks, settling on the least painful, and most important detail.

"Southwards to Lanka," Jatayu explains, words slurring again, "to that seagirt island he names his own. I shall not be here long, but I beg you, make haste my friends."

There is a noose uncoiling from Rama's chest. He needs to thank Jatayu for his aid, for trying to save his wife, for being their father's friend; he needs to make sure he passes away in peace. And he will do it all, only after one last question.

"Do you know who she was?"

"Mhmm," Jatayu hums. "She called herself Sita."

Notes/References:

1. Sachi and Mount Meru: Mount Meru is, per Hindu Mythology, the gateway to Swarga. Everyone appears to describe it differently; from the internet and from real life I have come across the following descriptions: a) it is golden, b) it is the centre of the universe,  c) it is more than one lakh kilometers high (what?),  d) it has five peaks,  e) it is also the axis of the world.
Sachi is Indra's wife, often referred to as Aindri or Indrani. Her father was an asura named Puloman, so she is also called Poulomi. Draupadi from the Mahabharata is often considered her incarnation. She is the Swarga Shri - the Lakshmi of Swarga and the source of its fortune. She is one of the Sapta Matrika and is often characterized as clever, jealous and boastful.

2. Aranyani: Vedic Goddess of the forests and wild animals; she is noted to be at home in the dark and deep places in the wild that others might fear, and comfortable in silent glades, and very elusive. She is very revered for being able to be self-sustaining despite not involving herself in any agricultural practices.

3. Shravana Kumara: Most popular myth about the birth of Dasaratha's four sons involves him getting cursed by Shravana Kumara's father, when he accidentally killed the boy. Shravana Kumara was the child of two blind ascetics and was taking them on a pilgrimage. Once he leaves his parents waiting under a tree to fetch them some water from a stream. Dasharatha, who was out hunting, mistakes the sound for a deer drinking water and shoots him dead. Grieved and furious, his father (or in some cases, both his parents) curse Dasharatha to die by mourning for a son.