The Storyteller's Lens

Yesterday was Rama Navami. It got me thinking… We talk about the war in the Ramayana. About Rama. About Raavan. But what if the real battle began much earlier? Not on the battlefield. Not with armies. But in a quiet garden…where a woman refused to move.

Hazy. Sita frowned. Why was everything hazy? She blinked, shook her head. Not haze. Clouds. Passing clouds. She was airborne. The sanyasi was no sanyasi. He was Raavan. The King of Lanka. Rama had told her about him.

Her heart clenched.

Jatayu. A warrior who had refused to back down even when Raavan severed his wing. Her jaw tightened.

Lakshman. He had pleaded with her. Again and again. Not to step out. Not to trust a stranger. She had refused…completely confident in her ability to defend herself. Not everyone fought fair. He would be drowning in guilt.

I’m sorry, my brother… this was not your fault.

The wind carried her silent words away.

“Ram…”

The name steadied her. She sat up, breath sharpening into purpose. She checked herself for injuries. None. Looked around. Measured distance. Height. Speed. Jumping? No. Not yet.

Ram! The name settled deeper within her now, not a cry, but an anchor.

Don’t break, she told him silently. I’m not afraid…A pause. …not much. A faint smile touched her lips. I know you will come. I will wait.

With that thought, she tilted her head up and looked at the said king. He was tall. About 7 feet if she had to estimate. Broad chest. Bulging arms with rippling muscles. She can’t take him down in a one-on-one fight, she decided. The silk dhoti, the gold jewellery studded with all those precious stones, …she ignored them all as she lifted her gaze further up. He was grinning, showing his sharp enormous teeth. Strong jaw. Her punch might bruise it but wouldn’t break it. She looked further up. Glittering black eyes met her chocolate brown ones. Awe, pleasure, triumph, anticipation, expectation…she read them all as clearly as if he was speaking out loud. As she continued to study him in silence, another emotion replaced them all – surprise. It wasn’t every day that someone…a woman at that…dared to meet his eyes and hold it for so long without shifting away in terror or timidity. Even his son Meghnath rarely held his gaze for so long.

Ram! I won’t break. Not now. Not ever. I promise. The sudden gust of wind carried her promise away leaving behind a gentle breeze. The airborne vehicle was slowing down, Sita realized. It was descending. 

“Sita!” Raavan’s faintly abrasive voice reached her over the rustle of the wind. “Or should I call you Princess?” When she refused to respond, he nodded. “I think I will call you Janaka Nandini.” He gestured behind her, pointing his finger to the fast-approaching view. “Welcome to my Lanka, Janaka Nandini! You will not want for anything here. The forest, the hut, the sparce living…you can forget it all.” The words along with the way he brushed his hand off showed both confidence and arrogance. “From now on, you will live like the queen you’re born to be! In a palace made of gold, no less!” he declared, smug satisfaction radiating from every part of him.

Sita tilted her head to the side and took in the view. Gold. Gold everywhere. Made all the more glittering and glaring by the sunlight. There was neither surprise nor awe in those almond shaped eyes of hers that once again locked on Raavan. The derision there drew the first frown from the king.

The flat underbelly of the pushpak touched the land, settling down on the lush green grass. Sita reevaluated her options. Get down, or no? Solid ground would give her more options, she decided. Sita stepped down from the Pushpak, placing her first step on the land of the enemy. And walked ahead. Past him. The stillness that followed was louder than any command. Soldiers exchanged glances. Uncertain. Raavan noticed. He said nothing. But he saw.

She was like no other woman he’d ever encountered before and he’d encountered many. Way too many. Appearance wise, she was tall. Taller than an average female. Close to 6 feet if he had to estimate. She made no effort to either display or hide her femineity. Unlike most women, Janaka Nandini didn’t drape herself in a saree. She was dressed like she was going horse-riding. Or to a battle. Her hair was on a no-nonsense topknot held together by two complicated-looking clips. A thin strand of black beads around her neck and a bracelet made of rudraksh beads around her right wrist were the extent of her accessories. Even the angavastram that covered her upper body was tucked tight around her waist  

Noticing her attention on the surroundings, Raavan’s grin widened. “These are the palace gardens. Named Ashoka vatika,” he gestured to the tall Ashoka trees surrounding them. “You can guess why.” Still no reaction. At least not the one he’d been waiting for. Her eyes remained intense, watchful. Dispassionate. His frown returned deeper. “Are you not impressed, Janaka Nandini?” he asked. Did she want something else? Whatever it was, he would give her.

Her steady steps took her to one of the huge, shady trees with its branches extending out like multiple lush, green arms. “I would hardly be impressed by someone who flaunts his wealth even before he introduces himself,” Sita countered. “All you told me is your name.”

Raavan chuckled. “A fair point.” He straightened. “Raavan. King of Lanka. Son of Kaikasi and Pulastya. Devotee of Shiva. Master of the Vedas. Undefeated by gods and mortals alike…” He stepped closer, voice lowering. “…and I must say, Janaka Nandini…your beauty is worthy of such a kingdom.”

Sita’s eyebrow arched. “A man who had to disguise himself and abduct a woman instead of facing an ordinary kshatriya prince…” Her gaze did not waver. “I do not see an undefeated warrior.” A pause. “I see a coward.”

The roar shook the ground. Raavan lunged. Stopped. His hand clenched mid-air. Breath harsh. Her stance did not change. “You dare?” he growled.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“You think your prince stands a chance against me?”

Sita moved. Slow. Measured. Studying the space. The exits. The guards. “You hide behind walls. Armies. Deception,” she said calmly. “What does one call such a man… if not a coward?”

Raavan’s entire frame trembled with fury. But he stepped back. He would not touch her. Not yet. “Ensure the princess wants for nothing,” he ordered sharply. “And she does not leave these grounds.”

****

Raavan waited. Until he felt calmer. Until he felt he’d given the princess enough time to realize that her life had irrevocably changed. For the better. And there was no going back for her. She belonged here now. In Lanka. With him. There were so many things he wanted to show her. He had ordered the best of the best set of rooms to be made ready for her, got a new chef brought all the way from Mithila and the dasis who would serve her were handpicked…one specialised in hair styles, another in different kinds of attires and another was an expert in picking the perfect matching jewellery and another one to help Janaka Nandini with whatever she needed. He huffed in impatience as his feet made their way to Ashok Vatika three days later. He had done all that and what did she do? Chose to live under a tree, procured another set of clothes similar to the one she’d been wearing, through one of the maids and lived on fruits and plain water.

“Greetings, Janaka Nandini,” he wished her, making sure both his tone and his demeanour remained cordial. “How are you doing today?”

Since the day of her arrival, Sita had started taking long walks in and around the garden. When she was not reading the books that were being brought to her on a daily basis, she took to scouting the area under the pretext of walking. When Raavan walked up to her, she made no effort to avoid the confrontation. “The great king of Lanka is done sulking, I suppose?” she drawled.

All the patience Raavan had been holding on to, began slipping away. “I was merely giving you time to settle down and come to your senses.” At his signal, servants rushed forward. A table. Ornate. Gold. Dishes. Covered. Aromatic. Carefully arranged.

Raavan sat. Gestured. “Lanka’s finest. Prepared for you. Sit.”

Sita did not move. Head tilted slightly. Studying him. “So,” she said lightly, “the undefeated warrior now seeks a woman’s attention. Why am I not surprised!”

One furious snarl followed by a wild swipe of his hand and all the dishes crashed and clattered to the floor. Kicking the chair so hard that it toppled and fell sideways, Raavan strode away without a backward glance. “You’re in my Lanka, Janaka Nandini,” he shouted. “And in Lanka you will stay. Your Ram would’ve given up on you by now. If he has not, he will, if he gets to know that he has to cross an ocean to come anywhere my kingdom.”

Sita stood there until Raavan’s words and footsteps faded into silence. Ram! I know you have not given up. I have not either.

****

Mandodari stood beside her husband watching the flames engulf their Lanka. Everything was on fire. Everything except the Ashok Vatika. Fire didn’t touch even the fringes of the garden. All because of one vaanar. Hanuman.

“Do you see what is happening, My Lord?” she asked.

Raavan’s reply was a grunt and a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m a mayavi, Mandodari. Everything will be as it was before you know it.”

“I’m not talking about the loss of property. The intention behind the fire is not destruction of infrastructure, my husband. It is the destruction of pride. A display of power. Please think,” she appealed, when Raavan began walking away from her. “One vaanar…a messenger of Ram has done all this. There is a whole army of them waiting to step onto the land of Lanka along with Ram himself.”

“None stand a chance with me, Mandodari!” Raavan shouted. “This is Raavan! Raavan! The one who lifted Kailash. The one who remains undefeated by any and all Gods…”

“How long has it been since you brought Sita? Think, O King! What kind of a person would inspire a woman to that level of confidence! Please listen to me. Send her back…”

“And accept defeat? To a mere prince? You think I’m a coward?” Sita’s derisive smile flashed before Raavan’s eyes. His angry growl was accompanied by rough thumping of his own chest. “This is Raavan, Mandodari! And Raavan does not accept defeat.”

Mandodari waited until Raavan left her rooms before summoning Vibhishan. Raavan’s younger brother. Her brother-in-law. “Yes bhabhi?”

“Vibhishan, what do you think should be done now?”

Vibhishan’s gentle eyes remained calm. They often reminded her of still, silent lake. “Brother is not going to send Sita ji back. He rejected the peace talks, insulted and tried to hurt the messenger. And bhabhi, you know what my brother is doing is wrong. Not just wrong, it is a crime.”

“Yes I know.”

“And I can no longer be a part of this crime. I’m walking away.”

Mandodari somehow wasn’t surprised by his decision. After a slight hesitation, he said almost tentatively, “You may come with me if you wish.”

Mandodari shook her head. “My place is with my husband.”

With a nod, he touched her feet in a gesture of respect and walked out of the room leaving behind a helpless silence.

****

Ram looked at the hairclip…the chudamani one more time. It had been one of his gifts to Sita during the early days of their marriage. They’d been about to go for their sword practice when he’d held her back and gave her the chudamani.

“A warrior must never be distracted. Not by pride. Not by hair. Not by anything.”

Lakshman saw his brother’s lips stretch into a small smile for the first time since the day his Sita bhabhi had been kidnapped.

“Lakshman!” Ram’s deep voice brought him out of his reverie.

“Yes bhai?” He stood up, alert, ready to do whatever his brother ordered.

“Your bhabhi has the battlefield ready for us. Call Hanuman and Sugreev. We go to Lanka.”

——x——