The Separation of a Beloved.
Of Heartache, Regret, and Love.
For a seamless experience, read the earlier parts in this series in this order:
and its prequel:
Rama stood in the hut, stunned.
Where was Sita?
From the moment he had laid eyes on her in the garden of her home city, he had been smitten. For the first time in his life, he was unable to sleep that night. Even the moon paled before Sita’s face, and seeing it full that night caused him restlessness of a different nature.
In agony, he had passed the days being dutiful to his Guru, who commanded his attention during the day, while waiting for the chance to seek to win Sita’s hand in the the Swayamvar1 where she was set to choose her husband.
Waiting while others tried their hand at the formidable test laid down by her father—bending the great bow of Shiva—while his Guru sat unmoved, seemed to Rama as though someone had deliberately planned to test his patience.
What if someone else won? The honor code forbade him from asking his Guru’s permission. He knew he would break the bow easily, for he could not imagine any bow could prevent him from winning Sita’s hand.
He had briefly glanced at her when she arrived with her coterie of friends to stand behind her father after the Court had been assembled for the ceremony. His heart had stopped again and then took a while to resume its beats, so he knew that what he had experienced in the garden on seeing her for the first time was not a common occurrence.
He had to look at her no more than a second or two to know instantly that a life without her would be unbearable.
What of Sita? He wondered. Did she feel for him the way he felt about her?
How was he to know this truth? He wished he had a chance to speak to her in the garden before her friends whisked her away, scandalized at a stranger glimpsing their beloved princess.
But she had looked at him, and her eyes had smiled at him, he was sure. A blush spread across her face as he had stared without blinking.
He would have spoken, but her friends’ shocked gasps, as they ran to turn her away from him and walk back to their carriage, had prevented it.
He could hardly believe that a routine errand to protect a sage from demons would result in his visit to this lovely city so far from his land, and there, on a chance visit to a garden, he would sight a person who so effortlessly took his peace of mind.
Yet, he sensed a reluctance in Sita, too, to leave that moment, and hoped it was because she felt the same as him—the burning curiosity to learn more about each other—any excuse to spend a few more minutes together without the world intervening.
That night, as he had stared at the moon and counted its deficiencies, his inner voice admonished him.
If Sita really did feel the same, she could have dallied another minute and stayed in the garden. He was reading too much into her reaction.
A second later, he would then justify her inaction: her shyness must have prevented her from overruling her friends.
So, the dialogue continued until the moment he found himself sitting still in the Court, watching and waiting for his turn.
Finally, when all the Princes and brave men of the land had attempted and failed, when her father, the dispassionate King Janaka, became dejected—was there no man worthy of his daughter—only then did the Guru turn to Rama and ask him to take the test.
Rama bowed and walked calmly to the center of the Court.
A gasp had gone around the gallery where the people had gathered to watch the event, and they were now asking themselves: Who was this handsome man, unusually broad-shouldered and tall, dressed plainly like a hermit, but who walked in their midst like an undefeated warrior?
Gazes were magnetically drawn to him, as the crowd felt like they never wanted to take their eyes off that face shining like the Sun. They eagerly began to wish for him to succeed.
They needn’t have worried.
For Rama, dismantling the heavy bow of Shiva was child's play.
Lifting it easily off its wheeled wooden table, he broke it into two as thunder roared in the sky, signifying the moment.
In that triumph, as everyone else watched him, his eyes were instinctively drawn to Sita’s.
His reward was her sudden half-smile, which lit up her face just as the sun brightens the sky when it peeks out from behind a dark cloud.
But it wasn’t until she stood in front of him with her garland that he was confident of her gaze. She definitely smiled at him then, and not just with her eyes.
She stood with the garland in her hand, a bit hesitant at the dilemma of reaching his height as he once again stared at her, enchanted.
Belatedly realizing the issue, he bowed his head in front of her so she could easily garland him.
Sita was his.
Then, they had parted ways for the formal wedding preparations to begin when his family and entourage arrived from his homeland.
On the night of their wedding, when she entered and found him already in the private chambers, he remembered how shyly she had stood there, as though frozen.
In that moment, he had lost his heart again. Walking up to her, he had to know—did she feel the same intensity he did when he beheld her—this insane desire to be with her forever? He had to know.
Yet, the bravest of all warriors in the three worlds, the epitome of honor, and the jewel of his dynasty, was unnaturally worried.
Sita assured him of her love as her shyness melted away. Desperate to convey the depth of his feelings to her, he swore an oath of fidelity.
No other woman would ever capture his heart in this life. He belonged to her and her alone.
Since that day, they had never truly been apart.
Even when he was exiled to the forest, and went to announce his departure to Sita - still a new bride in his home - she had spoken without hesitation, “When shall we leave?” No recriminations, just a simple question.
Though he had tried to persuade her that the life of an ascetic in the forest for fourteen years was no life for a gentle princess born and bred in the palace, she smiled softly and replied, “The palace is just bricks and stones. My heart is wherever you are, and I shall live where you live, sharing in the happiness and sorrow we encounter. When I am with you, that place itself resembles a hundred palaces. In your absence, I shall not survive. Please do not leave me behind.”
So, he hadn’t. True to her word, they had created a place of joy in the forest.
The calm, peace, and love they shared amid the beauty of nature, where they made a home, caused the years to pass more easily than anyone would have imagined.
Now, Rama stood in the hut with one thought, “Sita, I let you down.”
His brother was scouring the environs around the hut looking for clues.
For the first time in their lives, Rama had no idea where Sita was, and what had happened to her.
What must Sita be going through?
A lone tear escaped his left eye at the vision of his gentle Sita at the mercy of unknown forces, while he stood here, helpless.
Read the next part of the story here:
Other Related Stories in this Series:
Sanskrit. Swayam = self; var = husband. A ceremony where women chose from the best of men invited by their fathers to overcome tests set by them.
I love your stories Jayshree! You have an enchanting way of telling them! ✨💞✨
Even knowing the story, I’m spell bound by your writing, Jayshree. Love it 💙🙏💫