As the rakshasi began to sob and weep uncontrollably, embracing the mutilated body of the dead rakshasa, Rama grew certain at last that the impossible had indeed been achieved. He had killed Ravana. The nemesis of the three worlds was dead at last.
SAMAPTAM
After Ravana’s death, Lanka’s survivors in the kingdom hailed Rama as he entered the city in a triumphant victory procession, and a delegation of all the surviving nobles and ministers approached him to beg that he assume kingship of their nation.
He refused flatly, and at first was inclined to leave it to the Lankans to select and install their own king. But when they insisted that he choose for them, he said simply, ‘At a time like this, you require an honest, righteous ruler. I know only one such rakshasa. Ravana’s brother Vibhisena.’
Mandodhari was inconsolable. But after her initial breakdown on the field, she regained her wits and her composure and met Rama with an aspect of unrelenting accusation. ‘My husband did not fight you,’ she said in a tone the more galling for being so quiet and controlled. ‘He permitted you to slay him. It was an act no less than murder.’
‘My lady,’ Rama replied patiently, ‘if he allowed me to slay him, then surely it ought to be called suicide.’
But she would not listen to further argument. And turned her face away with the final, chilling words, ‘May your wife come to know how it feels to be separated from her husband thus. Ravana was a being of many faults but he was also a great king, a great leader of men, and his name will live longer than yours. There may be many Ramas, there will always be only one Ravana.’
He did not respond. She had the right to speak her heart. Besides, widows were entitled to say whatever they wished. He focussed instead on the tiring task of settling in the new council of governance, under Vibhisena, and undergoing a brief formal ceremony during which he wished aloud that the conflict between rakshasas and mortals would end this day for all time.
‘When the rakshasa race itself is on the brink of extinction,’ one sardonic minister replied, ‘where is the question of further conflict. You have weeded out the worst of us, Rama, but in doing so, you have also ensured our extinction. Perhaps not today, or even a year, or a hundred years, but the Lanka of the rakshasa race is doomed. Some day in the distant future there shall be a new Lanka which recalls nothing of its rakshasa past, and is occupied entirely by mortals. This much you have achieved at least: you have rid this mortal plane of the last vestiges of the asura races. Surely you will be remembered and celebrated throughout history for your acts.’
Rama sensed and heard the cynicism in the rakshasa’s words but did not argue the point. When one has won the war, one should not stoop to petty squabbles. Besides, there was no untruth in what the fellow said. Some day, he thought, looking down from the balustrade of the Pushpak, which he had commandeered, there would truly be a new Lanka, a Lanka of peace and prosperity, and this jewel of an island-kingdom would be populated with people as beautiful as the land itself, dark and comely and pure of heart and soul. If only they did not allow the poison of the violence that had been committed here in the past to resurface.
He had Hanuman extinguish the volcano, which was already dying after the vanar had wrestled the giant Kumbhakarna into its maw. The enormous bulk of the rakshasa had consumed most of the volcano’s fire, and it took very little effort—only a few giant fistfuls of water and dry sand—to snuff it out completely. Reshaping it with his bare hands, Hanuman turned it into yet another mountain, the highest now on the Lankan landscape.
With Ravana’s sorcery gone, the Lankans would have to rebuild their city the hard, old-fashioned way. Perhaps that was for the best. They would be occupied with productive work and would have no energy or time to spare for unfruitful thoughts of revenge or retaliation. As he observed the people straggling through the ruins of their once great city-state, Rama did not sense any great animosity or hostility, only the sullen relief of a defeated populace.
Sita was seated beside him now, on the cushioned seat of the Pushpak, resting her weary body. He had been shocked to find her so depleted and pale and thin. But she was alive, and still in her senses, and had sustained no major injuries. They had much to speak of, but there would be time for that later, once they were safely back in their rightful place.
Right now, all he desired was to return home. For the exile was finally over, his demons slain—literally—and Sita regained. He had nothing else to hold him here, or anywhere else. And there was an entire nation waiting to receive him, and welcome him back. He had already sent Hanuman ahead as his emmissary to inform his family that he was returning, and as he watched Sita resting languidly, neither wholly awake nor asleep, he waited for the vanar’s return.
Lakshman came up beside him, glancing at his sister-in-law. ‘How is she? Angad and Nala have laid out a repast for us on the lower level. Will she join us there to feast?’
Rama put his arm around his brother, hugging him warmly. ‘Nay, my brother. She needs rest now more than food. Perhaps later, when she has been able to recover a little, she will feel her appetite return. Right now, she is still absorbing the shock that her ordeal is finally over.’
Lakshman gestured to Rama to come over to the far side of the Pushpak. Rama went with him.
Lakshman turned and said softly, too softly to be heard by Sita, ‘Rama, there is a rumour among the vanars and the bears … ’
Rama had heard several hundred rumours in the past day, most concerning Ravana and how the demonlord was not truly dead but concealed somewhere, biding his time to return, even if it took ten thousand years. He put his arm over his brother’s shoulder. ‘Lakshman, if we believe every rumour, we will be imagining Ravanas leaping out of our own shadow every minute.’
Lakshman shook his head. ‘This one is not about Ravana. It is about Sita.’
Rama looked at him curiously. ‘What about Sita?’
Lakshman looked around uncomfortably, then glanced back at Rama. ‘The question that is being asked is this: How do we know that the Sita we saw killed earlier was not the real Sita, and that this one is not the shape-shifter Supanakha?’
Rama removed his arm from Lakshman’s shoulder. ‘How can you even tolerate such an ugly lie?’
Lakshman sighed. ‘Rama, do not take offense. Consider for a moment. After all the deceptions of Ravana, is it not possible?’
‘No.’ Rama’s voice was without anger, but it was firm.
‘But Rama, how can you know for sure? After all, it was only because Jambavan told us that the first Sita was actually Supanakha with her appearance altered that we knew that bhabhi was still alive. Had Jambavan not told us, we would be thinking today that this woman was Supanakha, would we not?’
‘No,’ Rama said again. ‘You might, others might, but not I. I know that this is Sita, my wife, and your sister-in-law, Lakshman.’
Lakshman inhaled deeply, then released another breath. He looked around in frustration. ‘There is a simple way to prove it.’
‘I will not hear of it.’
‘Rama, if not for yourself … ’
‘I am her husband, I am satisfied, I do not need to satisfy anyone else.’
Lakshman looked at him thoughtfully. ‘You are also King of Ayodhya now, or will be in a short while. You owe a duty to the people. You remember the vow of kingship: to put dharma before self, to put the law of the land before one’s own welfare or gain.’
‘You do not need to remind me of my vows. I know them well. And this matter has no bearing on them.’
‘But it does, Rama. The law says that a woman who has been away from her husband and has lived in another man’s house for more than one night must prove her chastity or be assumed to have committed the crime of adultery. That is the law, as I need not remind you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Rama began, ‘but …’ Then he stopped. And thought through the implications of Lakshman’s words. He saw that Lakshman was indeed correct: while the law was not meant to cover wives abducted b
y rakshasa kings and spirited away by force to distant lands, Sita’s case did indeed fall under its purview. ‘Even so,’ he conceded reluctantly, ‘it is the husband’s prerogative in such a case to choose to accept his wife back or reject her, regardless of whether or not she has … ’ He could not bring himself to utter the offensive phrases, and to his relief, Lakshman nodded hurriedly, as embarrassed as he was. ‘And as her husband, I believe completely that she was neither touched by Ravana nor did she once yield to his embraces … ’ There. He had said as much as he was willing to say. ‘I accept her back unconditionally as my lawful wife.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, Rama, and I support you wholeheartedly, and would do the same if I were in your position, Devi forbid,’ Lakshman said softly. ‘But you are no ordinary citizen, nor is she an ordinary woman. You are the king and queen of Ayodhya, and the minute we reach home, you will assume your crowns and your kingship and queenship. And kingship demands a far higher standard of morality and law, and dharma.’
‘Then what would you have me do, Lakshman?’ Rama said, now starting to lose his patience at last. ‘Would you have me test her to be certain of her identity? And even if I ascertain that she is who I believe her to be, there would still be aspersions cast on her purity, according to you. So what would you have me do? Ask her to take the agni test to prove herself?’
Lakshman stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Bhai …’
Rama realised the implications of what he had said and looked as if he would retract his words.
‘But it is perfect,’ Lakshman continued before Rama could say anything. ‘By taking the agni test, she will prove both things simultaneously—that she is indeed Sita, and not a shape-shifter in human form; and that she is pure and unsullied by any other man’s touch.’
Rama shook his head. ‘No, no, no. I will not subject my wife to such a test. It is inhuman and irrational, and offensive to her as well as to me.’
‘But your wife is the queen of the civilised world now, Rama.’
‘No,’ he said again. ‘I will hear no further argument on this matter. Sita will not undergo the agni test.’
‘Sita will indeed undertake the agni test.’
They both turned to find Sita standing a mere yard away. She still looked wan and pale, but in her eyes was a glimmer of something they both recognised: her steely will.
‘Sita,’ Rama said anxiously. ‘You ought to be—’
‘I am exhausted and bruised and starved,’ she said, ‘not dead. I will do this, Rama. I will undertake the agni test.’
‘You do not need to, my love,’ he said gently. ‘People will always find some new rumour to gossip about. We have been through so much together and apart, we will endure this as well.’
‘And we will survive it as well,’ she said. ‘I do not doubt that, nor do I doubt your resoluteness, my love. But I am not doing this for you, nor am I doing it for myself, nor am I doing it to silence those who start such rumours, nor even those who repeat them and thereby give them credence.’
Although she did not look at Lakshman as she said this, her brother-in-law flushed hotly and glanced away.
She continued calmly, ‘I do this for Ayodhya.’
‘For Ayodhya?’ Rama echoed.
‘Yes. The kingdom has waited fourteen years for the rightful king and queen to return. There must be no shadow of doubt, no whisper of rumour, not even the tiniest spot of a stain to mar the perfection of that moment. Your road to the Sunwood throne must be unquestioned and unchallenged by anyone, for I know that by Ayodhyan law, even the king and queen are subject to the same laws of dharma as their citizens, and none are above it. If we do not undertake this test, Rama, anyone at any time can raise this question again. Let me undertake this agni pariksha now and stamp out the rumour for ever.’
Rama was silent when she finished. He looked at Lakshman, who was flushed with embarrassment, but nodded silently, agreeing.
‘Very well, then,’ Rama said. ‘Let us overcome this final hurdle and return home.’
***
They performed the test on the mainland, travelling there by the Pushpak, which Vibhisena showed them how to manipulate until it was enlarged into a great vessel of many score levels, enough to bear the entire vanar and bear armies. The celestial vehicle flew as easily and smoothly with this enormous load as it did when only two or three passengers rode it. And despite the swiftness of its movement, none aboard felt any discomfort or unease. Although the vanars and bears cheekaed and howled at the sight of mountains and valleys and plains, and then wide-open ocean water, rolling beneath them at the speed of the wind.
They reached the mainland two hour-watches before sunset. With so many hands to work, it took little time to assemble the dried branches and sticks and lay them out upon the sandy beach for a length of some ten yards as required by law. Then Lakshman set about the task of lighting the fire and uttering the appropriate shlokas over it, taking care not to make a single slip, for then he would be required to start all over again.
When all was in readiness, he turned and nodded to Rama.
Rama looked at Sita. ‘Are you sure?’
She smiled at him with the same wan smile he had seen on her since he had found her in the cave beneath the city. At least she did not weep in his arms and shake uncontrollably as she had done at that first reunion. He was proud of how dignified and self-possessed she looked.
He walked with her to the start of the long walkway, already blazing with foot-high flames. He kissed her once, then left her.
***
Sita did not resent the pariksha. She understood how doubt could creep into the mind of any person and take root. She could also understand the external perception that most would have of her situation: a defenceless woman, captured and kept prisoner for weeks by the most powerful demonlord, arch-enemy of her husband. It would be hard for some people to believe that she had not been raped, ravished, violated in some fashion or other. They would wonder how she could have resisted so long. And she could hardly expect them to believe the truth: that Ravana had in fact never approached her with force or a lustful gaze. The closest he had come to any form of violence was in badgering her, hectoring, taunting, seeking to break down her mental defences. But to the end, all he had done was threaten her verbally, not abuse her physically. It had perplexed her all this while; now she was left wondering if perhaps he had never intended to do anything to her at all. Perhaps that had been his intention all along—merely to use her as bait to bring Rama and his armies to Lanka. But why would he wilfully cause his own destruction?
She set aside these and all other questions and prepared herself for the pariksha.
The test was simple enough. The fire was real, the threat to mortal flesh and life and limb agonizingly real as well. Only the mantras that Lakshman had spoken over the fire, and which she was now required to repeat the companion verses to, could keep her from being consumed alive. No asura or rakshasa could hope to speak the same mantras and survive, Agni, the deva of fire, would know, and destroy them at once. And of course, if there was any trace of impurity in her—if, for instance, she had indeed committed any transgression against Agni, for the marital vows were always sanctified by the holy fire, whether she had done so willingly or unwillingly—she would be burned alive. It was an ancient, cruel test for women who had been violated against their will, but it was also a test devised by women themselves, to prove their purity under circumstances where doubt arose.
She stepped onto the flaming logs, the verses already on her lips, and measured her footsteps by the rhythm of the Sanskrit shlokas.
Before she knew it, she was stepping onto warm sand once again, and a great cheer rose from the watching assemblage of vanars and bears.
Rama came and hugged her. ‘My love, my love,’ was all he said.
She smiled and looked back at the long firewalk. Had she truly stepped through that without feeling a thing? Apparently she had. And she had not a burn nor so much as a stain to show for it. Even
her garments were untouched.
Lakshman came and bowed before her, touching her feet. ‘Bhabhiji, forgive me if I offended you in any way. I desired only to set all doubts at rest.’
‘Lakshman,’ she said, and felt tears springing to her eyes, ‘you have no need to apologize. I know that in all you do, you wish only the best for Rama and me.’
She looked at her husband and her brother-in-law, then at the masses of shouting and leaping and dancing vanars and bears. ‘I think a celebration is in order now. I can see that everyone needs it.’
Rama nodded. ‘But ours will have to wait until we return home.’
He gestured at Hanuman, who had arrived shortly before they left Lanka with the news that Ayodhya was awaiting them with great eagerness.
***
The Pushpak flew swiftly across the land, reduced now to merely one level as only the three Ayodhyans and Hanuman were aboard it. Rama had taken leave of King Sugreeva and Jambavan and all the others back on the shore of the mainland itself, with promises to visit soon and stay in touch; when he parted from them he felt almost as he had felt when parting from his family in Ayodhya that fateful day fourteen years ago.
The Pushpak moved at a tremendous pace. At this rate, Hanuman had told them, they would be in Ayodhya before sunset. And indeed, the celestial vehicle’s speed was so great Rama had nothing to compare it to any longer, except perhaps Hanuman himself!
RAMAYANA Part 3_PRINCE AT WAR Page 91