#anuja writes

It was the longest boat ride, Ram thought, even though it was filled with the light chatter amongst his vanara warriors and Bharat’s soldiers. Bharat was talking about how well Laxman’s twin, Shatrughna, had handled the day-to-day duties in Ayodhya, but Ram’s attention was fixed on his quiet wife. 

Sita was intently looking at her reflection in the water, her eyes full of unshed, angry tears. The dark circles under her fair skin were pronounced, drawing attention to her swollen eyes. Her hands balled into fists when she felt her gaze and folded into herself more. Her bangles made a clinking sound, reminding him of the discord between them. He missed the time when her cheeks sported a lovely blush and he could tease her about it. He missed her warm smiles and her lilting voice whenever they talked. 

They hadn’t really talked since he won the war against Ravana, not really. Mostly he had thrown baseless accusations at her and asked her to prove her fidelity because, otherwise, everyone would accuse him of being susceptible to a pretty face. He knew, logically, as the future king he had to put the opinions of his subjects before his own and Sita would understand it. However, he knew he wouldn’t be forgiven, not after informing her he had crossed the seas and waged a war because her kidnapping was a slight on his reputation. It might have been appropriate behavior in front of the army, but was it worth the dimming happiness in her eyes?

She had fallen apart when he had declared that with Ravana slain; she was free to go since he wouldn’t recognize their bond anymore. He knew the king was to put a rock on his own heart, but that had been equivalent to shattering the glass into a thousand pieces with a boulder.

Once she proved him wrong, he had apologized profusely. He had proclaimed he always knew she was innocent and the only reason he had to question it was public opinion. He had announced to the world how she was the only woman he would ever love and how he had drowned in sorrows until he saw her again. Sita had smiled, touched his feet, and asked Laxman if he was alright after the war. In front of an audience, she had been the dutiful wife. Sticking to his left as expected, a striking queen just like a bright lightning against the blue sky. However, in private, she hadn’t deigned him with a single glance, nor let him explain. Those beautiful lotus-shaped eyes had always been glued to the floor when they were alone.

He had missed her so much. Her being next to him was a soothing balm after such a long separation. She had always been his own escape, letting him be whatever he needed. Ironic, how the only relationship that never expected from him had crumbled under the weight of expectations heaped on him by the world. She had been so confidant following him to the exile, stating she would never let the bond between them suffer, no matter what happened. It was her strength, her belief in him that had inspired him to build a bridge across the ocean and kill the kidnapper who had dared to separate them. Ram-Sita had meant to be a unit, forever and always. How he longed to run to her and hug her when she had seen her thin frame in Lanka. He wanted to touch her and ensure she was real; she wouldn’t vanish like she had been disappearing in his nightmares. But no, the moral obligations of the king had trumped the pining husband.

He still dreamt about their happy days, the soft jingling of her anklets whenever she walked towards him. Doe-eyes looking at him with adoration and his name falling off of those soft lips with admiration. He missed the feeling of silky hair as he braided them with beautiful flowers and the contrast of her fair hand in his dark one. Remembered when their nights were filled with conversations and melodious laughter not his longing yearning glances, heartfelt regrets, and her untrusting, suffocating silence. He wished she would shout at him instead, because while he deserved it, her taciturnity hurt a lot more. He was ready for any trial, if only it would allow him to have her in his arms again.

When the boat reached Ayodhya, the sounds of other instruments joined drumbeats. The auspicious notes were welcome after listening to conches, cymbals and trumpets throughout the war. It brought back the days when his life revolved around keeping his family happy. A decorated chariot was waiting for them, along with half of the citizens. Bards were singing in honoring the dutiful son, the dutiful warrior, the dutiful brother, the dutiful protector, the dutiful king…

They showered Sita with a lot of praise for her perseverance, waiting for him to rescue her from the clutches of the vilest monster imaginable. She had been simmering with rage from the second she had boarded the chariot and if he didn’t know she was a daughter of earth, he would have assumed she was a fire-born. Earlier, she had withdrawn her hand from him as if his mere touch burned her. Even though Laxman had never outright said anything, Ram could read him well. His lingering worried gaze on Sita, flickering between regret and sorrow versus the concerned, angry, and sometimes disapproving glances thrown at him, was enough to prove not much had escaped his observant brother. Ram wished Laxman could be spared from the drama, but Laxman had always followed him through thick and thin.

The city was rejoicing. They had found happiness after fourteen years. Hundreds of saffron motifs were shining in the light of lanterns hanging outside every door. Every town square, alley, and the shop front were decorated with brightly colored lamps, illuminating the city. The celebration was in a full swing, with people distributing sweets and setting off fireworks. Ayodhya was ready for a new beginning, a brand-new start with a leader at its helm.

Suddenly the love of citizens felt suffocating, no longer a comfortable blanket but a heavy burden. They would want him to be always perfect and he was deeply flawed. On his previous coronation day, Sita had held his hand and reassured him he would be the greatest king. She had teased him relentlessly about bringing her a co-wife and then promised him she would never be jealous. Her heart was big enough to accept his love for them both. But this time around, he wasn’t so sure about her support.

He dared a glance at her, hoping she might remember that light-hearted conversation. She was lost in her own thoughts, and he wanted to smooth out the small frown on her forehead. Her eyes roamed over the ecstatic people, the shining city, and the royal palace. She squeezed his hand once and pulled away again. Her expression was more of a frown than a smile, but it was a slight gesture of comfort…