#vedavati

1. It does not take much time to cross the ocean, but that does not make it any less terrifying. Sita clings to Hanuman’s fur, certain that every instant will be her last; her fingers grow numb and cold, but they do not let go until Hanuman is safely on land once more. Sita stumbles to her feet, arms going around her for comfort--once again, she is surrounded by strangers, all looking at her curiously. 

But these--monkeys, a bear or two, even a vulture who reminds her painfully of poor lost Jatayu--are far more pleasing to the Earth’s daughter than all the fine folk of Lanka, and Sita laughs with joy, shakily at first and then more loudly. 

Freedom, she thinks, agrees with her. 

2. It is a long journey.

Her retinue is most courteous, always taking care that she should not overtire herself, and more times than not, Sita must shake her head and command them to press on. They forget, after all, that she had crossed the length and breadth of the Dandaka-forest already, with only her husband and brother-in-law for help. If Sita had been in truth as frail as they supposed her, she would have faltered long before. 

But she is not; she is brave and bold and peers around her with curiosity. To think a daughter of Mithila would have come so far! The view is lovelier by far than any from the Pushpak Vimana, and Sita intends to have her fill of it. 

3. For one dreadful moment, just before she sees her husband again, Sita worries he will doubt her. A wife stolen away is a woman lost; she knows the stories as well as any other. 

But her heart begins to beat again, as she looks upon his face, and they are in each other’s arms, and suddenly nothing else matters. 

4. She dreams of Lanka.

She wishes she didn’t. Her dreams are never wistful, or wondering, or even pleasant at all--she dreams she walks its lonely roads alone, and hears the sounds of woe buried beneath all its splendor. 

It is there, after all, Sita knows; she has listened to her guards’ complaints when they believe her asleep, the rumors of atrocities abroad, the gusty sighs she could almost believe come from the imprisoned planets themselves.

When she opens her eyes, her husband is already awake, watching her. 

“I must return,” she says, struggling to find the right words, “to set things right. Not to avenge myself, but--but because it’s what I was meant to do.”

“I know,” is all he says, neither concerned nor critical, and she believes him. 

5. When Lanka falls and Ravana draws his last breath, flames dance before her eyes and triumphant laughter echoes in her ears--laughter that might have been hers, once.