Death of Sita
We see the masterful
manipulation of illusion through the eyes of Indrajit, son of Ravana.
My father, Ravana, sits
motionless upon his throne, his body adorned with bulky,
extravagant armor gleaming as the sun strikes it. Each of his ten
heads stare off in the distance, lost in thought. His broad
shoulders rise and fall as he draws in a deep breath and then sighs
heavily.
The weight of the battle
bears down on him like the unrelenting sun of desert lands that beg the
heavens above to quench their thirst. Sorrow fills his soul and
begins to fill the room. Ravana turns to me and says, "Oh mighty
Indrajit, once again I find myself in need of your assistance. If
Dharma be on my side or not, Rama must fall now." I approach him
slowly but before I can speak he grasps my garments and weeps into them
softly.
His sadness will surely swallow
him if we, no if I, Indrajit, cannot think of something. How
shall Rama come to his demise? Perhaps if we lead him and all who
support him to the well of maya and have them drink in my
illusions, we may be able to poison their minds with despair. "Ravana!"
I call out. Ravana slowly turns his grief-stricken face towards
me and makes a low grumble. I place my hand upon his brow and reply,
"Do not spend a moment more in the company of anguish. I will aid
you in filling your desires to defeat those who stand before
you. I will veil their eyes with mist and cloud them with
despair. I will make them believe that they have forever lost
what they desire." With hopeful eyes Ravana nods at me and
returns to his chair.
I turned
from him and leave the room. My thoughts race as the pace of my
feet quicken. With the apparent death of one individual, we shall cast
them all into a dark, desolate hell and defeat them with one final
blow. I will slaughter their fair fawn. I will kill Sita.
For my plan to work I first
conjure a perfect replication of Rama's beloved- a replica so
similar that Sita herself would be fooled. Once I
have
flawless Sita, I begin to make my way to the masses, dragging her
carelessly behind me. As I trudge through the muddy sludge, Sita
struggles and kicks at me. She screams out for help as she claws
at my arm but her calls do nothing but draw attention. Once the eyes of
many have fallen upon us, I draw my sword and raise her body above my
head. I look out across the field and let out a loud cry as I
drag my blade across her slender throat. Blood drips upon my face
as it drains from her body. I hold her stained, lifeless figure high in
the air for all to see and then toss it aside on the ground
below. Sweat drips from my brow as I glance in the direction of
my enemies.
What fills their eyes?
Desperation? Despair? Do they know?
I walk slowly along the field
staring across the way anxiously awaiting their response.
Author's Note: I told this
story from Indrajit's perspective. This story follows the
original story very closely. I changed the manner in which Ravana
asks Indrajit for help and also attempted to incorporate more
compassion. I added more detail, dialogue, and Indrijat's
thoughts into this version. I wanted to incorporate a story told
from the mastermind of the illusion. Those who create the
illusions in Mahabharata are usually doing so to cause pain or
discomfort
to those who will experience the illusion. I also wanted to
elaborate a bit more on Indrajit as a character. To do so I included
more
description, feeling and his thought process during the scene with his
father. He feels compassion for his father and then decides he
must help him. When any illusion is present it is often difficult to
know whether the illusion has successfully tricked someone or
not. Indrajit experiences this in the story. He is unsure
whether or not he has successfully tricked his enemy. I did not
want to expose the maya in this story seeing that Indrajit is not told
that he has failed. I wanted the reader to experience that same
sense of uncertainty.
Image Information
Title: Indrajit
Websource: IndianNet
Bibliography
Buck, William. Ramayana. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976.
