Beauty was not a word that anybody would attribute to her. She was neither slender nor delicate. She was neither tall nor short. She did not have a voice that resonated with melody. She was not a witty person and she certainly wasn’t the most athletic one. She was not a dancer, writer, dramatist, scholar, or an artist. If one were to be go by physical appearances, she would be one of those people who would certainly go unnoticed. And yet, people seldom failed to notice her. Her eyes shone with an eccentric grit she embodied and all the innumerable other virtues, which gave her a personality that towered above the rest.
And as she sat there outside the hut, under the shimshupa tree, looking into the blushing Western skies, brushing and disentangling her thick black hair, she hummed a silent tune to herself. A cloudy day she thought dimly. The wind had been rather high all day long, shepherding the clouds away from the beautiful orchards where her hut was. The sun, however, had been as unforgiving as it always was on these strange lands… She leaned back against the tree absently and went into a stoic and composed silence.
The leaves of the tree rustled as the wind unsettled them. A couple of chirping birds flew out of their nests. Their flight triggered a train of thoughts in her. Her loyal brown eyes followed them into the crimson Western horizons. West, the direction where her beloved was...
She wondered if he was viewing the sunset as well. Perhaps he was. She felt stronger when she believed that he shared her moments as well, that despite the distance, he was with her in those moments that brought her closer to him, even if it were for fleeting moments... such as when she believed that he was also experiencing life with her when she witnessed the full moon shy away into a silver cloud, or when she trusted that he also heard with her, the waves of the magnificent sea lash against the rich golden shores. It gave her the strength to endure, the will to live… to survive yet another day in the faith that someday she will look into those deep patient eyes of his again.
He was alive, she knew it. She could hear his gentle affectionate words in the breeze that caressed her and she could sense the intensity of his fury over her loss that emanated from the thunder that echoed across these lands. She woke up to a sun, glorious and warm as he and she spent her days admiring the skies that were vast and generous like he was. He couldn’t have died. Not when he knew he had to win her back. He was surely coming for her. She knew that she had to sustain and she would wait for that day.
The days had rolled into weeks, and weeks into months. She had seen the creatures guarding her grow older and had seen the orchard in its splendour across all seasons. They had tried it all, from persuasion to punishment, from coercion to deception. But they didn’t understand at all, she thought. He was not just vital to her being, but he was the essence and the purpose of it. He existed in her as her. How could they believe it was even possible for her to not acknowledge and revere the breath that fueled her life?
And as she sat there watching the sun sink into his watery grave, dressed like a simple hermit, she had an ethereal aura radiating from her. With a distant unwavering gaze, she saw the stars and moon adorn the cloudy sky in rigid silence. She sat there trying to comfort her relentless mind; convincing herself that he was safe… that tomorrow would be the day her wait will end.
Miles away, Sri Rama looked into the cloudy Eastern skies and a tear of despair ran down his cheek. He hoped that she was keeping fine… his dear Sita.
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