Beneath the Ashoka Tree

Trigger Warning: The topic of suicide is mentioned in this story. If this is something that may be triggering, please read at your own discretion. Some resources include:

National Hopeline Network - 1-800-784-2433 or 1-800-442-4673

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1-800-273-8255

University of Oklahoma Behavior Intervention Team - https://www.ou.edu/normanbit

Time began to blur as Sita lost count of how long it had been since she was taken from her love. Her fingers traced over the small grooves in the trunk of the Ashoka as she pondered; she used to carve a line into the tree trunk every morning when the sun rose to keep track of time, but one day she stopped. There were too many lines to count. She had no idea how long it has been since stopped or since she was taken. Was it 5 months? 10 months? Maybe a full year had passed since her abduction, marking the end of their exile and her love’s return to Ayodhya. Counting the days was something she could control, something that helped her make it through these torturous days alone. One new line meant one more day she survived. But one line also meant one more day without Rama. She might not have known how many days and nights she had been imprisoned, but she did know it had been a long time. She wondered what was keeping Rama from coming to her. From saving her. As each new day came, worry seeped in little by little, slowly consuming the rays of optimism she had. She wanted to hope for the best, hope that he would rescue her. Hope that he would return to Ayodhya with Sita by his side. Hope that —

“Get your head out of the clouds, princess. Our king approaches,” one of the rakshasis said to her.

Sita watched as Ravana strolled over with his wives in tow, his haughty and superior attitude and smug look on his face making her skin crawl. As he reached the Ashoka grove, he tried to convince Sita to marry him, like he always did when he visited. He flaunted his wealth and power in an attempt to impress her and win her over. Material wealth was never something Sita longed for, so when that failed, he moved closer to her. This time, he tried to entice her through a more direct approach. She flinched as he took his first step. The idea of him touching her disgusted her. Nothing he could say or do would make her choose him. She told him as much.

His face twisted in fury when she spoke. “You have two months’ time to agree to be my wife. Should you refuse, my rakshasis will torture and kill you. Your death will be slow and painful. Then my rakshisis will cook you so that I may devour you for breakfast. Except for your head. I will leave that as a gift for your precious Rama. He will search every meter of my palace grounds until he finds you. As he reaches this grove, all he will find is my gift for him beneath the Ashoka tree. He will surely die of a broken heart when he sees what is left of you before he even has the chance to kill me,” the greedy king promised before leaving her with her guards.

The rakshasis sang and danced with glee at the promise of her and Rama’s downfall. The taunts. The jibes. The threats. All of it, torture.

Your little husband can’t save the day.

You will all die.

Mmm, I bet you will be very tasty.

The utter hopelessness Sita was feeling began to consume her. Two months. That is all she has. That is all Rama has. That is all the time they have left.

He won’t make it.

He won’t be able to save her.

He won't defeat Ravana.

Sita felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t handle this any longer. She couldn’t wait for two more months not knowing if she would make it out of this prison. She would not hold onto any expectations only to have them ripped away from her. She felt what little hope she had left slipping from her grasp.

Further.

And further.

Gone.

There went her last shred of hope, taking with it any happiness she might have been able to hold onto. There was only one thing for her to do. “My hair is strong enough. I can wrap the end of my braid around a branch of the Ashoka tree,” she thought. And so, she did just that. She searched for the lowest hanging branch, hidden in the shadows of the grove. After securing her braid, she tied it around the branch. And then around herself. Sita took one last look at this grove, her prison, and noticed the flowers blossoming on the Ashoka. "Beautiful," she thought. Then everything went dark.