Sita’s Torment & The Flaming Tail

 Sita’s Torment & The Flaming Tail

A Demon’s Harem, A Queen’s Grace

The golden cages of Lanka’s pleasure halls swayed in the evening breeze, their bars thick with the musk of crushed flowers and desperation. The demon women peered through the latticework, their eyes glinting like knives in the lamplight. "Not this one," they murmured as Sita passed, her bare feet leaving faint imprints in the dust. "See how she sleeps? Like a child. Like a fool."

But the Ashoka grove was no kinder. Here, the trees bore thorns instead of fruit, and the rakshasis circled like jackals, their laughter sharp enough to draw blood. "How long will you cling to virtue?" they sneered. "Your Rama has forgotten you."

Sita said nothing. She sat as still as a carved idol, her silence a fortress no taunt could breach.

Ravana’s Threats, A Wife’s Defiance

Ravana came at dusk, his shadow stretching long across the grove. Ten heads tilted in mock sympathy, twenty eyes gleaming with hunger. "Gold or gallows—choose your fate," he rumbled, his voice thick with honeyed venom. "Bow, and I will drape you in jewels. Refuse, and the vultures will feast."

Sita did not look up. When she spoke, her words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a coming storm. "My lord will incinerate your lying tongue and rotting halls. Leave now, lest Rama’s arrow finds your throat before its time."

The demon king’s laughter shook the leaves from the trees. But when he turned to go, his golden bracelets trembled—ever so slightly—against his wrists.

The Ring, The Fire, The Architect’s Hand

Hanuman came like a shadow given form. He knelt before her, pressing Rama’s ring into her palm—the metal still warm from his grip. "He waits," the monkey whispered. "He grieves. And he will come."

Sita’s fingers closed around the jewel, her first tear striking the gold like a benediction.

Then—chaos.

Hanuman’s tail, dipped in oil and set ablaze, became a whip of divine fury. He leapt from roof to roof, the fire trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. Lanka’s towers, built by demons and arrogance, caught like tinder. The city burned, not with the rage of an invader, but with the precision of an architect dismantling his creation.

And as the sun rose over the smoldering ruins, a single figure stood untouched amid the flames—

Sita, her face lit by the glow of a husband’s promise.