Sita’s Children

Twin sons were born on an auspicious day. Their parents would boast that Kush was touched by the sun, always bright and smiling, and Lav was blessed by the moon, quiet and reflective. The brothers imagined their mother summoning celestials to father sons, like in the Hindu tales from their favorite comics.

The villagers, however, spread wicked whispers about their mother and another man who could be their father. Suspicions inundated the family like overflowing sewers during monsoon season, covering them in refuse wherever they went.

"Sharam," they said, heads shaking, "for shame."

Their mother held her head above the swirling rumors, assured of her fidelity. Their father, however, drowned in the deluge of public opinion. Doubts made him distant, his hugs tepid, his face grim. The brothers felt their father's love ebb; its sweetness sucked dry from a ripe mango till nothing remained but a hard pit. They dreamed of finding the "real" father the villagers gossiped about and ran away from home.

~

"This was where the golden doe entered," said Kush, hitching up his backpack.

"How do you know it wasn’t a demon in disguise?" asked Lav, picking up a stick and brandishing it before him.

"Her eyes looked sad."

The forest of Ragla was the ancient grounds of the demon Ravana's kingdom, where he held captive Sita, the bride of Rama. Like the twins’ mother, people questioned Sita's fidelity.

"A flash of gold!" Kush exclaimed, forging further into areas unknown. Lav dropped the stick, adjusted his own heavy backpack, and rushed to catch up with his impetuous brother, elder by only a few minutes, who often paved the way for their adventures.

Soon they found themselves weary and bored, traveling through the thick undergrowth. The white noise of chittering birds and insects did little to entertain their inquisitive minds. Kush, eager to find a tiger, kept his eyes searching the forest ahead while Lav had his face to the skies.

"Is that monkey wearing a crown?" asked Lav, giggling, pointing to the branches swaying above.

A macaque wearing a plastic cup on his head swung overhead. Laughing, Kush nearly fell down a hidden flight of stairs. He steadied himself on a branch, and both boys fell silent, peering into the darkness below. A tapping of hooves echoed upwards.

"The doe is down there," said Kush, excitement making his eyes shine and his sweaty face glow.

The stairs were part of a bunker that was partially visible due to forest-soil erosion. The ancient windowless structure was built of volcanic stone. The forest had attempted to swallow it whole but it bubbled to the surface like a splinter from skin.

"It's probably filled with bats," said Lav, holding Kush back with his arm. He felt his heart flutter with trepidation.

"Or the demon army of Ravana," said Kush, his hushed and reverent tones making it clear to Lav that he would welcome such an invasion. Lav shuddered and a whimper left his lips.

Kush made his way down the stairs, pushing past vines blocking his path. He wished he had a machete as he hacked away with his bony forearms. Lav followed warily behind, having moved his backpack to his chest, cradling it like a child. It protected him like a shield, his brother the blade.

A solid stone door stood ajar, devoid of vines or markings. Its black porous surface absorbed any light trickling down from above. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, like a tremendous beast's hide. Squeezing past, they found themselves in the center of a small tiled passageway. Kush moved on. The flooring shifted under his weight and the door shut, sealing them in darkness. Lav rushed towards it, feeling around for a handle to open, pushing and pulling at the rounded door.

"We're trapped!" Tears erupted from Lav as he screamed, “Help, Help!” before collapsing into a heap on the floor, cradling his backpack. 

Kush, meanwhile, felt along the passage for another way out and noticed cooler air wafting from a gap in the wall. He called Lav, coaxing his brother to join him, and together they entered. They stepped onto a smooth obsidian floor that angled down. Their sandals had no purchase and they slid the rest of the way, landing roughly on their backs.

The doe stood before them, daylight descending from a large open shaft in the low ceiling of the circular room. As the brothers rose, the doe dematerialized, ascending skyward in tiny gold beads. Both children gasped. 

“Come back! Don’t leave us here!” Lav tried to reach the open shaft by climbing his brother’s shoulders. They heard what sounded like harsh laughter, and the shadows of a marching army crossed the open shaft above, growing more menacing as the sun hid from view.

“Ravana has trapped us here,” said Kush, accepting his fate.

“Baiyaa, don’t be sad,” said Lav, “It is only the trick of the light. We must keep trying to get out.”

As night fell, Lav's attempts to climb out via the obsidian slide appeared futile, as did their continued screams for help. They both settled to the floor and drank heavily from their thermoses. Kush opened his pack, removing comics to unearth a tiffin of mangos. He ate one and allowed the sweet relief to wash his tongue before handing another to his brother. Lav eagerly sucked down his slice before asking for another. He stood up and asked Kush to do the same. Standing as high as he could on Kush’s shoulders, Lav placed his piece on a small ledge in the shaft.

"What are you doing?" asked Kush. Lav jumped from his brother’s shoulders, feeling energized. 

"Leaving offerings to the Monkey God. He'll save us." 

"Hanuman cannot save you boys, but he can summon aid," sang a voice echoing around them.

When the voice ebbed away, silence flooded the small dark room. Kush moved forward to shield Lav, whose heart hammered as they clung to each other.

"Who's there?" asked Kush, “show yourself.”

Before them, a woman materialized dressed in bridal red. Her face shone from within, removing the darkness. She wore a vermillion bindi affixed to her forehead, and her anklets jangled with each lithe step. She grabbed them as a mother would, checking for harm and registering relief upon seeing they were safe. Her irises were ocean-blue with whites swirling like clouds, and her pupils were dark as the abyss of space. Her warm skin was earth-colored, her black dreadlocks plaited with jasmine and coiled like a resting viper, powerful yet achingly beautiful.

"I'm Sita. My doe brings me those searching for answers."

The boys relaxed in her presence and their breathing calmed, their heart rates slowed. They faced her now, filled with neither fear nor hunger, just a longing for what lay ahead. The notion of escape paled against a chance to know what had brought them to the forest in the first place.

"Who's our father?" The question heaved out of each brother like a heavy stone they'd carried for years.

"I was once asked a similar question. I proved my fidelity deep within the womb of earth, so shall you both find your truth."

They fell into a deep slumber as she folded them into her bosom. They awoke the next day as Sita's musical footsteps faded into the sound of monkeys overhead. Lav saw a macaque arm trying to reach the mango slice. Thinking quickly, he tore a page from his comic and folded it into a plane.

"Oh, Hanuman, help!" Lav pleaded.

And with eyes clenched in prayer, he threw it up the shaft. His brother watched it soar, piloted by invisible air currents. They made more and watched them rise like butterflies escaping their earthen tomb, hoping the colorful paper would attract curious monkeys.

As time passed, they rationed biscuits and  watched insects harvest the sticky mango droppings. Lav's calm reassurances of rescue reminded Kush of their father, while Kush's jokes and fanciful tales did the same for Lav. They spoke of farming and learning to yoke oxen and recalled their father's laughter and mighty hugs. As the days progressed, they had their answer.

Each night Sita returned, singing them to sleep, entwined as they once were within their mother's womb. Sleep was their only sustenance now that they had depleted their food and drink.

Shouts awoke them at dawn. They were too weak to cry out and merely whimpered with thirst and hunger. A large head eclipsed the sun from the shaft and a torch beamed into their frightened eyes. 

“My boys! My boys!” Their father's tears tumbled down into the shaft like nutritive rain. "In losing you, I was lost!" he cried, wiping his eyes with a paper plane. There erupted even more shouts and clanging from excited villagers who rushed to surround the bunker. 

The men split the earth like they were performing a Cesarean section to bring them out. Their mother cleansed them with warm water as their father fed them spoonfuls of milk. The four of them held together by the joyous relief of the rescue. 

With this rebirth, their father's doubts receded, and villagers no longer cast aspersions on their mother. The boys’ story of Sita was told far and wide, and the bunker became a small shrine to the goddess. For despite the fanciful nature of the story, not one villager could deny that the boys had survived a week underground and emerged with the scent of jasmine surrounding them upon their release.