Free Sita's Ascent by Vayu Naidu Page A

sometimes he shared it with those who came to
     him to be healed. The poor man knew that this gift could have come only from Vishnu.
     So, as he thanked Vishnu while praying, he suddenly thought of Vishnu’s
     wife Lakshmi, and hoped she would be born on earth as someone’s
     daughter.
    ‘At that very moment, he saw
     the clouds burst with a
Twaannngh!
in the sky. He could
     not see, but it was Ravana storming through the sky in his aerial chariot.
    ‘Ravana was on a mission of
     “blood collecting” from holy men. This was a game, at first
     designed for his amusement. The rule was to seek out and spy on people who were
     considered holy. Then, with beguiling charm, Ravana would take on different
     disguises to question these people at a solitary moment about the nature of
     “Good”. He had stunningly complex arguments. What was the need
     to be good or ethical? Why were a conscience and ethics always associated with
     “good”? What if we did notwant to be good?
     Why did we have to have a sense of judgement? If life was about celebrating, why
     were there so many morals to keep us chained like prisoners when we could be free?
     If someone committed a wrong and fled the place, could anyone catch up with him?
     What on earth was a conscience? Why have one if it made you doubt everything you
     did? Why should one respect women? Weren’t they all the
     same—sisters, wives, daughters, etc.? Why should we look after people who
     were disabled or care for children? Weakness should be put down, and why should the
     experience of an elder, who had no physical strength left, be considered? What did
     they have to teach us about life—nothing but regret.
    ‘He defeated his opponents
     with well-illustrated and subtle arguments against good in human nature. He got a
     buzz in playing this game, and winning. Of course, he was always in disguise as a
     vulnerable contender, so he caught people unawares. But when a few people challenged
     him about the need to question one’s actions and take responsibility for
     those actions, it stopped being a game. There was no buzz for Ravana when he
     wasn’t winning. He soon discovered that one way of accounting for his
     successes was by collecting the blood of anyone who contested him, and labelling it
     “holy”. The blood was preserved in several pots in his
     palace.
    ‘On one such occasion, while
     he was lurking around the hut of the man with the holy cow—who had gone to
     the pond for his bath and prayers—Ravana found the pot of freshly drawn
     holy milk and stole it. Just for the sake of creating chaos.
    ‘Ravana returned triumphant to
     his palace with the stolen pot. Then he mixed the blood from his other pots into it.
     Ravana called me, his queen, Mandodari, to hide the pot with the mixture of blood
     and milk (that had by now turned pink), and warned me that it contained poison. I
     knew the game he had begun to play had now turned into something exceedingly
     sinister.
    ‘When Ravana left on yet
     another mission, I discovered through my secret intelligence services what he had
     done. I was disgusted by this behaviour. It made me wonder—why was I such
     a prisoner to all the silks, jewellery, feasts, slaves, servants, palaces and much
     more? Ravana had said he provided me with these to prove how well he looked after
     me, and how powerful his wealth made me. I was very proud to be his queen. But his
     power had gone so much to his head he could not see sense. I felt smaller than an
     ant that could be crushed under his foot. I was like anyone else in his
     life—he would tease and tease and tease till your heart and mind would
     explode. He was in total control. The way a frog is held in a snake’s
     jaws—neither dead nor with the hope of life—just dying.
    ‘When I learnt about the
blood collecting
of the holy men who had challenged his
     arguments, I wondered what would become of me? I was a mere woman, his
     wife—I could disappear and no one