She was on a stretcher fastened onto a platform close to the wall.
She looked around. The vimaan was truly huge. She looked up. It was perfectly conical from the inside as well. Smooth metal all the way to the tapering top, high up. There was a painting at the summit. Her vision was a little clouded so she couldn’t see what it was. At the exact centre of the vimaan was a tall, perfectly cylindrical pillar, stretching all the way to the top. It was solid metal, obviously sturdy. She felt like she was inside a giant temple spire. But the interiors, while spacious and comfortable, had frugal furnishing. None of the luxurious and expensive accoutrements of most royal vehicles; or at least the royal vehicles in the Sapt Sindhu. The Pushpak Vimaan was basic, sparse, and efficient. Clearly, more of a military vehicle than one for pomp and show.
Because it placed function over form, the Pushpak Vimaan was able to comfortably accommodate more than a hundred soldiers. They all sat silently, disciplined, in regular concentric arcs on the floor, right up to the vimaan walls.
She could see Raavan and Kumbhakarna seated on chairs that had been fastened to the floor. Their seating area had been screened partially. A curtain hung from an overhanging rod. They weren’t too far. But they whispered. So, Sita could not hear much of what they were saying.
Still on the stretcher, she came up on her elbows. Making a heaving sound. She still felt weak.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna turned to look at her. They got up and started walking towards her. Raavan stumbled on his dhoti. Distracted.
Sita had managed to sit up by now. She sucked in her breath and looked defiantly at the two brothers.
‘Kill me now,’ growled Sita. ‘Otherwise, you will regret it.’
All the Lankan soldiers stood up, drawing their weapons. But at a signal from Kumbhakarna, they held their positions.
Kumbhakarna spoke, surprisingly gently, ‘We don’t want to hurt you. You must be tired. You woke up very quickly. The toxin given to you was strong. Please rest.’
Sita didn’t answer. Surprised by Kumbhakarna’s kind tone.
‘We didn’t know,’ said a hesitant Kumbhakarna. ‘I … I didn’t know. We wouldn’t have used that toxin otherwise …’
Sita remained silent.
Then she turned towards Raavan. He was just staring at her. Unblinking. There was sadness on his face. Melancholy. And, his eyes appeared strange. Almost like there was love in them.
Sita shrank to the wall, pulling her angvastram, covering herself.
Suddenly, a hand appeared. A neem leaf. And, the blue-coloured paste. Her nose.
Sita felt darkness enveloping her vision. Slowly.
She saw Raavan looking to Sita’s right, where the person who had drugged her was standing. There was anger on his face.
And, darkness took over.
Her eyes opened.
Diffused light streamed through the porthole windows. The sun was close to the horizon.
How long have I been unconscious?
Sita couldn’t be sure. Was it a few hours? Or many prahars?
She edged up, again. Slowly. Weakly. She could see that most of the soldiers were asleep on the floor.
But there were no soldiers around the platform where she had been sleeping.
She had been left alone.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna were standing near their chairs. Stretching their legs. Whispering to each other.
Her vision cleared slowly. Allowing her to judge the distance. Raavan and Kumbhakarna were not more than fifteen or twenty feet from her. Their backs to Sita. They were in deep conversation.
Sita looked around. And smiled.
Someone has been careless.
There was a knife lying close by. On the platform where her stretcher was affixed. She edged over. Noiselessly. Carefully. Picked up the scabbard and unsheathed the blade. Slowly. Without making any sound.
She held the knife tight in her hand.
She took some deep breaths. Firing energy into her body.
She remembered what she had heard.
Kill the chief and the Lankans capitulate.
She tried to get up. The world spun around her.
She sat back on the platform. Breathing deeper. Firing more oxygen into her body.
Then, she focused. She got up stealthily and crept towards Raavan.
When she was just a few feet from Raavan’s back, she raised her knife and lunged forward.
A loud scream was heard as someone grabbed Sita from behind. An arm around her neck. A knife pressed close to her throat. Sita could feel that her attacker was a woman.
Raavan and Kumbhakarna whirled around almost immediately. Most of the Lankan soldiers got up too.
Kumbhakarna raised his hands slowly. Carefully. He spoke in a calm but commanding voice. ‘Drop the knife.’
Sita felt the arm around her throat tighten. She could see that by now, all the Lankan soldiers were on their feet. She surrendered and dropped her knife.
Kumbhakarna repeated. A little harsher this time. ‘I said, drop the knife.’
Sita knit her brow. Confused. She looked down at the knife she had dropped. She was about to say that she had no other knife, when she felt a prick on her neck. The attacker, holding her from behind, had brought the knife in closer. Its tip drawing blood.
Kumbhakarna looked at Raavan before turning back to the attacker holding Sita. ‘Khara is dead. This will not bring him back. Don’t be silly. I am ordering you. Drop the knife.’
Sita could feel the arm clasped around her neck tremble. Her attacker was struggling with deep emotions.
Finally, Raavan stepped closer and spoke in a harsh, commanding, almost terrifying tone. ‘Drop the knife. Now.’
Sita felt the arm clasped around her throat relax. It was suddenly pulled back. And a soft whisper was heard.
‘As you command, Iraiva.’
Sita was stunned as she heard the voice. She spun around. Staggered. She fell back, holding the wall of the vimaan for support.
Willing breaths into her body, she looked again at the face of her attacker. The one who had wanted to kill her a few moments ago. The one who obviously had strong emotions for Khara. The one who obviously was under the complete control of Raavan.
The one who had saved her life once …
The one she had thought was her friend.
Samichi.
… to be continued.