Week 4 Storytelling - A Sacrifice

White Horse by scutaru_cristian

Rama sat alone. The back of his intricately carved throne traced patterns into his skin as he leaned into it. He folded his legs underneath him, feeling the hardness of the frame beneath him. Years ago, when he had watched his father seated here, the throne had seemed immeasurably beautiful. Its strong gilded frame was the representation of power, duty, and honor. Now, Rama understood that a throne was never comfortable. It was a reminder of constant speculation and the weight of the necessary. Power was subjective; duty was the never ending crushing ocean of the expectations of the people; honor was for men like he used to be - for men who weren't destined to sit on a throne.

"Bring to me my horse." Rama's voice, at least, was still firm and commanding. It did not betray the tumultuous nature of his thoughts. Servants alerted themselves, rushing forward to fulfill this demand.

Rama walked out into the garden, the heat of the day causing a line of sweat to appear on his brow as he waited for the groom to arrive with his mount. The horse stepped forward, the sun gleaming off his brilliant white coat. The animal had been selected for Rama from a prestigious line, still somewhat wild, known for their prowess in war. This particular stallion was heralded for more, said to be descended from Uchaishravas himself and Rama did not doubt this. The stallion was adorned in jewels and ribbons, just as Rama had instructed. The proud beast had served the king well, but his time had come to carry out his final purpose.

With a heavy hand, Rama waved forward his own personal regiment of warriors.
"Go," he urged, "let this horse atone for my sins. They are great and I am weary of them. Go, and let me have peace once more. I pray the gods will grant me this  last boon and accept my sacrifice."

The groom let go of the stallion, which gave a loud whinny and reared on it's hind legs, kicking its forefeet into the sky. His nostrils flared, as if he could smell the freedom awaiting him. Then, he bolted.

The guard column proceeded orderly behind, their clinking armor and weaponry a stark contract to the multicolored streamers and glittering gems adorning the king's stallion.

Rama closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the procession washed over him. He hoped he had appeased the gods in this last effort. The actions of a king were never for himself. It was the people, foremost, always. In Rama's life, this often meant the ultimate in sacrifice.

Rama signed and remembered. It was almost as if he could hold her once more. He remembered how she smelled - just like a lotus from heaven.



Author's Note:
The inspiration for this story comes from the Public Domain Edition Ramayana, at the particular point where Sita's sons are grown and have learned to sing of Rama's past deeds, and Rama is still separated from them. Weighed down by his past sins, Rama decides to perform a horse sacrifice.The horse is what eventually connects him back to Sita, which is why I chose it for the image.

I thought I would reflect a bit on Rama's side of the story, wondering what his thoughts might have been. I like to think that Rama might have had some remorse for sending Sita away, and this was meant to reflect this. For this story, I did a little bit of research in the horse sacrifice, Ashvamedha.

In this practice, a horse is sent to wander the earth for a period of time before being killed. Ashvamedha can only be performed by a king and the horse is guarded while he wanders. Attacking or harming this animal is considered a direct attack against the king, which is why it is so monumental when Kusha and Lava seize Rama's sacrificial horse.