The Liberation of Sita Page 5

  ‘When what you have to teach us is completed, will Father come and teach us the rest?’

  Sita laughed.

  ‘When I’ve taught you all that I can, there’ll be nothing left for your father to teach.’

  ‘Does that mean you know more than Father does?’

  ‘It’s not about more or less, son. There used to be a great bow at one time. There were very few who could lift it and shoot an arrow with it. Your father and I were equally adept at that.’

  ‘Amma, please teach us that skill. If we master it by the time Father comes and demonstrate it to him, he will be surprised, won’t he?’

  ‘I have a lot of work to do. I can’t sit here chatting with you.’ Sita got up and went to the back of the ashram. She had no work really. She did not want to work either.

  The children were pining for their father. They were dreaming about him. Though she had brought them up like they were her very life, though they knew nothing about their father, though their father did not even know about their birth or growing up—they wanted him. Sons needed to grow up inheriting their father’s name.

  She was Janaki—daughter of Mother Earth. Yet, she became Janaki—daughter of Janaka—under his care. These boys would get recognition only when they were regarded as Rama’s offspring. Rama was Dasarathi—‘of Dasaratha’—he was fond of that name, revered it and took pride in it. These children too wanted that kind of acknowledgement. It was indeed the order of the world.

  But would that happen? Would Rama embrace these children? Would he give them his name? Would he acknowledge them as descendants of his family? If that did not happen, how these innocent hearts would grieve!

  If Rama accepted them as his children and took them to Ayodhya, what would happen to her?

  She had left her father who loved her like his own life and taken Rama’s hand.

  Rama, whom she loved like her own life, had let go of her hand.

  These children whom she had brought up, caring for them like her own life—would she be able to hold on to them? Should she even attempt to do that? Would they remain in her grasp even if she did? Would they not run to their father if he called them?

  What did she have, other than the disgrace that Rama, bowing to public opinion, had heaped on her?

  In comparison, Rama had a kingdom—which was so dear to him that he could not give it up even for her sake. Would these children give up such a kingdom for her sake? Would their kshatriya blood allow them to do that?

  Sita’s mind was in turmoil.

  As a mother she had no power over them. Power never fascinated her anyway. She only had love—she loved her father; she loved Rama; she loved her children. There was no desire for power in any of those relationships. She did not want it.

  These children were nature’s gift to her. She had raised them like fawns. When fawns grow up, they go off into the forest, never to return.

  These children too …

  Sita struggled to rein in her mind.

  It had been ten days since Lava and Kusa left for Ayodhya with Valmiki. For those ten days, Sita had no control over her mind.

  Would the children be able to meet Sri Ramachandra in Ayodhya? Would he recognize them? Would he ask Valmiki about them? When Valmiki unravelled the truth, how would he respond? How would the children respond—when they got to know that Rama was their father? When they found out that their mother was none other than Sita, the wife of Sri Ramachandra, their joy would know no bounds. But after that? When everything became clear, if Rama came to take his children, would they leave her and go with him? Would Rama ask her to come too?

  Even if he did, would she go?

  What if the children refused to go without her?

  But they wouldn’t. They had respect for their father, they were proud of him.

  After what she had told them about their father, they considered him no less than a god.

  She had gaven birth to them, brought them up to surpass their father in heroism. But she had to let them go. When their father claimed them, she could not hold them back, saying they were hers. They belonged to Raghu Vamsa. They must continue the dynasty.

  Again, Sita remembered Renuka.

  Renuka’s words had caused aversion in Sita that day. Now she could understand Renuka’s pain. The day Rama demanded a trial by fire, the day he sent her away into the forest, Sita remembered the sand pot Renuka had made. Ahalya, Renuka, Sita—they were all victims of mistrust and humiliation.

  When Sita felt wretched after Rama abandoned her, it was Ahalya who had nursed her back to normalcy.

  That day Ahalya must have cautioned her through foresight.

  She had told Sita to bring her children up like a pair of fawns without any attachment. Sita had no great ambitions for her sons. But the thought of separation from her children wrenched her heart. The moans of the umbilical bond sometimes rang through her entire body. A blanket of emptiness descends on her mind. If the moon’s glow in front of your eyes vanishes suddenly, what is left? Only pitch darkness.

  Who would hold her hand and guide her through that darkness?

  ‘Am I not here, my girl?’ The affectionate words of Mother Earth gave her the strength of a thousand elephants.

  Her mother was independent. She would go to her mother. Her mother was omnipotent. So she could take Sita into her embrace. Sita had now seen it all—sons, fathers, sons’ obedience to fathers, wives’ faithfulness to husbands, motherhood. But there was one thing she had not seen. Nor had Ahalya, Surpanakha or Urmila experienced it. It was what Renuka had faced—the brutality of her own son. She had seen the dharma-bound cruelty of her son who, taking his father’s word as the word of the Vedas, was ready to hack her head off. She then realized what the foundation of that cruelty was. How many whirlpools must have stirred in her heart then? And how deep they must have been? In fact, so deep as to challenge Arya Dharma itself.

  Did she have Renuka’s strength? After returning the heirs to the family, she would return to her mother’s lap, detached. That was all. But even that was defiance of Arya Dharma, wasn’t it?

  Surpanakha, Ahalya, Renuka, Urmila—each one had a story of her own. Each one had followed a path of her own. Her path, her way, was hers alone.

  Sita had learnt what she could from their experiences. At first, she felt only disdain and anger for them. Later, when she understood that the anguish in their lives was similar, she felt a camaraderie, a companionship with them. When Sita heard the sufferings of others, she realized that she was not alone. The awareness that she was one of them gave her strength. And it was that strength which enabled her to withstand the disgrace and bear her children, to give them a happy childhood and to train them in all the skills.

  Valmiki came in just then, breaking Sita’s train of thought. She respectfully spread a mat for him.

  ‘Amma, Rama grasped everything. He recognized Lava and Kusa as his children. He was ready to accept them honourably.’

  Valmiki’s voice was filled with happiness. He had discharged his duty. Sri Rama’s children, the children of the hero of his epic, having been well trained in his ashram, would soon be joining their father. He was excited and he exulted that his epic was going to end on a happy note with the union of Sri Rama and his sons.

  Sita said calmly, ‘That’s good, isn’t it, O Sage,’ and kept quiet. Suddenly his enthusiasm waned.

  What about Sita? Valmiki thought.

  ‘Amma, Rama has asked you to affirm the truth in the royal court, in the presence of the courtiers. After that you’ll be the queen. Mother of heroes, queen mother.’

  Sita felt like laughing out loud. She controlled herself, out of respect for Valmiki, and said with a smile, ‘Do I need to do that? Is there any sense in such an effort?’

  Valmiki was dumbstruck. But he understood Sita’s mind, which was strong and steady.

  ‘I have neither the power nor the courage to advise you, daughter!’ He put his hand on her head, blessed her silently and left.

&nb
sp; Sita busied herself with preparations for her journey. She had to leave before Lava and Kusa returned. There were many from whom she must take leave.

  Lava and Kusa returned and were dejected to find the ashram empty. They now knew the whole story about their mother.

  They charged up to Valmiki, to ask about her.

  Valmiki told them what Sita had said.

  For the first time, they were angry with their mother.

  How nice it would have been had she come to the court once and proved her innocence as their father desired! It would have been so good for them. A thin flame burned in their young hearts.

  They were not little boys growing up in an ashram any more. They were Aryan heirs, princes, future kings. Sita, on the other hand, was the daughter of Mother Earth. Would she ever be understood?

  The Liberated

  When Sita, Rama and Lakshmana returned to Ayodhya after fourteen years of vanvaas, and crossing an ocean of hardships, the entire royal household turned up to welcome them.

  Except Urmila.

  Sita’s eyes searched eagerly for Urmila, but in vain. The embrace of her mothers-in-law, enquiries about their well-being, the friendly words of Mandavi and Srutakirthi—none of these warmed Sita’s heart.

  After the initial excitement abated, Sita drew her sister Srutakirthi close and asked gently, ‘Where is Urmila? Is she not well?’

  Srutakirthi’s face turned pale. This scared Sita.

  ‘What happened to Urmila? She is well, isn’t she?’

  Though Srutakirthi understood Sita’s anxiety, she did not know what to say.

  It had been fourteen years since Srutakirthi last saw Urmila.

  ‘Why do you stare like that without answering? Where is Urmila? How is she?’ Sita asked again.

  ‘I don’t know how Urmila is. I have not seen her since you left.’

  Sita thought she had misheard Srutakirthi. So she asked again, this time louder, ‘Srutakirthi, I’m asking about Urmila.’

  ‘I’m telling you about Urmila. No one has seen her since you left. She never came out of her palace. She allowed no one to enter her palace either.’

  Sita was shocked.

  ‘No one, not even our mothers-in-law?’

  ‘No one. Only the servants keep going in and out, and only one of them—Charumati—is allowed to enter her room. She keeps us informed of Urmila’s well-being.’

  Sita felt choked.

  Fourteen years—how did she live without talking to anyone and without meeting her own people? How deeply she must have been hurt to have taken such a decision! Fourteen years! Will she forgive me, Rama and Lakshmana?

  ‘Does Urmila know that we were to arrive today?’

  Srutakirthi looked down.

  Sita wanted to see Rama at once, but he was surrounded by his brothers, ministers and other prominent people from the city. It was almost impossible to approach him or Lakshmana.

  Just then, Srutakirthi brought a woman to Sita and said, ‘This is Charumati.’ Sita did not wait any longer.

  ‘Come, let’s go to Urmila.’

  ‘She will not see anyone,’ Charumati said curtly.

  ‘When she learns that those very people who are responsible for her life in isolation have come to see her, she will definitely meet them. Let’s go.’

  With a stern look, Sita ordered Charumati to move. It appeared as though Urmila’s palace was hundreds of miles away. Why was it taking so long to get there …

  During their life in the forest, Sita always felt that it would have been wonderful if Urmila too had been with them, along with Lakshmana. When Rama and Lakshmana are away attending to their work in the forest, Urmila and I could have enjoyed the fragrances of the forest! she used to think.

  Why didn’t Lakshmana bring Urmila? Whenever she broached the subject, Lakshmana kept quiet.

  When they had set out for life in the forest, everything was in a state of confusion.

  Dasaratha’s illness, Kausalya’s sorrow, the entire royal household was in utter disorder. To persuade everyone to let her accompany Rama was in itself a huge task. It was only when calm set in, and when they were crossing the River Sarayu, that it struck Sita that Urmila was not with them. She recalled that Urmila had no role to play in the entire episode and that she had not even come out to bid them farewell.

  She asked Rama over and over again.

  ‘Didn’t Urmila want to come? She must have cried a lot to see Lakshmana go. Did she think forest life would be too tough? Then Lakshmana too should have stayed back in Ayodhya. Is it fair to leave her alone in the palace for our sake?’

  Rama used to pacify her with some explanation or the other: Urmila had to stay in Ayodhya to serve the mothers-in-law. Who would look after Kausalya? Sita could have provided support to her widowed mother-in-law, who was separated from her son. But she had come to live in the forest. So who else was there now for Kausalya except Urmila? Shouldn’t there be at least three daughters-in-law for the three mothers-in-law? But, more importantly, someone had to take care of Mother Kausalya.

  Rama would give many such reasons.

  Being a part of the royal household involved carrying out several responsibilities. As the queen, Kausalya used to manage them with great efficiency. Now she did not have the strength for that, nor was she interested any longer. Who could bear the burden of that responsibility but Urmila?

  ‘Tell me, Sita! Isn’t Urmila more capable than you in such matters? When we were in Ayodhya, Mother used to entrust more responsibilities to Urmila than to you, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sita would slip into contemplation. Urmila was very capable in these matters. She could rule with a mere glance. She knew all about the duties of a royal household. Father, too, used to praise her on that count.

  ‘The interest you show in archery and in the outdoors—you don’t in other matters, Sita!’ Father used to say.

  True. Sita never liked the authority wielded by the royal household or its administration. Playing in the garden, practising archery, relaxing amidst nature—these were enough for Sita. After going to Ayodhya, she showed no interest in taking over the household responsibilities from her mother-in-law. But Urmila was always with Kausalya.

  Sita felt happier in the forest than in Ayodhya. Here she had people she could make friends with rather than lord over. She loved this companionship.

  ‘There’s no rule that Urmila should like the same things that you do. You are the daughter of Earth. A lover of nature. Urmila may prefer city life and the responsibilities of a royal household …’ No matter how much Rama tried to convince her, Sita would remain worried about Urmila.

  To be separated from one’s husband—isn’t that the most miserable ordeal to suffer?

  Sita understood how miserable it was while in Ravana’s captivity.

  Knowing Sita’s love for nature, Ravana confined her in Ashoka Vanam. The beauty of that garden was indescribable. She had not seen anything like it in Mithila or Ayodhya. Ravana bragged a lot but never had the courage to even stare at Sita. And Sita treated him like a blade of grass.

  Yet, Sita was reduced to waiting for her husband to come to her rescue—and this was unbearable for her.

  Rama will come, he will kill Ravana—Sita had no doubt about this. But restraining her own powers of self-protection, sitting and waiting without doing anything—Sita found it an ordeal.

  But she knew Rama’s mind well. He was determined that Ravana’s death should be at his hands. She had to withhold her own powers to let Rama fulfil his duty.

  ‘In our relationship, what is it that you like the most?’ Sita had asked Rama one day.

  ‘Protecting you like an eyelid protects the eye. If a thorn pierces your foot, I must pluck it out. I must, myself, kill the wild animals that approach you. The thought that I’m protecting you gives me greater pride and pleasure than sovereignty over Ayodhya,’ Rama had said.

  ‘I can protect myself. I can match you in archery,’ Sita had said, laughing. Rama’s
face had fallen.

  ‘As long as I am alive, you will never have to protect yourself. Such a situation must never arise. You must look towards me for protection. You must turn to my strong arms for protection. If you take care of yourself, what am I for? Promise me that you will never do that.’

  Sita had placed her hand in Rama’s.

  Abduction. Waiting in Ashoka Vanam—Sita had no alternative. In those moments of separation from her husband, Sita often thought of Urmila.

  How is Urmila bearing this sorrow? My dear sister, why did you stay back in Ayodhya? Why were you so attached to the royal household?—Sita would include Urmila in her suffering.

  Finally Ravana was killed. The test of fire followed.

  ‘Ayodhya is awaiting the arrival of Sita and Rama.’ Even when Rama announced this proudly, Sita was actually yearning to see Urmila.

  ‘How happy Urmila must be, how beautifully she must have decorated her palace, how she would have adorned herself to appear before Lakshmana! As soon as we reach the royal household, after paying my respects to my mothers-in-law, I must go to Urmila along with Lakshmana. Never mind if it delays their much awaited reunion by a few minutes … I must first visit Urmila before I go to my palace.’ Sita would rejoice in imagining this scene.

  ‘How beautiful your joyous face looks, Sita!’ said Rama.

  ‘Just the thought of Urmila’s happiness is making me happy,’ Sita said, smiling sweetly.

  Rama shared Sita’s joy. Both of them looked at Lakshmana meaningfully and smiled.

  Rama’s heart swelled with pride as he looked at his brother who, for his sake, had endured fourteen years of separation from his wife.

  He drew Lakshmana close and hugged him.

  Lakshmana was thrilled by the affection in his brother’s embrace. As they approached the city, the hearts of all three were like the sea at high tide on a full moon night.

  So many thoughts, so many memories … But when Sita arrived, filled with excitement, Urmila was not present to welcome her or to be embraced.

  Then came the heart-rending news of Urmila’s self-imposed exile of fourteen years.