The Liberation of Sita Page 7
‘Rama, you’re an heir to Raghu Vamsa. You’re giving up your kingdom for fourteen years. That doesn’t mean you are giving up your dharma as a king, as a kshatriya. Remember the promise you made to Parasurama at the time of your marriage to Sita. Spread Arya Dharma over the entire southern plain. The entire world should become an Aryan Empire.’
Rama recollected everything.
He recalled the agreement he had made with Parasurama, the slayer of kshatriyas, before he entered into wedlock with Sita.
On the day of the wedding, Parasurama arrived blazing with anger. At the time, Rama was lost in chanting Sita’s name, unaware of everything else. Sita, Janaki, Vaidehi, Mythili—each of her names rained nectar in his heart. At the sight of her face faintly visible from behind the veil, Rama felt himself afloat like the soft mountain breeze. For the first time he experienced a state of unburdened joy.
Breaking Shiva’s bow, Sita adorning his neck with a garland, everything happened as if in a dream.
Rama was in no position to talk to Parasurama. So the elders intervened.
Who did not know of Parasurama’s valour or vengeance, and his vow to exterminate every kshatriya from the face of the Earth?
All the great sages—Brahmarshis and Rajarshis—held negotiations with Parasurama. They sent for Rama too.
‘If Rama makes a promise to firmly establish Arya Dharma in the southern as well as the northern plains, the marriage of Rama and Sita may take place,’ Parasurama said bluntly.
‘I do know Arya Dharma. Sages like Vasista have trained me in it. It has been implemented in our kingdom,’ Rama said politely.
‘It should be implemented more rigorously, more widely and with greater dedication.’ Dasaratha promised on behalf of Rama, lest the latter say something that would annoy Parasurama.
When Rama was about to say something, Parasurama interjected—‘Honouring one’s father’s word is the noblest deed in Arya Dharma. Comply with that first.’
Everybody fell silent.
After Parasurama was pacified, Rama and Sita’s wedding took place without any further hindrance.
Vasista reminded him of all this as Rama was setting out for his fourteen-year sojourn in the forest.
As he was reminded of the past, memories of his life in the forest entered Rama’s thoughts like peacocks with their tails spread out. The first thirteen years of forest life were the most pleasurable years of his life. Those were the years of love that he had spent with Sita. The cool breeze blowing across the river, the intoxicating forest fragrances, the romance that flourished amidst the cooings of various birds. Those were the days when he had securely hidden Sita behind his eyelids. Those were the days when he took delight in Sita’s lap, indulging in love play. He had nothing much to do in those days, except to slay a few non-Aryans and spread Arya Dharma among the sages living there. That was the time when he was free from the customary guardedness and caution of the court and the palace. That was the time when he and Sita were like two lovebirds lost in each other’s company. That was the time when they chased each other like a pair of deer. The rising of the moon, the twinkling of stars, the blooming of flowers, the blowing of the breeze—everything was just for the two of them—Rama and Sita. The brooks frolicked only because Rama and Sita bathed in them. The woods would affectionately take them into their lap and indulge them in their playfulness.
Even in those times, he used to get occasional instructions from Ayodhya. About the expansion of the Aryan Empire. About the indispensability of friendship with Sugriva and enmity with Ravana. Let the opportune time come, Rama thought. The opportune time did come the day Surpanakha appeared. That day he discharged his rajadharma—his duty as a king. To provoke an enemy—an enemy who is to be conquered—into battle, is the rightful duty of an Aryan king. The opportunity presented itself in the form of Surpanakha. By humiliating his sister, Ravana could be drawn into a direct battle, thought Rama, who had little experience in administering a kingdom.
But Ravana was adept at statecraft and military strategies. He was not a novice to cross the seas with his army and fight a war on alien soil. Instead, he abducted Sita—Rama’s beloved. Ravana thought Rama would not be able to cross the seas and win a war in a foreign land where he had no foothold. But Rama had the strength to cross not one but seven seas for Sita’s sake. Perhaps Ravana did not know this.
Whether he knew it not, Ravana paid the price. But even before he was slain, there were whispers in the air. Whether it was in keeping with Arya Dharma to bring Sita back to Ayodhya.
But to return to Ayodhya without Sita! That was unthinkable for Rama. He had not fought an entire war just to show off the prowess of the Aryan Empire. It was for Sita. Even if no one else believed it, he thought Sita would.
But should he take Sita to Ayodhya and humiliate her in front of everybody?
Must Sita listen to all that they would say?
If Sita were to be asked to prove her chastity before the people of Ayodhya, would she be able to bear it?
But unless Sita’s chastity was proved, the royal court of Ayodhya would not welcome her with respect and cordiality.
He knew that very well. So he thought it should be resolved in Lanka itself.
Trial by fire—for his Sita.
For his sake, for his sake alone, did Sita, a woman of dignity, agree to it.
He had thought that he would have no option but to fall at Sita’s feet and beg forgiveness for subjecting her to the ignominy.
But Sita understood his situation. She decided to protect him and his worldly and kingly duties. She wanted to assure him that she was there for him.
She hid the seas of humiliation and grief behind her eyelids, and came forth unperturbed like a pot of water and doused the fire.
‘Don’t forgive me, Sita—’ he held back the words behind his lips. Her lips delicately brushed away those words.
All is well, he thought innocently.
But a shadow of sadness had already gathered in Sita’s eyes. He knew Sita had sustained a wound for his sake. He thought he would be able to heal that wound with his love and with the miraculous power of time. Today, he cut open that wound again, left it incurable and abandoned her.
He caused her heart to bleed incessantly for her humiliation.
A wound that would never heal.
A wound that would hurt every day.
A wound caused by the throne to the love of Sita and Rama.
He could forsake Sita; Sita belonged to him.
He could not relinquish the throne; it belonged to Raghu Vamsa.
The dynasty. The tradition in which political power passes on to the firstborn. The dharma of preserving that tradition was on his head. The burden of protecting Arya Dharma finally robbed him of all the happiness in his life.
There was no liberation for him.
Rama wailed disconsolately.
Having heard that two young monks from the forest were singing the saga of Rama, Lakshmana wanted to present them before Rama.
But meeting Rama was difficult now even for Lakshmana.
Rama was an emperor. He occupied the throne. Wore the crown.
Except for the throne and the crown, he paid no attention to anything else. He had no other interest either.
To mothers, brothers, relatives—to every one of them—he was Emperor Ramachandra.
Had Rama changed into a machine in order to forget the pain of separation from Sita? Or had he sent Sita away to the forest knowing he would inevitably have to turn into a mechanical being once he took over the reins of power, and that Sita would not be able to bear the change in him? Lakshmana and Anjaneya often wondered about this.
They waited to see him smile but they did not know that there was a permanent rift between authority and an affectionate smile.
A kingdom had to be governed. And for governance one needed blunt weapons. Only those carried any value.
Lakshmana thought that Rama’s heart might melt at the sight of those hermit boys
.
Their songs were sweet; their faces were sweet; their words were sweet. The nectar of their voices might be the right medicine to melt Rama’s heart, which had turned to stone, thought Lakshmana.
Rama listened to his brother’s words disinterestedly.
They could sing the saga of Rama. But what did they know of the saga of the Rama bound by the shackles of power? Knowing nothing about it, what could they sing?
When Rama was a child, he had demanded the moon. He was shown a reflection of the moon in a mirror and was pacified. The boys could perhaps sing of that episode.
Rama was now bound to the throne and could not even insist that he wanted Sita. Could they sing that story?
They could sing beautifully of the wedding of Sita and Rama. But could they sing the story of Rama languishing in the agony of being permanently separated from Sita?
They would sing about Rama, the slayer of the demon king Ravana. But could those young boys sing of the Rama who extinguished all traces of love within himself?
As Rama’s face turned pale, Lakshmana lost all hope.
‘Anna, please heed my words, just this one time. Their singing will be like a balm to your burning heart.’
‘Heart? My heart? Burning?’
‘Their songs will be like cool nectar to your blazing mind.’
‘Mind? My mind? I who execute the Arya Dharma without a second thought, do I have a mind of my own?’
‘Anna, for my sake—’
Lakshmana fell at Rama’s feet.
Rama nodded in consent.
Lava and Kusa approached Rama, seated in the royal court amidst his distinguished courtiers, and greeted him with folded hands. Rama was moved the moment he saw them. Clearly they were his reflections. Princes in the guise of hermits. Everything became clear to Rama. He drew them close and embraced them. Everything was crystal clear to all the courtiers as well. In the discussion on dharma that followed, it was resolved that Rama could accept his sons.
‘What about Sita?’
The debate about dharma started all over again.
‘If Sita declares her innocence in the court, Ramachandra may accept her.’
Valmiki left for his ashram with this news.
But Rama knew Sita would never come back.
Giving him his sons, the joy of their embrace—she had saved him, as always.
She thawed the stone that Rama’s heart had turned into. She made the withered plant sprout again.
He too, as always, left Sita to more sorrow. Like a wild beast stamping on a tender creeper every time it tried to rise with the help of some prop or the other, he destroyed Sita’s desire to live every time she nurtured it.
Sita was not coming back into his life. She would entrust the children to him and liberate herself. But he could not find liberation until he turned them into heirs to Raghu Vamsa.
But by giving him his sons, Sita had cleared the way for his liberation. She had always stood by him. She had always protected him. In Ayodhya, everyone swore by Rama’s protection.
Who knew that Sita was Sri Rama’s protective charm?
P.S.
Insights Interviews & More ...
Sita Herself Can Save Us
Volga
Forging a Vision of Liberation
T. Vijay Kumar and C. Vijayasree
Volga: An Interview
T. Vijay Kumar
Sita Herself Can Save Us
Volga
The stories in this collection revolve around the character of Sita against the backdrop of the Ramayana. It was perhaps Tripuraneni Ramaswamy Chowdhury1 who, in the last century, started the trend of rewriting stories from [Hindu] mythology. Rama’s slaying of the Shudra ascetic Shambuka under the influence of Brahmin hegemony, and acting on their complaint, is presented in the Ramayana as an act of protecting dharma. But in Shambuka Vadha, Tripuraneni exposed the injustice and made us rethink what caste has to do with performing penance. Times change, and along with it change customs and traditions. Dharmas of the past become meaningless and unjust now. To convey this truth, many writers continue to rethink and rewrite stories from mythology. Going a step further, Chalam2 reconfigured mythological characters from a rationalist perspective. He presented Sita who saw Ravana as someone who ruined himself for her sake to be a truer lover than Rama. She in fact enters the funeral pyre of Ravana. Chalam also wrote many stories and plays presenting in a humourous way Harishchandra’s truthfulness, Prahlad’s devotion to Vishnu, and Kuchela’s progeny. In plays like Pururava and Shashanka, he critiqued contemporary morals and the ways of the world through mythological characters, to create awareness that we should overcome narrow boundaries and egos. In the story ‘Ashoka Vanam’, KoKu3 wonders at the cruelty of burning down the Ashoka garden. In ‘Jambavantha’s Dream’, he introduced revolutionary thoughts into Jambavanth’s character.
I suppose these examples are enough to show that using characters from mythology is an established practice in Telugu literature. Since the characters are already known to the reader, the author is spared of the effort to introduce them, and can then concentrate on the subject. Among the stories here, I wrote ‘The Reunion’ first. I was inspired to write it by a scene in my dance–drama War and Peace. Declaring that they are not the cause of the battle between Rama and Ravana, Sita and Surpanakha sing and dance together:
Desire to expand the Aryan Empire
Ignited the Rama–Ravana war
It’s an Arya–Dravida clash
Women too became pawns.
At first, Sita and Surpanakha sing separately that they are lovers of peace and pastoral life, worshippers of beauty, yet could not escape insults, suspicions and humiliations. Later, they dance together to the above song. The audience appreciated it a great deal. Surpanakha’s character received a lot of compliments. But there were some doubts too. Firstly, and importantly, in the dancers themselves. The Surpanakha they knew was a demon. The Surpanakha I portrayed claims to be a worshipper of beauty and a friendly and loving person. The dancers therefore were hesitant to play such a character. They were convinced only after it was explained to them that Surpanakha was a Dravidian woman, and that the traditions and customs of the Dravidians were different from those of the Aryans, and that the Dravidians were depicted as demons in the Puranas. They then represented the character aesthetically. But several questions came up when the dance–drama was to be telecast on Doordarshan. They could not see Surpanakha as anything but a demon. They were used to understanding the suffering of Sita and Draupadi, but how could one place Surpanakha by their side? What did Surpanakha suffer in the first place? She got punished for lusting after an unknown man. Other than that, what was her distress? In fact, aren’t Sita and Surpanakha rivals? How can they dance together? Such questions were posed, and those at Doordarshan were not satisfied with our answers. Eventually they censored Surpanakha’s role before telecasting it.
That’s when I felt like writing a story about Surpanakha’s pain. I wondered why Sita and Surpanakha could not be friends. The result was the story ‘Reunion’. In this story, Sita notices Surpanakha’s deep insight. She notes Surpanakha’s empowerment and Surpanakha’s struggle with herself to achieve it.
After writing the story, I felt great affection for Sita’s character. Sita, who loved Rama so much and received so much love from him, was subjected to insults and scorn by the same man. Sita who would ensconce herself in the loving embrace of Rama, Sita who would walk in the footsteps of Rama—she rejected the same man, even deserted her children and followed her own path. Her experiences pushed her in that direction. However, I felt that there must have been other women who joined Sita in her journey. Sita must have struggled hard with herself to leave Rama. Merely being angry with him would not have been enough to separate herself from him. Psychoanalysts say that anger and hatred tie people together. More than love, anger and malice bind people to each other rather than liberate them. Therefore, Sita did not leave in anger. She left with a matured mind. I f
elt that her maturity may have come from her worldly experience. She must have internalized the strength that she got from outside. There were many women before her—in the Ramayana itself—who were victims of insults, rejections, curses and neglect by the world, families and husbands. Ahalya came to my mind first. The story ‘The Music of the Earth’ was written with the idea of a meeting between Ahalya and Sita.
What Renuka and Urmila had to experience was not any less. If they share their experiences, knowledge and wisdom with Sita, perhaps it would add further strength to her. Such cooperation among women is an idea dear to me and these stories are infused with it. These stories also represent women’s suffering in contemporary society. While some women overcome the restrictions, insults and violence they are subjected to, many others remain trapped, unable to escape, and unaware of the need to escape. Women who are unaware of the need to liberate themselves from abusive husbands continue to hang on to them even while loathing them. Women are used to inflicting violence upon themselves out of hatred.
These stories are for such women.
Ramadasu4 sang ‘Plead with the lord to save me, O Mother Sita’. I believe that the Sita of these stories does not need to plead with anyone—she herself can save us.
‘Who will save us?’ asked Tyagayya.5 I hope these stories will gives us the confidence to answer ‘We ourselves’. With these stories I have made five dear friends: Sita, Surpanakha, Ahalya, Renuka and Urmila. I am confident that these friends of mine will give my fellow women strength, courage and wisdom.
Forging a Vision of Liberation
T. Vijay Kumar and C. Vijayasree
Volga’s Vimukta, translated as The Liberation of Sita, is a slim collection of five stories. All of them draw on the Ramayana and have Sita as the principal character. Each story is independent and yet connected. In each of them Sita learns a lesson that facilitates her liberation. Interestingly, it is the minor characters in Valmiki’s epic—Surpanakha, Renuka, Urmila and Ahalya—who occupy centre stage and assume a major role in educating Sita. The title story signals Sita’s emergence as the liberated one while the final story, ‘The Shackled’, shows Rama imprisoned in the bondage of Arya Dharma.