Not born of a womb

She represents the womanhood of India. If Rama was the ideal man, she was the ideal woman. The most beautiful and gracious of all women.

‘If he could create a woman like her, he would have done so!’ ‘ivaL oppaaL oru peNNai tharum thaan ennin innum tharalaamE.’ ‘If it at all it is within his power, he could do so even now! The very fact that that there is none like her goes to show that she was not Brahma’s creation and that he is incapable of giving this world another Sita’ sang an enthralled Kamban. ‘Even the Ocean of Milk cannot produce another like her. May be if the celestials go and beg with it, it may be possible for the Ocean of Milk to give another dose of nectar. But not her. It is not capable of bringing Her once again from its bowels. Just because, there is no parallel to her.’

‘ayoni sambhava,’ is how Sita is known as. Not born from any mother’s womb. Siradhwaja, known more widely by his honorific title Janaka, narrates the story of Sita when he gives her in marriage. “Immediately after that there arose from the track of the ploughshare (even) as I was ploughing the plot set apart for a sacrifice, a female baby, who was discovered while dressing the field and (as such) was widely known by the name of Sita. That (foster-) daughter of mine, who had emerged from the soil, gradually grew at an extraordinary pace (in my care). This daughter of mine, who was not born (in the ordinary way) from the (mother’s) womb, was kept by me for being given in marriage to a suitor who would win her by his valour.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto LXVI, Sloka 12-15)

The epic gives this special position to Sita. Not created in the ordinary way. Not born in the usual manner. Even Rama was borne by a womb. Sita was not. Hearsay has it that the epic was originally named after her. Sitayana.

She represents the womanhood of India. If Rama was the ideal man, she was the ideal woman. The most beautiful and gracious of all women. ‘What simile is there for me to liken her to! I am deprived of words! I am denied of the one and only simile that is the favourite of all Poets,’ wonders an enraptured Kamban whose inner eye had imbibed Her image. The great Poet says, ‘My empty words are powerless to describe her beauty.’ ‘seppum kaalai seng kamalaththOn mudhal yaarum,’ Whoever he is, right from Brahma to the last of all poets, ‘ep peN paalum koNdu uvamippaar’ when describing the beauty of a woman, ‘uvamikkum ap peNN thane aana pOdhu,’ would liken that woman to Mahalakshmi. When the very Mahalakshmi is born as Sita, ‘ingu ayal vEru Or oppu engE koNdu ev vagai naadi urai seyvOm?’ what is left for me to compare her to! Who is there to be compared with! I am not left with anyone else who can even remotely come anywhere near her in beauty or personal qualities.

If the Poets sing of her beauty, it is not that the beauty of the limbs alone that they sing. What they really describe is the beauty that is enriched by her gunas. Strength of character. Beauty of patience. Tolerance. Love. Mercy. Simplicity. Compassion. Empathy. A staunch, unshakable, unyielding faith in her husband, his ability to spot her even if she is hidden under the earth. No. There is more. There is one very important trait of Sita, which is very much overlooked. Courage. Courage born of conviction, knowledge and I would say, wisdom. The highest kind of all traits resided in her. That is how Hanuman picturises her to Rama when he returns from his mission in Lanka.

The delight of Janaka

In fact, Sita was dearer to him. He specified a test of strength for the suitor of Janaki’s hand, not that of Urmila, his own child!

‘I did not see Sita there,’ told Hanuman. Even before coming close to Rama, on his return from Lanka, he conveyed the message that he found Sita, by prostrating in the direction of south. After he comes closer to Rama he reverses the order of the words and tells him, ‘saw I the jewel of purity with my own eyes,’ – ‘kaNdanen karppinukku aNiyaik kaNgaLaal,’ in order that the message that he saw her there is conveyed with the very first word, so that Rama does not have to wait for a second more, he gives a delightful twist. His eyes must have twinkled with mischief. ‘viR perum thadam thOL vIra!’ O broad-shouldered warrior of the bow! ‘vIngu nIr ilangai veRppil’ in the island of Lanka, built on the Mount Thrikoota, surrounded by the mighty ocean, ‘naRperum thavaththaL aaya nangayaik kaNdEn allEn,’ I did not see the lady who is given unto the penance of purity. No. It was not a woman that I saw. He then pauses for a while.

‘iRpirappu enbadhu ondrum,’ What I saw was nobility; ‘irum porai enbadhu ondrum,’ the greatest of patience; ‘kaRppu enum peyaradhu ondrum,’ and that which is known as immaculate purity, ‘kaLi nadam puriyak kaNdEn’ I saw them joyfully residing in one form. It was not Sita that I saw. It was the embodiment of pedigree, patience and purity that I saw in the Asoka grove.

It was this delight of a girl that King Siradhwaja, Janaka, found in the track of the ploughshare when he was preparing the ground for a sacrificial fire. ‘She appeared from the earth from the track of the plough, as though Mother Earth herself had assumed the form of a baby. The baby’s extraordinary beauty and the divinity that was resplendent in it charmed Janaka. He adopted her as his own child. Though Urmila (who was given in marriage to Lakshmana) was born to him subsequently after Janaki was adopted, he made no difference between the two. In fact, Sita was dearer to him. He specified a test of strength for the suitor of Janaki’s hand, not that of Urmila his own child!

‘Hearing of her beauty, rulers from all over the world approached me. But I could not give her away just like that to anyone,’ he says. “This daughter of mine, who was not born (in the ordinary way) from the (mother’s) womb, was kept by me for being given in marriage to a suitor who would win her by his valour. Rulers of lands approached me and sued for (the hand of my daughter), who had appeared from the soil and was growing (at an unusual pace), O jewel among sages. I (however) did not give away my daughter to any, telling all the kings who sued for (the hand of) my girl that the she could (only) be won through (personal) valour.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Canto LXVII, Sloka 15-17)

‘Many kings came, seeking her hand. I was rather reluctant to give my child in marriage unless that King demonstrates his valour. She is under my care. Giving her away in marriage is my sacred responsibility.’ The kings were irritated. They started demanding the standard by which Janaka proposed to measure the valour of the suitor of the hand of Sita. It was then that Janaka thought of the Bow of Shiva. The bow, like Sita, was in the sacred trust of Janaka.

The Bow of Shiva

It was a massive bow, mounted on a wheeled box that had to be hauled by hundreds of warriors. ‘Sixty thousand,’ says Kamban hauled it. The arithmetical accuracy of the number doesn’t matter.

As is wont of all stories, the story of the Bow of Shiva has a hundred different variants. Many are the stories that are associated with the decision that Janaka took in specifying the condition that this bow has to be strung and an arrow shot from it, to qualify for winning the hand of Sita. One is that Sita, while still a child lifted the bow up playfully and therefore Janaka was left with no option but to specify this condition. None of these stories is supported by either Valmiki or Kamban.

Janaka in Valmiki simply tells Viswamitra, “Thereupon all the kings (literally, rulers of men) came to Mithila in a body and inquired of the standard by which their prowess was going to be judged, O jewel among sages! Then the bow of Lord Shiva was brought before the inquisitive princes. They (however) could not even support it, much less toss it (in order to be able to ascertain its weight). Perceiving (as I did) the prowess of those princes, who claimed (great) prowess to be deficient, O eminent sage, those rulers of men were rejected (by me).” (Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto XVII, Sloka19)

And the bow reached the hands of Janaka through Devarata, the forefather of Janaka. ‘It was this bow,’ Janaka tells Viswamitra and the boys who have come, especially the dark one who is so anxious to demonstrate his prowess, ‘that Rudra bent on the celestials who participated in Daksha Yaga. In fact the boy was not anxious. It was unknown to him. What he had was the curiosity of a child when it sets its eye on a new toy. “Pulling the string of this bow in sport with the purpose of wrecking he sacrifice of Daksha in the olden days, the valiant Lord Rudra (the god of destruction) for his part angrily spoke to the gods…” (Ibid, Sloka 9)

The Devas fell at the feet of Lord Shiva and He in turn was pleased with them and handed the Bow to them. “Then that celebrated jewel among bows was deposited (by them) as a trust with our powerful forefather (Devarata).” (Ibid, Sloka 12) Janaka decided to use this bow to measure the strength of the prince who sought the hand of Sita. None could qualify it. Sage Satananda, the guru of Janaka says that the princes, highly irritated as they were, for having been required to perform a superhuman task, collected together and warred against Janaka. It was not difficult for Janaka to quell all of them. But he did not go back on what he decided. He was firm in his demand, though not a single king could achieve what was demanded.

It was a massive bow, mounted on a wheeled box that had to be hauled by hundreds of warriors. ‘Sixty thousand,’ says Kamban hauled it. The arithmetical accuracy of the number doesn’t matter. It simply boils down to the fact that if it all it had to be moved from its position, a large number of people were required to perform the task.

A story of love

Kamban varies the drama here. He wanted to lay stress on the point that the girl has a say in the matter. He wanted to establish beyond doubt that she accepted Rama not just because…

Obviously, the suitors who had come from a long distance, eager to win the hand of Sita felt slighted and ultimately their numbers dwindled with the passage of time, as they had all come to a conclusion that it was an impossible task that Janaka was asking them to perform. Janaki later coyly recounts this to Anasuya, wife of sage Atri, when they commence their life in the forest.

“Perceiving my age to be such when union with a husband can be easily had, my father for his part fell a prey to anxiety, feeling distressed as a destitute would through loss of fortune. The father of an unmarried girl, even though he is a compeer of Indra (the lord of paradise) on earth, suffers indignity in the world at the hands of a suitor’s men, no matter if they are equal or (even) inferior (in status) to him. Perceiving that indignity threatening him at no distant date, the king was plunged in a sea of anxiety and did not reach its end any more than a man without a bark would reach the end of a sea.” (Ibid, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto CXVII, Sloka 34 – 36)

Janaka faced stiff resistance from the kings who could not perform the task; he faced humiliation in that he could not give his daughter in marriage at the right age; he was too anxious about anyone at all be able to meet his condition. But, so typically like the fathers of all daughters at this stage, he was not ready to go back on the condition. It was the question of his daughter’s life, after all! He had to ensure that she gets the most befitting person for her.

Kamban varies the drama here. He wanted to lay stress on the point that the girl has a say in the matter. He wanted to establish beyond doubt that she accepted Rama not just because her father identified him to be the best among men, who passed a test of stringing the massive bow of Lord Shiva. No. Not that alone. She accepted him because she happened to see him as he walked in the streets of Mithila, abutting the palace. She married him not just because the condition that her father laid was fulfilled; but because she also liked the person; because she fell in love with him even before he entered their palace, before he heard of the bow, before he took the bow as lightly as a garland in his hand to string.

A question would naturally arise in the minds of the readers now. Well. Let that be so. But this move, this deviation has an inherent danger in it. If she fell in love with this boy, – neela mega shyamalan, kamala pathraakshan of hue like the cloud and eyes like petals of lotus – what would have happened if he failed to string the bow! What would have happened that somebody else did so! The Poet has with sufficient forethought, answered all these questions. We will examine them one by one.

They saw each other. They fell in love with each other. Sita lost her heart to this rain-bearing cloud of a lotus-eyed prince, without knowing anything about him. Neither did Rama know that he has come to Mithila for the sake of this girl, nor did Sita know that this boy is named Rama and this is her suitor. Without knowing anything about each other, they fall in love.

aNNalum nOkkinaan avaLum nOkkinaaL

It is an enthralling story of love that Kamban builds. They see each other by sheer accident. They forget their surroundings.

It is a strange meeting. It is an enthralling story of love that Kamban builds. They see each other by sheer accident. They forget their surroundings. Walking on the line of vision of each other, they move into the hearts of each other. A dream of a meeting and a dream of a verse. The first meeting of the divine couple ever since they left their abode in the Ocean of Milk. Kamban melts the hearts of the readers, taking everyone with him to the heights of delight in this scene, a real grand creation of his, a deviation from the original.

After the deliverance of Ahalya from the curse of Gautama, her husband, the boys Rama and Lakshmana are taken by their preceptor Viswamitra, to Mithila. Viswamitra had already decided about taking Rama to the court of Janaka and to ask him to string the bow. But he had not disclosed his decision to Rama at this stage. He had simply informed him that they are going to Mithila to witness the grand Yaga being performed by Janaka and nothing more.

The sage and the boys walk into the long and wide roads of Mithila, with everyone turning their heads in wonder at the handsomeness of the boys, and walk close to the moat that surrounds the fortress. Vaidehi is at that time playing on the terrace of her gynaecium with her friends. Running happily like a swan to the parapet wall, she chanced to look at the street. ‘A feast to the eyes of the beholder,’ says Kamban. ‘vengkaLi vizhikku oru vizhavum aayavar.’ A delight to the spectator. ‘mangayarkku iniyadhu oru marundhum aayavaL.’ She is the elixir, the manna among all maidens. Such delight she is, ‘engaL naayagarkku yaavadhu aam kolO?’ what would she be to our Lord! Our Lord who cherishes Her on His chest!

Her eyes fell on the ‘koNdal,’ the cloudlet that was walking down the streets of Mithila. The excited, happy, high-pitched squeals of the girls naturally made Rama to look up. Their eyes locked into each other. ‘eNNa aru nalaththinaaL, inayaL nindruzhi,’ When Sita, whose beauty cannot be comprehended, stood there, leaning on the parapet wall, ‘kaNodu kaN iNai kavvi,’ their pairs of eyes locked into each other, ‘ondrai ondru uNNavum,’ and seemed to swallow each other, ‘nilai peraadhu,’ their minds destabilised as they were (moved towards each other) ‘uNarvum ondrida,’ were in the same state (of love) ‘aNNalum nOkkinaan,’ Rama kept looking on and on. ‘avaLum nOkkinaaL.’ Sita could not take her eyes away from him.

‘parugiya nOkku enum paasathaal piNiththu,’ Their line of vision metamorphosed into a rope and ‘oruvari oruvar tham uLLam eerththalaal,’ since their mind pulled the other with such force (through the towline of their vision), ‘vari silai aNNalum,’ the Lord of the banded bow ‘vaat kaN nangayum,’ and the maiden whose eyes were as sharp as a sword, ‘iruvarum maarip pukku idhayam eydhinaar’ walked on the rope (of their line of vision), and entered into the heart of the other.

A tightrope walking indeed! Rama walked on the ‘rope’ reached the eye of the maiden and through the eye, walked into the grand chamber of her heart. Sita walked to his heart in a similar manner. Scintillating. The kind of vision that the Poet had and the manner in which he has treasured it in words for us to see, is simply marvellous. There is no other word to describe the joy that wells up the heart of the reader.

And why would they stand like that for such a long time? Listen to the Poet.

pEsavum vENdumO?

When hearts are in perfect communion, what is the need for words! Though they are playing their roles on this earth as humans, the Divine Couple have been…

That accidental glance on each other rendered them speechless. They had even forgotten to wink. ‘It is only natural, no?’ asks the Poet. ‘It has been such long time since they left the company of each other! Are they not meeting after years of separation? Are they not realising whose company they were missing all these days?’ ‘marungu ilaa mangayum,’ She whose waistline is so slender that it is almost invisible, ‘vasai il ayyanum’ and the Lord who is above all faults, ‘orungiya iraNdu udarkku uyir ondru aanaar’ became just one soul residing in two bodies. It was no more a Rama without Sita or Sita without Rama. It was the same soul. It is just that it was shared by two different bodies, two different forms.

‘It is not unnatural,’ the Poet seems to imply. ‘They know each other for such a long time and they have been in the company of each other for such a long time and this first glance has brought the memories of those days in their minds.’ ‘How is that possible? When did they meet? You say this is their first meeting? How come they knew each other earlier?’ ‘karung kadal paLLiyil kalavi nIngip pOi,’ The Ones who had left each other (for the sake of this avatar) from their abode in the Milky Ocean, ‘pirindhavar kUdinaal,’ are meeting after a period of long separation. When they do so ‘pEsal vENdumO?’ are words necessary at all!

When hearts are in perfect communion, what is the need for words! Though they are playing their roles on this earth as humans, the Divine Couple have been one all along, and that love for each other wells up deep in them now.

It seems to be aeons and aeons of time that must have passed with Rama standing in the busy thoroughfare of Mithila, the road adjoining the fort. Remember. There was Viswamitra and also Lakshmana standing by his side. It could not have lasted very long. It must have been a fleeting glance. Their eyes must have met for but a moment. But that precious moment became so cherished in their hearts that it seemed to have been such a long time that they stood there without stirring from that place.

‘She stood there for a long time,’ says the Poet, ‘after the three walked and moved away from that place, even after they reached the end of the road and turned towards the gates of the grand palace.’

The scope of the epic does not offer much room for depicting their intimate moments. The Poet exploits this very second for describing the depth of love between the two. This strong depiction is needed of course, for this tender feeling alone drove Rama to go behind the golden deer, despite being warned by Lakshmana. This strong bond of love was the reason for his quick decision to run after it, to catch it alive if at all it was possible.

Pray do not misunderstand me. When I am saying that, I do not mean that they suffered because they loved each other!

Strange kind of feelings

Before I could even realise what was happening, his smile that took me away. That drank the very source of life from me in one clean sip.

Even before they came to know who the other one is, even before they knew their names, even before a word could be exchanged they fell in love. Kamban is so thrilled of having captured the ineffable that he ecstatically describes the state of mind that Janaki is in extenso. Sita is indeed in a state of delirium of the delight of having seen her Rama, though she is not aware of his name, of the fact that he is the prince from Ayodhya. Now she would think of his gait; now she would bring his cheerful countenance to her mind; now would she recollect that warm smile.

‘indhira niilam oththu iruNda kunjiyum,’ it was not his long flowing hair, black as the inky night; ‘chandhira vadhanamum’ neither was it the face glowing like the full moon; ‘thaazhndha kaigaLum’ nor was it the strong arms that reach up to his knees; ‘sundara maNi varaith thOLumE ala,’ nor was it the well-shaped, muscular stone-like shoulders. ‘mundhi en uyirai am muruval uNdadhE.’ It was his smile. That smile of his just sipped my soul away.

‘aa-jaanu-baahu’ is what Rama is known as. People tend to think aajaanubahu means a tall and athletic personality. No. ‘jaanu’ in Sanskrit means ‘knee’. ‘Baahu’ is the word for arm. ‘Long arms that reach up to the knees’ is what is meant by the expression aajaanubahu. That is indicative of the majesty of stature. It was not his handsome features or the majesty of his stature ‘thaazhndha kaigaLum’ – incomparable as they were – that made me fall in love with this unknown boy. Before I could see any of those features, before I could even realise what was happening, his smile took me away. That drank the very source of life from me in one clean sip.

Who could this boy be! Who would tell me! O he is not the cupid, for the bow that he carried was not made of sugarcane. Who was this cloudlet that walked with the (rain)bow in hand! Where from does he come and what could his name be!

Rama was overcome by similar feelings too. Viswamitra had taken him to Janaka that evening. The three of them were staying in the guesthouse. For the very first time in his entire life, so far, we hear from the mouth of the Poet that ‘Rama was alone.’ ‘muniyum thambiyum pOi murayaal thamakku iniya paLLigal eydhiya pin’ After the sage and Lakshmana retired to their respective bedchambers, ‘kangulum, thingaLum, thaniyum, thaanum ath thaiyalum aayinaan.’ He was all alone with the night, the moon, the loneliness, himself and the maiden (residing in his mind) to keep company. He was with himself, in the dark of night, under moonlight, bringing the memory of the enchantress that he saw when he entered Mithila.

For the first time he is alone, with not even Lakshmana by his side. And the feeling is so tender, so personal and so private that he does not divulge this even to Lakshmana. That is the first and only secret that he had kept unknown to his alter ego, the soul that functions from outside his body, his endeared brother.

He rules their hearts

Rama’s eyes were on the bow and on the bow only. He was waiting for the word ‘go’ from the mouth of his preceptor, who engaged the audience in a peroration…

‘This Janaka must be mad!’ murmured the people who thronged the hall to which the massive bow of Shiva was brought. They could not take their eyes away from the youth who walked in with his younger brother, led by the sage. ‘If he wants to give Sita away in marriage, why should he trouble this boy! Better give her to him, without putting him to any test! Who else can be a better suitor for Sita!’

‘veLLam aNaiththavan villai eduththu,’ ‘Picking the bow of the one in whose locks is enshrined the Ganges, ‘ip piLLai mun ittadhu pEdhamai’ and putting it before this boy, this child, demanding him to string it, is foolish. Why does he not relax the condition!’ Each and every single one of them around liked Sri Rama so much that they desired and had even already decided that this was the right suitor for their princess. They had seen hundreds of kings in the past struggling and failing even to move the bow an inch from the box in which it was kept. They were afraid now that this condition may come in the way of this boy marrying their princess.

Rama’s eyes were on the bow and on the bow only. He was waiting for the word ‘go’ from the mouth of his preceptor, who engaged the audience in a peroration on the pedigree of the boy. This was enjoined by Sage Satananda, who narrated the history of the bow. ‘Hundreds of kings have tried their hands. Not even one could move it up. Many were disappointed and in their anger even marched on us with large armies. But they were all no match to the valour of our King and crumbled to the dust. We have been firm in our condition. The person, whoever he is, has to prove his prowess, strength and skills with the bow before he can seek the hand of our princess.’ ‘We were worried all these days,’ the sage added, ‘about whom we shall give our princess away in marriage to. If Rama could string it and shoot an arrow, he would put an end to all the mental agony that our King and all of us are undergoing.’

Viswamitra smiled. Turned his head towards Rama. ‘punaindha sadai mudi thuLakki, pOr Etrin mugam paarththaan.’ He looked at the face of the lion-of-the-battlefield. His jata mudi moved a little as he nodded his head approvingly and invitingly. Rama was itching to try his hand with the bow. He was more like the curious child who is impatiently waiting for the new toy to be bought from the showcase and be handed over. His mind was set only on the bow and not even on this ‘girl whom he is supposed to marry’, if the condition is fulfilled. It is hardly possible that he would have heard the words of Satananda! He jumped up the very moment his preceptor signalled him of his approval. ‘pozhindha ney aagudhi vaai vazhi pongi ezhundha kozhung kanal enna ezhundhaan.’ He flared up like the leaping tongue of flame that shoots up the moment it is fed with ghee.

The women folk who were witnessing the event were in tears. They joined their palms and prayed for the success of this boy, who had won all their hearts in no time. ‘karangaL kuviththu,’ Joining their palms, ‘iru kaNgaL panippa,’ with tears forming at the ends of their eyes, ‘irum kaLiru ich chilai Etrilan aayin,’ if at all this calf-elephant (Rama) does not string this bow, ‘narandha naRaik kuzhal nangayum naamum,’ we, together with the girl (Sita) whose curly locks are perfumed with musk, ‘murungu eriyil puga mUzhgudhum’ will all fall into the blazing fire and give our lives up.

Rama had become their endeared in the few moments that they saw him moving like the lion-of-the-battlefield that he is, towards the mountain of a bow of Lord Shiva.

They heard it breaking

He picked it up as easily as he would pick the garland that he is to adorn the shoulders of Sita with, on the day of their marriage. The people around had frozen in amazement…

Kamban scales a new high with every other verse that follows. Speaking of the gait of Rama walking towards the bow, he draws an elaborate picture of it in just two lines. ‘maaga madangalum maal vidayum pon naagamum naagamum naaNa nadandhan.’ The majesty of his gait would put the lion, the best of bulls, the Mount Meru and the elephant to shame, sings the Poet! Delightful picture and a divine vision, flowing through delectable poetry. He simply lifts the souls up in sheer joy.

The bow was just waiting for him to be tamed. ‘sUdaga vaal vaLai sUttida nIttum Edu avizh maalai idhu enna eduththaan.’ He picked it up as easily as he would pick the garland that he is to adorn the shoulders of Sita with, on the day of their marriage. The people around had frozen in amazement. Their eyes remained wide-open. ‘They struggled hard to remain without winking.’ ‘thaduththu imayaamal irundhavar,’ They made a conscious effort to stop their eyelids from batting. (Even then) ‘thaaLil maduthadhum, naaN nudhi vaiththadhum nOkkar’ they could not see him pressing his foot firmly on the bottom edge of the bow (that juts out like an inverted walking-stick so that it springs up). Nor could they see him stringing the lower end. They never knew when he bent the bow so that he could take the string to the upper end. ‘kaduppinil yaarum arindhilar.’ He was too quick for them to follow his actions even with their eyes remaining wide-open. ‘kaiyaal eduthadhu kaNdanar.’ They saw him picking up the bow. ‘itradhu kEttaar.’ And they heard the thunder of a noise that issued forth from it when it broke into two.

“Having set the string to the bow, the highly illustrious Sri Rama (a jewel among men) bent the said bow and (lo!) the bow broke into two at the middle. A great noise reverberating like a crash of thunder issued from it (even as it broke) and a violent earthquake followed (in its wake) as it would in the event of a mountain cracking.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto LXVIII, Sloka 17 and 18)

The people were overjoyed and danced in glee. Unbounded was the joy of Janaka and Satananda. Should we say anything about Viswamitra! But the Poet so very carefully, and meticulously avoids writing even a single line on the mental state that Rama is in! That speaks volumes. What is unsaid in the right place throws more light than the spoken word. That is an important character trait in Rama. But we are devoting our time on Sita now. We will take that up later.

Now, Sita is in her gynaecium, totally unaware of what is happening in the King’s court. She did not know that such a thing is going on at all. Of course, she would have heard the noise of the bow breaking, but did not know what it was due to. ‘O was that the reason for the noise,’ would shout a joyous Dasaratha much later when messengers took him the news. The noise was heard even in Ayodhya. Sita had obviously heard the noise but could not make anything out of it. She was lost in her dreams about the boy whose smile had ‘sipped her soul away.’ Not until her endeared friend Neelamala ran to her from the Court, carrying the joyful news, danced about, and told her that Rama, the son of emperor Dasaratha had taken the bow in hand, but the bow broke when he attempted to string it.

Sita was in great suspense. She knew only the ‘lotus-eyed-cloudlet’ that walked along her gynaecium the previous day. She did not know him by name. She had fallen in love with him. But now her friend is saying that somebody known as Rama had broken the bow! Is this the same boy? Or is this a different person?

The Poet beats his luminous wings in the void. He brings out the finest nuances of the feelings that run in her heart.

If it is not he…

She realised what information that she has is only partially dependable. Chances are that that her guess might go wrong. Her mind needed an explicit confirmation

As Neelamala described the events that led finally to Rama breaking the bow in the process of stringing it, Sita was looking for clues. She was in a pretty precarious situation. She was deep in love with someone whom she had seen only the previous day. She did not even know his name. There was no means of finding it out without letting others know about it. But her modesty did not permit her to let the secret that she had locked in the innermost recesses of her heart. Even if she had the inclination to seek information, the information that she had was not sufficient.

Her friend, however, in her excitement was re-enacting all that she witnessed. ‘He came like this, took the bow like this, ‘maaththirai aLavil,’ within the fraction of a second, ‘thaal maduththu,’ he pressed (the front lower edge of) the bow with one foot, ‘thaan mun payil sUthiram ena vaanginaan’ and lifted it in his hands as though he had practised with that weapon for a very long time.

Sita’s mind, which normally should have been absorbed in the excited and enthusiastic description of her friend, was not paying much attention to it. She was looking for clues in her description that would betray the identity of the person who did this super-human feat. And finally Neelamala, quite unknowingly gave out the most vital clue that she needed. ‘kO muniyudan varu koNdal endra pin,’ He is one of those two boys who accompanied the sage. He is the one who resembles the cloud in hue, ‘thaamaraik kaNNinaan endra thanmayaal’ and because (Neelamala told that) his eyes resembled the petals of lotus, ‘aam avane kol ena ayyam neenginaaL’ Sita was relieved. ‘Yes. It is he. It is the same one who walked into my heart yesterday,’ she rejoiced for a while.

Yes. It was only for a while. She realised what information that she has is only partially dependable. Chances are that her own guess might go wrong. Her mind needed an explicit confirmation of the fact that the boy who broke the bow was the same one that she saw on the previous day. She was happy partially at the thought of the prospects of her guess turning to be correct. And not so happy since she could verify what she guessed to be true. Verification was not possible unless she met him in person again!

The Sita of Kamban takes shape here. She decides in a split second. ‘solliya kuriyin ath thOndralE avan.’ From what she describes (it appears to me) that he is the same one. ‘allanEl irappen.’ If that is not so, I would (not marry him but) give up my life.

Kamban thought far, far ahead of his times. He envisioned a society in which women had their say in their wedding. He very silently seeds his thoughts in the depths of the epics to surface unexpectedly from totally unexpected corners. For example, he speaks of education and property rights of women when speaking of the Kosala Kingdom. The kingdom prospered because, ‘perum thadang kaN pirai nudhalaarkku elaam,’ all the women (of wide eyes and crescent-moon like foreheads) ‘porundhu kalviyum selvamum pUththalaal,’ were educated and they enjoyed the right to property.

Apart from the sociological aspects of it, the above words of Sita become very important from another standpoint. It is really surprising that not many have noticed it. The words that she uttered to herself in absolute privacy and could not share with even the most intimate of her friends since her modesty prevented her from doing so, are quoted by Rama when he speaks to Hanuman, as the team leaves for South, by way of identification. ‘Remind her,’ Rama tells Hanuman in Kishkindha Kanda, ‘ that she, the ocean of purity, said that she would give her life up, were it not for the fact that I was the one who broke the bow.’

This gains more importance because here lies one of the most important clues that point to the fact that Rama did not – repeat – did not suspect Sita and that other reasons prompted Agni Pravesa.

Hari Krishnan