Was he not your messenger?

‘On the one hand, you initiate action, press a very large number of Vanara force into service to look for me, get intelligence, and undertake super-human tasks to reach this side of the ocean, engage the entire race of Rakshasas in war and kill every single one of the ogres in your effort to put an end to Ravana, in order to retrieve me,’ Sita continues her sharp counter-arguments. ‘This very large simian army fought valiantly and a very large number of them sacrificed their lives for your purpose, if not for my sake. And on the other, you say that I am not worthy of acceptance any more because I have spent my days in the prison of Ravana.’

‘If, as you say, you did all this because you wanted to save your and your family’s fair name from getting tarnished, then there was a much easier option. You should have thought of that option when sending this Hanuman in search of me.’

presitaste   yadā   vīro  hanūmān avalokakah |
lankāsthāham tvayā vīra kim tadā na visarjitā ||

pratyaksam vānarendrasya tvadvākyasamanantaram |
tvayā  samtyaktayā  vīra  tyaktam syāj jīvitam mayā  ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 116, Sloka 11 and 12)

“When the eminent hero, Hanuman, was dispatched by you in order to find me out, why, O king, was I not repudiated by you, even while I was (still) in Lanka? Life, O hero, would have been yielded up by me, when repudiated for good by you, immediately on hearing the message (conveying the repudiation) before the (very) eyes of this monkey (Hanuman).”

Let’s go a little deeper into this and see what she implies by this. It would have been an easier option, very much. Had you but sent word through this Vanarendra, Hanuman, that you just intend to save your name from getting tarnished, and that you do not want me any more, I would have put an end to my life there and then, right before his eyes. In fact, I was about to do that when he arrived. Did he not tell you that I was getting prepared to this very same thing that you are hinting at, and that I was stopped by him?

Let’s take a sip from Kamban here. ‘maruthi vandhu ennaik kaNdu, vaLLal nI saarudhi iiNdu ena, samayach chollinaan.’ This Maruti came to the Asoka Vana, saw me, and consoled me saying that you, the ‘merciful and the benevolent’ would (without fail) come here to take me back. If at all I live now it is because of those words! ‘yaarinum mEnmayaan isaithadhu illayO sOrum en nilai?’ Did he, the best of all, not inform you of my misery, the condition in which I was found? Did he not tell you that I was about to give my life up? ‘avan thUdhan allanO?’ And what would that mean! Is he not a messenger in the right sense of the word!

‘You sent a person in search of me, with your word, because you trusted him. I know you would not entrust a job of this magnitude to an ordinary person! I also know that he would have kept you informed of every single detail of what he saw and what he heard.’ While interpreting this verse in this manner, I am reminded of the way she gets convinced about Hanuman and decides to speak to him, receiving the signet of Rama from him and what she tells him.

“Nay, you deserve to be talked with by me, O jewel among monkeys, if you have been sent by the celebrated Sri Rama, a knower of the self. ‘presayisyati durdharso rāmo na hy aparīksitam parākramam avijnāya matsakāsam visesatah’ Surely Sri Rama, who is difficult to overpower, would not send to my presence in particular an untried hand – aparīksitam parākramam – without fully ascertaining the latter’s prowess.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Sundara Kanda, Canto 36, Sloka 10 and 11)

If we juxtapose this Sloka to the point that we are discussing, the argument of Sita amounts to this. ‘If you say that there is stain on my character and that I am not acceptable any more, do tell me, are you in the habit of entrusting important jobs in untried hands? No. You would not do that. I know you. You sent him because you trusted him fully. If he did not report back to you all that he saw and that he heard from me, it only amounts to saying that he is not a messenger in the right sense of the word. I am not going to accept that as well. I am convinced of his calibre and I know what he is capable of. I know he would have apprised you of how I was living there.’

Now tell me, my dear man, how do you say that there is a stain on my character? How ever you even can imagine that way!

Have you forgotten this?

Sita has a very valid point there when she says that if repudiation and not retrieval was the purpose behind this colossal effort, Rama should have sent word through Hanuman so that she could have put an end to her life a couple of months back. Taking this argument a little forward, think of what it would have amounted to. The very war would not have been started because she was the sole purpose of the war. What she seems to suggest by this is, ‘If, as you say, people might accuse you of failure to avenge for injustice, you would then have had a valid answer to give them. You had the opportunity to tell them, ‘What I can do after all! That woman gave her life up before I could initiate an action.’

However, we know that that would have spelt disaster on Rama. Not that the epic does not give us an opportunity to arrive at a safe conclusion. The Yuddha Kanda gives us material evidence as to what that would have meant to Rama, though he taunts her with the statement of ‘Get lost and seek your death,’ now. We have studied the chaos that the killing of a Maya Sita resulted in, when Indrajit ran the blade from the shoulder to the waist of the illusory Sita before the eyes of Hanuman. (See: When the very purpose of the war is nullified…) Though it is too early to think of such an exercise, it is nevertheless necessary to read this moment with reference to that moment. I am very certain that anybody doing so would be able to see the truth and will not have any difficulty in acknowledging which was the true reaction and true expression that came from the heart of Rama.

If as you say your heart is dried up of all its love, then what is the need for this useless exertion, she taunts. “This useless exertion (in the shape of crossing over to Lanka and waging war with the mighty Ravana) which you have put forth, exposing your life to danger would not have been undertaken nor would your friends (viz., the monkeys and Vibishana) have been put to fruitless hardship.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 116, Sloka 13)

Think over. What does she imply here? ‘That would have saved you a lot of trouble, had you but sent a word through Hanuman of your intentions. You need not have risked your life. It was not restricted to risking your life alone. Your friends – suhrjjana – also did that. With this word of yours, you are not only rendering your efforts fruitless, but also that of your friends’. When they joined hands with you, it was not for this purpose. They stood by your side to aid you in my retrieval and not – as you say – to save your fair name and to stand witness to this repudiation! They would surely not have been aware of your intentions, if this was your intention! They are also as shocked as I am. This colossal exercise in futility could well have been avoided!

More over, narasārdūla, O tiger among men, laghuneva manusyena like a small man krodham evānuvartatā you gave yourself up to anger alone. (Ibid, Sloka 14) You are not a small man. But your giving yourself up to anger and anger alone has made you adopt the words of small men. And in your anger, strītvam eva puraskrtam you looked at the common frailties of womanhood. You thought of the common human frailties alone. What you did not consider is my divine nature.

apadesena    janakān   notpattir    vasudhātalāt |
mama vrttam ca vrttajna bahu te na puraskrtam ||

                                                 (Ibid, Sloka 15)

“(Only) my appellation (Janaki or Vaidehi) has been derived from King Janaka (not that I owe my descent to him), since my birth took place from the (sacrificial) ground (of Janaka). (This divine origin of mine was, however, not taken into account by you.)”

If I am known as Janaki, it is not because I was born to Janaka; but because I was brought up by him. Do you not know that I am known as ‘ayoni sambhava,’ not born of a womb? (See: Not born of a womb) Did my father not narrate the divine nature of my birth at the time of our marriage? Don’t you realise that apart from the purity of my character, which gives me the pride of place among women, that I belong to the rare category who does not have to stay in the womb of a mother in order to descend on this earth? You seem to have forgotten that. Not only that. You have forgotten another important thing my Lord.

Because you do not see…

The last argument of Sita in Valmiki is, I think, is not confined to Rama, but is a message to all men to read, ponder, cherish and follow. Let me go into it in brief, deferring a detailed discussion to a later day. She refers to the sacred ritual of the bridegroom taking the hand of the bride, with the father of the bride pressing it into his hand.

na   pramānīkrtah    pānir     bālye    bālena    piditah |
mama bhaktisca sīlam ca sarvam te prsthatah krtam ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 116, Sloka 16)

“The fact that my hand was pressed by you in my childhood (as a token of your acceptance when it was placed in your by my father during the nuptials) was not duly recognised by you (while repudiating me.) Nay, my devotion (to you) as well as my chastity has all been ignored by you.”

‘It was not a mere custom that we observed then. It was a pledge, a pledge for a life-time.’ Srinivasa Sastriyar brings out the essence of the Sloka when he says, “You have forgotten, alas, the conjugal pledge of palm on palm in our tender years, which was a pledge of everlasting love. And the utter devotion with which I have followed you, and the pious care with which I have preserved, amidst indescribable trials, my loyalty to you – ah me! – all this has not weighed with you so much as a feather before you condemned me and finally discarded me!”

‘When my father placed my hand in yours, he actually placed the protection of my life, mental health and honour in your charge. When you took it, you accepted the charge. And that act signified our pledge of lasting love and faithfulness to each other. I for my part have been true to that pledge till this very moment. Have you not forgotten what you are supposed to do, now?’

‘However loving, true and loyal a woman be; whatever exalted state she may enjoy in the society; whatever be the high respect and regard with which the world holds her, everything pales into nothingness, if her husband does not take cognisance of her qualities,’ says Kamban’s Sita. (The converse is also true, for love, truthfulness and loyalty are mutual. However, in the case of a husband not enjoying the confidence of his wife, the degree varies. This is not the time to go into that question. We will pursue this later.)

‘eth thavam, en nalam, enna karpu naan ithanai kaalamum uzandha Idhu elaam,’ My penance, all my good qualities, (all the courage that I displayed, all the valiant battles that I had to wage in isolation against Ravana, withstanding all his taunts, torments and temptations for such a long time), all my purity and faithfulness, all of them, which I have preserved for such a long time, ‘pitthu enal aai,’ have come down to the acts of a mere crazy woman, a lunatic, a mentally deranged woman. ‘utthama, nI manathu uNarndhu ilaamayaal,’ Just because, O noble one, your mind is blind to them. Just because you are not able to see them. Just because you have brushed them aside with one clean sweep of hand. Just because you are not able to understand me as I really am.

The entire world is able to see what I really am. What is the use! Of what avail it is, of what benefit it is, when you, <i>my protector</i> is not able to see that! ‘paarkku elaam patthini,’ she declares with pride. ‘I am the best of all women. I am the purest of the pure, in the entire world.’ The phrase has another more meaningful connotation. ‘The entire world acknowledges my purity.’ ‘padhumatthaanukkum pErkkal-aam sindhayaL allaL.’ One who stands resolute in my stature. One whose mind is so resolved and firm that even the very Brahma cannot change a bit of it. ‘pEdhayEn.’ Pity unto me. A crazy, lunatic and ignorant woman. ‘aarkkum elaam kaN-avan andru endraal,’ If my Lord who is the apple of the eye of all the world says that I am not so, ‘thIrkkal aam thagayadhu dheyvam thErumO?’ is it possible even for the Supreme, God himself, to resolve this, to come to my aid, to save me!

Kamban deliberately employs the word ‘kaNNavan,’ instead of the usual ‘kaNavan,’ implying both shades of its meaning – the apple of the eye and the protector. ‘You are the apple of the eye for the world. People who owe their sight to you look at me with respect and regard. But you, who are their eye (and protector as well) and mine, are not able to see what they see. Even the very God cannot save the situation when this happens.

For whom should I demonstrate?

‘On this side, I lead a life of purity, remaining steadfast in my love for you,’ the last piece of Sita’s arguments hits out sharply not at Rama alone; but at every single man in the world, from the Trinity to the common man. ‘And on the other, you make a sweeping statement that all the virtues of womanliness have been obliterated from the face of the earth, with my birth.’ This argument, of course, is not as explicit as we are going to see it. But this last verse in the answers of Sita, in my view, is to be read with the earlier accusation of Rama that I have referred to in our earlier instalment, to get a better understanding. (See: The insinuation) Read in isolation, it does not convey much, at least what it has to. It then becomes just another sweeping and ambiguous statement, which it is not.

‘I know Rama, it is only natural that you say so,’ she seems to ridicule. ‘Men may be highly knowledgeable, intuitive, endowed with perceptive powers and what not. I know that you, men, are capable of many things. But there is one thing that you – men – are incapable of,’ one can almost hear a wry, weary chuckle as she speaks. ‘pangayatthu oruvanum,’ Be He the very Brahma, the Creator, seated on the lotus, ‘vidayin paaganum,’ or be He the very rider of the bull, Lord Shiva, the Destroyer, ‘sangu kaith thaangiya dharuma moorthiyum,’ or be He the one who holds the Conch in His hand, the Lord of Dharma, the Protector, ‘angayin nelli pOl anaitthum nOkkinum,’ with all their ability to see things as clearly as the fruit held in one’s palm, (men after all, are men) ‘mangayar mana nilai uNara vallarO?’ Are they capable of understanding the heart of a woman! (I have not gone deeper into the proverb ‘angayin nelli pOl’ or ‘karathala-aamalakam’ a misunderstood – or un-understood, mostly – phrase used as a matter of routine by many, as it does not relate directly to the main course of our discussion, and have restricted myself to a mere – and a bland – translation. Let’s discuss this at an appropriate time.)

‘Men are men. Even if it is the Trinity, Brahma, Shiva or the conch-holding Protector of Dharma, Vishnu, it doesn’t make a difference.’ Notice that of the Three, Vishnu alone is spoken about with the special epithet, ‘dharuma moorthi,’ the very embodiment of Dharma, while the embellishment is limited to very ordinary phrases in the case of the other two. Irony and sarcasm bubble and wink at the brim, when she utters that. That is to say, ‘Rama, you are the very avatar of the Supreme in His protective role. But, you see, you have proved yourself to be another man, now. For men are incapable of understanding the heart of a woman. Not a single one of you is.’

The words are quite heavy and hit hard at every single one of us, men. Like the caning of Lord Shiva by the Pandya King that fell hard on every living and non-living being in the world, these words whiplash the world-over, generations-over of men. Which man would not drop his head down in shame and stand with folded hands in the altar of the Mother of the Universe, pained and guilty and with tearful eyes. Once again, this duty of restricting myself to the narrative portion alone now, burdens me from giving expression to more on this verse that demands a serious introspection, a heart-searching from every one of us, men. Think of it. This was written by a man. These words have slipped from the pen of a man, Kamban, though his pain has found an expression through Janaki.

‘What more is there for me to do!’ she winds up. ‘aadhalin,’ Therefore (when you who are the very life of my life has not understood me), ‘yArukkAga en kOdhu aru thavatthinaik kUrik kaatugEn?’ for whom else, for which other person’s sake should I speak of my unblemished penance? What purpose is there for me to demonstrate my purity to anyone else, when you are unable to see what you (alone, more than anyone else) ought to. ‘sAdhalin sirandhadhu ondru illai.’ There is not a better thing left for me but to seek my death. Dying is the fittest thing left for me now. ‘thakkadhE.’ That is the most deserving of all. ‘vEdha, nin paNi.’ My Lord of the Vedas, (I choose to do this because) it is your order. Or it may also be read as, ‘I come to this decision because your words are like the very Veda to me and you have commanded me to do so.’ (Undying remains my love for you that I accept even death at your behest.) ‘adhu vidhiyum.’ And I believe that Fate has ordained it that way. Or, ‘ordain me that way.’ I have decided to seek my death as you hinted at. Let it be that you ordain me that way.

Both the poets, Valmiki and Kamban, are silent on the reaction of Rama at this moment, as she completes the last word of her answers. They leave the picture to our minds, for us to perceive on the strength of our individual inner vision. “Here Sita paused and looked up at her lord’s face. But there was no relaxation to its cold, stern, pitiless stare,” observes Srinivasa Sastriyar, going by his vision. What could he have said, how could he have held himself, how else could he have reacted! There was no answer from him. Did he turn a stone for a while!

She turned to Lakshmana. ‘Light for me a pyre, will you,’ she pleaded.

A word spoken by the eye

The time has now come for us to stop this narrative part of this event for a while and go into a few of the several questions that we have been raising now and then lately, and postponing them for a later day. What I propose to take up now is only those which concern Sita directly and the others – and more important points of debate – are to wait till we take up Rama and reach this point in the study of the grandest of characters in the very large body of literature that we have inherited. But before that we will push this exercise in narration a little more to witness the decision of Agni Pravesa as it takes shape, as portrayed by the two poets.

There was no reaction whatever from Rama. The entire gathering is standing around witnessing this event, totally helpless. Lakshmana is almost broken down. But it falls to his lot to light the fire. ‘Smitten by false reproaches, I no longer desire to survive and therefore raise a pyre for me, for that is the only antidote against this calamity,’ Sita tells him. (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 116, Sloka 18) Lakshmana was lost in thoughts and was absolutely distressed. He could not decide what to do. This is perhaps the first time in his entire life time when he was not in accord with his brother – nay, master – and did not have the temerity to stop him or speak against him.

We have seen several instances in which Lakshmana speaking disapprovingly of Rama; but every time he either gets convinced or merely obeys Rama. He never had restrained himself from expressing a difference of opinion, if he had any. May it be the acceptance of exile by Rama, or may it be the decision of Rama to assign Angada as his messenger to give a final chance to Ravana, or may it be his reaction on the killing of Maya Sita by Indrajit or may it be several other of the events where Lakshmana differed, we see him jumping up in protest. And, of course, soften down either getting convinced or in obedience.

The strange thing is, Lakshmana does not open his mouth against Rama, despite the fact that he is not able to digest what is happening before him, right now. It is not just Lakshmana. The poets take particular care to give us a piece of the collective mind of the gathering. “No one near and dear actually dared on that occasion to speak to or even look upon, much less pacify Sri Rama, who vied with Yama (the destroyer of the worlds) at the time of universal dissolution,” says Valmiki. (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 116, Sloka 22) ‘All the worlds and the living beings lamented,’ says Kamban as she started circumambulating the fire. ‘ayya! ich chalam idhu thakkiladhu,’ they cried. ‘This anger does not befit you Sire! It is not right for you to allow this to get anger the better of you.’

Unable to decide anything, Lakshmana looked at Rama. “Requested thus by Sita (a princess of Videha territory), Lakshmana, the destroyer of hostile champions, looked at Sri Rama (a scion of Raghu), overcome as he was with indignation. Ascertaining the pleasure of Sri Rama’s mind as betrayed by his facial expression, the valiant son of Sumitra prepared a pyre in deference to the wishes of Sri Rama.” (Ibid, Sloka 20 and 21)

‘iLayavan thanai azaithu idudhi thI ena, vaLai oli mun kayaaL vaayin kUrinaaL,’ says Kamban. Her bangles jingling in her forearm, she called Lakshmana and asked him to light the fire, with the words of her mouth. ‘uLaivuru manatthavan ulagam yaavukkum kaLaikaNaith thoza,’ Lakshmana, who was distressed of mind, turned to Rama, the haven of refuge for the world – ulagam yaavukkum kaLaikaN – in times of distress, and stood with folded hands for his orders. ‘avan kaNNin kUrinaan.’ He (Rama) conveyed his acceptance by the movement of his eyes. Her order was through the word of the mouth and his concurrence was though the language of the eye. ‘He consented for what she proposed by facial expression,’ says Valmiki and ‘by batting of eyelids,’ says Kamban.

Let’s stop here for a while. There are a few questions that deserve to be studied now. Did Rama really suspect her? Did he really mean what he said? Did he demand her to prove herself? Or did she ever say that she would prove her purity by throwing herself into the fire and emerging unscathed? How appropriate is the name ‘Agni Pariksha’ by which this event is called by many?

These and a few other questions, including the ones like was this meant to be a ‘chastisement’ for her harsh words spoken to Lakshmana? Or for her ‘adamance’ in pushing Rama behind the golden deer? Why was it that Lakshmana was chosen for preparing the pyre, when the very king of Lanka, who had all the resources at his command, was standing close by?

We will try to go into every question that is relevant. Pursuers of the Truth, dare. They remain dispassionate and steadfast in their faith that Truth alone triumphs and that He alone is The Truth.

How to name it – 1

One of the things that I have learnt in my self-disciplined pursuit of the epics and our ancient literature for more than thirty years now, more as a person of literature than as a devotee, is that people tend to come to conclusions on important – and not-so-important – characters and events more by impression and hearsay than through dispassionate study. Impressions colour conclusions. And the debates of defence or offence go on and on such ‘impressionistic conclusions’. The point that we are discussing now is one classic case. How many times have we come across the expression, ‘Agni Pariksha’? Do a Google – or any search engine for that mater – search with the keywords ‘Agni Pariksha, Ramayana' and pick out any article written on the subject. You would, without fail in almost all the cases, come across the inevitable statement, ‘After killing Ravana, Rama asked Sita to perform the ‘test by fire’ to prove her innocence and she did so, she obliged.’

It is really amazing to see the number of articles, the lectures, the discussions, the discourses that go around the theme, ‘Rama asked Sita to prove her innocence by entering the fire.’ In fact, this was one of the purposes that I had in mind when I started this series on Agni Pravesa, to examine the validity of this statement, if I may use a better term for the word ‘accusation’.

We have gone into many minute details, starting from the events commencing from the crowning of Vibishana and Rama’s first message to Sita after the killing of Ravana, in 40+ instalments now. I cannot – and do not – say that I have exhausted the details, though we have covered a considerable portion. And the fact remains that we have seen only a portion of the many intricate details leading to this event, up to its commencement. We have crossed only half the distance, merely taking notes. The event itself and its aftermath remain to be seen. Moreover, there are many loose ends that we have left floating in the air deliberately, for study on a later day. We will examine more of them as and when the time and opportunity arise.

We will go into this question first, with what we have seen commencing from our instalment titled ‘In Interregnum’ as support material. There is a considerable body of material available for us now to go back and examine again and again.

I am not able to ascertain as to how this event has come to be known as ‘Agni Pariksha,’ which requires quite another kind of exercise. People call it ‘fire ordeal,’ in English. Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar himself uses that phrase. But, that phrase is used rather loosely. We are adopting the English language to express Indian ideas and ancient Indian concepts. Sometimes, it so happens that a word employed in a particular context may mean something to a reader who hails from the Indian cultural background and something else in the case of others.

Take for instance the word for ‘tapa’ or ‘tapas’ that we employ in English. We call it ‘penance.’ It is a normal and acceptable term and conveys what it has to, to everyone with a taste of Indian culture. But in its original sense and context, ‘penance’ is not at all an equivalent for ‘tapas’. It means a self-punishment undertaken to atone for some wrongdoing or for a sin. I was in fact hard put to find an equivalent for the word ‘tavam’ when I had to translate the line ‘naRperum thavaththaL aaya nangayaik kaNdEn allEn,’ (See: The delight of Janaka) I was unable to use a word that is associated with ‘atonement for sin,’ that too in respect of a line describing Sita! It would not only be horrendous but absolutely atrocious to employ a word that has even a tinge of ‘sin or atonement for sin,’ in its connotation, concerning Sita. But finally, I had to use the very same word, bolstering it up with other and somewhat acceptable terms, left with no better alternative which comes somewhere closer still, and seeing that giants like Srinivasa Sastriyar have used it in similar contexts.

In a similar manner, the word ‘ordeal’ I think, has contributed its share to the misconceptions that already exist in the matter of ‘Agni Pravesa’. When used by an informed Indian writer in the Indian context the word ‘ordeal’ simply means, ‘a trying experience, an unbearable suffering.’ But the word originally meant an ancient Roman/Greek custom of subjecting a person to ‘a trial that required a defendant to go through life-threatening danger, e.g. from fire or water, with the outcome regarded as reflecting divine judgment.’ This may perhaps explain the reason why Western scholars like (<a href="http://texts.cdlib.org/xtf/view?docId=ft3j49n8h7&chunk.id=d0e5351”>David Shulman</a> invariably use the phrase ‘Agni Pariksha’ referring to this event.

Now, what is a pariksha, a test? When actually can an event be called a pariksha and when can it not?

How to name it – 2

In every Pariksha – or examination – in the right sense of the word, there is an examiner and an examinee. In most cases the examiner is superior in every respect – or at least as far as the subject in which the examinee is examined. In some cases, it so happens, that he is not. Many and varied are the life’s situations that such things do happen, as we have an instance in the Ramayana itself, which we shall see presently. In every case, the examinee is questioned and is required to prove a certain thing, be it his or her knowledge, attainment, ability or capacity to undertake a particular task, and is judged by the performance and its result. In some cases it may even be that the examinee has to prove his or her innocence, because the word Pariksha is an all encompassing term.

We have seen in our earlier study of the Vali Episode that Rama was put through the ‘marA-mara pariksha,’ which has been handled somewhat differently in Kamba Ramayanam. Be it Kamban or Valmiki, we saw that Sugriva had a sort of reservation in his mind about the ability of Rama to kill Vali. In Valmiki Ramayana, Sugriva describes the prowess of Vali and puts the question to Rama, “Such is the matchless strength of Vali revealed by me O Rama! How will you be able to kill that Vali in a combat, O protector of men?” (Valmiki Ramayana, Kishkindha Kanda, Canto 11, Sloka 68). Lakshmana, angered by this question somewhat, shoots back the question, “On what feat being accomplished should you believe that Vali can be disposed of (by Sri Rama)?” (Ibid, Sloka 69).

It was to this question that Sugriva wanted Rama to prove himself by kicking the skeletal remains of Dundubhi to a ‘distance of two hundred bows (or eight hundred arms’) length.’ This was done. But Sugriva was still not satisfied and he wanted Rama to shoot an arrow through at least one of the seven sal trees (or marA maram in Tamil). We have studied this portion and the different way in which Kamban handles this scene, earlier. (See: The sal tree proposal and The examiner examined)

There, we see an examiner in the form of Sugriva and an examinee in Rama. The examiner wants the examinee to perform a certain feat in order that he is satisfied about his ability, to which Rama subjects himself gladly. That is to say, there was a particular question to be verified, which needed a proof, the criteria for proving oneself were set one after the other, and the person who subjected himself to the Pariksha accepted it and went through it. This event, in all fairness, can be called a Pariksha, or an examination, or even a trial.

Now in the present case, let us assume that Rama is the examiner and Sita is the examinee. Having assumed that, we should then look for the question on which the ‘examination’ is conducted. Fair enough. There is this question of ‘suspicion.’ However, whether Rama really had that ‘suspicion’ in his mind is a question which is yet to be gone into. As far as we have seen, as far as the material evidence presented so far speaks for itself, we are unable to see anything in the nature of a ‘suspicion.’ Rama declares outright and all of a sudden, that ‘there is a stain on her character,’ and finds fault with her on so many – unfounded and baseless – grounds, every single one of which he knew heart of hearts, was not true. He had unmistakable evidence with him to that effect.

However, as it appears from the drama, Rama was angered. That anger did not exist – or at least did not surface – till Janaki arrived on the scene. From what we have described so far, it can be seen that he was so very cool and normal until the very last moment. Therefore, the very claim that there was a ‘suspicion’ comes under suspicion and remains to be examined.

Moreover, it was not Rama who asked her to prove her innocence by walking through the fire. We studied the whole drama as it developed. There were some crude and cruel charges; no explanation was sought for; the judgment was passed. ‘I disown you. You may go anywhere or seek your death.’ He had no answer for any of the counter-arguments from Sita. He stood unmoved. There was nothing to be examined. The judgement was already passed.

And when Sita decided to jump into the flames, she never said that she was going to prove her innocence or otherwise by her act. She wanted to put an end to her life and turned to Lakshmana to light a pyre. When she went around the fire, she did so with a clear and steadfast will to throw herself into the fire, not with a foresight that she would emerge unscathed and that her purity would be established by this act; but in dejection and distress. She did not do so to prove herself, for there was nothing to be proved, with the judgement pronounced already. When there was nothing to be examined and nothing to be proved, how do we call this event ‘Agni Pariksha?’ Inasmuch as the decision to end her life by leaping into the flames was taken by Janaki herself, this, in all appropriateness, is to be known by the name ‘Agni Pravesa,’ and not ‘Pariksha.’

We know and understand that a drama half-human and more divine is unfolding before our eyes. The poetry transcends human limits and human experience and lifts our souls to another plane.

Now, if Rama had complete and convincing evidence against what he uttered that day, what impelled him to do so? Was that meant to be a chastisement? Chastisement for what?

Chastisement?

There are a few traditional explanations that corroborate two earlier incidents in which Janaki uses harsh language – against Sri Rama himself in the first, and against Lakshmana in the second – which are adopted by Sanskrit and Tamil scholars alike, while trying to figure out what Sri Rama actually would have intended by such words that led to the Agni Pravesa.

It is very apparent that Rama could not have charged her of infidelity – if I may use the word, following the footsteps of Srinivasa Sastriyar – when he was aware that none of his charges was true. We have given adequate number of instances and reasons for arriving at this conclusion. We have seen Rama’s unshakable trust in her even before the search was started. We have heard him telling Hanuman that she was ‘an ocean of purity.’ (See: The message and its mood) We have spoken about a number of other evidences from Valmiki as well as Kamban to this effect.

‘If we take this fact into consideration,’ the scholars argue, ‘that deep in his mind, he had something else; some other reason which made him utter those words, which led her to take that decision.’ That is to say, though the drama is taking a cruel shape and the dialogues are getting unbearably brutal, the couple were at the internal psychological – or subconscious – level, communicating something else.

In short, the argument claims that at the subconscious level Sri Rama was hinting at a past error of hers, in not listening to him not to accompany him to the forest, and the extremely unacceptable and insulting words that she used against him at that time. And at the subconscious level, Janaki realises her fault of insulting Sri Rama at the time of pushing him hard to take her along to the forest. In addition, she realises the ‘sin’ of the unkindly and unfounded charges that she levelled at Lakshmana. Realising her errors – or ‘sins’ – she decides to leap into the flames, for that would expiate her of the burden of guilt that she has been carrying all along in her heart. ‘Sri Rama would pardon the insults heaped on him. But how can he take the ‘nauseating’ charges that she levelled against Lakshmana, in order to drive him into a search for Rama, who went behind Märïca, lightly?’ goes the argument.

Therefore, the first argument on the ‘reasons’ for Agni Pravesa is that Sri Rama intended to ‘cleanse’ her of her past misdeed of calling him ‘a woman in the garb of a man,’ and a ‘sailusha,’ a person who lives by his wife. (See: A thorn under the petal?)

Now, this first argument is limited to the Valmiki Ramayana alone. The arguments between Rama and Sita on the latter accompanying Rama to the forest are long and varied and run to five Cantos – or about 130 Slokas – from the time of Rama’s breaking the news of exile to Sita, to the moment of Rama’s agreeing to take her with him. The important points have all been culled and presented in our study earlier. I shall give references during the course of our examination of this particular argument under study.

Kamban, as we have mentioned earlier, has cut short all these arguments and the decision to go on exile together is taken in less than six verses. (See: A natural decision and Is this all?) Therefore, I should say, the Tamil scholars of the Ramayana are deprived of a very strong argument against Janaki and the opportunity to let Rama cleanse her of her serious blemish. However, there still is an argument on this score in the Tamil Ramayana polemics, which we shall take up after going into the question based on Valmiki that we are now discussing.

The Sanskrit scholars of the Ramayana argue that Rama advised her against accompanying him to the jungle, saying that it was her duty to stay back at the palace of Ayodhya, taking care of the aged in-laws. ‘She did not listen to his sane counsel. She pushed him hard against his will and persisted till he was left with no option but to oblige her. She drilled on and on till he accepted. It was her duty to have listened to him. But she protested, pestered and pushed him into a difficult strait that he had to give in. Look at it! If she was abducted, suffered in the prison of Ravana and was repudiated in public, it was all because of her ‘disobedience’. She did not listen to him then and she reaped the consequences.’

Sounds convincing, no? ‘There was this adamant streak of ‘womanliness’ in her that did not subdue as it rightly should have been. She went against his words and ‘twisted his arm to his back,’ to achieve her purpose. And she suffered.’ With a very quick stroke of the pen the Agni Pravesa is turned into an act of expiating guilt and ‘cleansing’ her of sin, and at the same time painting the entire lot of womanhood suggestively with qualities of ‘adamance and disobedience.’ These are common human frailties and are not restricted to ‘women’. If a woman is jealous, a man is too. If a woman is found disobedient, not a single man would escape a fault on that count. Even Lakshmana is charged of disobedience by Rama. Qualities are human and are not sex-specific. That is another question for another day.

Having seen the outline of the first argument, we should now go into the modalities, the ‘proof’ that is there in the text against Janaki that the scholars quote and how they develop this argument convincingly against her. And the dangers of reading a line here and a line there, and connecting them to come to a conclusion, disregarding the abundant evidence that exists against it.

A palmful of Ganges

Many and varied are the purposes for which people come to the banks of the grand rivers of epic poetry. You may go on a pilgrimage to the Ganges; after reaching there, you may take the plunge for a holy dip; or just stay at the bank, lean over the sheet of water and take a palmful of it to sprinkle over the head; or better still, go to the nearest shop in the precincts of the local temple, purchase a quantity of it, sealed in a small copper pot and keep it in Puja. The effect derived is proportionate to the faith. The holy river remains the same. Whether flowing in the river, or picked in a palmful, or stored in a container to reach a puja-room thousands of miles away, it IS Ganges. To the faithful.

The epics are in no way different from the Ganges. One may read a portion of it everyday; complete the reading within a specified number of days and celebrate the completion of reading every time and ritualistically keep a count of the number of times the epic was read in toto; or on the other hand, one may not have the time to read the whole of it and restrict oneself to the reading of Sundara Kanda alone; or a selection of a hundred verses from Sundara Kanda; or a brief and quick version of a hundred lines from the selection of hundred verses, which may go further down to a choice hundred words from those hundred lines. Read it anyway. The faithful are blessed.

But there is another cadre of people. For them life means living on the banks of Ganges. They are unable to move away from it. The Ganges keeps calling them again and again a hundred times a day. Life for them demands a different kind of discipline. Living on the riverside and riverside alone is another kind of lifestyle. Study of epic poetry too. It is quite a different field and quite a different experience altogether. Pursuers of this course should know how not miss the tree for the wood or the wood for the tree. The water sealed in a copper pot is as holy as the river from which it was collected. But, it still is a pot of water and not the river itself.

Any creative piece of writing consists mainly of bits and pieces of conversation and actions, which lead to events. An epic has them as its ingredient, among others. Bits of varying moods and tones, and flavours and fragrance of human nature expressed through words, and actions go to make one character. The interaction between two or more characters goes to make one conversation. The quality of each character that partakes in a dialogue influences every conversation. Every conversation leads to an event. And many events germinating from one or more seeds of words and deeds go to make one epic. One isolated piece of conversation or action gives a clue to the quality of a character that makes for a part of the epic. But that isolated piece would not always be sufficient to come to any conclusion. Like the sealed copper pot of water from Ganges it is as holy as the river and may purify the soul that merely thinks of it. But to know and experience Ganges, one has to take the plunge. A palmful may satiate the soul faithful; but not the thirsty.

Every long conversation in epic poetry goes through many moods. Many and diverse are its tone and mood and quality. A piece of a question or a response or a reaction would sound perfectly ordinary during the course of a long conversation. But would lose its colour, its flavour and its nature and appear altogether differently when read in isolation.

With this in mind, let us now turn to what is averred on the Sita – Rama conversation when Rama came to her chamber to inform her that he has been exiled; that Bharata would be the ruler; that she should remain back in Ayodhya and conduct herself in a manner that does not earn the displeasure of Bharata etc. As I mentioned earlier it takes about 130-140 Slokas for the couple to argue for and against Sita accompanying Rama, partaking in exile. It is a long, long conversation which starts with Rama advising her how to conduct herself after he departs on exile:

“Nay, when I have left for the forest, inhabited by ascetics, O blessed lady, you should take to sacred observations and fasts, O sinless one! Rising at dawn and after performing worship of the gods according to the scriptural ordinance, King Dasaratha, my father, must be saluted by you. My mother, Kausalya too, aged as she is and emaciated through agony, deserves to be duly respected by you since you must keep virtue foremost in your mind. Those others too who are related to me as mothers deserve to be saluted by you everyday since (all) mothers are equal in my eyes in point of affection and goodwill (they cherish for me) and the way in which they have looked after me (when I was a child).” (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 26, Sloka 29 – 32)

What I have quoted is only the way in which Rama begins his ‘advice’ to Sita. He speaks as though he has decided to leave on exile all alone, leaving her behind. I say ‘as though.’ Not without reason. Before going into that, let’s listen to the critics of Sita who always quote this and similar portions from Rama’s speech and add, ‘Rama explained to her the difficulties of life in forest. She quipped, ‘I am certain that you are capable of protecting me,’ but Rama was still not willing to take her along. At this stage, she said,

kim   tvāmanyata vaidehah pitā me mithilādhipah |
rāma jāmātaram prāpya striyam purusavigraham ||
                                  (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 30, Sloka 3)

“Securing you as his son-in-law, O Rama, did my father Janaka (descended in the line of Videhas) the king of Mithila, recognise you to be a woman in the form of a man?”

That is, ‘you are afraid of taking me along to the jungle because of the dangers that may beset you in protecting me. I am convinced that you are capable of protecting me. But you are not. My father did not realise that he is giving me in marriage to a woman in the form of a man. You are a coward.’

A Sloka is thus taken at random the beginning of the conversation. Then you say that she pleaded for being taken along; and Rama’s refusal as well as reasoning. Give a quick sketch of what Rama said in less than two sentences. And then you go to the very end of the long, long conversation and pick out a word spoken in love-laden-anger. And now pass a judgment that she is guilty of calling him - a ‘mahapurusha’, the very Supreme – a ‘coward,’ and a ‘sailusha’, a person who lives by his wife. She has thus committed the most unimaginable sin. Which was expiated by Agni Pravesa.

Fine. Looking at it as it is, it sounds plausible. But what one has to realise in such matters is that this is only a piece of argument in the long course of a conversation and what really matters is how the conversation ended; how at the end of it both of them felt; what Rama felt about her and what he told her at the end of this conversation. It is his opinion which is a better scale to measure her with. Not ours.

Looking back at it

We have studied the exchanges between Rama and Sita before Rama agrees to take her along, on exile to the jungle, almost completely in eight instalments, commencing from Bid me good-bye, would you?

In our study of this earlier scene, we have discussed the relevance of logic, where to place emphasis on logic and where to ignore it. In the ups and downs of the conversation, Sita starts to plead with him almost like a child, baby-talking and blabbering (See: A child-like exterior). Seeing that this does not work, she then goes to appeal to his sense of righteousness, speaking about conjugal duties. She fails to impress him. And then she holds out threats of giving her life up. That also does not work and she takes to taunts. The instalments that would be of particular interest for the points under study are When the heart speaks Part I, Part II and Threats to taunts. We have already given reference to the other instalment A thorn under the petal?, which contains reference to the passage in which Sita taunts Rama with the word ‘why do you want to leave me behind in the custody of someone else, like a sailusha – or a person who lives by his wife?

Rama might have been firm about not taking her along, initially. But even that seems not possible, when one goes through what he says at the end of the conversation. At the end of it all she bursts out in tears and seeks refuge in his arms, and makes his chest wet with tears.

iti  sā  sokasamtaptā   vilapya   karunam   bahu |
cukrosa patim āyastā bhrsam ālingya sasvaram ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 30, Sloka 22)

It is a very moving scene. She felt helpless, exhausted and unable to give up. “Having wailed a lot in a piteous way as aforesaid and closely embracing her husband, tormented as she was with grief, Sit who (now) felt exhausted, cried at the top of her voice.” Her baby-talk, her sense of logic, her threats, and her taunts did not work. She could not bear it any more and sought refuge in him. And what did Rama say at that time? Was he displeased with her for having called him a man in woman’s garb? Did he feel bad about the expression that he is ‘like a person who lives by his wife?’ What did he do?

tām parisvajya bāhubhyām visamjñām iva duhkhitām |
uvāca   vacanam  rāmah   pariviśvāsayams        tadā ||
                                                          (Ibid, Sloka 26)

He embraced her. “Folding in his arms Sita, who felt distressed and had fainted as it were, Sri Rama then spoke to her as follows, fully reassuring her.”

He pacified her saying that he was not afraid; that there existed no fear in him. ‘na hi me 'sti bhayam kim cit svayambhor iva sarvatah’ If at all there was any fear in him, it was just equal to that which existed in the very Narayana himself. It has to be noted that he never uttered a word that he was displeased at her expressions, for he understood her perfectly. ‘na devi tava duhkhena svargam apy abhirocaye.‘ ‘Even the very heavens would not delight me, if it is obtained causing agony to you,’ (Ibid, Sloka 27) After pacifying her thus, what does he say?

tava  sarvam  abhiprāyam avijnāya subhānane |
vāsam na rocaye 'ranye saktimān api raksane ||
                                                (Ibid, Sloka 28)

Though I am capable of protecting you, I did not approve of your coming along with me, since I did not know ‘tava sarvam abhiprāyam’ your complete opinion. I was not aware of what you actually thought about accompanying me. (See: Since I did not know)

That is to say, ‘I had to say all that I did, because I did not know what you actually thought about coming along with me.’ Which statement suggests, ‘I actually intended to take you along with me; but I spoke against what I thought, because I wanted to give you an opportunity to say ‘no’ in case you wanted to say so.’

‘I have no fear. Take heart. I am as fearless as the very Narayana Himself. I know I can protect you. How can I leave you back? The very heavens would not give me happiness, if I have to obtain it causing agony to you. I argued against your coming with me since I did not know your real opinion.’

Here lies his heart. Here lies the very core of his strategy, which he adopts again and again throughout the epic with Bharata and others, including his very own alter-ego, Lakshmana.

Now, what can be this strategy? Why should be adopt such a stance, if we say that ‘he actually – deep within his mind – intended taking her with him; but argued elaborately against it?’

Proud, was he not?

‘Moving by gut feeling,’ or ‘judging by intuition,’ is a quality which is innate in any able administrator. Now, it becomes also necessary for any administrator to ascertain the correctness of his ‘gut feeling’ though he knows about a certain thing or a person, at least before taking very important decisions – if not always – or initiate any action that affects another person, however close he or she may be.

The art of ascertaining the correctness of one’s intuition needs tact. One has to be clear about the modalities and the way to work with the person in question, in order to bring out what really lies in his or her heart. One has to eliminate all possibilities of that ‘gut feeling’ going wrong. The other person should have an opportunity to agree or disagree with what my intuition says about him or her. I may even have to argue against what I sincerely believe to be true, in order to see the reaction of the other person, who might be affected – in any manner whatsoever, either good or bad – and in order to establish to myself – and sometimes to the world – beyond doubt what I feel is correct. We discussed this to an extent in two of our earlier instalments. (See: Of options and decisions Part I and Part II). Let’s go into it a bit more fully now.

The most difficult part about adopting this strategy is, when I speak against what I sincerely believe, I should also sound sincere in what I am now saying, though I am arguing against what I actually believe. The key to success in such an endeavour lies in not letting the other person know that I am only playing the devil’s advocate. In many cases it so happens that the intensity with which the argument is conducted demands anonymity of the real personal feeling. That has to remain deep within the heart, and remain buried there at least for some time to come. Or forever. Situations differ.

Rama is a sparkling example of such an administrator. The word ‘administration’ need not be restricted to official and all ‘other than household, conjugal and private affairs.’ Administration has its place everywhere. Though we may not be able to go into this debate in detail now, it is necessary for the present to say that Rama adopted this strategy, almost throughout the epic in various instances. That is why, when beginning the Agni Pravesa series I mentioned that because of the importance of the issue in hand, we will not be able to go into the case from Rama’s angle more fully for the present. We will go into this quality in detail when taking up Rama. And then we will be able to see the validity of this conclusion, after a clear behavioural pattern emerges and is established. For now, let me assure that this behavioural pattern exists.

Now, let us imagine a situation like this. Rama enters her chambers with the news of the exile and tells her, ‘The crown goes to Bharata now. I have been asked to live in the jungle for fourteen years. Come. I am going. Come with me. Let’s go together.’ Would he have been fair or correct if he did so without knowing what Sita felt about what he ‘really felt, understood and knew for certain’? Would she have had an opportunity to say ‘no’ when such a word is spoken? In the remote possibility of her hesitating to accompany him, would he not have imposed his decision on her? Would she have had any way out, when he, without ascertaining her intentions and inclinations, casually let his unverified decision bind her? Would it not have been an awkward situation for her if at all she wanted to refuse?

All the long, long arguments that he gives out, the attempts that he makes to stop her from coming with him, come down crumbling, when he says, ‘I am proud of you, for having taken this decision to come with me.’ Is that not so? Recall what he said at the end of their sour-and-sweet exchanges. Remember how he concluded and how he agreed to what she persisted with?

“Beloved Sita, you have arrived at a most welcome decision worthy in everyway of my race as well as of yours. Proceed with the duties preliminary to a sojourn in the words, O lady with charming limbs! Without you even heaven does not catch my fancy at this moment.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 30, Sloka 41 and 42)

Think for a moment. Did he agree with Lakshmana when he followed his footsteps? Did he not ask him to stay back? Did he not advise him that it his duty to protect the aged parents and serve them? And then, why did he make Lakshmana argue his personal case, express shock at his advice and plead with him, ‘iiNdu unakku adiyanEn pizaithathu yaadhu?’ What! What was the wrong that I committed? Why are you leaving me back? ‘naar uLa dhanu uLaai, naanum seethayum aar uLar enil uLom?’ ‘My brother of the stringed bow, tell me on whom do Sita and I depend on, for existence? I need you. Sita needs you. Our lives are latched on to you.’ If one looks at Sita’s persistence as disobedience, can Lakshmana be spared on that count?

And now tell me, a person who was happy about what she decided, a person who said that he ‘was proud about her’ (See: You have done me proud), who applauded her that her decision was ‘worthy in every way’ of both the races of Ikswäku and that of Janaka, would repudiate her on the count of certain words that he brushed aside, even at the hour in which they were spoken, with his left hand, did not even take notice of? A repudiation in public for the supposed ‘insult’ uttered in the absolute privacy of their chamber? That too after fourteen years, out of which thirteen were spent in perfect joy! Now, who is going to buy that?

Offences imponderable

That was the first of the important arguments against Sita that we studied. As we mentioned, this can only be restricted to Valmiki Ramayana, since the decision to go on exile together takes shape rather quickly and without much arguments, in Kamban. ‘ellai atra idar tharuvAi,’ was the only objection of Rama. ‘You will cause endless troubles.’ And in reply, ‘en thurandhapin inbam kolaam’ she pouts playfully. ‘So? If my coming along with you would cause endless troubles, do you mean to say that you will be happy after casting me off, if I am left alone?’ (See: A natural decision and Is this all) The poet deliberately plays with words, so that the dialogues sound relevant now and bear within them a seed of what is to come in the future. An intended impregnation of the phrases.

Therefore, as we remarked earlier, I should say the Tamil scholars of the Ramayana are deprived indeed of a very strong point to present a case against her on this score. Even the objection on the score of ‘disobedience’ of Rama’s advice and disregard for his thoughtful forewarning, ‘You will cause endless troubles,’ can be set aside when we remember that Lakshmana’s position was no different and he had also to at least plead – if not argue – his case for joining Rama in exile. And that Rama’s ‘advice’ was not really an advice and was only a matter of strategy (as we saw in our last instalment, which remains to be developed more fully).

However there is a stronger case for the critics of Sita, Sanskrit and Tamil alike in the episode of the golden deer, where the course of events run almost similarly in both Valmiki and Kamban – with a few minor and significant differences in Kamban at the commencement and at the end. I wonder how people go about with magnifying glasses to look for faults and present a pretty incomplete picture that puts her at a disadvantage. Once again the charges tell us of her offences imponderable and unpardonable.

I give a rough translation of a much respected scholar in Tamil, a very highly respected professor, who has authored several books. Many indeed have been the number of classics that have been published with him as the Editor. Let me say this here. I have my regards for the scholar and when I present my views, I do so with my due regards for his attainments and scholarship. I, however, am not going to mention his name. I would rather prefer not to mention names when I take a critical stand on the views. After all, we are not discussing personalities. We are discussing views. What is more important is the view and therefore, let’s not worry much about whose views they are. I had to mention this much about the scholar, in order to emphasise the fact that they are expressed by no less an authority. Here are the views of the said august academician, translated, preserving the spirit of the original.

‘Lakshmana tells them that a golden deer cannot exist in the world and that it looks unnatural. He expresses the opinion and even feels that it is Märïca who has assumed the shape of the golden deer. Despite his warnings, Sita persisted in her demands. Her first offence is the expression of her disappointment, and the show of anger to an extent while pressing for her demand. She was adamant and unyielding (‘pidivAdham piditthaaL’). That was the first offence. Secondly, Lakshmana offers to go himself behind the deer.* She was particular that Rama should go behind it and was pretty obstinate (pidivAdham) about it. That is her second offence.’

‘It is the natural quality of a woman (!) that she displayed when she yielded herself to sorrow and cried and wept, perceiving some danger to her husband, when Märïca called their names, mimicking the voice of Rama. But it was necessary for her intellect to have started functioning, when emotions ran high. (She must have allowed her intellect to wake up.) She did not let it happen. She must have listened to Lakshmana who explained the (invincible) nature of Rama, both logically and passionately. Her intellect should have been appealed to at least at that time. It did not. To think that Rama, who killed Tätakä, broke Shiva’s bow, quelled Parasurama, could be endangered by a ‘mere deer’ is in itself a ‘big mistake’ (perum thavaru). It is a bigger mistake still, not to have listened to the saner counsel of Lakshmana, and to have shut herself to the voice of reason. What is bigger than these two offences is the offensive language that she used hurting Lakshmana to a very great extent. **’

‘It was an offence – an offence greater than the one against the Lord himself – to have offended the parama-bAgavatA and the Rama-anuja that Lakshmana was. An offence against the Devotee (bAgavata apachAra) is worse than an offence against the Lord himself (bagavat apachAra). And therefore, Agni Pravesa was only the right, befitting and well-deserved punishment that she had to take.’

Having seen a rough re-presentation of the charges, let’s examine their validity. One has to remain dispassionate and listen to the voice of the poets, who have much more to say on such matters.

This is confined to the Kamba Ramayana.

• Lakshmana’s offer to go behind the deer himself is not to be found in Valmiki.

• • It is surprising to see this eminent person mixing up events from Valmiki and Kamban. As far as Kamba Ramayanam is concerned, she did not use the ‘offensive language’ that is found in Valmiki. We see her applying pressure on him by other means. (We have discussed this scene earlier and references will be given in due course.) Therefore, when discussing Kamban, it is not fair to bring in something that does not exist here, especially when assaying a critical issue.

What a good penman can do

What we presented in our last post represents the essence of most of the arguments on this particular episode, both in Sanskrit and Tamil Ramayana polemics. This happens with every other scholar who goes into the question of Agni Pravesa. They come to the conclusion that Rama must have had ‘some reason other than the ones that he expressed at the time of repudiation, which led to the Agni Pravesa.’

That is natural. Because, Rama could not obviously have uttered those cruel words because of ‘suspicion of some kind on her purity,’ because he trusted her abundantly, apart from the fund of evidence that he had from no less a person than Hanuman himself, who, Rama was aware, could not go wrong; would never come to baseless and impassioned conclusions.

Added to that, there was Vibishana, who can testify to the course of events in Lanka, concerning Sita, her incarceration and the way Ravana was humbled by her everyday and every time. He was there in Lanka for the first ten months (a week or ten days more than ten months), from the day on which Sita was abducted to Lanka. He was the minister of Ravana and was in the know of every single movement of his, both in the palace and in the Asoka Vana. In fact, his wife Sarama and his daughter Trijata were there by the side of Sita in the Asoka Vana, standing witness to every single one of their dialogues. (Kamban mentions nothing about Vibishana’s wife Sarama. Even her name is not to be seen in his version. However, there still is the presence of Trijata, the daughter of Vibishana.) Rama has the most authentic information from two of his most trusted deputies one of whom was a most dependable ally, who came out from the court of his brother, only because he was not able to bear this unjustified love for another man’s wife. Apart from Hanuman’s report, the most authentic ‘inside information’ was available to him in the person of Vibishana.

Therefore, one is really not able to come to an easy conclusion about this sudden and unexpected turn of events where Rama who was absolutely calm till the last moment, who did not even express something even remotely resembling the suggestion of a suspicion, comes down heavily and brutally on her. And that too, when everyone around was excitedly getting ready to witness the moment of a re-enactment of the scene that only the readers of Kamban had an opportunity to witness in Mithila. ‘pirindhavar kUdinaal pEsavum vENdumO?’ are words necessary, when hearts speak? (See: pEsavum vENdumO?) Is it necessary at all for two loving hearts to utter a word, when they meet after a long separation?

That Rama did not do so because he suspected her is plain, simple, apparent, and more than obvious. One may add whatever other synonym one wants to. It doesn’t need any further evidence. And that leads our devoted as well as scholarly souls to go in search for a valid reason to uphold what he did on the other day, to support him. Unfortunately, most of them are led to believe that the best form of defence is offence. If you want to defend a person or his or her act, the best way is to find fault with the other person against whom he or she acted.

That apparently is the guiding principle behind all such arguments. ‘Rama could not have been harsh for nothing. He must have had some other valid reason, which is not verifiable from the text easily. Or convincingly. Then, what could that reason have been? That challenges the intellect. A very keen, tempting and interesting challenge of course. Get ready with the spade and dig out for gold. But what is the purpose in digging out for gold and bringing out mud? Should one have to indulge in mudslinging Sita, in order to uphold Rama?

If one studies the pattern of all the arguments on Agni Pravesa, one can clearly see this attitude. Hold her responsible. Push her a little back and bring her faults out and magnify them. The solution is very simple. Pass quickly over the past events; push her (seeming) faults to the forestage; polish over the way in which those events took shape; gently push the part played by the one who is to be defended aside and go over and over again on what the other person did. Present a good defensive account. There is nothing to worry if one has to kick a bit on her fair name. She is the mother. She can bear with you.

Every other argument in this respect stands in silent evidence to what a good writer can do with his pen. You have a pre-conceived notion. You go about seeking for the evidence that you need to strengthen your notion. Pick them out and heap them onstage. There ends the matter.

The style of arguments reminds me of what Karl Marx wrote on the dispatches from India at the time of Sepoy Mutiny. Marx was writing a column on the ‘Sepoy Revolt’ in the New York Daily Tribune then. ‘One cannot come to any conclusion from the reports of London Times, or other such papers, from the way they report,’ he observes. To quote him, “And then, it should not be forgotten that, while the cruelties of the English are related as acts of martial vigour, told simply, rapidly, without dwelling on disgusting details, the outrages of the natives, shocking as they are, are still deliberately exaggerated. For instance, the circumstantial account first appearing in The Times, and then going the round of the London press, at the atrocities perpetrated at Delhi and Meerut, from whom did it proceed? From a cowardly person residing at Bangalore, Mysore, more than a thousand miles, as the bird flies, distant from the scene of action.”

The arguments of our revered scholars are not any different! One has to really go back to the scene again and examine the arguments with reference to the events. Let’s examine now.

On the pursuit of the deer

Inasmuch as the charges levelled by the eminent Tamil scholar that we quoted (See: Offences imponderable) contains the essence of the opinions of several authorities expressed in the matter of Agni Pravesa, in Tamil as well as Sanskrit circles, let us take those arguments one by one and examine them with reference to the texts of Kamban as also that of Valmiki, as is appropriate to the context.

Now, what does the first allegation say? This is the first part of the first allegation. ‘Lakshmana told in no uncertain terms that it was Märïca who has appeared there, assuming the form of the golden deer. He did tell them that it must only be a conjuring trick of the ogre, since no such species has ever been seen in the world.’

True. Lakshmana did say that. Both the poets agree on that. “Seized with suspicion to see it, Lakshmana for his part observed as follows: ‘I conclude this deer to be the same as that ogre Märïca. Hunting game in the forest with delight, many kings, O Rama, have been killed by assuming this sinful ogre, who is capable of assuming any form at will. This effulgent form of a deer is assumed by him, O tiger among men, is a hoax on the part of the ogre – who is well-versed in conjuring tricks – and is much like a magic show. To be sure, no such deer, freckled with jewel-like spots, exists on the face of the earth, O scion of Raghu! It is surely a phantom, O ruler of the globe! There is no doubt about it.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Aranya Kanda, Canto 43, Sloka 4 – 8)

‘It has been the practice of this ogre to assume the form of a deer, charm kings who come to the forest for hunting, lure them, and kill them. Many kings have been killed by him in this manner, in the past.’ Yes. He did also deduce logically this was a conjuring trick, because such a form does not exist in nature.

‘kAyam kanagam,’ says Kamban’s Lakshmana. Its body is made of gold. ‘maNi kAl, sevi, vAl.’ Its legs, ears and tail are studded with gems. ‘pAyum uruvOdu idhu paNbu alavAl.’ I can understand this, if it does not move about. One can then conclude that this is a life-like replica of a deer, crafted by skilled hands. But this is moving about. This shows evidence of life in it. This exquisite metallic, gem studded appearance does not gel with the fact that it is alive. These two do not go together. ‘mAyam enal andri manak koLavE Eyum iRai! mey ala!’ It is therefore appropriate to conclude that this is an apparition, an illusory form, a conjuring trick. It is not right to think that this is real.

In the long arguments that ensue between him and Rama, Kamban’s Lakshmana covers all that is expressed in Valmiki, which is given above. ‘I will go myself,’ offers Lakshmana then. This particular portion alone is an addition to the version of Valmiki.

Therefore, what is alleged is true in this respect as well. All that is presented by the critics is true. There is not an iota of falsehood in it. But the critical analysis fails, still. It does not hold water. No critical analysis, however truthful it is to the text, can still be considered complete, or if I may use a stronger word, honest, unless the picture is seen and presented in toto. Completely. Without suppression of relevant facts. The job of a good analyst does not end with collection of a few facts at random and arranging them in a particular order that he thinks is right. He then makes the reader to look at the grand creation of the poets through his through his spectacles. A good assay should let the reader get at least a glimpse of a rounded picture.

The allegation says that Sita did not listen to the voice of reason, logic and wisdom. ‘She persisted in her demand; showed disappointment, anger and adamance. And therefore Rama, left with no other alternative but to oblige her, went behind the deer.’ This is where I see the art – or the craftiness, to put it appropriately – of penmanship at work, which Marx, in quite another context, scoffed at (which we quoted in our last post). Now, how does that read? What is the impression that it creates? It purports to suggest that Rama was pushed against his will in the pursuit of the golden deer, because she did not relent. Because she was adamant. Because she was angry. But, what is the truth? What is suppressed by the critical hands, at this point?

It is agreed that in Kamban’s version Lakshmana offered to go himself behind the deer. But what she wanted was a gift. A gift of love from her Rama, that special one in her life. She was charmed by the deer, of course. She wanted it. But she wanted it as a gift of love from the hands of Rama. (See: A special gift from a special one) It does make a significant difference to receive it from Lakshmana – though he was held as dear as their own son, which Janaki herself mentions in several instances – and to take it from the hands of her loving husband. It is true in the case of any of us. We know the value of it, don’t we! It makes an ocean of a difference.

Now, what is missing in the critical analysis is the reaction of Rama. What he thought about the golden deer. What impelled him to go behind it. How he justified his pursuit of the deer, to Lakshmana. Both Valmiki and Kamban give elaborate and extensive answers, which unfortunately do not seem to merit the attention of all the critics of Sita. I stop with saying that it is unfortunate, though I would like to say more.

Let’s take a quick look at what Rama said, when she pouted. ‘Don’t worry,’ he smiled at her. ‘mAn idhu nAnE patri vallayin tharuvEn.’ I will bring this deer for you. I will go myself. I will bring it to you now, quickly. Saying so, ‘vEl nagum saramu villum vAnginan, virayalutraan,’ the poet mentions specifically, ‘he picked up his bow and sharp arrows and started moving swiftly. He moved even as Lakshmana was expressing his final word of caution, ‘anna marican endrE ayirtthanan.’ ‘I suspect this to be that old Märïca.’ However, by this time – in Kamban – Rama had already started moving towards the deer.

‘mandhiratthu iLayOn sonna vAi mozhi manathuk koLLaan,’ Kamban observes. ‘Rama did not stop to listen to the words of wisdom of his younger brother. He rushed behind the deer, not minding his words.

We will see some more references to Rama’s reaction from Valmiki and from Kamban, and arrive at a clear, rounder and correct picture on this allegation. If it was an offence, let’s see who aided it.

The mind, the intellect, the decision

Any decision that we make in our everyday life is born of desire. I am not for the present going into the philosophical question of the right or wrong of a desire. I am not speaking about the old dictum that ‘desire is the root cause of all difficulties.’ It is not that all desires are always bad. Every action that we take and every decision that we make in our everyday lives is born of desire of one kind or another. It may be for good; or it may not be. Nevertheless, all ideals, ambitions and goals of even a higher and ‘desirable’ nature take shape only from the tiny seed of a desire. In other words, every ideal and every ambition and goal was at its initial stage, a desire.

As I said, we are not discussing the philosophical implications of what is known as ‘desire’. What we are looking at is decisions, actions and consequences. Every decision is born of a desire. Every action is directed by a decision. Every consequence issues forth from an action. And every decision-maker is endowed with a tool called wisdom. Desire is a product of the mind and wisdom is the product of knowledge. It is the decision-maker who chooses his course, who prioritises between what the mind impels and what wisdom compels, and who decides on the course of action. That is true in all life situations.

Here, in this particular scene that we are discussing, namely the pursuit of the golden deer, we have the mind in the person of Sita; wisdom in the shape of Lakshmana and the decision-maker in Rama. While we say that, it has to be remembered that these roles are context-sensitive; are not fixed and keep changing with situations. There are situations in which Lakshmana plays the role of the mind, with Rama playing the role of wisdom and that of the decision-maker. There are situations too, when Rama plays the role of the mind. Roles vary from situation to situation.

There is no doubt that the ‘desire’ emanated from the mind. It always does. That is to say, the desire to have the golden-deer started from her. Wisdom interferes and argues against the pursuit. Now, what does the decision-maker say? ‘nOkkiya maanai nOkki, nudhi udai madhiyin ondrum thUkkilan,’ Kamban describes the first reaction of Rama on seeing the deer. ‘He looked at the deer. He did not let his sharp intellect to examine (the situation.)’ ‘tena kāncanaromnā tu manipravarasrnginā| tarunādityavarnena naksatrapathavarcasā|| babhūva rāghavasyāpi mano vismayam āgatam’ observes Valmiki. “The mind of Sri Rama (a scion of Raghu) too was, however, filled with curiosity by that deer with its golden coat and horns sapphires, nay, shining like the rising sun and possessing the splendour of the starry region. (Valmiki Ramayana, Aranya Kanda, Canto 43, Sloka 22, 23)

See what he has to say on Rama’s first reaction. ‘rāghavasyāpi mano vismayam āgatam’. Rama’s mind was also filled with amazement; with wonder. ‘dhEvar seydha baggiyam andro? annadhu pazudhu pOmO?’ adds Kamban. ‘If his mind was filled with wonder and his intellect did not work, it’s all due to the good fortune of the celestials. How then can it fail?’ In other words, ‘If it happens this way, it has to happen this way, because this was the very purpose of the avatar. It was the good-fortune of the celestials that he did not think.’

Then, what does he say to Lakshmana’s argument that it cannot be a deer, for nothing of this sort exists in nature and therefore it can only be the conjuring trick of an ogre? “No deer whatsoever, which is similar to it exists in the grove bearing the appellation of Nandana nor in that going by the name of Caitraratha; how (then) could it exist on the earth?” (Ibid, Sloka, 26) When even the celestial gardens cannot boast of such a species, how do you think that it can exist on this earth? It undoubtedly is a rare species. ‘Who is there in this world that has a complete knowledge of every other species that exists on earth?’ Kamban’s Rama quips. ‘nillaa ulagin nilai nErmayinaal, vallaarum uNarndhilar mann uyirdhaam.’ Even the experts do not have a complete knowledge of all the species. The life-form on earth is so wide and varied. It may even be natural.’

‘It is natural that she desires to have the deer,’ Rama justifies the desire of the ‘mind’ – Sita. “Whose mind will not be struck with wonder to behold this celestial beauty shedding a golden lustre and freckled with numerous jewel-like spots?” (Ibid, Sloka 30) And then the arguments for and against go on between Rama and Lakshmana before the decision takes shape. We have seen this portion earlier, in our study of Lakshmana. These may be seen from our earlier posts. (See: Smelling a rat and The wise think twice)

And, finally, what does Rama say on the forewarning of Lakshmana that it is Märïca who has come in the form of a golden deer? “If, O Lakshmana, this deer is such as you tell me, it must be put an end to because it is a phantom conjured up by an ogre.” (Ibid, Sloka 38) ‘If it is an ogre, it is my first duty to kill it.’ ‘maayamEl, madiyum endhan vaaLiyil.’ It will die with an arrow of mine, if it, as you say, is unreal, an ogre in the form of a deer. ‘madindha pOdhu, kaai sinatthavaraik kondru kadan kazithOmum aavOm.’ And when an ogre is killed, we are discharging our duty, for we have promised to protect the sages against them all. ‘thUyadhEl, patrik kOdum.’ On the other hand, if it happens to be real, I am going to catch it alive and bring it here. ‘solliya iraNdin ondru theeyadhE? uraitthi.’ Now tell me, what’s wrong either with this or that? Either way this is justified. I am doing the right thing.

Therefore, it was the decision-maker who made his choice between the opposing forces of his ‘mind’ and ‘wisdom’ and decided what course to follow. It is worth recalling the observation in the book of VVS Aiyar, ‘Kamba Ramayana – A study’ (quoted earlier in The wise think twice) here. Considering that the arguments were between Rama and Lakshmana alone, it is more appropriate to say that Rama did not listen to Lakshmana, as Kamban observes not once, but twice. To recall what Kamban says on this here, ‘mandhiratthu iLayOn sonna vAi mozhi manathuk koLLaan.’ ‘Rama did not stop to listen to the words of wisdom of his younger brother. He rushed behind the deer, not minding his words.’ That was the first instance. The second instance is discussed above in paragraph 4. It is not just that. Rama is going to acknowledge this himself, later, when Märïca lets out his cry. ‘ayyan vallan,’ he tells himself at that time. ‘My brother, the master (of wisdom) is right. ‘en aaruyir vallan.’ My darling, my very soul, is right. ‘I should have listened to him.’ I defer this for now, for these are to be studied in depth, later when taking up Rama.

If it is alleged that Sita did not listen to Lakshmana, by the same allegation, we should realise that we are holding Rama also responsible for the same fault. Therefore, it is not right or valid to say that this was one of the reasons behind ‘Agni Pravesa’ which is painted as a ‘punishment’ for her faults. Now let’s move to the next allegation.

Hari Krishnan