The reunion
‘There are two here,’ says Agni, ‘whose words remain untouched by falsehood.’ ‘I am one of them and Maruti is the other.’ ‘ayyuru poruLgaLai aasu il maasu orii, kai uru nelli am kaniyin kaattum en meyyuru katturai,’ It is my function to cleanse people of all their doubts – of whatever nature they are – and let the Truth glow as it should, and I tell you now. ‘kEttum mIttiyO?,’ Would you not take her back even after I stand in testimony, ‘poy uRaa maaruthi urayum pOtralaai,’ though you (seem) not to have taken into account the words of Maruti, who knows nor utters an untruth.
‘Now Rama, look around you,’ continues Agni. ‘Look at the sages and celestials and all the other living beings who have gathered around. Every single one of them has covered their eyes with their palms, unable to bear this sight. Though you might have missed this sight, you could not have missed their pitiable cry. ‘aa enal kEtkilai.’ You seem not to have heard of their cries of woe, of despair, of helpless agony. ‘aRatthai nIkki,’ ‘Shedding your sense of Dharma, ‘vEru Evam endru oru poruL yaaNduk koNdiyO?’ from where did you get this idea of unrighteousness?’ Though we try to tone down, the import of the word ‘Evam’ is quite heavy and hard hitting indeed. Though many commentators have interpreted the word to mean ‘sinful’ going by its root, ‘evvam’ we may conclude it to mean ‘hatred, aversion, fault, blemish.’
‘What happened to your Dharma, Rama? From where did you get this kind of aversion?’ Once again, we hear a bit of Vali’s question in pain, put to Rama. ‘Where did you shed your mercy? What was my fault? ‘parakkazi nI idhu pUNdaal, pugazai yaar parikkar paalaar?’ If you stand here to wear this garb of an act which is blameworthy, who is there to support the fame that Rama has, who is there to protect that cause of righteousness?
‘Now, take her back,’ says Agni. ‘Don’t you know the consequences that would ensue, if she but utters a word in anger?’ ‘peyyumE mazhai?’ Would it rain? ‘puvi piLappu andriyE seyyumE?’ Would this earth not be torn asunder to pieces? ‘aRam neriyil sellumE?’ Would Dharma be ever able to remain as it is? ‘uyyumE ulagu?’ Or would (all the three) world(s) remain safe? ‘ivaL uNarvu sIrinaal.’ If she but loses her patience and utter a word in anger.
Remember. In Kamban, Brahma is yet to appear. It is Agni who is speaking now, unlike in Valmiki, who speaks <i>after</i> the appearance of Brahma and after he praises Rama and informs him of his own divinity. All that Agni speaks now in Kamban goes in praise of Sita and whatever word of praise that he speaks of Rama is used only to emphasise the fact, ‘You, of all, cannot afford to do this. You are the Supreme. You cannot ignore what is right.’ That is one of the significant shifts that Kamban has worked in his version, which we may go in depth when we study Rama.
‘Rama, you have not realised what you really are,’ Agni continues. That is, even before the appearance of Brahma and the revelation that He is going to make, Agni takes that role on himself and tells Rama, ‘mannar thol kulatthu udithanai, oru manidhan enna.’ You were born in the Surya Vamsa, as a man, as a mortal. ‘unnalai unnai nI iraama, kEL.’ You have not quite realised your true self, Rama, listen. Let me tell you now. ‘sonna naan marai mudivinil thuNindha meyth thuNivu nin alaadhu illai.’ You ARE the one that the Vedas sing of; you ARE the one that the scriptures point to; you are the quintessence of all the Holy Books. None other. ‘ninnin vEru uLadhu, illai nediyOi.’ There is nothing in the universe that is not in you, O tall one! ‘nediyOn,’ is a special epithet in Tamil that signifies Vishnu, and Vishnu alone.
The Truth is out now. It started with a praise of Mahalakshmi, or Sita and now it reaches Vishnu. The order in which Valmiki lets the truth out is reversed. As we have been observing, Kamban worships Rama as his Master; but holds Sita as his own Mother. One cannot but fly with him to the heights, when he – as Mathew Arnold remarked of Shelly – ‘beats in the void his luminescent wings.’ The only difference being, Kamban was not that ‘blind and ineffectual angel,’ and that he did not ‘beat his wings in vain.’ And one cannot but shed tears of joy and that of pain, when he speaks of his mother, Sita, and her suffering.
‘pAdu uru pal mozhi inaya panni nindru,’ Agni sang the praise of Rama, or the mUla-murthi, Vishnu, ‘aadu uru dhEvarOdu ulagam aartthu eza,’ and he, along with the celestials and all the other life forms in the world dancing in glee to witness this glorious emergence of Sita, ‘sUdu urum mEniya, alari thOgayai,’ carried the peacock that she was, ‘maadu urak koNarndhanan,’ and brought her to stand by the side of Rama.
There, by his side she stood. ‘Now that you, who stands witness to all, have testified, ‘nI ivaLai yaadhum Or pazippu ilaL endranai,’ and told that she remains unblemished, ‘paziyum indru,’ and that there exists no blame, ‘inik kazippu ilaL,’ she is not the one to be repudiated,’ said Rama. ‘He was pleased, and his eyes were full of tears of joy,’ points Valmiki at this moment. Kamban does not say anything about the emotions that would possibly have welled up in the hearts of the couple divine. We very eagerly look for her reaction at this point of time. It is absent so very conspicuously. But we get a glimpse of her feelings through Dasaratha, who would appear anon.
And now, in Kamban, Brahma appears and reveals the divine nature in fourteen verses. They deserve our study when we take up Rama. ‘
As though these were not enough, Lord Shiva asks Dasaratha to appear on the scene in his ethereal body to speak to Rama and to convince Sita. ‘My daughter!’ is the way Dasaratha addresses Sita, so very affectionately. She who was Janakatmaja until now became Dasaratatmaja, too, so to say, in a way.
The sun and his light
With the appearance of Agni and with Sita standing by his side, the entire scene that was more scalded by the emotions of Rama than by the dancing tongues of flames emanating from the pyre comes back to its life. The gathering that was so eager to have a glimpse of the happy reunion of the couple, but stood an agonised witness to something unexpected, was restored to its original mood. Taking her by his side, Rama explains the need for this exercise, which we have discussed a while ago and sys this before concluding with the assurance that he would accept the ‘friendly advice of all the loving protectors of the world’. ‘She is no different from me,’ he says. ‘And therefore there is no question of our remaining apart.’
neyam arhati caisvaryam rāvanāntahpure subhā |
ananyā hi mayā sītām bhāskarena prabhā yathā ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 118, Sloka 19)
“This virtuous lady could not give way to frailty in the gynaecium of Ravana inasmuch as Sita is non-different from me even as sunlight is non-different from the sun.”
‘ananyā hi’ not alien from me ‘mayā sītām’ is Sita. Note the endearing way in which he refers to her as ‘maya Sita.’ She was Janakatmaja just moments back. “Therefore, go wherever you like, O Janaka’s daughter. I grant you leave to do this (very) day,” was what he told her minutes back. (See: Light on diseased eye) Rama is once again the Rama he has always been to her. From light on diseased eye, she has become <u>his</u> light, as she rightly is. ‘We are as inseparable as the sun and his light,’ he says ‘bhāskarena prabhā yathā. And the metaphor suggests, ‘We are no different – ‘ananyā – she is my light and I am her source. We are one and do not exist without the other.
That is the very same simile that he used when he decided on taking her along with him to the jungle on exile. ‘Follow me like Suvarcala,’ he said then.
dharmastu gajanāsoru sadbhirācaritah purā |
tam cāham anuvarte 'dya yathā sūryam suvarcalā ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 30, Sloka 30)
“Nay, I shall abide by the moral law actually followed by the virtuous (dwellers in the forest) in the past, O lady with comely limbs! Follow me (now even) as Suvarcala (nicknamed Samjnä, wife of the sun-god) does the sun-god “
‘May you be my light, my rays, residing in me like Suvarcala the wife of the Sun resides in him. Let’s shine together drenching the skies with glory. If I am the Sun, you ARE my light.’ One may shift the emphasis on the words and say ‘you are MY light’ now, following what he says here, ‘mayā sītām’ MY Sita.
And so does a cycle complete. What began as ‘the Sun and his light’ ends with the same ‘bhāskarena prabhā.’ The sun cannot be different from his light; nor can the light be different from the sun. That’s what Sita is to me and I, to her.
At that happy moment, Lord Siva summoned Dasaratha. ‘pinnum nOkkinaaan perum thagai,’ says Kamban. Lord Siva then considered the next thing to be done. ‘pudhalvanaip pirindha innalaal, uyir thurandhu, irum thrakkathuL irundha mannaR sendru kaNdu,’ He sought the presence of Dasaratha, the king who could not live a moment longer than the departure of his endeared son to the jungle, and resided in heavens, ‘nin maindhanai therutti, munnai van thuyar nIkkudhi,’ he said. ‘Go and see your son. Speak to him. Let him be made clear. Let all the present woes be wiped clean with your words.
If at this juncture Maheshwara summons Dasaratha and presents him on the scene, one cannot say that it was just to pacify Rama and Rama alone. Though he addresses Rama and tells him, “Here is your (deceased) father, King Dasaratha – who was your highly illustrious senior in the world of mortals – seated in an aerial car, O scion of Kakutstha! Having been delivered by your, his (pious) son, the glorious monarch has taken up his abode in the realm of Indra. Greet you him with your (younger half-) brother, Lakshmana,” (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 119, Sloka 7 and 8) I am not able to see the need for ‘pacifying’ Rama any more. Rama is just an excuse for the appearance of Dasaratha in his ethereal body. Because Rama has been pacified already and is glowing with the happiness of ‘his’ Sita standing by his side.
It is therefore the third part of Dasaratha’s speech that gains all the importance. She stands there, unspoken to, the entire focus remaining on Rama now. She has to be addressed; her lacerated heart needs that healing touch. Maheshwara’s thoughtful bringing in of Dasaratha seems to be only with this in view, more than anything else, which incidentally serves several other purposes too.
O daughter mine
Dasaratha’s appearance leads to a few moving exchanges between the son and the father. Rama remembers Dasaratha’s repudiation of Kaikeyi and seeks to set it right, once again displaying the strength of character that he is known for. We have seen this particular portion earlier in our study of Kaikeyi (See: Two boons for Rama Part I and Part II). Kamban has elaborated this portion to emphasise the love of Rama for Kaikeyi and Bharata. We will go into this in detail along with our study of Rama.
After speaking to Rama and granting the boons that he sought, Dasaratha then turns to Lakshmana and expresses his joy for all that he did and would do to Rama and Sita. “Great satisfaction has been rendered to me and reward in the form of religious merit earned by you in that you served Rama along with Sita, a princess of Videha territory,” he tells Lakshmana (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 119, Sloka 28) and tells him again at the end of his address, “The reward of the practice of (all) virtues as also extensive fame has been earned by you in that you steadily served him, as also Sita.” (Ibid, Sloka 33)
His happiness and satisfaction stems from the reason that Lakshmana served not Rama alone, but Sita as well. He emphasises this fact, twice in a short six-sloka long speech. And then Dasaratha now turns to Sita. ‘kundru pOl uLa thOLinAn sItayaik kuruga,’ Dasaratha, whose shoulders resembled mountains, stepped towards Sita. ‘than thuNaik kazal vaNangalum,’ and when she fell at his feet in reverence, ‘karuNayaal thazuvi,’ he took her up in his arms and embraced her with unbounded love.
The scene gets exceptionally moving when Dasaratha addresses her as ‘putri,’ my daughter.
ithyukthva lakshmanam raja snushaam badhdhAnjalim sthitam |
putrithyaabhaashya madhuram shanairenam uvaca ha ||
(Ibid, Sloka 34)
“Having spoken as aforesaid to Lakshmana and accosting his daughter-in-law (Sita) standing (before him) with joined palms as ‘My daughter,’ the (former) king gently and slowly instructed her as follows.”
The poet seems to call our attention to the fact that Sita is his daughter-in-law in reality, when he refers to her, standing with joined palms, as ‘snuSA’ which is the Sanskrit for daughter-in-law. The purpose for stating the obvious becomes apparent when Dasaratha begins his address with the affectionate term, ‘putri’ daughter. ‘nangai,’ Young lady, ‘matru nin karpinai ulagukku nAtta,’ it is only with the intention of establishing your purity in the eyes of the world, ‘uNartthiya adhu manatthu adayEl,’ that Rama let you enter the flames. Do not take it to heart. Do not feel bad about it. ‘sangai utravar, thEruvadhu uNdu.’ Whoever is in doubt would see the truth. ‘adhu saradham.’ That’s for sure. ‘gangai nAdu udaik kaNavanai munivurak karudhEl.’ Do not be angered with your husband, the king of the land of Ganges.
What Rama did not tell her finds an expression through Dasaratha. Love in its perfection does not keep a count of faults and flaws. She did not expect an apology and he did not proffer it either. But Dasaratha fulfils that aspect when he speaks on behalf of Rama. Kamban seems to emphasise this point when his Dasaratha uses almost the same words that his son used when he levelled his allegations and counters them. ‘All the great qualities of womanhood were erased from the face of the earth when you were born,’ was one of those allegations. (See: The Insinuation) And another. ‘kIdam pOl nilatthil pirandhamai nirappinaai.’ You conducted yourself like the worm you were, born on the soil. (See: A worm in the slush)
Kamban skilfully picks up those words and blends them with the words of Dasaratha and embalms and soothes our troubled hearts, if not that of Sita.
An exception, not an example
‘You are not an ordinary woman and what took place today is not an ordinary event,’ says Dasaratha to Sita. ‘peN piRandhavar arundhadhiyE mudhal perumaip paNbu iRandhavarkku arum kalam aagiya paavaai,’ he calls Sita. There undoubtedly have been women of splendid qualities in the past. Numberless are their names, starting from Arundati. But you are unique. You are the vessel that contains all the qualities, all the renown for which all those celebrated women stand for and are known for.
That answers the earlier allegation – if it was an allegation – of Rama, ‘With your birth is wiped all the celebrated qualities of womanhood,’ (See: The Insinuation). Dasaratha does not say that explicitly. But when these two verses are read together, one would not fail to notice the striking similarity of the words employed and the way in which what the earlier verse alleges is set at naught.
‘kIdam pOl nilatthil pirandhamai nirappinaai,’ is the other argument. ‘You were not born in a normal way as any of us. You were rolling in the slush when Janaka found you. And your behaviour was just what could be expected from a worm.’ Dasaratha picks up the same line of argument and puts it in the correct perspective, following what she says of herself in Valmiki, “(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.) My exalted character was not prized by you either, O appraiser of good conduct?” (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 116, Sloka 15) (See: Have you forgotten this?)
‘You could do this today, O the embodiment of all celebrated qualities of women,’ Dasaratha says and continues, ‘because, ‘maN pirandhagam unakku,’ you were not born like any of us. It was the good earth that delivered you. You are unlike any of us. ‘vAn nindrum vandhAi.’ You came down from the heavens my child.
‘And therefore, it is not possible for anyone else in the world to tread the path that you have trodden today. Let not anyone expect this to be repeated, for what took place today is not an example; but an exception,’ seems to be the undercurrent of the words of Dasaratha when he says,
sudhushkaramidham putri tava charitra lakshanam |
kritam yat tenyanarinam yasho hryabibavishyati ||
(Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 119, Sloka 36)
“This act (of entering the flames) which has been done by you and which reveals your (true) character, my daughter, – putri – is most difficult to perform (for others) and will undoubtedly overshadow the renown of other virtuous ladies.”
You did it because you are divine. You descended from the heavens and were delivered by the earth. Not all can do this. (And let no one take this or cite this as precedence. None but Rama can say this and none but Sita can perform this.) Kamban remembers to acknowledge these words when he likens this to smelting of gold. ‘ponnaith thIyidaip peyvadhu, ap ponnudaith thUmai thannaik kaatudarkku.’ The purity of gold is demonstrated when it is smelted in fire. ‘enbadhu manak koLak karudhi,’ It is only with this in mind ‘unnaik kaatinan,’ Rama allowed (stood a silent witness to) your entering the fire. ‘ulagin pinnaik kaatuvadhu ariyadhu,’ It is not possible (of performance) for anybody else in the world in the later days.
The loving hearts stood united there. Dasaratha departed to his abode. The celestials called the attention of Rama to the passage of time. ‘anjodu anju naangu endru eNNum aaNdu pOi mudindha.’ Rama, the fourteen year term is expiring today. ‘panjamip peya padaitthuLa thidhi indru payandha.’ Today is panchami. You are due to return. Bharata is awaiting your arrival there. Start now, or else you will have to see another fire ordeal performed by your brother Bharata. He would not wait a moment longer.
All the simian army along with Rama, Sita and Lakshmana then ascend the Puspaka Vimana. And now we see the couple divine in conversation, memories flowing back, their love remaining in tact, and Sita turning the same old lady with a child like exterior. (See: A child-like exterior)
The journey back
We are nearing the fag-end of our efforts in the study of the way in which the grandest of all women characters in our epics, is cast. The time has come to draw the curtain down, with a couple of more incidents that add to her character traits remaining to be seen. We would come to a close with the beautiful gesture of Sita during the coronation ceremony. Her role in the Uttara Kanda is short and very limited, which has to be seen together with the study of Rama. Unless this is done, we will not be doing justice either to Sita or to Rama. The second repudiation is really moving and to an extent, shocking. A foot-note in the collection of the speeches of Right Hon’ble Srinivasa Sastriyar, titled ‘Lectures on the Ramayana,’ says, “Publishes’ note: The Lecturer was visible moved when he read Sita’s words and Lakshmana’s reply,” (page 35, ‘Third Lecture’) occurring in the Uttara Kanda, when the latter leaves Sita in the vicinity of Valmiki’s hermitage.
‘Visibly moved.’ That can mean only one thing. Tears rolled down the cheeks of the speaker. One can visualise the mood of the speaker and that of the audience on that day (19th April 1944) when the lecture was delivered. On the one side the scene leaves the reader – or the listener – in shock, despair and agony. On the other, one is not able but to admire the dignity with which Sita takes the situation and sends her message back to Rama. Sita is not a meek character, as is believed by a section of not well-informed debaters, who go more by impression than by study.
However, if we go into that now along with our present efforts, we would then be depriving a fair chance of going into Rama’s perspective and his point of view. We owe him a burden of debt already in that we are yet to probe more fully into his side of the case, as far as Agni Pravesa is concerned. I do not want to add to that debt now. Therefore, in all fairness, the role of Sita and the study of this beacon of womanhood can be taken together up with Rama.
In our last post, we saw them ascending the Puspaka Vimana, on their way back to Ayodhya. Throughout the journey, we see Rama doing all the talking, showing places, recollecting events, and showering a liberal dose of endearing epithets all the way. ‘See, this is the spot where Mandodari was lamenting; where I killed Ravana,’ he would say, ‘This was where we spent our night when we landed in Lanka,’ he would show, ‘this is the bridge, known as Nala Sethu (so known after the name of the ‘engineer’ behind the bridge, Nala),’ he would point.
Oral tradition has it that Rama wanted her to see all the places in Lanka where the gory battles took place and an entire race that was headed by an evil-doer and fought for his cause – either out of necessity or out of loyalty – was effaced, obliterated from the face of the earth. But then, it is not right to say ‘all’ the Rakshasas were killed in the Great War. When the poets say so, they simply mean the ‘guNaas’ or the traits that are represented by and more found in a particular race. For, if it was true that all the Rakshasas were wiped out who was there for Vibishana to be ruled! It was Vibishana’s land now. We would see him in Mahabharata. Ghatotkacha, the son of mighty Bhima is sent to Lanka when Dharma performs the Rajasuya, to receive the acceptance and benedictions of Vibishana, who enquires about Lord Krishna and acknowledges him as an avatar of Rama.
Well, according to the oral tradition, Rama wanted Sita to see the land soaked in blood with her graceful eyes. ‘May this land prosper darling, may your eyes be cast on it, for it is Vibishana who is going to rule this land from now on.’ We do not find a textual support, but it still is beautiful and deserves a mention. Though it is only Rama that we hear speaking throughout the journey back, we are left with a happy feeling that the couple are once again back in their intimate moments, the beautiful moments that we witnessed in the Aranya Kanda, till the arrival of Surpanakha, followed by the golden-deer.
The Vimana passes Kishkindha. Rama points to the land where Vali was slain. And the friendship was obtained – or the ‘protection’ was extended to – Sugriva. As we have mentioned earlier, Valmiki casts the relationship between Sugriva and Rama as ‘friendship’ whereas it takes the shape of ‘saranagadhi’ and protection of the one who sought refuge, in the hands of Kamban. We would be going into that in depth when we take up Rama.
But for now. We hear Janaki speaking for the first time after Agni Pravesa, through the words of the poets. We have not heard a single word of hers after the event, though she was spoken to, praised, respected and received. ‘Why don’t you grant me a boon my lord,’ she asks him with that same old smile, and the same old love, which remains untouched in the least by what happened hours back.
With love around
The airship is so full of men that Sita is the lone exception. All the Vanara warriors that ascended the aircraft were men. Obviously. And the Rakshasa women who remained there would not get in. They have their dead to mourn, after all. Vibishana was there, surrounded by his deputies. The situation was almost similar to the one back in the Rishyamuka Hill, when Kamban shows us Rama feasting with Sugriva, and notices all of a sudden the absence of women and the meal being served by men and men alone. ‘What happened to your wife!’ wonders Rama at that time. ‘porundhu nan manaikku uriya pUvayai, pirindhu uLaai kolO nIyum?’ he asks in surprised realisation. ‘So, are you living here in isolation, without the wife, like I do?’ Kamban enacts this drama to strike a concord of feelings, oneness of situation and building of bonds between Rama and Sugriva.
It is an almost similar situation for Sita. Here she is among a sea of men in a flying machine. ‘She felt a bit timid with love,’ says Valmiki. “Seeing the city of Kishkindha (once) protected by Vali, Sita, who was feeling timid through love, forthwith addressed to him the following humble submission: ‘Really speaking, I wish to reach Ayodhya, your (future) seat of government, in your company, accompanied by the beloved consorts of Sugriva, with Tara at their head, as well as by the wives of other monkey chiefs (too), O ruler of men!” (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 123, Sloka 23 and 24)
‘My lord, it is not fair to leave these women behind. They should accompany us. I want you to return to your kingdom surrounded by these warriors along with their wives!’ ‘kishkindhai idhuvEl,’ If this is Kishkindha, ‘ayya, kEttiyaal,’ listen to me my lord, ‘enadhu peNmai matkumdhaan, aaya magaLir indraagi,’ would my womanliness not be slighted if this retinue is devoid of women! ‘vaanOr utkum pOrch chenai sooza orutthiyE ayOdhi eydhin!’ (Would it not be a shame on me) to descend in Ayodhya with so many men around me, a sole and isolated woman, surrounded by warriors that would strike terror in the hearts of even the celestials! ‘kaL kotthu kuzalinaarai Etrudhal kadanmaitthu.’ It is our duty my lord, to take those women of flower bedecked plaits along with us.
‘I want you to be surrounded by happy and loving hearts when we reach our Ayodhya. Let us not leave them back. Ask them to ascend the craft. Let there be happiness and love around us when we begin our life in Ayodhya. Tender feelings and fond hopes. As natural as our womenfolk.
Now, once again this scene is liberally enriched by oral tradition with anecdotes like the Vanara women eagerly vying with one another to have a look at the unparalleled beauty for whom great battles were fought and oceans of blood was spilt. And when finally taking a look at her, the tradition goes, ‘O, this is Sita, is that so? What kind of beauty can it be, without an inch of tail!’ Though this is not to be found either in Valmiki or Kamban, it goes to show the way in which the tale is enriched by generations and remains enriching generations.
And the journey ended with the reunion of brothers, Bharata prevented from falling in the pyre with Hanuman arriving in advance and a quick arrangement for the coronation ceremony. There, with Hanuman bearing the throne, Angada holding the royal sword, (See: The sword of Rama), Bharata holding regal umbrella and Lakshmana and Satrughna fanning, Sita graced the side of Rama as Vasistha crowned him.
Once again we see a beautiful character trait of Sita in this last scene. The last scene of our study of Sita, that is to say.
Jewel in hand Joy at heart
At the end of the coronation ceremony, Rama bestowed gifts and gave away the riches of the coffers of Ayodhya. “The scion Raghu gave away later thirty crores of gold coins and every variety of costly jewels and raiment,” says Valmiki. (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 128, Sloka 74) He conferred a gem-studded golden garland on Sugriva and a pair of armlets made of cat’s-eye gems on Angada. Earlier, prompted by Indra, the Wind God, Vayu, had brought a gift of a necklace of pearls for Rama. Rama took that celestial necklace of pearls, glowing like moon-beams, thought for a moment and turned to Sita who was standing close-by and clasped that necklace round the neck of his endeared. That vivid moment remains there forever on the pages of Ramayana, embellished by the rich words of the poet.
The next moment Sita unclasped the necklace. She stood there for a while with the necklace in hand, looking a moment now at the sea of the Simian warriors gathered there, and glancing at the necklace the next moment and looked at a face lifted up at Rama. She did this again and again, says the poet.
Avamucyātmanah kanthāt hāram janakanandinii |
avaikshata hariin sarvān bhartāram ca muhurmuhuh ||
(Ibid, Sloka 80)
“Unclasping the pearl necklace (conferred on her by her husband) from her neck, Janaka’s daughter, cast a look at all the monkeys (present in the assembly) as well as at her husband again and again.”
Take a sip of the grand picture and savour it a while longer. There she stands with the necklace that was just adorned on her so lovingly, holds it in hands; her eyes keep moving from the necklace to the gathering of monkeys and flit back to her husband, her fluttering eyelids try to convey something to her husband. He keeps on looking at her with a steady and silent smile. He understands what she intends. His head nods lovingly, and approvingly, with his smile lighting up the hearts of all. ‘Yes. I know what you want to do,’ his eyes tell her.
tām ingitajnah samprekshya babhāshE janakātmajām |
pradehi subhage hāram yasya tustāsi bhāmini ||
(Ibid, Sloka 81)
“Looking intently on her, Sri Rama (who could read the mind of another through his or her gestures), said to Janaka’s daughter, “Gladly bestow the pearl necklace on him with whom you are pleased, O blessed young lady.”
What a pleasant moment! Blessed indeed we are to perceive this picture through the eyes of the poet. ‘He looked on at her intently with a smile. He read her thoughts. Is he not an adept at reading minds of anyone and everyone through their gestures? Was it that difficult for him to read her mind? ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Give it to anyone. To the one with whom you are pleased.’
A moment to cherish indeed.
Indebted we are
It is more than obvious that what Sita had in her mind when she unclasped the necklace of pearls was to honour Hanuman. This is not paying back a debt. This is just a token of affection and gratitude. She was aware of the splendid qualities of this ‘father figure’ who fortified her at her time of distress. That’s why we saw her blessing him ‘indru ena irutthi,’ May you remain ever and forever as you are today, in the Sundara Kanda. (See: indru ena iruththi) She knew that ‘a gift of all the three worlds would not suffice the invaluable services’ that Maruti rendered. And we have heard her acknowledge that. (See: But I have promises to keep Part I)
“The dark-eyed lady forthwith conferred that necklace on the son of the wind-god, in whom the following, viz., energy, firmness, renown, dexterity, competence, modesty, prudence, virility, prowess and intelligence are ever to be found. Adorned with that jewel, Hanuman, the foremost of monkeys, shone like a mountain silvered by a cloud white as an aureole of moonbeams.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Yuddha Kanda, Canto 128, Sloka 82 and 83)
I will be failing in my duty if I do not add here the ever so enjoyable reaction of Hanuman, which has been repeated again and again on being bestowed with the necklace of pearls. ‘Not knowing what to do with the necklace,’ the anecdote goes, ‘Hanuman occupied a corner of the grand hall and started chewing the pearls one by one.’ The story ends with Hanuman saying, ‘No, this is not half as good as the name of Rama that I chant always.’ Well, yet another oral tradition that goes to make the epic richer and more enjoyable. This particular piece is not to be seen either in Valmiki or in Kamban.
‘I am not going to give you anything, my dear Hanuman,’ Rama would tell him later, when sending all the visitors and the Vanara warriors back. “Rising from his excellent seat, Sir Rama hugged with affection Hanuman while he was submitted as above, and made the following reply, so the tradition goes: ‘So shall it be O prince of monkeys, there is no doubt about it. Your fame will endure and life too will continue in your body so long as this story of mine will remain current in the world. (Nay) my stories will surely abide so long as the worlds last. I would give up my life for every single service rendered by you here and we shall remain in debt to you for the rest of your services, O monkey.” (Valmiki Ramayana, Uttara Kanda, Canto 40, Sloka 20 – 23)
‘Let me remain indebted to you always,’ says Rama to Hanuman. The fine gesture of Rama that follows these words in Valmiki and the beautiful twist that Kamban gives to it are to be seen in detail when we take up Rama. ‘ninnai en thalayinaal thozavum thagum thanmayOi.’ It is only befitting for me to bow down at your feet, with my head,’ was what she said earlier, when Hanuman took the message of Rama to her, in Lanka. This gift is a token of honour, which Rama would once again affirm in the Uttara Kanda, bestowing his own necklace of pearls on Hanuman.
So are we closing our discussions on the character study of Sita, with this happy moment, with the couple divine standing united and the throne of Ayodhya well-adorned by them, with Hanuman shining like a mountain, with the necklace of pearls glowing like a puff of cloud lit by moonbeams.
Let’s take a quick stock of what we have seen and what does Sita stand for, before we venture into the next character.
Sitayah charitam mahat
The various stages in the life of Sita as depicted in the epic fall in neat slices of twelve years or thereabouts. She was a happy maiden of twelve when she was given in marriage. There of course is a difference of opinion on her age at the time of marriage. Some calculations based on her narration of her life events to Ravana Sanyasi in the Aranya Kanda, when receiving him to their hermitage place her age at six when she got married. ‘My husband was twenty-five and I was eighteen when we left on exile,’ she tells Ravana Sanyasi.
mama bhartaa mahaatejaa vayasaa pa.nca vimshakaH ||
aSTaa dasha hi varhSaaNi mama janmani gaNyate |
(Valmiki Ramayana, Aranya Kanda, Canto 47, Sloka 10 second half and 11 first half)
“My husband, who is possessed of great energy, was over twenty-five years of age (when he left for the forest) while my age (at the time of our departure from Ayodhya was calculated to be eighteen years from my birth.”
However, this sloka once again, seems to be of questionable authenticity, since many scholars feel that it is interpolated. If we go by this statement, then it would mean that Sita was six at the time of marriage and Rama was thirteen. However, Dasaratha mentions that Rama is ‘hardly sixteen’ when Viswamitra asks him to send Rama with him. ‘ūnasodasavarso me rāmo rājīvalocanah’ he tells Viswamitra at that time. (Valmiki Ramayana, Bala Kanda, Canto 20, Sloka 2) ‘My lotus-eyed Rama is less than sixteen years old (yet).’ Therefore, the sloka in the Aranya Kanda, which comes out as Sita’s own narration of their age goes against the basic fact expressed by Dasaratha and fails in the test of logic. Apart from that, the question of interpolation dulls that statement.
It is therefore safe to conclude with scholars of Ramayana that she was twelve at the time of marriage, though this number is not stated explicitly in the epic.
And then comes the second stage of her becoming the celebrated daughter-in-law of Ayodhya, which lasts another twelve years, which number is stated at least twice by Sita, once in Aranya Kanda to Ravana and the next in Sundara Kanda to Hanuman. Dasaratha took the decision to enthrone Rama was taken after twelve years of their marriage. This is followed by unexpected turn of events and the couple leave on exile, and spend thirteen years in perfect happiness, until the arrival of Surpanakha. The epic does not mention the number of years that they spent together after their reunion in the Yuddha Kanda, but it must have been about a couple of years.
And then, once again, after the second exile twelve years pass before she is asked to come back to Ayodhya, takes an oath of faithfulness and disappears forever going back to where she came from, Mother Earth opening up and receiving her back.
What the Ramayana tells her vividly is just a little more than one year of her life, starting from her being carried off by Ravana in the Aranya Kanda, till the end of Yuddha Kanda. This comely maiden who appeared in the first scene as a picture of frailty, beauty and love transforms into a remarkable fortress of strength, displays extraordinary patience, unshakable faith, unimaginable courage, tolerance, love, and above all, a keen sense of dignity and self-esteem. She places her self-esteem above all when she answers Rama’s allegations in the Agni Pravesa scene. We have discussed this at length. She would once again do so when she sends Lakshmana back when the latter conveys the order of Rama to her in the precincts of Valmiki Ashrama when she sends her message back to her loving husband. ‘enakkuch chirandadhu thar pirivu endru seppinaaL ena uraitthi,’ she would say. ‘If this is what he feels, tell him that I told you that this separation is better for me.’ When she says that, she says so without an iota of hatred; of self-pity or remorse, though she is shocked and is in tears. It has to be remembered that the twins Kusa and Lava were brought up entirely under her care. Though Valmiki was there to take care of their education and training in kingly and martial arts, she was the one behind their splendid qualities, moral excellence, wisdom and contentment, which they display when they smilingly refuse the eighteen thousand gold coins that Rama orders to be given to them on hearing his story being sung by them, before knowing that they were his own children.
As we mentioned earlier, Sri V V S Aiyar did not live to complete his monumental work, ‘Kamba Ramayanam – A Study.’ His study covers ten characters of the epic, including Rama, apart from his wonderful analysis of the structure of the story of Valmiki and Kamban. He had planned to complete his study of the epic with Sita; but an accident snatched him away before he could do so. This particular portion was completed by unknown authors of the Delhi Tamil Sangam. There, on the chapter on Sita, appears this beautiful and moving paragraph.
“Valmiki gives three titles to his immortal Kavya, Ramayanam, Paulastya Vadham and Sita Charitam. He was content to give the first two titles without any adjective. But while calling his work ‘Sita Charitam’ he says, ‘Sitayah charitam mahat,’ – the great and ennobling story of Sita.” True. Not without reason.
Now, what were her happiest years, and how was her much misunderstood, disputed and misrepresented decision to go along with her husband in exile looked at by others, especially her mother-in-law?
We have seen enough arguments, counter-arguments, unjustified allegations and proper justifications on this issue of Sita insisting on accompanying Rama on exile. It is not our intention to go into the question once again. The decision of Sita has already been justified abundantly, in that we have seen what Rama actually felt about it (See: Proud, was he not?) and therefore it does not need any further justification. It therefore is not to add to that justification that we mention this now. That discussion is closed already. But the words of Kausalya are one of the best and apt compliments showered on Sita, in the epic and therefore deserve our attention.
Taking leave of everyone, the couple and Lakshmana come to Kausalya. Kausalya embraced Sita in her arms and smelt her head. ‘Then the mother-in-law spoke thus,’ observes Valmiki. ‘tām bhujābhyām parisvajya svasrūr vacanam abravīt’ ‘Folding in her arms (Mythili) her mother-in-law (svasrūr) spoke the following words.’ (Valmiki Ramayana, Ayodhya Kanda, Canto 39, Sloka 19)
Now, what Kausalya says falls into two portions. It speaks of women of selfish nature, who desert their husbands in times of distress, who prefer to stay away from him when his life-situation is not that happy, is miserable. And of women of splendid qualities. The remarks on the first kind of women is a little unkindly indeed, which has made the veteran, Srinivasa Sastriyar, to observe, “Women get most censure from their own sex. We are not such harsh judges of women as themselves. ‘Amongst us, women,’ says Kausalya, ‘it is very common to find a woman following her husband when he is all right. But the moment he false or becomes unfortunate or loses wealth, however much they might have been in better times looked after, however well they might have been treated, so soon as something wrong happens, they will begin to abuse him and even abandon him. In one moment they will abandon all their love.’” Sastriyar is not happy about these remarks and expresses what he feels about such observations to be found in our and Western literature.
It is not for us to go into this question now. What Kausalya makes is a general observation about one category of women who partake only when the times are good for their husbands and despise them in times of difficulty. This comparison comes out only to underline the ‘extraordinary’ nature of Sita in her decision to accompany Rama on a self-imposed exile. Let’s therefore not go much into it, but give our attention to what she says about Sita.
“In the case, however, of virtuous women,” continues Kausalya, who are in fact devoted to good conduct, truthfulness and the precepts of their elders and keep within the bounds of decorum (laid down for their family), their husband is the most sacred object and he alone excels all.” (Ibid, Sloka 24) Commenting on this portion Sastriyar observes, “Kausalya says to Sita, ‘Now you go the forest with your husband. You are an extraordinary woman. <b>There is hardly another woman who would follow her husband like this to share his misery and his privation.</b>’”
And then, as is usual of every mother, Kausalya advises Sita, “Though being sent into exile to the forest, my son, Sri Rama, should not be despised by you. Endowed with means or resourceless, he is surely as good as a deity to you.” (Ibid, Sloka 25) Sita had the grace to accept this piece of advice. As Sastriyar says, “Sita did not need this advice. But still she thanks her for reminding her.”
“I shall surely do all that your worthy self instructs me to do,” she acknowledges. What follows is a polite acceptance as well as a mild assertion. A reassurance as well as softer and gentler way of being assertive. Once again emphasising the way Sita valued her self-esteem as also the fact that being assertive does not mean sounding harsh. “I know how I should behave towards my husband and I have (also) heard about it (from my elders). Your noble self ought not to equate me with wicked women. I am unable to deviate from virtue (even) as moonlight is incapable of parting from the moon. A Vina is of no use without chords and a chariot is no use without wheels. Nor can a wife who is bereft of her husband prosper in a happy state even though she may have a hundred sons. Indeed a father bestows limited joy, a brother (too) bestows limited joy and a son (as well) bestows limited happiness. What woman, then, would not adore her husband, the bestower of unlimited joy?” (Ibid, Sloka 27 – 30)
‘If everyone is a Rama,’ we are tempted to think, ‘would it be hard to find another Sita?’ But Swami Vivekananda has a different opinion, completely. We will see that. But before that, let us compile a few lines from different characters of the epic, expressing what they really feel about her, and close this with the words of Swami Vivekananda.
The fire, the venom and the nectar
It is an impossible effort to compile a fairly representative sample of the rich encomiums paid to Sita by every character in the epic. If one attempts to collect the joyful and mesmerizing remarks of Hanuman alone, it would run to a couple of hundreds of pages. I am therefore confining myself to picking out very few awe-inspiring statements that are made by those belonging not to the side of Rama, but to the side of Ravana. She appears to be the flame that burns, the poison that kills without being consumed, and the nectar made of poison, in the eyes of almost everyone on the side of Ravana, who try to dissuade him, who try to advice him to send her back.
The first of these occurs in the Aranya Kanda when Surpanakha sets her eyes on Sita for the first time. This observation is that of the poet himself. Kamban says, ‘arakkar enum kAn suda vandha karppin kanaliyaik kaNNin kaNdaaL.’ There she saw the flame of purity that came to set the forest of demons on fire. ‘Here is the fire, the cause; and there stands the reason that would place this flame in the darkest of forests that go by the name Rakshasas. This flame is going to turn that forest into ashes, soon.’ That, for the first time in the epic, brings out the purpose of Sita’s birth. ‘This is the Universal Energy that resides on the wick of a lamp,’ the poet suggests, ‘shedding a soft light on the people around, glowing in peaceful glory, enfolding all its destructive power within itself. This Surpanakha is going to wake that Primordial Force up, only to bring destruction to her own race.’
That beautiful line brings out the role that Sita came to play. Any reader of Subramania Bharati would not hesitate to acknowledge that here lies the inspiration behind his poem, ‘aginik kunju,’ a speck of fire that he places in the hole of a tree in a forest, and the forest turning to embers. Especially so, when it is remembered that Bharati had his roots deep in Kamban.
‘She is like the snake that can kill by its very looks,’ warns Kumbakarna. ‘thittiyin vidam anna karppin selvi,’ he tells Ravana. dhrshti visham is the name of a legendary snake that is supposed to kill by its looks. It is not necessary that it has to bite. Its very appearance is sufficient to kill the person who stands before. ‘She is so pure that her very looks can kill you.’ We know Ravana did not listen.
‘sudu-thiyai thugilidaip podhindhu dhunmadhi, idudhiyE,’ chides Vibishana. ‘Ravana, you wicked-minded, you are trying to hide a lamp-in-flame under your garment.’ She is again, the flame that engulfed Lanka from the tail of Hanuman. Vibishana says, ‘kOnagar muzuvadhum ninadhu kotramum saanagi enum ulagin tham-annai aanavaL kaRppinaal vendadhu.’ The city and your valour were charred beyond recognition by the fire of her chastity, who is the Mother of the Universe (ulagin tham-annai). ‘alladhu Or vAnaram suttadhu endru uNardhal maatchiyO?’ Or else, would it be possible for a monkey to do this? Would it be the part of wisdom to perceive that a mere monkey did this? It was nothing but the fire of Sita that burnt this city.
‘sIdhai endra amudhaal seydha nanju,’ laments Mandodari on the dead body of her most endeared son Indrajit. ‘She is the venom made of nectar.’ ‘I am afraid that our king of Lanka would lie this way tomorrow because of that venom made of nectar.’
Vibishana, while performing the last rites of Ravana falls on his frame and sobs. ‘uNNaadhE uyir uNNaadhu oru nanju.’ No poison does any harm unless it is consumed. ‘sanagi enum peru nanju unaik kaNNaalE nOkkavE pOkkiyadhE.’ But the greatest of all poisons, the purity of Sita, killed you by her very looks. Did I not tell you? Did you listen to me?
She is the fire that lights our lives; she is the fire that cooks our food and makes survival possible; and she IS the fire that destroys all that is ill. The fire that enriches wealth and wipes clean the illth. The nectar, the manna of life for her children and the venom for the kinds of Ravana. After all, the nectar, the deadliest of poisons – hälähala – and she, the very Mahalakshmi, emerged from the very same Ocean of Milk.
There may be many Ramas…
Many are the women that adorn the pages of our ancient literature that stand out, shine, and are remembered to this day for their excellent qualities. But there is not a single character in our entire literature that can take the place of Sita, share her stature, eminence and <i>all</i> her shining qualities. She is unique and stands alone on the highest pedestal of our hearts, leaving her powerful impress on the minds of all of us. Many a Western scholar of the Ramayana who is our cultural alien in many respects, for whom it is difficult to understand the premise on which the character of Sita is constructed, has acknowledged her greatness.
There was Arundati, for instance, who is remembered as a beacon of purity. But Rama himself, more than once says, ‘marundhu enath thigazum insol Mythili kaRpukku andha arundati kaRppum naaNum.’ The purity of my Mythili of sweeter words, who is the very nectar of my life, would put that of Arundati to shame. He says so at the very last scene, before Janaki disappears into Mother Earth. Arundati, with all her greatness, was no match to the excellence of Sita, by the standards of none other than the uncompromising Rama.
And there was Dhamayanthi, the queen of Nala Maharaja, whose patience, following her husband in privation, separation, endurance of extreme agony, persistence in her efforts to find Nala back are no doubt moving and closely resemble all the travails that Sita went through. If there was a Ravana for Sita, there was a hunter for Dhamayanthi. She burns the hunter with her very looks and comes out of her predicament herself, unprotected as she was. But the charm of Dhamayanthi can never equal the charm of Sita.
We see Savitri, whose tale is also narrated in the Mahabharata, as that of Dhamayanthi. We know that she followed the very Lord of Death, Yama Dharma, to bring her husband Satyavan, back to life. But what Savitri does is super-human. She may be remembered, she may be respected, she may even be celebrated. But not a single soul remembers her excepting on the day of Savitri-nonbu. I have been the recipient of many mails from readers of this column, asking for the significance of this ‘sAvitri nOnbu.’ That only goes to show that remembering Savitri is more a ritual than anything else.
The character that comes closest to Sita is Panchali. Draupadi is another character which is cast in a mould that resembles an everyday woman, who is a super-human but does not behave like one, as does Sita. Draupadi displays enormous courage, endurance, is subjected to humiliation of unprecedented kind, shares the misery of her husbands and accepts the difficulties of forest life, including a one year term of living incognito in the palace of Virata as a very ordinary servant (unimaginable endurance in that, the queen of Virata was in no way an equal of Panchali in any respect) displays exceedingly a keen sense of logic and wisdom when she denies her being enslaved in the game of dice and establishes that she maintains her status quo ante, since Dharmaputra staked her only after himself becoming a slave. But though her courage, wisdom and endurance come closest to Sita, her patience does not. Her forbearance does not. We cannot expect a forbearance that Sita displayed to her ogress-guards when Hanuman sought to tear them off to pieces, (See: But I have promises to keep Part 3 and Let bygones be bygones) from Panchali.
It is not just our literature. ‘You exhaust all the literature of the world,’ says Swami Vivekananda, ‘and you will never be able to find another Sita.’ Let’s listen to him*. Let his words crown our study of this unparalleled character, who is held in our hearts as our very own mother.
“And what to speak of Sita? You may exhaust the literature of the world that is past, and I may assure you that you will have to exhaust the literature of the world of the future, before finding another Sita. Sita is unique; that character was depicted once and for all. <b>There may have been several Ramas, perhaps, but never more than one Sita!</b> She is the very type of the true Indian woman, for all the Indian ideals of a perfected woman have grown out of that one life of Sita; and here she stands these thousands of years, commanding the worship of every man, woman, and child throughout the length and breadths of the land of Aryavarta. There she will always be, this glorious Sita, purer than purity itself, all patience, and all suffering. She who has suffered that life of suffering without a murmur, she the ever-chaste and ever-pure wife, she the ideal of the people, ideal of the gods, the great Sita, our national God, she must always remain.
“And every one of us knows her too well to require much delineation. All our mythology may vanish, even our Vedas may depart, and our Sanskrit language may vanish for ever, even if only speaking the most vulgar patois, there will be the story of Sita present. Mark my words: Sita has gone into the very vitals of our race. She is there in the blood of every Hindu man and woman; we are all children of Sita.”
Sita concluded.
- From T'he Sages of India – Swami Vivekananda (Lectures from Colombo to Almora)
Hari Krishnnan