The power and glory that is Seeta

The power and glory that is Seeta

Sita was not only beautiful, but her purity of character, and all that she stood for, have influenced men and women throughout ages, and will keep on doing so in the future. Swami Vivekananda has said: “That nation which had created a Sita has respect for women above all other nations.”

EXILE

Sir Rama tried every means to dissuade Sita from accompanying him to the forest. He said: “O Sita, let this thought of living in the forest be given up—for the forest life is not only most difficult, but dangerous.” Sita would have none of it. She argued: “O my Rama! You have taught me that a wife who is without her husband cannot live. As a body without a soul and river without water, even so is a woman without her husband. A woman has been given away by her parents with water according to the rites (Kanya—daana) in this world is that man’s wife even in the other world. I am your devoted wife, chaste, pitiable, and equal with you in joy and sorrow, and sharing your joys and sorrows. O Rama! Do you wish to give me away to others; me, who was wedded to you in tender years, have lived long with you and am faithful to you? With you it is heaven; without you it is hell.”

In this way Sita pleaded with her husband. Rama had to yield to her. He placed his hand around her, saying: “O Lady, I do not desire even heaven at the cost of your distress. Follow me and be my associate in all duties.” 

Sita was the apple of Dasratha’s eyes. Reckoning the period of forest-life, Dasratha gave her clothes and ornaments to last the entire period of exile.

In the unfolding of Sita’s wondrous character, only one flaw appeared—only once. Through that flaw destiny introduced the tragic power-play into her life.

Sita was like a bird in the air, free and joyful. Though she was in the forest, she was very happy. In a few more years, she would have returned to Ayodhya. That fateful day, when she was cheerfully plucking flowers, she spotted the ‘golden deer’. She saw the ‘magic deer’ and felt attracted to it. She told Rama that she wanted it. Lakshmana warned her that the ‘deer’ was the wicked Maricha in disguise, and that a golden deer was only fiction and never a fact. Sita would not listen. In the end, Rama had to go after the deer. When he could not catch it alive, he killed it. But before dying, Maricha undid his disguise and imitating Rama’s voice, shouted: “O Sita, O Lakshmana!” The trick of Ravana worked. When Sita heard these shouts, she lost her balance altogether and vehemently urges Lakshmana to rush to his brother, Rama’s rescue. Lakshmana, who knew that it was the trick of Maricha and that none could killed Rama, would not budge from his appointed duty as sentry before the hut where Sita was. She hit out at Lakshmana with insulting words which fell on his ears like burning shafts: “You evidently have (wicked) designs on me or you have taken side with Bharata. These designs will not bear fruit. Having obtained Rama as my husband, how can I desire an ordinary man? Before your eyes I shall give up my life.”

These words were too much for Lakshmana and he left in search of Rama, though he had a clear premonition of what was coming. Destiny was at work.

These words of Sita, which on the surface appeared so unbecoming of her, were indeed crucial words, which set the pace for the whole drama of Rama’s life. But for these words, Lakshmana would not have left. So, Sita shot the arrow with Rama’s unerring precision. Indeed, her sole object was to send forth Lakshmana’s powerful arms in aid of Rama who, as far as she was concerned, was in peril of his life. To save the life of her husband, Sita used Lakshmana himself as the missile. Whatever device was needed to make that missile potent, Sita used remorselessly. She was not thinking what would happen to her image. Thought of self was not there. Her whole concern was to save Rama’s life. She was not thinking what people would think of her; she was out to save him who was her dearest in heaven and earth, by whatever means possible. If this was wrong, Sita was guilty.

It has been said that Sita paid all too soon for her treatment of Lakshmana. Another way of looking at this could be that this was what Sita paid for the life of her Lord. Afterwards, of course, she always called Lakshmana “the clear-headed Lakshmana”.

SITA-THE ASCETIC

If you want to see Sita in her supreme power and glory, meet her in the Ashoka grove in Lanka, rather than after ascending the throne in Ayodhya. So, let us go with Hanumaan to the Ashoka grove for while. Valmiki’s description of this episode is beyond praise: “It was like the beginning of spring and the various trees of the garden had burst into bloom. Hanuman shot into the garden like an arrow. As he jumped from tree to tree, flowers rained. He walked over the marble and metal pavements, looked at the ponds, waterways, seats, pathways, bowers and pavilions; raised mounds with waterfalls and platforms with sunshades. There was a high thousand-pillared pavilion there, with a golden platform and coral steps, blinding the eyes with its brilliance. There Hanumaan saw a lady in soiled garments, emaciated by fasting, as difficult to see as the first digit of the waning moon, like a flame enveloped in smoke due to suffering and penance, with tears and sighs immersed in sorrow and thought. Missing her beloved one and seeing all round only ogresses, like a fawn enriched by hounds, with her locks  twisted into one long plait, she was obviously a lady used to happiness and unused to such miseries. This time the grounds of his reasoning were correct and Haumaan inferred that she was Sita.”

Here we met the tapasvini (ascetic) Sita, indifferent to the world and her own body, immersed in the thought of Rama. This tapas (austerity) gave Sita all the power she had.

Hanuman thought to himself: “This is the fair queen of Rama, who though lost him physically, is not lost to his mind. This is the lady for whom Rama undergoes fourfold torment: (a) compassion, because she is a woman; (b) tenderness, because she is dependent on him; (c) sorrow, because she is his wife; and (d) pangs of love, because she is his beloved. Her form is Rama’s. Limb for limb, they are perfect in agreement. Her heart is in him and his in hers; only thus does he survive even for a minute. But for this I should take Rama to be a cold-hearted man, continuing as he does, to live without her instead of perishing.”

As Hanumaan was thinking of meeting Sita, there entered on the scene, in the small hours of the morning, Ravana. He had come to woo Sita. Following him was a retinue of a hundred women, carrying lamps, jars of water and wine, seats, parasol and staff. Valmiki describes the scene as follows: “At the very sight of Ravana, Seeta shook like a slender tree in a gale. Sitting up and cloaking her body with her legs and arms, she wept. Ravana looked at her—She who, ever and anon, appeared to mount the horses of her thoughts and speed to Raam’s side. She appeared as fame soiled, future blasted, a sacred altar polluted, and a Goddess forced to supplicate with folded hands.” To that dejected and devoted lady, Ravana addressed sweet words of love. “Why do you hide your beautiful body like this on seeing me? Have no fear; this is usual ‘Rakshasa’ (demon) conduct, this courting of others’ women, of carrying them off by force. Still, I do not want to force you if you do not have love. Here are vast riches and excellent comforts and pleasures. A gem of woman and in my custody—how can you neglect yourself like this? Whatever limb of yours I see, there my eyes are fixed. Come now; be my chief queen. What were you going to do with such a poor recluse of a Raam who observes vows and sleeps on the ground? I wonder whether He is alive, and even if He is, He can never hope to see you or take you back from me.”

With tears, speaking slowly, Sita replied:

“Turn your mind away from me; take to those who are your own. I am the devoted wife of another, born of great family. It is impossible that I should do anything unworthy. How can another person’s wife be yours? Observe the conduct of the virtuous and act according to their example. You should protect the wife of others as you protect your own. Resort to your own; are there no good men here to advice you? Or, if there are, why do you not listen to them? The King who is not self-controlled is the ruin of his people and his country. Everyone will delight in your ruin. You cannot tempt me with sovereignty and riches. As the light is one with the sun, so am I with Rama. Restore me to Him. Rama is one whose friendship you should cultivate, if you want to maintain your position and avoid a terrible disaster. He is righteousness itself, and affectionate to all. Otherwise, ruin awaits you. You impotent Rakshasa! It was in the absence of Rama that you stole me. If you had seen Rama, or even Lakshmana, you would have skulked away like a dog before tigers. Hide as you may, you cannot escape Rama now”

Ravana was incensed and said to Sita:

“The more gently the suitor talks, the more does the woman insult him. My passion for you restrains may anger. For every word of scorn you have uttered, you deserve torture and death. I give you two months’ time, and if at the end of the period you do not yield, my cooks will dress you for my breakfast.”

THE POWER THAT WAS SITA

Now think of the incredible achievement of Sita as the captive of Ravana. If Ravana did not lay his rough hands on her and was waiting for her consent, it was not because of his good sense, but because of Sita’s inner powers. At one stage, she revealed, maybe unconsciously, that she had the power to reduce him to ashes. It occurs in the Sundarkand where Valmiki refers to her as tapasvini, a woman ascetic. She told Ravana: “My powers alone are enough to reduce you to ashes. If, despite that, I do not do so, it is because I have not Rama’s consent to do so. Moreover, I have to conserve the power of my tapas. I am the wife of the great Rama. You had no power to kidnap me. If, despite that, it was done, it was because the Lord ordained it for your destruction.”

Sita said that it was to conserve her own tapas-won power that she was not reducing Ravana to ashes. Her tapas, it is believed, was suffering so that in fullness of time Rama might vanquish the farces of evil personified in Ravana for the Dharma Sthaapana, establishment of Dharma.

She was not seeking her own release. If she had wanted that only, she could easily have escaped the ordeal after Hanumaan had appeared on the scene. Indeed Hanumaan offered to carry her on his back and cross the ocean at one leap. But Sita calmly rejected the offer, for she did not wish to deprive Rama’s arrows of their legitimate privilege of rescuing her and humbling Ravana, who was swollen with insolence. Another reason for rejecting Hanumaan’s offer was that she could not, for the life of her, deliberately touch another man’s body. If she had to touch Ravana’s body, it had not been of her own will.

All these evidences indicate that this tapasvini was not seeking Ravana’s mercy, though completely in the grip of his physical power, but she was constantly blazing up in her own power and glory, and he dare not molest her. Moreover, she was biding her time for the fulfillment of Rama’s mission in the world.

We may also notice that Sita, in her encounter with Ravana, gave all the wholesome advice he needed if he was to be saved and salvaged. It was part of the mission, which, as Rama’s saha-dharmini, she fulfilled in Lanka. Of course, Ravana, destiny-driven as he was, did not listen to her advice. Dharma only indicates, it does not necessarily compel.

Devotion to her husband served as the feeder of all the noble and heroic qualities in Sita. Her love for her husband was the tapasvini’s single-minded devotion to the Lord, which spiritualized her whole being and made it a mighty magazine of inexhaustible power and unthinking magnanimity. ‘Self’ was not her concern at all. If she longed for Rama, it was also because Rama’s sorrow had to be wiped away. In fact, her love broadened her sympathies so much that she was no more concerned about what happened to her.

If Rama was sorely afflicted by the illusion of Sita’s execution conjured up by the magic power of the Rakshasa, she too was tired when, taken up in the pushpaka (aerial chariot), she was shown Rama and Lakshmana seemingly stretched lifeless on the field of battle. Although she was sorely grieved, with her heart torn asunder by this tragic sight, her thoughts quickly travelled to Ayodhya in sympathy with the aging Kausalya, Rama’s mother, who had suffered so much in life. “I do not grieve so much for Rama or Lakshmana, as I do for the pitiable mother-in-law of mine who constantly thinks of the promised return of all of us from the forest.”

Sita evinced the same magnanimity when after the fall of Ravana, Hanumaan begged Sita’s leave to kill all those frightening demon guards who had tormented her. She said to Hanumaan: “No, they were under the control of their king, Ravana, and only carried out his orders. So, who can be angry with these servants? Now that Ravana is no more, they will not again threaten me. Listen to this ancient verse, Hanumaan, which a bear once uttered before a tiger: ‘one does not retaliate because of another’s wrong. Good conduct is the ornament of the good. Even when wrongdoers deserve to be killed, the noble should show compassion, for there is no one who does not err.”

THE FIRE ORDEAL

One can imagine with what longing Sita awaited the first meeting with Rama after the fall of Ravana. Vibhishana led Sita to Rama’s presence, but Lakshmana, Sugriva, and Hanumaan were mystified by Rama’s strange mood of indifference indicating his displeasure with Sita for some reason.

Sita approached Rama with trembling steps, and addressed him with quivering lips: “Lord!” Then, covering her face with her garment, she wept. She stood with her head bowed in modesty. A bolt from the blue had struck her at the moment when she was least prepared for it and from the person she least feared it.

Rama addressed these strange words to her: “I have won you back in battle, after vanquishing the foe. What a man’s valor can achieve has been achieved. I have wiped off the insult offered me. I have carried out my resolve. The valor of Hanumaan and Sugriva, and the efforts of Vibhishana have all been fruitful.” As Rama uttered these words, tears welled up in Sita’s large eyes. Rama got all the more furious and in the midst of the vanaras and rakshasas spoke cruel words: “You are now free to go anywhere. How could I take you back? The rakshasa has looked on you with lustful eyes, seized you by the hand, and kept you in his home for so many months. Who knows what else has happened! Who knows what other indignities you have suffered! Thus people will suspect a stain on your purity; but a wife of an Iksvaku prince must be above suspicion of any kind. Therefore, I am afraid we must part. I say this after long deliberation.”

The whole assembly was stunned. As these heartless, insulting words, uttered in public, fell on her ears, Sita shrank in anguish while shedding tears profusely. Was it, after all, for this that she had lived through all the agony of her captivity? What has become her husband’s love for her? Never had he said a single harsh word before, and so unjust was his suspicion. Sorrow, shame, humiliation contented with one another in her heart. She remained speechless for a while after her husband had spoken. There was intense and painful silence in the assembly. Seeing Rama’s face, no one ventures to whisper.

But they had not to wait long. Sita wiped her tears and with difficulty began to speak. She spoke in broken voice: “Why do you, O my hero, speak these harsh words to me as a common man does to a vulgar woman? Upon my honor, I declare that I am not what you seem to think. Do not judge all women by the conduct of a few. You know me and should not have entertained any suspicion in your mind. It is true that Ravana cast a lustful eye on me, seized me by the hand, and kept me a prisoner in his palace. But how could I help it? It was not my fault, that the monster carried me away by force. He could only touch my body; he could not touch my mind. He could only imprison the frame of my flesh; he could not imprison my soul. All the time my mind, heart and soul were fixed on you and you alone, my husband. If, after living so long together, you do not know my heart, I am truly undone. When you sent Hanumaan over the sea to Lanka, if only you have made known your mind, I would have given up my life then and there and spared you all this trouble of building a bridge and this risk of waging a terrible war. In suspecting a stain on my honor, you have not considered my immaculate birth and my stainless history.”

Having made this reply to her husband, Sita turned to Lakshmana and said with tears streaming from her eyes and a catch in her voice: “Prepare a pyre for me, O son of Sumitra. That is the only remedy for this sorrow of mine. Suspected thus most falsely, I do not care to live anymore.” Lakshmana looked at the statuesque face of his brother and, as there was no prohibiting sign, went to prepare the pyre. When it was set ablaze, Sita reverently went around her husband like a dutiful wife and, having bowed to him, approached the blazing fire. Joining her palms in prayer, she said: “If my mind has never strayed from my husband, O Agni Deva, the witness of the world, protect me! If I, who am unjustly suspected, am really pure and unstained, O Agni Deva, the witness of all the world, protect me! If the sun and moon, the day and night, the wind and the four quarters, and all the gods in heaven know me to be pure in heart, O God of fire, the witness if all the world, protect me!” With these words she went round the fire and fearlessly entered into it. Cries of “Ah, ah!”on all sides moved even Rama who had been watching in tears.

We must recall at this stage those immortal words uttered by Janaka as he offered Sita in marriage to Rama, which constitute a lofty profile of a dutiful wife. Janaka had said: “This Sita, my daughter, is going to be your helpmate in discharging your sacred obligations. Take her hand in your own and accept her. May good betide you. She is highly fortunate and will remain exclusively devoted to you, and will ever follow you as a shadow.”

Then arose out of the flames Agni Deva whom Sita had invoked. Scattering the burning fagots, he stepped out of the fire with Sita, resplendent, in front of him. Handing her over to Rama, he said: “Here is your Sita. There is no sin in her. She was not untrue to you in word, thought or glance. Accept her without a word, I command you.”

Rama thought for a while and then replied, his eyes still full of tears: “Yes, there is no stain in Sita, though she remained so long in Ravana’s palace. But in the absence of this test, virtuous people might have remarked that Rama, son of Dasaratha, behaved just like a man of youth and passion. I too knew her single-minded devotion to me, but I allowed her to enter the fire so that the world at large would believe in her chastity. Ravana could never have violated her, for she was protected by her own effulgence. She is one with me, even as the luster is one with the sun. She is pure and cannot be abandoned anymore than one’s fame. You, O Agni, are the object of all the world’s veneration, and I must obey your beneficent words.”

Thus, Sita became another word for purity and chastity, so much so that the all-devouring Fire (Agni) did not touch even a thread of her crimson silken robe.

THE SECOND AGONIZING EXILE

She did have a spell of happiness with Rama in Ayodhya after the coronation, and made her valuable contribution to the establishment of the Rama-rajya, the rule of Rama. But worldly happiness was not her lot. She was a born Yajna, a living and a moving sacrifice.

Gossip about Sita’s purity started up again. People began to say: “We wonder what sort of happiness Rama enjoys with Sita, whom Ravana forcibly carried off and kept in his custody. We too will have to put up with such things in respect of our women—as the king to the subjects.” Such remarks reached the ears of Rama, and the result was the abandonment of Sita on the other shore of the Ganga, near the ashram of the great sage Valmiki. Sita was then carrying in her womb the future heirs of Rama—Lava and Kusha.

Down the ages there has been controversy about this act of Rama, this injustice he did to Sita. But what was Sita’s reaction? She undoubtedly suffered agonies, but remained patient like the earth from whom she had been born, perfectly convinced that her righteous husband treated her thus harshly only to uphold Dharma of the ideal king.  From the distance that now separated them, Sita, the perfect saha-dharmini that she was, played her part by praying continually for the welfare of Rama and his subjects. She never expressed a word of reproach or complaint against him for the attitude he chose to adopt. Lava and Kusha, the two sons of Rama, were born at the hermitage of the sage Valmiki.

Rama was performing the ashvamedha yajna in the Naimisha forest on the banks of the Gomati River. This yajna required the presence of the queen by his side, he being the king. Rama did not rake another wife, but instead place a golden image of Sita there, indicating what regard he held for Sita. Along with many other sages, Valmiki also came to grace the occasion with the two sons of Sita, whom Rama had not yet seen. Valmiki so arranged it that Lava and Kusha sang the Ramayana before Rama, who was deeply moved by what the story had to say about Sita. Rama sent word to Valmiki that Sita was welcome to declare her purity before the assembly of sages. Valmiki and all the other sages and kings approved of the idea.

Next morning, the sacrificial enclosure was full of sages, Brahmins and kings, vanaras. The gathering sat motionless as stone. Sage Valmiki entered; Sita followed him. It was as though Brahma was being followed by the Vedas. Valmiki addressed Rama: “Sita, abandoned by you close to my ashram, out of test of popular gossip, will now prove, with your leave, her chastity. I say in truth, these twins, the sons of Sita, are your off spring. Rama, I am the tenth son of Varuna and I do not remember having spoken anything false. I have done penance for numberless years, but let me not enjoy its fruit if she has committed any sin by thought, word or deed. Rama, I took her into my ashram after satisfying myself about her purity.”

Now, Sita, who significantly was in ochre robe said with fold hands and downcast look: “If in my mind I have had no thought but Rama, let the goddess Earth open and receive me in her bosom. If I adore Rama with mind, body and speech, let goddess Earth receive me into her bosom. If my oath that I have known none but Rama is true, let goddess Earth receive me in her bosom.” As Sita swore this, a miracle happened. Lo and behold! From out of the womb of the earth rose a grand divine throne; seated on it was the goddess Earth. She clasped Sita in her arms and vanished within the earth. There was a shower of flowers from the devatas, who praised Sita’s character. The whole gathering stood spellbound. Leaning on his staff and downcast, Rama sat plunged on grief.

What was to our climax of Sita’s life was her final appearance clad in orche robes. The saha-dharmini Sita of Rama, his companion in righteous living, went with him step by step, through suffering and travail. She came out resplendent from the first fire ordeal. She bore him sons—provided him with heirs. But when the final call came to prove her purity, she went one step ahead of Rama and appeared in the robes of a sannyansini, the robe of renunciation. Though Rama accepted her as pure, she disappeared to the bourne whence there is no return.

Sita the yajna-bhoomi-sambhootaa, the one who arose from the sacrificial ground and the daughter of Janaka, became the Rama saha-dharmini, companion of Rama in observing Dharma; then she became the tapasvini (woman ascetic), and finally Sita the sannyasini, the all-renouncer. After her final purity test it is significant that Sita did not claim partnership in Rama’s life, but release from the bonds of the world. Her mission had been fulfilled, and now she disappeared leaving Rama behind with all that she was—spiritual effulgence.

CONCLUSION

Such is the wondrous story of our Sita, a story of power and glory. The evolution of Sita took place before our eyes as the sweet daughter became the glorious saha-dharmini; the saha-dharmini became the mata-tapasvini; and the mata-tapasvini became the sannyasini. At every stage she remained a sweet, tender, feminine figure, yet Shakti Herself. Finally, she transcended even her own purity, as it were, and became a phenomenon, which beggars description.

Sita is unique. She is the very type of the true Indian woman, for the Indian ideals of a perfect woman have grown out of that one life of Sita. All that is best in Indian culture and religion, Sita embodies in the most dynamic manner. Even if all our mythology, Vedas, and our Sanskrit language many vanish, the story of Sita will live on and continue to inspire men and women to great and noble deeds, for she is there in the blood streams of every Hindu. An examination of the world literature will reveal that none has created a Sita, except the Hindu. Sita has been created once and for all, even if Hindus have only dreamt about her.

We are the scions of Sita. She is our power; she is our glory; she is our richest treasure. Sita stands after those thousands of years still commanding the worship of Hindus. There she will always be, the glorious Sita, purer that purity itself, all patience, all strength in all her adverse conditions; Sita, the chaste and ever pure wife; the ideal of the people the ideal of the gods she will always remain.

Source(s) of work acknowledged