How Sita's love liberated Ram

As he was reminded of the past, memories of his life in the forest entered Rama’s thoughts like peacocks with their tails spread out. The first 13 years of forest life were the most pleasurable years of his life. Those were the years of love that he had spent with Sita. The cool breeze blowing across the river, the intoxicating forest fragrances, the romance that flourished amidst the cooings of various birds. Those were the days when he had securely hidden Sita behind his eyelids.

Those were the days when he took delight in Sita’s lap, indulging in love play. He had nothing much to do in those days, except to slay a few non-Aryans and spread Arya Dharma among the sages living there. That was the time when he was free from the customary guardedness and caution of the court and the palace. That was the time when he and Sita were like two lovebirds lost in each other’s company. That was the time when they chased each other like a pair of deer. The rising of the moon, the twinkling of stars, the blooming of flowers, the blowing of the breeze — everything was just for the two of them — Rama and Sita. The brooks frolicked only because Rama and Sita bathed in them. The woods would affectionately take them into their lap and indulge them in their playfulness.

Even in those times, he used to get occasional instructions from Ayodhya. About the expansion of the Aryan Empire. About the indispensability of friendship with Sugriva and enmity with Ravana. Let the opportune time come, Rama thought. The opportune time did come the day Surpanakha appeared. That day he discharged his rajadharma — his duty as a king. To provoke an enemy — an enemy who is to be conquered — into battle, is the rightful duty of an Aryan king. The opportunity presented itself in the form of Surpanakha. By humiliating his sister, Ravana could be drawn into a direct battle, thought Rama, who had little experience in administering a kingdom.

But Ravana was adept at statecraft and military strategies. He was not a novice to cross the seas with his army and fight a war on alien soil. Instead, he abducted Sita—Rama’s beloved. Ravana thought Rama would not be able to cross the seas and win a war in a foreign land where he had no foothold. But Rama had the strength to cross not one but seven seas for Sita’s sake. Perhaps Ravana did not know this.

Whether he knew it not, Ravana paid the price. But even before he was slain, there were whispers in the air. Whether it was in keeping with Arya Dharma to bring Sita back to Ayodhya.

But to return to Ayodhya without Sita! That was unthinkable for Rama. He had not fought an entire war just to show off the prowess of the Aryan Empire. It was for Sita. Even if no one else believed it, he thought Sita would.

But should he take Sita to Ayodhya and humiliate her in front of everybody?

Must Sita listen to all that they would say?

If Sita were to be asked to prove her chastity before the people of Ayodhya, would she be able to bear it?

But unless Sita’s chastity was proved, the royal court of Ayodhya would not welcome her with respect and cordiality.

He knew that very well. So he thought it should be resolved in Lanka itself.

Trial by fire — for his Sita.

For his sake, for his sake alone, did Sita, a woman of dignity, agree to it.

He had thought that he would have no option but to fall at Sita’s feet and beg forgiveness for subjecting her to the ignominy.

But Sita understood his situation. She decided to protect him and his worldly and kingly duties. She wanted to assure him that she was there for him.

She hid the seas of humiliation and grief behind her eyelids, and came forth unperturbed like a pot of water and doused the fire.

"Don’t forgive me, Sita —" he held back the words behind his lips. Her lips delicately brushed away those words.

All is well, he thought innocently.

But a shadow of sadness had already gathered in Sita’s eyes. He knew Sita had sustained a wound for his sake. He thought he would be able to heal that wound with his love and with the miraculous power of time.

Today, he cut open that wound again, left it incurable and abandoned her.

He caused her heart to bleed incessantly for her humiliation.

A wound that would never heal.

A wound that would hurt every day.

A wound caused by the throne to the love of Sita and Rama.

He could forsake Sita; Sita belonged to him.

He could not relinquish the throne; it belonged to Raghu Vamsa.

The dynasty. The tradition in which political power passes on to the firstborn. The dharma of preserving that tradition was on his head. The burden of protecting Arya Dharma finally robbed him of all the happiness in his life.

There was no liberation for him.

Rama wailed disconsolately.

****

Having heard that two young monks from the forest were singing the saga of Rama, Lakshmana wanted to present them before Rama.

But meeting Rama was difficult now even for Lakshmana.

Rama was an emperor. He occupied the throne. Wore the crown.

Except for the throne and the crown, he paid no attention to anything else. He had no other interest either.

To mothers, brothers, relatives—to every one of them — he was Emperor Ramachandra.

Had Rama changed into a machine in order to forget the pain of separation from Sita? Or had he sent Sita away to the forest knowing he would inevitably have to turn into a mechanical being once he took over the reins of power, and that Sita would not be able to bear the change in him? Lakshmana and Anjaneya often wondered about this.

They waited to see him smile but they did not know that there was a permanent rift between authority and an affectionate smile.

A kingdom had to be governed. And for governance one needed blunt weapons. Only those carried any value.

Lakshmana thought that Rama’s heart might melt at the sight of those hermit boys.

Their songs were sweet; their faces were sweet; their words were sweet. The nectar of their voices might be the right medicine to melt Rama’s heart, which had turned to stone, thought Lakshmana.

Rama listened to his brother’s words disinterestedly. They could sing the saga of Rama. But what did they know of the saga of the Rama bound by the shackles of power? Knowing nothing about it, what could they sing?

When Rama was a child, he had demanded the moon. He was shown a reflection of the moon in a mirror and was pacified. The boys could perhaps sing of that episode.

Rama was now bound to the throne and could not even insist that he wanted Sita. Could they sing that story?

They could sing beautifully of the wedding of Sita and Rama. But could they sing the story of Rama languishing in the agony of being permanently separated from Sita?

They would sing about Rama, the slayer of the demon king Ravana. But could those young boys sing of the Rama who extinguished all traces of love within himself?

As Rama’s face turned pale, Lakshmana lost all hope. "Anna, please heed my words, just this one time. Their singing will be like a balm to your burning heart."

"Heart? My heart? Burning?"

"Their songs will be like cool nectar to your blazing mind."

"Mind? My mind? I who execute the Arya Dharma without a second thought, do I have a mind of my own?"

"Anna, for my sake —"

Lakshmana fell at Rama’s feet.

Rama nodded in consent.

Lava and Kusa approached Rama, seated in the royal court amidst his distinguished courtiers, and greeted him with folded hands. Rama was moved the moment he saw them. Clearly they were his reflections. Princes in the guise of hermits. Everything became clear to Rama.

He drew them close and embraced them. Everything was crystal clear to all the courtiers as well. In the discussion on dharma that followed, it was resolved that Rama could accept his sons.

"What about Sita?"

The debate about dharma started all over again.

"If Sita declares her innocence in the court, Ramachandra may accept her."

Valmiki left for his ashram with this news.

But Rama knew Sita would never come back.

Giving him his sons, the joy of their embrace — she had saved him, as always.

She thawed the stone that Rama’s heart had turned into. She made the withered plant sprout again.

He too, as always, left Sita to more sorrow. Like a wild beast stamping on a tender creeper every time it tried to rise with the help of some prop or the other, he destroyed Sita’s desire to live every time she nurtured it.

Sita was not coming back into his life. She would entrust the children to him and liberate herself. But he could not find liberation until he turned them into heirs to Raghu Vamsa.

But by giving him his sons, Sita had cleared the way for his liberation. She had always stood by him. She had always protected him. In Ayodhya, everyone swore by Rama’s protection.

Who knew that Sita was Sri Rama’s protective charm?

(Excerpted with permission from Harper Perennial)