(The following is an excerpt from 'Sita's Veil', a translation by Nishtha Gautam of poet Anamika's seminal work 'Trin Dhari Ote', which presents an intimate, first-person portrayal of Sita.)
I've never followed anyone blindly, not even Ram. I've always argued-in words and in silence.
Today, yet again, the downpour is relentless. It seems Lord Indra is planning to exhaust all his arrows today. Like arrows, the angular rainfall hits the spirit directly and the meandering streets of memory get flooded with pain. Pits get filled with water, while foliage assumes a soldier-like stance to blockade all pathways. When the attack is mild, like the spray of milk from a teat, the earth soaks everything up dutifully. It doesn't even sigh.
The July rain is like a shower of kisses on a proud heroine. But this is August. The rain now is brutal. The pressure of the pouring rain is such that streams of water bounce back from the ground. The broken petals of water, these raindrops, aim to go back to their celestial source. The shattering of this sheet of water rekindles my memories.
After hearing the legend of Ram, the ideal man, from Narad Muni, Sage Valmiki filled many gaps in it with his imagination in the Ramayan. Like, when Lakhan left me at the bank of Jahnvi, I became immovable. I kept thinking about the past thirty years of my life. Married at eight, exiled first at fourteen, kidnapped by Ravan at sixteen, ten years in Ashok Vatika, two years in Ayodhya, second exile at twenty-eight, separated from my sons at thirty-five, and now these remaining years! I don't want to live for many years. Just two tasks remain unfulfilled. They need to be finished before I, the daughter of Earth, can rest in my mother's lap.
The first job is more than half done. With Sage Valmiki's permission, I'm weaving some poignant moments of my life into 'Sitayan', addressing all single women and their children of the future. 'How you collect fallen Harsingaar flowers from the ground, how you weave them into a garland, pick some of the scattered moments of your life exactly the same way and create an alternate world. Every human being should attempt such an enterprise. Experience is like a divine offering. We never consume it alone, it is always supposed to be shared.'
'And truth has many aspects, like a sparkling diamond has many facets. A jeweller needs to inspect all the facets. It is, therefore, imperative that everyone tells their truth. The structure of Ramkatha that I received from Narad Muni contains precious little of your intimate truth. In my Ramkatha, I'll be able to give you an equal voice only if you fill the gaps in my imagination with your memory. Minus reality, imagination is as incomplete as reality is without imagination. Words without meaning, or meaning without words.'
'You are the daughter of Earth, the daughter of the soil. Can any sculpture preclude soil? Soil is the substratum. The other elements - Fire, Air, Water and Sky - are all formless without you. Even the nebulous Brahm needs your womb for manifestation.'
Touched by the livewire of Valmiki's words, I started writing the 'Sitayan'. I was only three-fourths done when it was time for Lav-Kush to leave. Determined to fill the void in my life, I began to work on starting a novel school for the children of the forest, especially the orphans of the demons.
In my last letter, I bombarded Ram with suggestions against war but he didn't respond to it. He ended the correspondence and it proves that he doesn't agree with my idea that violence needs to be the last resort. Comeuppance and Covert Action can come only after Compassion and Compensation. And I realize that the best example of Compassion and Compensation are schools. If good values are imparted right in childhood, demonic natures cannot rise.
I see my Lav-Kush in the innocent orphans of demons. As my attachment is growing, my belief is getting firmer that this is the right time to steer their energies carefully before they turn towards destruction. Without exposing them to an alternate lifestyle, how can we expect them to have a vision? How can we convince them that violence and rape are sure-shot ways to Hell? Hell is nothing but a perpetually restive state of mind. Heaven is the state of succour that one gets after being a via media for someone's happiness and well-being.
In light of this understanding, I wove a narrative based on my interactions with Ram, Ravan, demon women like Sarma, Kala, Trijata, Mandodari, all my mothers including the Nine Goddesses and the Ten Muses, Lav and Kush, all the forest girls, and demon- boys. I wrote some poems as well. Sage Valmiki is so generous that he blessed my half-baked work and said, 'I'll develop the story of Sita only on the basis of these writings. When you get exhausted, go back to what you wrote. You will find yourself revitalized that, after all, it was the same you who withstood everything and how! When you could bear everything back then with grace, why can't you now?'
Is it time, then? I'm so sad about not getting a letter from Ram. But why? Birds return to their nests when it becomes dark. Is it time for me to return to myself?
Alright! Whether I get Ram's permission or not, I'll keep running this forest school with the help of Matangi. I've never followed anyone blindly, not even Ram. I've always argued-in words and in silence. Yes, I never lost my temper in an argument, always retained my equanimity. I always presented my point of view, in a gentle manner, after listening carefully to the other side. Just like my mother used to do with my father. I'm confident that girls like Matangi will take this legacy of gentle argumentativeness forward.
Till the August downpour ends, let me read the old manuscripts. Life can only be truly alive when, sitting by the fireside of experience, we assess our life objectively like it is somebody else's. Like we are reading a book summarising someone else's journey.
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Published with permission of Vani Prakashan from ‘Sita's Veil'. Order your copy here.
