Aaj Rang hai Ri Ma...

“Come, Come whoever you are. 

Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving, come. 

Ours is not a caravan of despair, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times, come.

Come, yet again, come, come” - Jalal-ud-din Rumi

“I did my own thing” - Sita, of the 21st century A.D

Acknowledgement

I would like to express my sincerest thanks to Sage Valmiki - after all these years he seems as mythological as the epic he wrote. I am grateful to him for writing the epic, a story that remains as deeply etched in my mind today as it was when I first heard it. 

The events that take place in this epic have been repeated so many times over centuries that they've shaped the belief systems of large parts of the human population. The effigies of iconic villain Ravan have been burnt year after year, Diwali, the festival of lights has been celebrated as the triumph of the righteous over evil, making this mythological story more alive than many real events that have taken place in human history.

Over the years, villains and vamps from horrendous, meaningless tripe generated by the largest film factories of the world have thrived in my memory. They have on a number of occasions scared me by intruding my thoughts and intimidating me through my dreams. On being hound thus by psychological demons from novels and movies, I have often sought refuge in the episodes of this enchanting epic, in repeating the names of the monkey-God Hanuman and drawing strength, endurance, patience from the virtuous characters - while imagining the forests of Panchavati and the tribulations faced by this odd triad.

Foreword 

I was born in the middle of the 80’s. Like most of the significant events of my life, like my birth, which school I went to, what I was taught while I was growing up, etc., I didn’t choose to know the story of Ramayana. My mother chose to tell it to me, along with many other stories. Since it was written in an ancient period of the Indian history, I couldn’t have been consulted on the decisions made by the characters. A few years after I was born, when the riots broke out in the site known as the birthplace of our heroic prince - I was quite young to make sense of anything.

But now, my time has come.

After almost a quarter of a century since I first heard the story - I wish to narrate my version of this beloved story that has lived through the centuries - and perhaps select my favourite re-telling of events and string them in a way that ends in reconciliation. This is important for me, because newer and more pressing narratives wait for my attention. I have been waiting for far too long for an upgraded version of my beloved Sita - when I am distraught the mundane power struggles and the over-simplified victim-saviour relationship between the favourite Immortals of my imagination, doesn’t offer any solace. My parents are stronger than them, I think. 

And because stories are so powerful in shaping our realities, it is only fitting that they are re-visited, re-vitalised and restored with the lessons learnt by their readers and listeners .

I like to think that this story, like many epics from Ancient Greek and Roman literature was imagined first by an individual and then penned down, rather than narrated based on real events that took place on earth.

Much has happened since then - many wise men, and kind women have walked on this earth demonstrating how much easier it is to apologise for our mistakes and stop repeating them.

It only feels fair then to start with my imagination - since the story was planted there first , and from there suddenly got connected to Ayodhya, Awadh, Babri Masjid, etc. in a very quick and a non-linear succession of events.

Many authors have attempted to do this in the past - trying to interpret the characters of Urvashi, Sita ,Mandodari and Soorpanakha according to the social mores  prevailing during their times and the position that women held in relation to men in their milieu.

All this has only added richness to the experience that is Ramayana.

With this letter, along with the above, I wish to push the envelope a little further and invite you to imagine the possibilities of kinder, gentler endings.

Dear Ravana - 

You don’t need me or anyone to tell you that you are an inspiration among humans. Your legend lives on because of your benevolence, your mighty determination and willingness to sacrifice everything that you hold dear in the pursuit of the higher.

My sisters and I are in awe of your feats and the lengths you went to bring abundance for your people. You might be wondering how we know your stories. Let me then give you some context - 

When I learnt of the Svayamvara organised for me, I laughed at the ludicrousness of the selection criteria. A crossbow had to be lifted and strung. That's it. No written assessments, no problem-solving tasks, no introductions, no endorsements - just lift a crossbow and string it. It gave away no information about the suitor or me but somehow apparently the result would confirm that he and I could spend our lives together as partners.

Legends said that not many could move the bow in question, let alone lift it - Shiva himself gave it to my father Janak as a boon. But I only had to use my thumb and forefinger to lift it when I was 2 and have been training on it since then. For me the legends ended with that.

Surely my father intended to find for me a loving and caring partner, but the test he devised to ascertain it would match only our crossbow wielding skills. 

However, there are many other things which I can’t do with as much proficiency and I need help with those. Wouldn’t a fairer test for this sort of arranged union comprise of assessments of those skills ?

Anyway, I was unable to convince my father or my uncle of the above. Hence on the night before the Svayamvara, I took  my crossbow and rode out of the palace gates. 

I left a message for my father which read like this :

“If being able to wield a bow amounts to being able to protect me, then I can protect myself. Because no one can use that bow better than me.”

The next morning, my family was distraught and sent search parties everywhere. My sister Urmila though knew where to find me - I had not gone far away, I was sitting on my favourite hilltop and practising ragas.

My family though irate were more relieved to find me. My father sent me a message through my sister :

“Impressive reasoning, my dear child. Clearly the Svayamvara does not appeal to you as an avenue for meeting your partner-in-crime. What do you want to do instead ?”

I replied :

“To step out of the confines of the palace walls, travel, meet people, stay with families, learn new skills, help, be a part of a community”

To which my father responded :

“But I will constantly worry of your safety, my sweet child...”

My sisters stepped in and together we reassured our parents. Soon they realised that we had made up our minds about this and any amount of persuasion could not change our decision. Our mothers tearfully requested that a regiment of soldiers accompany us for our safety. But we vehemently refused as that would give away our royal identities - something we quite desperately wanted to let go of, at least for a while.

So with troubled and heavy hearts they gave us their consent on the condition that we would come to meet them often and remain on each other’s guard and shout for help the moment we were in danger. The commander of the royal army personally explained to me the safest routes to reach our friendly neighbouring kingdoms. On the maps were also marked fresh water lakes, shallow rivers and fruit orchards for refreshment on our journey. We shed our real names and took on common aliases and practiced introducing ourselves as volunteers offering assistance. Armed with supplies that would sufficiently last us for many months, we bid farewell to our parents and set out on our adventure.

When we stepped out of our home in Mithila, we wanted to lose our titles as ‘royals’ and take on the duties of real princesses - looking after the needs of their people. So we set on horse back, incognito, armed with bows and arrows, travelling from one village to the next. We listened to  people talk about bad harvest, or a flooding river, or attacks by wild Himalayan animals and then helped them win over the situation.

One of us would takes notes and after quickly brainstorming, another would step out to arrange for help from the nearest ruling administration. Since our father Janak was just, friendly and righteous and respected by kingdoms near and far, we never encountered any hindrances in receiving assistance.