Janaka would respond, ‘The earth grants Janaka what he deserves. The fire grants Dashratha what he wants. I choose the destiny of daughters. He submits to the desire of sons.’
Word of this reached a woman called Sulabha. In beautiful attire and beautiful form, she approached the king and demanded a private audience with him. Everyone wondered why.
Sulabha noticed the king’s awkwardness and asked, ‘This land is called Videha, meaning “beyond the body”. I assumed the king of this land would value my mind more than my body. But I assumed wrong.’
Janaka felt acutely embarrassed at being chastised so.
Sulabha continued, ‘Humans are special. We have a mind that can imagine. With imagination we can, without moving, travel through space and time, conjure up situations that do not exist in reality. It is what separates humanity from the rest of nature. Such a mind is called manas, which is why humans are called manavas. You are a manava with male flesh and I am a manava with female flesh. We both see the world differently, not because we have different bodies, but because we have different minds. You see the world from one point of view and I see the world from another point of view. But our minds can expand. I can see the world from your point of view and you can see it from mine. Some, like Vibhandaka and Rishyashringa, instead of expanding the mind, use it to control nature through tapasya and yagna. They do not accept the world as it is. Why? Enquire into the human mind, Janaka, and you will better understand the flesh and the world around this flesh. That is veda, wisdom.’
Inspired by these words, Janaka invited to his land all the rishis of Aryavarta to share the knowledge of the Vedas. They emerged from caves, from mountaintops, from riverbanks and seashores and travelled to Janaka’s court to exchange ideas and discover other ways of seeing the world. This conference of intimate conversations that would eventually broaden the gaze of humanity came to be known as the Upanishad.
The Valmiki Ramayana does not name Sita’s mother. In Vimalasuri’s Jain Paumachariya, her name is Videha. In the Jain Vasudevahindi, her name is Dharini. The name Sunaina or Sunetra comes from later regional works.
Sita’s father is identified as Siradhvaja Janaka in the Valmiki Ramayana to distinguish him from other Janakas. Siradhvaja means ‘he whose banner is a plough’. Kushadhvaja means ‘he whose banner is grass’. The Janaka kings of Videha were closely associated with agriculture.
In the Jain Paumachariya, Sita has a twin brother called Bhamandala, while in the Vishnu and Vayu Puranas, she has a brother called Bhanuman, a name that closely resembles Hanuman’s. Not much is known about him.
The meeting of Sulabha and Janaka is narrated in the Bhisma Parva of the Mahabharata. It describes how she enters his mind using yogic powers and how he resists. The name of the Janaka Sulabha meets is Dharmadhvaja, sometimes identified as Sita’s father.
The idea of female monks and intellectuals was not unknown in Vedic times, but it was not actively encouraged. It is said that initially even the Buddha hesitated to include women in his monastic order, until he saw the pain of his stepmother at the death of his father and realized that pain is gender-neutral.
Vedic hymns are used in three ways: in rituals, described in the Brahmanas; in solitary visualizations, described in the Aranyakas; and in intimate conversations, described in the Upanishads. All three thrived in the pre-Buddhist period. When Buddhism started waning in India after the fifth century CE, these works once again gained prominence because of the works of acharyas such as Shankara, Yamuna, Ramanuja and Madhava.
Janaka is a common participant of the intimate conversations that make up the Upanishad. In the Brahmanas, the raja or king is the patron while the rishi or sage is the conductor. The Aranyakas are the works of rishis alone while in the Upanishads we find kings equally engaged.
In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, European scholars, with the memory of the Renaissance (scientific revolution) and Reformation (religious revolution) still fresh in their minds, tried to explain Indian intellectual development along similar lines, with ritualistic priests being overthrown by intellectual kings like Janaka and the Buddha. Such classification and progression is more imposed than accurate. While the tension between the monk, the household priest and the king is not in doubt, we find the ideas in the Brahmanas, Aranyakas and Upanishads often mingling and merging. Revolutions are subtle in India, and the winner does not wipe out the loser; he simply takes the more dominant position. Thus Shiva, the monastic form of God, and Vishnu, the royal form of God, are two sides of the same coin.
The Brahmanas, Aranyakas and Upanishads (pre-500 BCE) focus on taking the participant from the form (ritual and hymn) to formlessness (thought), a technique consistent in later-day Agama, Purana and Tantra literature (post-500 CE).
The Upanishad
Sita attended the conference with her father, at first clinging on to his shoulders, then seated on his lap, and finally following him around, observing him engage with hundreds of sages, amongst them Ashtavakra, Gargi and Yagnavalkya.
When Ashtavakra was still in his mother’s womb, he had corrected his father’s understanding of the Vedas. Infuriated, his father had cursed him to be born with eight bends in his body, hence his name, one who has eight deformities. ‘Without realizing it, I threatened my father,’ Ashtavakra said to Janaka. ‘Animals fight to defend their bodies. Humans curse to defend their imagination of themselves. This imagined notion of who we are, and how others are supposed to see us, is called aham. Aham constantly seeks validation from the external world. When that is not forthcoming it becomes insecure. Aham makes humans accumulate things; through things we hope people will look upon us as we imagine ourselves. That is why, Janaka, people display their wealth and their knowledge and their power. Aham yearns to be seen.’
Gargi was a lady who questioned everything: ‘Why does the world exist? What binds the sky to the earth? Why do we imagine? Why do we flatter ourselves with imagination? Why does Dashratha yearn for sons? Why is Janaka satisfied with daughters? What makes one king so different from another?’ This angered many sages, who told her, ‘If you ask so many questions your head will fall off.’ But Gargi persisted, undeterred. She was hungry for answers. She did not care if her head fell off; she would grow a new head then, a wiser one.
Yagnavalkya revolted against his own teacher who refused to answer questions. He refused to accept that the purpose of tapasya and yagna was to compel nature to do humanity’s bidding. He approached the sun-god, Surya, who sees everything, for answers. Surya explained to him how fear of death makes plants seek nourishment and grow towards sunlight and water. Fear of death is what makes animals run towards pastures and prey. At the same time, yearning for life makes animals hide and run from predators. But human fear is unique: fuelled by imagination, it seeks value and meaning. ‘Do I matter? What makes me matter?’
Thus informed, Yagnavalkya shared his understanding of manas in the court of Janaka. ‘Every human creates his own imagined version of the world, and of himself. Every human is therefore Brahma, creator of his own aham. Aham Brahmasmi, I am Brahma. Tat tvam asi, so are you. We knot our imagination with fear to create aham. Tapasya and yagna are two tools that can help us unknot the mind, outgrow fear and discover atma, our true self.’
‘Tell me more about atma,’ said Janaka.
Yagnavalkya said, ‘Atma is the brahman, a fully expanded mind. Atma is the mind that does not fear death or yearn for life. It does not seek validation. It witnesses the world as it is. Atma is ishwar, also known as Shiva, who performs tapasya, is self-contained and self-sufficient. Atma is bhagavan, also known as Vishnu, who conducts a yagna to nourish everyone even though he needs no nourishment.’
‘May Brahma’s head keep falling off till he finds the brahman,’ said Ashtavakra.
‘Who will facilitate this?’ asked Gargi.
‘The brahmin, transmitter of the Vedas,’ said Yagnavalkya.
Vedic knowledge is contained in hymns composed in the Sanskrit language. T
he fine intonations of Sanskrit, and the nuances of the ritual to which the hymns were attached, cannot be captured in totality in writing. So Vedic knowledge could only be transmitted orally through people. The community of people who were entrusted with this responsibility was that of the brahmins. They spent all day memorizing and transmitting their knowledge. Since they were the carriers of this lore, they became highly valuable. Killing a brahmin was the greatest of crimes as it meant loss of Vedic knowledge. Brahmins were essentially transmitters and stewards of Vedic hymns and rituals, not its interpreters or owners. Over time, however, they used their exalted position to dominate society and claim entitlements. It was an irony of history that those who carried knowledge of how to expand the mind failed to expand their own minds, and chose the common path of domination instead.
The Upanishadic times, dated between 1000 BCE and 500 BCE, was a period of great intellectual fervour in India. It marked the rise of the shramanas or the monastic orders, which preferred tapasya to yagna. The shramana orders that were most successful were the Buddhists and the Jains. These orders compelled Hinduism to redefine itself and narrow the gap that had emerged between its intellectual side and its social side.
The Upanishadic gathering at Mithila is believed to be the forerunner of the Kumbha melas held at Prayag, Ujjain, Nashik and Hardwar, where hermits and householders gather to discuss worldly and other-worldly matters.
The story of Ashtavakra comes from the Mahabharata. He is the author of the Ashtavakra Gita.
The story of Gargi and Yagnavalkya is found in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad. Yoga Yagnavalkya is a conversation between the two. In some retellings, Gargi is Yagnavalkya’s challenger; in others, she is his wife.
‘Cutting off the head’ is a recurring metaphor in Hindu mythology, which refers to the mind being forced into realization through trauma.
The Upanishad documents stretch over centuries and there are references to many Janakas, indicating patronage by a line of kings. That the Ramayana identifies Sita’s father as Janaka and his kingdom as Videha is significant. A man of great wisdom, who looks beyond all things material, raises the goddess associated with fertility, vegetation and material abundance. Janaka is no Brahma who simply creates aham; he is a true brahmin, seeking to outgrow aham and discover the brahman. And so is his daughter.
Sunaina’s Kitchen
All the sages were convinced that the Upanishad captured the essence of the Vedas. The wisdom squeezed out of the many conversations at Janaka’s court was called Vedanta. Janaka gave all the sages many cows. ‘May their milk provide you food for the rest of your life. May their dung provide you fuel for the rest of your life. You gave me Saraswati, wisdom; I give you Lakshmi, wealth,’ said the very happy king of Videha.
Yagnavalkya took the cows he received to his two wives, Maitreyi and Katyayani. Maitreyi did not want the cows; she wanted only knowledge gathered at the Upanishad. Katyayani, however, took the cows saying, ‘Eventually, even the wise need to be fed.’
Overhearing this, Sita wondered: who fed the hundreds of sages who had made Mithila their home, who gave them a place to sleep, who filled their pots with water to moisten their mouths parched by intense conversations?
The enquiry took Sita to her mother’s kitchen. There she found Sunaina surrounded by grains and pulses and vegetables and fruits, busy supervising the preparation of the next meal. ‘Fetch the bitter-gourds from that corner,’ said the queen. Sita did as she was told and watched her mother slice them up neatly.
Before long, Sita found her feet around the kitchen: peeling, cutting, churning, pickling, steaming, roasting, frying, pounding, mixing, kneading, experiencing various textures, aromas, flavours and chemistry. Her senses became familiar with the secrets of spices, and every kind of nourishment provided by the plant and animal kingdom.
Sita’s father never knew of the world that was the kitchen. Sita’s mother never knew the world that was the court. But Sita realized she knew both. This is how the mind expands, she thought to herself. This is how Brahma becomes the brahman. She was a brahmin, she realized, seeker of wisdom as well as transmitter of wisdom. And that thought made her smile.
The kitchen is the first yagna-shala, for the kitchen fire turns raw food into edible cooked food that nourishes the body and prepares the mind for intellectual enquiry.
While tapasya focuses more on the mind, the yagna also pays attention to the body. While the Vedas focus more on the mind, the Tantra also pays attention to the body. Thus, Indian thought, while valuing thought, also values food. Food is nourisher, healer as well as happiness provider. Thought may be God but food is the Goddess. One cannot exist without the other.
Sita’s kitchen is part of folklore. In one story from Himachal, a crow once carried the food she cooked during her exile to Lanka and it was so tasty that Ravana was even more determined to bring Sita to Lanka so that she would cook for him.
In Ayodhya, even today, we have the Sita-ki-rasoi, or Sita’s kitchen, where the objects of worship include the rolling board and rolling pin used to make rotis.
Book Two: Marriage
‘Janaka told her to bring happiness into marriage, rather than seek happiness from it.’
The Origin of Rules
Animals compete for mates and fight over territory. Humans do not have to. Rules ensure this. Animals do not eat more than they have to. But humans do. Rules prevent this.
Long ago, there were no rules. A man called Vena plundered the earth for all its resources. Disgusted, the earth took the form of a cow and ran away. So the rishis picked up a blade of grass, chanted mantras to turn the grass into a missile, and directed it to kill Vena. When Vena died, his body was churned. All that was undesirable in him was cast away.
From the purity that remained was created a man called Prithu. Prithu pursued the earth-cow and begged her to feed his people. The earth-cow refused. So Prithu raised his bow.
The earth-cow shouted, ‘If you kill me, who will feed your people?’
Prithu shouted back, ‘If you keep running away, who will feed my people?’
Finally the earth-cow stopped and allowed Prithu’s people to milk her. ‘How will you stop them from milking me till my udders are sore?’ she asked.
‘I will create rules,’ said Prithu. ‘In nature, there are no rules. But culture shall be based on rules.
The king shall uphold rules.’
Prithu was the first king. The bow was his symbol. The ruler was the shaft and the rules were the string. Too loose, the bow was useless; too tight, and the bow would break. Prithu was Vishnu, upholder of social order, preserver of the balance between nature and culture. He promised the earth-cow that whenever rules of society were disrupted and she was exploited, he would descend on earth to set things right. The earth was so pleased that she called herself Prithvi, daughter of Prithu.
Prithu’s story comes from the Vishnu Purana and the Bhagavat Purana. Like Sita, Prithu is ayonija, not born from a woman’s womb, indicating his special status. He is Vishnu’s avatar, albeit not a popular one. His story indicates the shift of hunter-gatherer communities to agricultural societies based more on rules, less on force.
The rest of Vena’s body turns into Nishada, founder of the tribal communities who live in the forest, content with subsistence farming and animal husbandry, and who do not have personal property. The narrative draws attention to the difference between tribal and non-tribal societies, and makes us wonder what constitutes civilization. Tribal societies tend to focus on survival and maintenance of the social rhythm of the collective in harmony with nature while non-tribal societies tend to allow disruption of the old order and constantly seek something new either in terms of intellectual or material development often at the cost of nature.
In the seventh century CE the Chinese scholar Hiuen Tsang recorded that Prithu was known as the first person who obtained the title of raja (king).
The king is equated with a cowherd (Gopala) who considered earth as the cow who pr
ovided him with resources (Gomata). He took care of her and she nourished him.
The cow is the symbol of sustenance. When a sage has a cow, his basic needs of food (milk) and fuel (dung) are taken care of. He can focus on intellectual pursuits. This is why the cow came to be associated with the earth and worshipped. Without the cow, the rishis would not have been able to hear the Vedas.
Parashurama’s Axe
But rules do not take into account human desire.
One day, Renuka saw a gandharva bathing in the river. He was so handsome that she desired him intensely. Until then, Renuka’s chastity was her tapasya and it granted her siddha: she could collect water in unbaked pots made of river clay. But with her desire for the gandharva, this power disappeared. She could not carry water now as she had earlier.
Her husband, the sage Jamadagni of the Bhrigu clan, accused Renuka of adultery: ‘How can you be trusted if desire makes you disregard the rules of marriage?’ He ordered his sons to cut off their mother’s head. The older four refused, but the youngest swung his axe and did the needful. His name was Rama. Since he used the axe in so dreadful a manner he became known as Parashurama, Rama of the axe.
Pleased with Parashurama’s unconditional obedience, Jamadagni offered his son a boon. ‘Bring my mother back to life,’ he said. Jamadagni did so using siddha.
Jamadagni had a cow called Nandini, descendant of the celestial Kamadhenu, who could satisfy all desires. King Kartavirya saw this cow and tried to claim it by force.
Kartavirya had been blessed with a thousand hands. Resisting him was impossible. ‘These arms you have are meant to help the world,’ said Jamadagni, ‘instead you use them to plunder and steal. You are no king, you are a thief.’ Kartavirya did not care to heed these words. He pushed Jamadagni away and dragged out the cow.
Sita: An Illustrated Retelling of the Ramayana Page 3