Agastya took them to his house. It was a palace! Unsuitable for a hermit, Sita thought. Agastya then told them his story.
Agastya’s tapasya was once disturbed by a vision: he saw his ancestors hanging upside down like bats, weeping, begging him to secure their release from the land of the dead. They begged him to father a child. ‘We gave you life, now you give us life. Repay your debt to us by helping us be reborn.’
Agastya went to the king of Vidarbha and asked for one of his daughters as a wife. The king gave him Lopamudra, the most beautiful of his daughters. She said to Agastya, ‘To receive something, you must first give. If you want me to bear your children, give me pleasure and satisfaction.’
So Agastya took a bath, untangled his matted hair, smoothened his coarse skin, replaced the ash that smeared his body with sandal paste, put a garland of bright, fragrant flowers around his neck and approached her as a lover should approach a beloved. He ignited fire in the hearth; she turned it into a kitchen. He built her a house; she made it a home. He gave her his seed; she germinated it in her womb and brought forth a child, a poet.
‘Alone, I was a tapasvi. But with Lopamudra, I have become a yajaman, and initiated the yagna that is family,’ Agastya said. ‘But one day, the child will grow up and start a family of his own and not need his parents. I will not need a wife any more and Lopamudra will not need a husband any more. That day, I will become a tapasvi once again, giving away my house with its courtyard and its kitchen and my cows. What we possess is temporary, but what we become is permanent.’
Ram, Lakshman and Sita stayed with Agastya and Lopamudra. They watched him teach his students Tamil and the secrets of the stars to predict the future and the secret of the herbs to heal and rejuvenate the body. Agastya gave Ram and Lakshman many weapons. Lopamudra and Sita spent hours in the kitchen garden, discussing spices that enable digestion and heal wounds.
Across India one finds caves associated with Ram, Lakshman and Sita. In many places, Ram’s cave is separate from Sita’s and Lakshman’s, suggesting that they lived as hermits, in isolation, even though they were together.
Agastya is the great sage of South India, the supreme master of the siddha. He is the fountainhead of language, philosophy, astrology, geomancy and medicine. There are stories about his movement from north to south, clearly suggesting the migration of Vedic ideas and their transformation following contact with the people who lived in the south.
The hymn of Lopamudra is found in the earliest compilation of Vedic hymns, the Rig Samhita, where she demands that her husband grant her satisfaction as is his duty, and not indulge in his own pursuits.
Indic thought is a compilation of many thoughts coming from various sources, from nomadic herdsmen to settled agriculturists, from tribes who lived in forests to settlers who established villages and cities. This is why Indic thought keeps transforming from fire rituals to storytelling to temple rituals. What remains consistent is the fundamental Vedic belief in impermanence and the conflict between seeking immortality and accepting change. From this fundamental belief come ideas like karma (action/reaction), kama (desire), maya (perception/delusion) and dharma (appropriate human conduct in a context).
Conversations in the Forest
As the years passed, Sita and the sons of Dashratha criss-crossed the land that they realized was called Jambudvipa because it was shaped like the wood-apple jambul. They took shelter under trees and in caves, often near waterbodies. Sometimes, they would build houses using sticks and leaves, but not for long. As hermits, it was important to keep moving and not stay in one place for long, except during the rainy season when the waters flooded the earth and travel was dangerous.
Sita spent much time observing bees and butterflies and insects. She discovered how to collect honey without upsetting the bees and milk from tigresses who had finished feeding their cubs. She followed herds of elephants to reach secret waterholes atop distant mountains known only to the oldest matriarchs. She understood the migratory patterns of birds and fishes. She learned to communicate with bears and wolves and vultures. They told her where to find the most succulent of fruits and berries, and where the best tubers could be pulled out from the ground. She found leaves that were edible and bark that was nourishing. In the evening, when they set up camp around a fire, she shared with Ram and Lakshman everything she had seen and learned. What was most exciting was to see the deer and tiger drink water next to each other on some evenings because once the tiger had eaten it was no longer a predator and the deer was no longer a prey.
Sita told the sons of Dashratha, ‘Flowers make themselves fragrant and offer nectar. Why? To nourish the bees or to get themselves pollinated? Or both? In nature, to get you have to give. There is no charity. There is no exploitation, neither selfishness nor selflessness. One grows by helping others grow. Is that not the perfect society?’
Ram said, ‘I see things differently. I see plants feeding on elements, animals feeding on plants, and animals feeding on animals that feed on plants. I see those that eat and those that are eaten. Those who eat are afraid that they may not get enough. Those who can be eaten are afraid they will be consumed. I see fear everywhere. In a perfect society there should be no fear. To achieve that is dharma.’
All day, as they walked, Sita walked behind Ram and in front of Lakshman. She saw neither’s face. Over the years she learned to appreciate Ram’s broad back, which never once stooped in their days in the forest, darkened by the harsh sun, his hair matted and bleached, so unlike the oiled, perfumed curls of the palace. Lakshman saw only Sita’s feet and avoided treading even on her footprints, which he noticed were always to the left of Ram’s, closer to his heart. They all waited for the evening when they could sit around the fire, face each other, let the flames light up their eyes as they shared the experiences of the day.
One day Sita saw a berry tree next to a banana plant. The wind blew hard and the sharp thorns of the berry tree tore the smooth leaves of the banana plant. ‘Who is the victim here? Who is the villain?’ she asked Ram.
‘Neither,’ said Ram. ‘It is the human eye that gives value to things, turning natural events into epic adventures full of conflict and resolution. That is maya, delusion born of measuring scales.’
‘Surely the tigress is the villain when it kills the pregnant doe,’ argued Lakshman.
‘Would you rather the tigress starve and die? Who will feed her cubs then? You? This is how nature functions: there are eaters and the eaten. The tiger does not resent the deer that gets away. The doe does not resent the tiger that captures her fawn. They are following their instincts. Plants and animals live; humans need to judge, for we need to feel good about ourselves. That is why we create stories, full of heroes and villains, victims and martyrs,’ said Ram.
‘Our ancestor Dilip was willing to sacrifice himself to save the cow from a lion. Surely he is a hero?’ reminded Lakshman.
Ram, with great clarity, replied, ‘The cow nourishes humanity with her milk, Lakshman. We need to save it. He is a hero to humans because he saved humanity’s food. He is no hero to the starving lion, or to the deer the lion may have to feed on instead.’
Conversations such as these reminded Sita of the conversations of sages she had overheard in her childhood. Often they were the only ones around the fire. Sometimes sages joined them and told them stories, full of heroes, villains, victims and martyrs. Sita enjoyed the tales but realized how each tale contained a measuring scale that converted one into a hero and another into a victim. All measuring scales are human delusions that make humans feel good about themselves. In nature, there is no victim and villain, just predator and prey, those who seek food and those who become food.
Back in the palace at Ayodhya, Kaushalya woke up with a start, ‘Is it not time for Ram to return?’
‘No, another year,’ said Sumitra.
Urmila was still sleeping, watched over by Mandavi and Shrutakirti. There were no men in the house; Bharata had stationed himself in the village outsid
e the city gates. The girls were now grown women. The boys were now grown men. They should have been mothers and fathers. By now the palace should have been filled with the sounds of royal grandchildren. But the only thing that filled the palace was silence. No one spoke, no one sang, no one fought. The silence haunted Kaikeyi the most. She waited for the day Sita and Ram would return. Then, there would be lots to talk about.
In many retellings, Ram, Lakshman and Sita are teenagers when they leave Ayodhya. They actually grow up in the forest. These are the growing-up years when the mind challenges the certainties of childhood and is able to see the artificial nature of social structures. In the forest an animal or plant does not treat them differently because they are royal. They are seen either as predator or prey. Thus the narrative draws a sharp distinction between the grama or kshetra (settlement) with the vana or aranya (forest).
Mimansa means enquiry that leads to introspection. This can be done through ritual or through conversation. The former way was called Purva-mimansa and the latter way was called Uttara-mimansa, more popularly known as Vedanta. The forest exile is a time for the royal trio to do mimansa; they transform into sages.
Lakshman’s Chastity
During the rains, Sita preferred to stay in caves. They would always select caves with three sections, the central one for Sita, and the ones on either side for the brothers. In summers, they preferred staying next to ponds, the central one for Sita, and the ones adjacent for the brothers. Occasionally they built huts using grass and leaves, straw and sticks, but only for Sita. The brothers had grown used to living outdoors, sleeping under the shade of trees, enjoying the dappled sunlight of the afternoons.
One day, when Ram was out hunting, Sita decided to take a nap while Lakshman kept watch. She spread the hide of a deer and lay down in the shade of a tree. Sleep came quickly as the breeze was gentle and kind. Later, when she was in deep slumber, the wind grew unruly and tossed her clothes all over the place. Sita slept peacefully, unaware that her body had been exposed.
When Ram returned he saw Sita lying uncovered, without a care in the world. Lakshman sat with his back to her, facing the forest. Ram said, ‘Oh, who can resist the beauty of one who reclines so carelessly under the tree?’
Lakshman, sensing that Ram was referring to Sita, said, ‘He who is the son of Dashratha and Sumitra and brother of Ram and husband of Urmila can surely resist such a beauty who Ram says reclines so carelessly under the tree.’
Ram smiled. His brother’s integrity was unquestionable.
But Indra was not so impressed. He decided to test Lakshman and sent an apsara to seduce him. Lakshman shooed her away but the apsara, Indrakamini, decided to play a trick on Lakshman. She dropped some strands of her hair; they clung to Lakshman’s clothes of bark.
‘What is this?’ wondered Sita, when she saw them that evening as they rested around the evening fire. ‘This is a woman’s hair, a refined woman’s hair, for it smells of fragrant oils. Looks like you found yourself a wife. Clearly the absence of Urmila is unbearable.’
What was said casually was taken seriously. Lakshman was so angry at the suggestion of being an unfaithful husband that he jumped into the fire around which they sat. Ram was aghast. Sita screamed. ‘Look, the fire does not hurt me. Do you need any other proof that I have been true to my wife?’ said Lakshman.
That night nobody spoke. Sita realized making light of the integrity of the men of the Raghu clan was not taken lightly.
In many pilgrim spots such as Nashik in Maharashtra and Rameswaram in Tamil Nadu, and forest reserves such as Hazaribag in Bihar and Simlipal in Odisha, there are separate ponds dedicated to Ram, Lakshman and Sita named Ram-kund, Lakshman-kund and Sita-kund. That they do not bathe in the same pond reinforces their commitment to the hermit’s way of life.
The episode of Sita’s clothes being in disarray and the conversation between Ram and Lakshman comes from the Marathi Ramayana written by Eknath called Bhavarth Ramayana, or the emotional Ramayana.
The episode of Lakshman going through the trial of fire comes from the Baiga Ramayana, in which an apsara called Indrakamini is attracted by Lakshman’s beauty and tries to malign him when he rejects her. This rare episode draws attention to the value given to male chastity in tribal lore. The Baigas live in Central India.
There are other stories from tribes of Central India which speak of how Ram, Lakshman and Sita remained indifferent to the charms of the tribal men and women, indicating they were not ordinary mortals. Principles mattered to them more than sensory pleasures.
Contrary to popular notions of patriarchy that grants all freedom to men, men who claim to be celibate are not respected when they lose control over their senses. Submission to an apsara is seen as failure. But unlike the unchaste woman who threatens the social order, the monk who fails to stay celibate does not threaten the social order, as he is not a member of society. He is a failure in his own eyes and, at best, a failure in the eyes of his monastic order.
Vedavati
One day, the three exiles came upon a woman who identified herself as Vedavati. She wanted to be Vishnu’s wife and so rejected all suitors who approached her parents for her hand in marriage. One of the suitors killed her parents and she went to the forest to live as a hermit until she met Vishnu. She was tormented wherever she went by many men who desired her but she was determined to marry only Vishnu. When she saw Ram, Vedavati said, ‘You are Vishnu on earth. Marry me. I have been waiting for you for years.’
Ram said, ‘I have my Sita. No one shall take her place.’
‘Then let me be Sita’s servant,’ she said.
‘No. You will have expectations of me that I will never fulfil. Wait some more time. Vishnu shall return in a different form some day and claim you as a wife.’
Later, Ravana too tried to molest Vedavati. Tired of waiting and being tormented, Vedavati jumped into a fire, hoping to be reborn as one who would be Vishnu’s wife.
The Skanda Purana states that Vedavati becomes Padmavati and marries Vishnu who descends on earth and takes residence on Tirumalai as Venkateshwara Balaji.
In Jammu, Vedavati is identified as Vaishno Devi who beheaded Bhairava, who sought to make her his wife by force. The head of Bhairava then apologized and revealed that he was practising rituals and for that he needed a woman to help him break free from the cycle of rebirths. ‘Then worship me, and I shall grant you liberation,’ she said, transforming into the Goddess. While blood sacrifice is common in most Goddess shrines, Vaishno Devi is unique in that she is vegetarian, indicating her close links with Vaishnavism.
In later versions of the Ramayana, Vedavati swears that she will ensure the death of Ravana who tries to molest her. The fire-god does not burn her; he hides her and puts her in Sita’s place before Sita’s abduction. It is this duplicate Sita that Ravana carries to Lanka. The original Sita returns to Ram after Sita’s (Vedavati’s) fire trial.
The story of Vedavati needs to be contrasted with the story of Surpanakha. Both desire to marry Ram. But Vedavati respects Ram’s wish to be faithful to a single wife. Surpanakha does not care for his wish; only her desire matters.
The Weapons of Sport and Survival
Ram and Lakshman enjoyed hunting. While one was out chasing game, the other kept watch over Sita while she scoured the forest for food. They mainly hunted tigers and deer, collecting their skin and horns as trophies. Some of the animal hide they used for themselves, as mats to sit on and shawls to cover themselves. Many they gifted to the sages they met. The horns were used to make weapons, arrowheads mostly. They left the meat on the ground for the vultures to eat. Ram avoided meat, which warriors ate with relish, as he felt it was unbecoming of an ascetic. So Lakshman stayed away from it too.
‘Must you hunt these poor beasts?’ Sita once asked. ‘Can’t you just enjoy them as they run through the forests, towards pastures or prey, or away from predators?’
‘We are kings, warriors and hunters. That is what we do,’ said Ram. ‘That is ho
w we ensure our skills remain intact. Sita, do not forget, this is a jungle, not a garden. There is danger lurking in every corner. The fire in the hearth, the fence around our hut and the arrows in our quiver protect us.’
One day, when Sita was collecting flowers to make garlands for Ram, she was grabbed from behind by a rakshasa. Before Lakshman could raise his bow and stop the rakshasa, he fled, carrying Sita on his shoulders. Lakshman pursued the rakshasa and called out to Ram. Ram intercepted the rakshasa and shot arrows at the vile creature. These arrows severed the rakshasa’s legs. He fell but refused to let go of Sita. Ram’s arrows then severed his arms. Sita could now escape. Blood gushed out of his four limbs, but the rakshasa refused to die.
‘I am Viradha,’ said the rakshasa. ‘Your weapons will not kill me. Bury me deep in the ground, deep enough so that no predator digs me out, so that I can die in peace. Do not leave me here helpless on the ground to be ripped apart by hyenas and vultures.’
So Lakshman dug a hole and Ram pushed the rakshasa who had dared touch Sita into it. They filled the hole with mud, and from the mound arose a handsome being who said, ‘I am Tumburu, cursed to remain a rakshasa until I was hunted like an animal by a hunter. Thank you for liberating me.’
‘See, Sita,’ said Ram, ‘weapons and the skill of hunting have their use.’
Then, another day, Lakshman chased a wild boar into a dense bamboo forest and swung his sword to strike his target. The blade missed the boar but severed the neck of a tapasvi who was meditating there. So focused was Lakshman on the hunt that he had overlooked the still and silent sage. Lakshman felt miserable at causing the death of an innocent. He wished he had listened to Sita and not indulged in this passion for hunting.
Sita: An Illustrated Retelling of the Ramayana Page 13