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Rama, they say, is the greatest ever of the Ishwakus - greater than Dasharatha, greater than Aja, greater than Ikshwaku himself. But let me ask you, Lakshmana, has any other Ikshwaku ever done anything as shameful as this glory of the Ikshwakus did?

Lakshmana, you should have prepared that pyre for him.

Though I doubt if the fire would have succeeded in purifying him.

And if you couldn’t do that, Lakshmana, then you should have prepared it for yourself.

In protest. In anger.

And if you had done that I’d have worshipped you forever, Lakshmana. By that act you would have sanctified yourself, Lakshmana. And you would have atoned for all your sins.

They say Sita is the mother of the universe. I do not know about it. To me my sister is purity itself. She is virtue incarnate. She is the symbol of all that is beautiful in creation.

And before preparing a chita for her, you should have prepared one for yourself.

A man’s touch does not defile a woman’s body. But arrogance does defile a man’s heart. Conceit does defile the human heart. Unlimited ambition that tramples all that is noble in men does defile the human heart. Boundless pride does defile the human heart. It creates such darkness around one that even the brightest light becomes invisible. It turns men into heartless beings.

Rama could not see Sita was undefiled.

I pity him.

And you should have prepared that chita for him, Lakshmana. Or, at least for yourself. Urmila would then have worshipped you for all eternity, in life after life, for that single act of yours.

You loved her so much, Lakshmana. You revered her so much. Why didn�t that thought come to your mind, Lakshmana?  

Or was it that you were still furious with her for those cruel words she spoke to you in Panchavati? No. I can't believe it was so. For all your slavery to Rama, you were never so heartless. Certainly not when it concerned Sita. I am sure you had already forgiven her that. I am sure you believed what she had suffered from that day for a whole year was more than enough punishment for those words. 

Why didn't that thought come to your mind then, Lakshmana?  

~00~

And I don't approve of what you did to Shoorpanakha, Lakshmana. 

Chopping off a woman's nose, ears and breasts!? For the crime of approaching you seeking love?

Why didn't you kill her, Lakshmana? 

Approaching you seeking love! Approaching you? And seeking love? She deserved to be killed. She certainly deserved to be killed. 

In all my years with you, I never approached you for love once. A woman has no right to. What a shameful thing to do! Approaching a man seeking love! She should wait. Wait silently. Wait prayerfully. For the kindness of love bestowed upon her by the man. A woman shouldn't take the first step. Never. 

And Shoorpanakha broke that rule. She approached you for love. Of course she deserved to be killed.

For, for a woman to approach a man for love is to admit she too has needs. A woman is not supposed to have such needs. A woman with such needs is ugly. She is a slut. A wanton woman. She is a whore. And you could do anything to a whore. That is perfectly fine.
Women are supposed to be pure creatures. And pure means sexless. She should please her man in bed.  She should be available to him. But on her own she should not have any desires. Not have any physical desires. No needs.

A woman has no sexual desire. The men's world denies her that right. She can't have any. For, for a woman to have sexual desire is a frightening thing. She should deny that part of herself, suppress it, if it is there. Otherwise she would be a threat. A threat to man's ego. For the sexual act is a power game. In which the man subjugates the woman with his superiority. He has to be on top. How can she be on top? That will upset all equations. Only the whore can be on top. 

And anything could be done to a whore. 

Women should be sexless. They shouldn't seek sex. They shouldn't seek love. 

But did you, and your God, ever consider the possibility that there might exist other cultures, other societies, other ways of living, in which a woman does not have to so completely pretend that she does not have the sexual impulse? That perhaps poor Shoorpanakha belonged to such a society? Such a culture, such a way of life, that in her way of life perhaps it was not wrong to approach a man?

There are perhaps societies in which women are still kin to the night and the earth, Lakshmana. Women who are not out of tune with themselves, with their rhythms, with their music, as our women are. Our women are not free inside themselves, are bound up in a thousand knots, knots tied by a thousand years of suppressions and repressions, by a thousand years of being dominated by their men, during which time they were told again and again that whatever was natural to woman was ugly, that to be free within oneself was to be ugly. 

The first knot, I’ve heard, was tied by Shwetaketu. And then there were a thousand others to tie her up in other knots. Until she was unable to move, to breathe. Until she looked to her man before she took a breath. She needed his permission. 

But wasn’t there a time before that, Lakshmana? A time when our ancestors told that a woman could approach a man for love and when she sought it, the man should never say no to her? Arthinee stree anupekshaneeya – isn’t that what they used to say, Lakshmana? 

But of course those are ways of life of a past time that we have left behind, ways of an uncultured past. In our culture a woman’s only function - apart from giving birth to children - is to please her husband, to provide pleasure to him and to look after him and his children.

Shoorpanakha was very wrong. And she had to be punished. Even if it was not exactly sex she asked for. Even if it was to be your wife she asked for. 

Remember, she wanted to be your wife. That was what Rama sent her to you for, telling her you were still a bachelor. 

But she had to be punished. 

Just as Ayomukhi had to be punished later. Exactly as Ayomukhi had to be punished later. For the same reason. 

What exactly did Ayomukhi tell you, Lakshmana? ‘Come, be my love and we shall sport in the rivers and the caves of these mountains’, she had said. She too had wanted to be yours for ever. So long as life lasted – wasn’t that what she said? And she gathered you in her arms, offering herself to you. 

This time you did not even wait to be asked by your God. You just pulled out your sword and chopped off the woman’s ears, nose and breasts. In quick, efficient strikes. In perfectly smooth motions. 

I know you were furious. It was not long since Sita had accused you of having dark plans over her. She had said you were waiting for your brother to die so that you could have her. Dark words. Evil words. 

So you were furious. You were in a terrible mood, all right. But why did those words so infuriate you, Lakshmana? Did you, by any chance- No, I won’t even say that. I won’t even think of it. 

Let’s just forget the whole topic. What is chopping off the ears, nose and breasts of two women after all? And in any case they were only Rakshasis - not even Arya women. At least not Ayomukhi. At least not that we know of. In Shoorpanakha there was some Brahmin blood. So what? She was just a Rakshasi, after all.  So let’s just forget it.

One last thing, though.  Poor women - they would have been disappointed if you had accepted them. What did I get marrying you?

By the way, did you ever realize that if you hadn’t been so heartlessly cruel to Shoorpanakha, so savagely brutal to her, Sita would never have been kidnapped by Ravana? Sita would never have had to spend a year of agony in Lanka?

It was to avenge Shoorpanakha that Ravana had come to that hermitage, Lakshmana. To have revenge for what you had done to his sister. 

Of course he became obsessed with Sita’s beauty. But that would not have happened if you hadn’t done that to Shoorpanakha. 

You sent Sita to Lanka, Lakshmana. 

You made her suffer indescribable pain and privations for a whole year in Lanka, Lakshmana.

Did you ever realize you sent the Sita you worshipped into the pyre?

~00~

And there is one more thing for which I’ll never be able to forgive you, Lakshmana.

That night when Rama called you into his room.

That evening had been particularly beautiful for Sita. Rama had been very loving to her in the Ashokavanika attached to the antahpura where they spent that evening. After walking about in the gardens they sat down and Rama, with his own hands, gave Sita a drink of exquisite madhu maireyaka, even as Indra gives drinks to Shachi. They sat together under the trees watching the sun setting in the distance. Refreshments were served to them there. Apsaras, Naga maidens and Kinnaries danced.  Rama asked Sita about her pregnancy, his hand over her growing stomach. Sita was five months advanced in her pregnancy then. And then Rama asked her the question every loving husband asks his pregnant wife - though you never asked me that question, but that is another matter. Well, Rama asked Sita what she wanted - was there any desire in her heart? And of course, Sita said, none, none whatsoever, his love was enough for her.

Sita was like that. So full of her Rama. He was enough for her. His love for her was enough for her. She didn’t need anything else. With his love, her world was full. If she found a place for herself in his heart, that was enough for her. She still shook in fear at what he had said to her in Lanka - those terrible moments, those unreal moments, before she entered the pyre. He shouldn’t repeat that - that was enough for her. He shouldn’t banish her from his heart - that was enough for her. He shouldn’t disown her - that was enough for her. She wanted to live as his - that was all she wanted. He should never abandon her - just that.

The memories of Lanka hadn’t been forgotten by her, either. The one long year, every moment of which was like a year. Every moment of which was pure hell for her. A year for most of which she had no news of him. She had counted that as punishment to her - punishment for desiring anything other than Rama, anything other than her Rama’s love. She had been tempted. She had allowed temptation, desire, to enter her heart.  She had desired that golden deer. And she had been punished. Almost instantly. Ravana had come and carried her off. No, she didn’t want anything other than her Rama and his love for her. She just wanted to be loved by him and the right to love him in her turn – that’s all. Nothing else.
She said, ‘No, Rama, I desire nothing. You are beside me, that is enough for me.’

But she must have shivered at the mention of the word desire. No, she desired nothing.
Except that she be never separated from him. Not physically, not mentally. That was all.
Sita loved Rama as no woman ever loved her man - yes, not even me. No, Lakshmana, I never loved you with the love Sita had for Rama. I wasn’t capable of loving like Sita loved. Loving so completely, so totally- That required a different being. She had it. I didn’t.

And yet Rama insisted. And eventually she surrendered to his insistence. And she said she would like to visit the hermitages of the sages in the jungle whose sacred presence she had liked so much on her way to the jungle exile.

Rama was pleased.

And promised she would go to them the very next day.

It was later that evening - rather late into the night - that Rama sat with her friends listening to their light talk. And towards midnight he asked them - the group included his spies - those questions that ruined Sita's life for ever.

‘What do the people say about me?’ he asked. ‘And what do the people say about Queen Sita?’ he added. 

I wonder why he asked that question. That second question.

I can understand why he asked the first question. As a king it was his duty to ask that question. But about the queen? About Sita?

True, Sita was the queen and therefore a public figure. But apart from that fact, she did no public works. She never appeared alone in public. Sits was the most private person I ever knew. She never, ever appeared in public unless it was with Rama. And then, as in private, her conduct had always been impeccable. Ever since she returned from Lanka, her conduct had been blameless - just as it had been before. Why then this concern about what people said about her?

People adored Sita. Particularly after they learnt of her coming out of the fire unscathed. And Rama knew this.

I maybe wrong, Lakshmana, completely wrong, but sometimes I’m tempted to wonder if Rama did not grudge Sita something.

Unbelievable, I know. Shocking, I know. But, did he?

Coming out of the fire unscathed gave Sita a goddess-like stature. A stature she had gained not through Rama, but by her own action, by her own being - by the sanctity and inviolability of her being. The God of Fire acknowledged that he couldn’t touch her.
People began adoring Sita - as much as they adored him, if not more.

And I don’t think Rama could handle this. He wanted himself to be the centre of all attention. He alone. That is how it had been ever since his birth and that is how he wanted it to remain till the end - no, not his end, but the end of the universe. That one thing he couldn’t share with anyone and now Sita was being given a share of it. A big share of it. Much more than what was comfortable to him.

She being adored by the people - they called her not Queen Sita but Mother Sita now - was not something he could tolerate. He wanted the stage exclusively for himself. Others could be there, on the stage, but not with him. A little behind, as part of his background.
He wanted the shrine exclusively for himself. Or with Sita as a mere appendage to him. But now she was claiming - no, she was not claiming it but people were giving her - equal status with Rama.

Some were even building separate shrines for Sita. Exclusively for Sita.

Sita was not where she should be.

Could it have been that?

And he got one rotten washerman to his aid. One rotten, drunk, wife-beating, mother-defying, arrogant wretch of a man. The kind of man who should be tied to a pillar and whipped.

And that was enough for Rama. That one washerman was enough for him to abandon his pregnant wife whom the multitudes adored calling her their mother and a goddess. Because of the drunken words of a beast, Rama would abandon her whom the masses called the Mother of the Universe.

For, that was what people were calling her.

And Lakshmana, that night you did something for which I cannot forgive you. And the next morning you did something for which I cannot forgive you.

That night you did not faint when Rama asked you to take Sita beyond the Ganga and abandon her there in the jungle. That I cannot forgive you, Lakshmana.

Before asking you to do that evil deed, Rama had called Bharata from his palace, past midnight, and asked him to do it. And Bharata had lost consciousness and fallen down in a swoon at the cruelty of those words.

And then Rama had called Shatrughna and asked him to do it and Shatrughna too had fallen down fainting at the inhuman cruelty of those words.

And then he called you and asked you to do that evil job.

You did not faint, Lakshmana.

And I cannot forgive you for that.

Instead, you agreed to carry out your brother’s orders.

The elders have to be obeyed, you said to yourself. Parashurama killed his own mother when his father asked him to do that, you said to yourself.

Why didn’t you think of following the example of Chirakari instead of Parashurama’s, Lakshmana?  When his father Sage Gautama asked him to kill his mother Ahalya, he did not obey him. And Gautama himself praised him for it later.

Blind obedience is not always a virtue.