(Sita)
PEARL IN CLAM
I was abducted by the Demon King,
Lured by lucrative things;
In the absence of my beloved,
Robbed of my sanity,
Forced to be incarcerated in Ashokvatika,
With the tiring hope of being saved,
Placing endless trust in my Ram.
Beneath the crown of the garden's bloom,
I wore my scars like an unspoken tomb
Each tear a river, each sigh a war,
But none could see the ache that mar;
On silent nights, my heart would scream,
Trapped in the shadows of a broken dream
Like a beautiful pearl lost in a clam.
Torrid wars were fought,
Loss and triumph are often swapped;
Yet, in the end, my Lord won, not losing calm,
Valour was at sharp display;
I soared high to heaven with victory
But it was short-lived,
As my ears rang with the slam.
Words that questioned my worth,
My devotion, my purity, my love for Ram
Each word felt like unseen arrows;
Still, I stood tall and poised,
Cradling the venom that swallowed me alive;
Yet, in the depths of my heart,
Maintaining my stance and’ being calm.
I walked through the aisle of fire,
Proved my innocence, burning my heart;
Showed that I was pure and worthy,
Even when all I ever did was wait and yearn;
My body remained intact, with no qualms,
But the pyre engulfed my soul,
Questioning myself: Who I am?

(Me)
REVOLT
You were not weak!
Why do you bend to destiny?
Why didn't you set the world ablaze
Letting Mother Earth breathe ashes,
From the carcass of the one who questioned
Who dared to accuse Vaidehi,
You the great Maithili from Mithila,
Why didn't you chop the hands
Those dared to abduct you?
You folded your hands.
When you should've raised your voice;
Why didn’t you scream, Sita?
Why didn’t you curse the heavens?
That watched in silence
While your name was dragged
Through dust and doubt?
You walked into your pyre,
Instead of tossing them into flames;
Just to prove you were sane,
And never was touched!
You gave them your all
Your love, your loyalty, your light;
And still, they asked for more,
They wanted proof
Of a fire that only ever burned for them.
Why did you let them carve
A legacy of pain upon your silence?
Why did you become a myth
Of patience
When you could’ve been a movement?
You should have shattered the scriptures
That caged you in obedience,
You should have screamed your story
Across every temple wall
So no girl would ever bow again
In the name of honor.
But you disappeared into Earth,
And left us behind
With nothing but your silence to worship,
And your suffering to inherit.
Your character was immaculate,
Yet, you let a Washerwoman stain you,
You let people tarnish yourself
You could’ve ruled the world
With your power and ferocity;
Destroying kingdoms from your rage.
But you chose silence;
And in that silence, you burnt,
Making fate seal us with silence to date,
They built cages for generations now.
Why didn’t you fight?
Why did you beg Earth to take you Bhumija
When you could’ve made her split
Beneath the feet of those who wronged you?
Why didn’t you command her to rise,
To tremble at your agony,
To drown the voices that bruised your name?

(Sita)
PYRE OF SOUL
We returned to Ayodhya;
But again my chastity was questioned
By the folk of Darshrathnandan Ram
He who trusted me was shackled to Dharma,
Asked me to exile to Valmiki’s hermitage,
For the lashes of a laundrywoman’s tongue;
And I broke
with a soul-slitting wham.
I was punished for sins I didn’t commit;
Imprisoned in an unseen dungeon,
While I bore tomorrow within my womb;
My Luv was born without his family and father,
Kush was created by the great sage
But my husband stayed estranged;
Yet, I waited still
No question, no qualm.
Ashwamedh Yagyan started with blessings,
And I was invited in golden effigy,
A lifeless lookalike of mine,
Not in the breathing blood n’ flesh I was.
My sons tamed the wild stallion’s charge,
Fought bravely with everyone who barged,
Broke the ego, and pride of mighty ones.
They walked to the palace
Greeted all with humility sung aloud my pain,
The place I once called home,
Now stood draped in my disdain;
I was summoned by my Pran-Nath
But only to prove my innocence again,
To showcase how sacred I am.
My character was tattered like nothing;
Overwhelmed by pain and anguish,
I couldn’t take more strikes on my soul.
With all my willpower, I asked Mother Earth
To open wide n’ engulf me if I’m pure,
Unveil how immaculate I was, to reveal:
I am Sita only to my Ram.

(Me)
YOU ARE SITA
Who are you?
You are Vaidehi
The one who endured exile,
Yet, held her dignity like a blade in moonlight.
You are Janaki
The daughter of great Rajarishi Janaka,
Born of the Earth, not of submission.
You are Mithileshwari
Princess of Mithila, the one who gives love,
Crowned not with gold,
But with patience and pain.
You are Maithili
The silent ferocious flame, burning in restraint
When the world begged for rage.
You are Bhumija
Child of who was given birth by soil,
With mountains in your spine
And oceans in your breath.
You are Parthavi
The very embodiment of Earth’s will,
You don’t bow to fate; fate bows to you.
You are Rakshasantaprakarinyai,
The destroyer of demons; outside and within.
Your silence was never submission;
It was the scream
Of galaxies preparing to collapse.
You are Bhaktatoshadayai
The one who blessed the faithful,
Even when faith abandoned you.
You are Ratnaguptayai
The jewel hidden in pain,
The brilliance they tried to bury under shame.
You are Vaikunthanilayayai
Not a woman, but a realm; The final refuge,
The divine home even gods seek in despair.
You are Ram’s beloved
But not his shadow;
You were the story, not the footnote,
You are the storm they never named,
You are the war they buried beneath verses,
You are the scream,
That still echoes in our chests.
You are Sita
Not a tale of endurance;
But the untold scripture of resistance.
You are not their lesson in obedience.
You are the legacy we reclaim.
You are Sita—not a name, but a revolution
Dressed in a language that can't be tamed.

(Sita)
REDEMPTION
I was tired
Not weak: Not meek,
Just tired of proving myself,
That pain doesn’t make me impure;
I was abducted, not broken,
I was caged, not claimed,
And even the mighty Dashanan,
With ten heads and roaring pride,
Never laid a single finger
To bruise my dignity.
He kept me trapped, yes!
But never stripped me.
Of my honor;
Can your world say the same?
Today’s men write scriptures of virtue,
Yet, leer with eyes that undress;
They quote my name
While breaking women in darkened rooms,
And dare to preach of piety?
Ravan may have stolen my freedom,
But he never stole my soul;
He waited at a distance,
Respected the fire in my silence
More than your self-proclaimed gods did,
I didn’t scream not because I couldn’t,
I didn’t burn kingdoms,
Not because I lacked fire;
I chose stillness
Because I thought, the world would listen
If I bore the storm without thunder;
But I was wrong!
I was tired
Tired of lifting swords with bare hands
When my truth was treated
Like dirt beneath Dharma’s sandals;
Tired of being holy,
Just to be hurt again.
I begged Earth not out of defeat
But because I had no more war left in me;
Because silence became my rebellion,
When justice demanded a scream,
And now you ask why I didn’t fight?
Tell me, my dear
When even love comes with tests,
When purity is questioned like a debt,
When the world forgets
That patience, too, is power...
What more was I supposed to prove?
It was Sita!
It was Sita!
And I am tired
Of being remembered as a woman
Who suffered
When I should’ve been remembered
As the woman
Who endured.

(Me)
HIDDEN FLAMES
They say to be like Sita,
And we did
We waited, we loved, we hurt, we broke,
We swallowed the injustice
Like sacred prasad given to us.
You were never weak,
But your patience became our prison;
Your endurance became
Our chains n' shackle,
We needed a storm;
You gave us surrender
We needed a scream;
You gave us silence.
Tell me, Mata Sita
Were you tired, or did you truly believe
That love must always bleed to prove itself?
And you were right
Today’s men are worse,
Not demons, not monsters
For even Ravan has lines he didn’t cross.
These men today, wear dhotis and degrees,
Hide behind gods and gazes,
Touch without consent,
And bruise with entitlement;
Lankesh may have caged you,
But he never claimed you
He waited; He feared your fire;
But men today?
They douse every flame in shame.
And then chant your name with stained lips;
At least the demon wore his skin with pride
These men wear masks of virtue,
Quote scriptures while stripping dignity,
Preach purity with filthy hearts
Like they haven't broken souls
In dark corners.
They touch as they own,
Love like it’s owed
Then ask us to prove we’re still sacred.
They don’t need Lanka to imprison us
Their homes, their laws, their looks
Are enough to burn us down
Without ever lighting a pyre;
At least Ravan didn’t lie
He was a villain,
But these men?
They wear halos forged in hypocrisy.
So I no longer bow, Mata
Not in silence, not in shame;
Let them tremble now
For we, your daughters,
Rise not with folded hands,
But with clenched fists and unshaken eyes.
We are not waiting to be rescued,
We are the storm they tried to silence.
And in our voice, you’ll live again
Not as a myth of patience,
But as the goddess
Who chose her end,
To teach us a beginning;
I carry your fire, not your chains.
I won't walk through flames to prove myself,
I am the flame.

(Sita)
DAUGHTERS OF BHUMIJA
You’re right, my child
They were worse, they were worse;
Worse than the ten-headed beast
They curse in stories;
Ravan caged my body,
But never dared claim my soul.
He waited outside Ashok Vatika,
Never once crossing the line of my dignity
He was a demon, yes!
But even demons had dharma.
These men today?
They wear crowns of culture,
While defiling every value they preach,
They stall like vultures in search of prey
They then, scream my name in prayer,
Silencing your cries behind closed doors.
They touch without asking,
Blame without blinking
And still dare to call themselves righteous;
I burned quietly,
So the world wouldn’t,
But I see now
My silence taught them entitlement;
My surrender gave them excuses,
I was not weak
But maybe, just maybe, I was wrong.
So I beg you
Don’t bow like I did;
Don’t vanish into the earth
To prove your worth,
Shatter everything instead
Let your voice quake mountains,
Let your truth set fire to their pride;
Be the storm I could not be,
Be the justice I waited for in vain.
I am with you not in myth,
But in every heartbeat
That chooses fire over fear;
My ashes whisper through your rage,
My story lives in your resistance,
Fight, my daughters, Fight!
Not just for me,
But for every girl;
Who was ever told to burn
Just to be believed.
And know this
You are not made to suffer in silence;
You are made of fire,
Of earth,
Of storm.
You are not the daughters of Sita.
You are Sita's reborn.

.    .    .