It was a mad rush. The train was bracing itself for a long journey and was revving up its engines. The guard was ready with his green flag. The loud din of chatter and last-minute farewells and the heated exchange of words between those calling out the orders and those executing them…it all added on to the noise and confusion inside her head. She firmly held on to her two girls, also managing the heavy bag on the shoulder. Two more coaches to reach theirs. She sprinted towards D2, her young girls in tow. Finally, she made it. Her deep breath coincided with the tired groan of the wheels as it took its first roll, slowly setting in motion, and bidding adieu to the platform. She was still panting. She took a few deep breaths and looked at her girls. She could not help but smile looking at their cute but tired faces. They looked divine in their identical blue frocks. Slowly, she led them into the compartment. “Mama, look! There is daddy” screamed the princesses. She found him and their seats, stacked their luggage on the rack, helped the children to their window seats and took her seat. The daddy, her ‘king’ was already seated comfortably, unperturbed by the commotion around. It was a ten-hour long journey and she had plenty of time to relax. ‘Relaxing’- a luxury she had long forgotten. Life had heaped one burden after another on her, so much so, that she had forgotten what it was to be relaxed. She made sure that her princesses were seated comfortably and cast a look around. Strange people everywhere, but she loved their company. It was nice to see people, to observe them. On the other side of the aisle, she saw a beautiful girl begging her older companion, probably her grandmother, for a story. A beautiful scene, all the more touching because it gave her beautiful memories. It reminded her of the infinite stories her grandmother had told her. She too had been a princess, long ago, before the king had come into her life. She was the precious princess for her parents and for her beloved grandmother. Her grandmother would seat her on a comfortable cushioned bed, sit beside her, stroke her, and start her stories. Lovely stories! Stories that made her feel safe; those that made her stare wide-eyed; stories that opened new worlds. “Ajji, tell the story of Sita”, she would plead almost every day. And then her grandmother would regale her with stories of Sita’s childhood, her adventures, her beauty, her courage, and above all, her patience. “Sita was an epitome of patience. She was mother earth herself. You should also be like her”. All the stories would always conclude with this line by which time she would be on the threshold of sleep. “Be tolerant like Sita”, her grandmother’s words would ring in her ears as she embraced sleep. What a beautiful life it was! The era when she was a princess too!
She was pulled back to reality by the firm rude tap on her shoulder. It was the ‘king’. He wanted some snacks, a book and water. All he had to do was to pass a command. She stood up and brought down a heavy bag from the rack. Once the king’s needs were met, she turned towards her two darlings.
They gratefully received the chocolate pastries she had bought for them. Their smiles were all she needed. It was the ointment for all the burns inflicted upon her by his Majesty and his family. “Be patient like Sita”, her grandmother had told and she had been patient.
The king, however, had had an easy life. Born in a ‘kingly’ family, he was declared a king at birth. And pampered and spoilt ever since. The king never had to bow down to anyone. His lineage, the blood that ran in him and the gender that he was endowed with ensured that he ruled as a king, whether he had a kingdom or not. He had been raised to be a king and when it was time to find a queen for him, they had found her,’ a tall, slim, fair and homely girl’
Deliberately breaking her chain of thoughts, she looked around. People of all kinds- laughing, reading, sleeping, eating… she wondered if each one of them had a story. Her grandmother had taught her to observe people, to read people’s actions and reactions. It was so interesting. As a child, she would enjoy traveling in a train, ravenously absorbing the scenes, watching people at play.
The train was chugging on. She could see the trees and fields whizzing by. She closed her eyes, but her mind raced on. Fourteen years, it had been, since she had taken up this ‘lowly’ role of a queen. Fourteen years of suppression, of humiliation. When she had donned the role of a queen, she had imagined a life of marital bliss and tried to adore and worship her king, the king that her family had chosen for their princess. “Be patient like Sita” her grandmother had told and she had remained patient. The king did not turn out to be the Rama in her grandmother’s stories. She herself did not know who he was, even after all the years. His parents had found the perfect ‘queen’, one who would serve him and maintain his kingly status. She had tried hard to gain his trust and respect, but it was all in vain for the king had not been taught to respect women. He felt that disrespecting his queen and humiliating her was befitting of his ‘kingly’ status. “When Sita got married she was a young naïve girl. She was so full of love. She embraced her husband and his family and showered them with love.
Spread love like Sita, “her grandmother had told and she had done her best.
She always felt an unexplainable connect with Sita. She had walked through the different stages of life, all the time, lead by her idol Sita. Somehow, she felt that Sita was guiding her to her destiny. Whenever, she was faced with a situation, her grandmother reminded her of Sita. The stories of Sita had become an integral part of her character.
The train was moving at a steady speed,rocking the passengers gently, the wheels singing a lullaby. The noise had reduced considerably and the people were slowly surrendering themselves to sleep. She looked at her two daughters. They had dozed off, their heads resting on each other. They were her priceless gifts, always standing by her. When her grandmother had received the new buds in her hands, she had exclaimed,” oh! A double gift for you. The Almighty has blessed you with twins. Sita had twins too, Lava and Kusha. These two are your Lava and Kusha. They will be your fort”. Her grandmother’s words were still ringing in her ears. The memories of her grandmother instantly brought tears to her eyes. While her parents were understandably busy raising their children, battling with the rigors of everyday life, it was her grandmother who had provided her with a safe and beautiful haven. When it was time to find a suitable alliance for her beloved granddaughter, she was most worried. After the wedding, when it was time to bid farewell, she had held her hand, unwilling to let her go. “When Sita went to Ayodhya with Rama, Janaka told his daughter “Sita, May you find happiness wherever you go”. May you also find happiness wherever you go” she had heartily blessed her, not forgetting to add, “be patient like Sita” Her entry into the king’s palace had shattered all her hopes, almost instantly. True, that there was a ritualistic welcome, but try as she might, she could not find one kind face. “Rama and Sita rode in a chariot decked with leaves and flowers. The people of Ayodhya decked up their houses and lit lamps all along the way. They showered petals on the divine couple as they made their way to the palace. Dasharatha and his three queens stood readily to welcome them. The shy and demure Sita was overwhelmed by the love she received.” her grandmother’s words had filled her with dreams of marital bliss. The harsh realities of life hit her and she realized that her new abode was no Ayodhya. She was expected to fit in almost immediately. Equipped with the values imbibed in her, she had donned the role of a daughter-in-law and wife and had tried her best to win the hearts of the family members. She tried hard to love them. It did not take long for her to realize that she was fighting against the tide. The humiliations and insults had become daily occurrences. The king was no exception. He had no trust in her and even worse, no love for her. For him, she was a toy his parents had gifted him- a toy that had no emotions. The constant loss of dignity had stripped her of her confidence and she felt that she was imprisoned. “Be tolerant like Sita”, her grandmother had told her and she had remained tolerant.
Pregnancy came as a welcome boon that brought her out of the prison, albeit, temporarily. Her parents, who had long realized that they had given their princess away to the wrong king, welcomed her back into their household hoping to give her some relief, at the least. Her grandmother had never left her side and when the twins were born she beheld them and said,” see, your lava and kusha” The birth of the twins had given her a new lease of hope and she resolved to try once again and win over the king and his family. The thought of going back to the palace sent shivers down her spine. But, she had to go. The king would be waiting. Her grandmother was distraught when it was time for her to leave. She was worried about the plight of her granddaughter, but being a firm believer in God, she had reiterated, “Sita was the epitome of persistence and faith. Even when life dealt the cruelest blow on her, she had not lost hope and firmly believed that she would come out of her situation. Don’t lose hope”, her grandmother had told her and she had felt a new surge of hope.
“Mama,we are very hungry”. Two gentle hands pulled her back from her reverie. She opened her eyes and realized that it was well past noon. The compartment was coming alive with people moving about and hawkers selling lunch. She brought down a bag and took out the boxes and helped the girls to finish their lunch. The king was slowly stirring from his sleep. She became alert immediately and braced herself for the impact. He was always in a foul mood and she did all she could to appease him so that her daughters would not have to witness an unpleasant showdown. At times, she felt that she had become so wary of his bad temper that her only priority was to keep him in good humor, which was very often an impossible task. She took out a box for him and kept it ready in front of him. She turned her attention to her girls, while the king, now wide awake, stood up to stretch. The train drew to a sudden screeching halt. The impact slightly unsettled him and he stumbled forward, knocking down the lunch box. And then, all hell broke loose. The ingredients spilled on his dress and he stumbled again, spilling the water from the bottle near him. She quickly got up, wondering how to control the damage. She was petrified.
‘ssllllaaaap”… her head reeled under the impact as he landed a heavy blow on her. He slapped her with his might, giving vent to his anger. She could not focus… she did not know what was worse- the humiliation, the anger or the pain. She stood transfixed on the spot. The two princesses clung on to her, terrified at what was unfolding. The king was relentlessly hurling abuses at her, slaughtering her with violent words, but her world had become silent. A few considerate passengers made her sit down and offered some water. The king was continuing to spew his verbal vomit on her. Her daughters stood beside her afraid of going back to their seats. She felt faint. She closed her eyes. This was not the first time. The King had always felt that hitting her, was a display of his prowess. Images of her grandmother flashed before. She was very ill and had pleaded with her to come and see her one last time. They had spent hours together in silence, each one not wanting to let the other go. Realizing quite clearly that this could be her last conversation with her grandmother, she had one question. “You always said Sita was tolerant and patient. You told me to be tolerant too and I have always tried to be. But, in my palace, there is no Rama, there are no doting mothers-in-law, no caring brothers-in-law. My tolerance is seen as fear. You taught me to be tolerant but in a place where my character is put to test every day, how can I?” Her grandmother had stroked her hair gently and had remained thoughtful.
That morning, they had to depart. The king was in a hurry to return to his palace and hence she had to leave too. When it was time for them to leave, her grandmother beckoned her. Drawing deep laborious breaths, her grandmother spoke: “Sita was Bhooma devi’s daughter. She was the epitome of patience. She was mother earth herself. She spread happiness and love wherever she went. Her king was none other than the Lord himself- Rama, the epitome of chivalry. He came to this world to show how a man should lead his life and more importantly, how a man should treat his woman. His love was eternal. He gave Sita a place in his heart. The divine couple exuberated love, a love that was not just for each other, but for the family and beyond, for the people of the world and for every living species on the earth. Sita was the tolerant and patient mother to all.
But, she was intolerant too. When Ravana took her by force and put her dignity at stake, she arose like the high tide of the sea, like the fiery flames of an erupting volcano. Ravana , the king who ruled the three worlds, could not as much as touch her. Her flames of loyalty, faith and above all her courage saved her. She had the mighty courage to lay a blade of grass between her and Ravana and to dare him to cross that. Ravana knew that he would be reduced to ashes if he ever crossed that. That was the might of her anger and courage. And when the war started, it was her intolerance of injustice that lead to the salvation in of the world. The ever -tolerant Sita did not tolerate the humiliation and the threat to her dignity. When Sita was in Ayodhya, she had received love and respect from everyone and she had reciprocated with more love and respect. But her tolerance was put to test in the Ashokvan, were she was imprisoned. And it was her intolerance that liberated her. It was her righteous anger that reduced Ravana to dust. Every woman is an embodiment of Sita. Be it through patience, tolerance, courage or the most important virtue of intolerance, every woman represents Her, the universal mother. If Sita has taught us to be tolerant, remember, She also has taught us to be intolerant. Your Ayodhya has turned into your Ashokavan! If your integrity is being put to test there, if there is a threat to your dignity, the virtues you need are anger and intolerance”
Her cheek was still throbbing with pain. The king was seated in his throne with a satisfied expression. The girls were still standing on the aisle. The train was fast approaching their destination. She stood up and brought down all the bags. The train screeched to a halt. The king de boarded the train and walked ahead. She got down, holding the girls’ hands firmly. The king had slowed down, waiting for them to come. She took one long look at him and all she could feel was anger and a threat to her dignity. Taking firm steps, she walked… in the opposite direction. “ Be bold like Sita. Do not tolerate injustice”, her grandmother had told her and now she would be bold.
“Sitaa.. Sita… “the king was screaming at her from behind. She pulled her princesses close to her and walked determinedly. The words of her grandmother were ringing in her ears dimming out the calls of the king, “Don’t tolerate injustice. Be intolerant like Sita” her grandmother had told and this Sita decided to be intolerant.