How to Forgive Rama
Let’s get to the point. Like most of my generation, I have always had a teeny bit of an issue with Rama. The ideal man. Maryada Purushottama, they said. And to a large extent, I got it. There were many many many things he did absolutely right. First, he diffused the civil war that was brewing at home by simply helping his father keep his word. Then, he insisted that every part of the contract be followed to the T, including insisting that his loyal subjects turn back and accept Bharata’s rule.
Third, he insisted that he and Sita do not have children during the duration of the vanavasa, since they cannot guarantee being good parents when they are simply struggling to survive. He was courteous towards even Shoorpanaka(and despite popular current opinion, Shoorpanaka was honestly no angel). And the minute the worst happened, the minute Sita was abducted, he did what was needed and set about to rescue her. He was a doting husband, responsible brother and a dutiful son and prince. He played each role he occupied to the hilt, to perfection.
Up until the dhobi came along.
Like most of my generation, this was the point where my faith in Rama began to waver. The dhobi’s rhetoric was unreasonable, to my 21st century mind. And Rama, as the Maryada Purushottama, should have put him in his place, I felt. Yet he did not. He gave in to doubt. He gave in to popular opinion. And he abandoned the one person who had stood with him through thick or thin. Further, he even abandoned the children that he was siring with her. And with that, he fell in my eyes. With that, for me, started Sita’s journey. So far, I had seen her simply as dutiful wife who could be a bit childish and petulant at times. But with this, I saw her come to her own. I saw her stand up for herself. I saw her blossom.
Truth be told, if Rama had not abandoned her, she might never have blossomed and grown the way she did now. But my eyes never saw that, never acknowledged that. Perhaps rightfully so too. The simple reason being that he did not do what he did with the intention of furthering her growth. It was not a selfless act. It was, in fact, a very selfish act. It was betrayal.
And so I could never forgive him. As a woman, I could not forgive his slight and the suffering he caused in another fellow woman. Sisters before misters, after all, right?
But then recently, I started watching a quite brilliant (if terribly historically inaccurate) British TV series called ‘The Great’. ‘The Great’ is a satirical series inspired by the Russian Empress- Catherine The Great. For a little background — Catherine the Great killed her husband — Peter, Emperor of Russia — and installed herself on the throne. She then went on to rule for many decades and apparently was a quite the ruler, ushering in the modern, more liberal age of Voltaire and Descartes into Russia. It does make quite a story. And the series focuses primarily on the coup that Catherine staged to take over the throne.
As expected, at the end of season one is a cliffhanger — a standoff, if you will, in which Catherine and Peter are equally matched. And that is when Peter pulls out his ace. He, it turns out, has Catherine’s lover captured. And if she does not stop the coup, he will kill the love of her life.
Understandably, Catherine is quite torn. What should she choose? The love for her country? Or the love of her life? Amidst a stream of tears, she finally chooses. She chooses the coup. She chooses the throne. She chooses what she terms to be the love for her country. And so she sacrifices the love of her life. She condemns him to death.
My heart swelled with pride for all womanhood when I saw that. That is how it should be, right? If you choose to be ruler, that is exactly how it should be. Country comes first. Service to the nation comes first, especially for a ruler. Everything else must simply be second. Sacrifice of the personal must be made for the greater good. And I was proud of Catherine for making that choice.
And that is when it struck me. The hypocrisy. Hadn’t Rama done the same as Catherine? Well, not in condemning the love of your life to death exactly, but in prioritising the duties of a ruler over the duties of a spouse/lover? Hadn’t both just sacrificed the personal for the greater good? Then why was I condemning one and praising the other?
The answer was simple, really. As a woman, I was simply taking the side of another woman in each situation. It was instinctual. As mentioned earlier, sisters over misters! And there was nothing wrong with that. It is natural to side with the side that you think will benefit you more in the long run. The instinctual part of my brain was just acting out of some sort of social survival instinct. Like I said, nothing wrong with that. Just how we are primed.
But what was wrong was that the instinct was being disguised as ideology. And thus the hypocrisy.
Every person has a choice in every situation. At the most basic level — the choice is simply between whether to act out of instinct or whether to act out of consideration towards the role that you are occupying.
Instinct will get you what you want at any given moment. Consideration towards the role that you are occupying will maintain social order. Instinct is selfish. Consideration towards the role that you are occupying is selfless.
There is a third level too. That of consciously being able to see simply what is needed at any given time and doing that. And that is neither selfish nor selfless. It is simply what is needed at the moment. And that what is needed might be needed by you, or it might be needed by society. At this level, one simply weighs the pros and cons of each and does what is best for the greater good. It is more individualistic. It is both selfless and selfish at the same time. Very reminiscent of Krishna in fact. Krishna was not selfish. But he was not selfless either. He simply was whatever was needed of him at any given time.
But the Ramayana does not work at that level. So much of the Ramayana is simply about the battle between instinct and the upkeep of social order. And both Rama and Ravana potray two sides of that coin.
The theme of the characterisation of Rama is all about the upkeep of social order. It is never about the person he was. It is never about the individual he was. It is simply about how well he occupies each and every role that he occupies. That is why we know him not primarily by his actions, but primarily as the epitome of each role — the dutiful son, the doting husband, the fair prince, the impartial ruler. We identify Rama more by how he perfected each role that he played. Sometimes at the expense of another role. Sometimes being a dutiful son was more important than being a good crown prince. Sometimes being a good husband was more important than being a good brother. At one time, being a good ruler was perhaps more important than being a good husband. Ultimately, the time to be a repentant husband also came. But by that time, it was too late. And all he could be was a repentant father.
But that was his burden to carry. Not ours.
Perhaps that is the story that society needed to hear at that moment. Alittle stability, a little less unpredictability, a little bit of upholding social norms for the sake of pacification was what was needed for the kingdom that he inherited — a kingdom that had already been racked with insecurity over its future for the last fourteen years. All I know is that it can’t have been easy, for any of the parties involved.
And perhaps that is all that needs to be taken into consideration.
P.S. I still do have an issue with putting primarily Rama up on the pedestal at the expense of others who lived their role with equal elan. Sita, Bharatha, Lakshmana, Urmila, Kausalya, even Kaikeyi (do note, by the way, that I am not including Dasharatha in this list, and that is for a reason) — each was stunning example of the role each of them played. But then, such are the nature of narratives. One person must be the protagonist, usually at the expense of others. Only thing one can do about that is tell their stories too in an entirely separate account, with each of the them being the star of their own story.
