An excerpt from Sita’s Voice in the Assamese Ramayana: Selected Verses from the RAMAYANA of  Madhava Kandali and UTTARAKANDA by Sankaradeva, Translated, with Introduction and commentary  by TILOTTOMA MISRA (Zubaan: April 2024 Forthcoming) 

The figure of Rāma has seldom attracted the Assamese vaiṣnava devotees as much as that of Kṛṣṇa. Rāma has been considered as an incarnation of Viṣṇu, while Kṛṣṇa has been worshipped as Viṣṇu himself. Significantly, there is also no known religious sect in Assam which claims to be “exclusively Ramaite”. While there are many references to Kṛṣṇa in the copper-plate inscriptions found in Assam which date back to the early seventh century, there is hardly any mention of Rāma in the early literary records of the region. Biswanarayan Shastri has observed that while a large number of temples dedicated to Rāma or Māruti exist all over India, there is no evidence of the existence of such a temple with the images of Rāma or Maruti, intact or in ruins, in Assam. According to him even in the architecture of ancient Assam, there is no known evidence of the Rāma legend being represented anywhere.

The Rāmāyaṇa of Mādhava Kandalī, therefore, as well as the two kāṇḍas prefixed and appended to it by Mādhavadeva and Śaṅkaradeva, have never held “that exalted position in popular estimation which the Rāmacarita-mānasa of Tulsidas has been occupying for the last few centuries in north India.” Rāma and Sītā seldom attained the stature of divinity in the imagination of the Assamese people although the heroic and miraculous elements in the Rāmāyaṇa and ‘Rāma-kathā’ have continued to be a lively ingredient of folk-drama and musical performances of the ojā-pāli. It is understandable therefore that for the common people of this region the Assamese Rāmāyaṇa is hardly the religious text that the Bhāgavata-purāṇa is.

But, Śaṅkaradeva made an effort in his own rendition of ‘Uttarakāṇḍa’ as well as in the interpolated verses in Mādhava Kandalī’s text ascribed to him and to his disciple Mādhavadeva, to portray Rāma as the ultimate godhead, the soul of all living beings. In his actual rendering of the character of Rāma in ‘Uttarakāṇḍa’ however, there is no attempt to tone down the apparent weaknesses in the character of the hero. Readers are often bewildered by the apparently critical portrayal of this divine being which comes through not only in Sītā’s severe indictment of his unjust behaviour towards her but also in the poet’s own narration of the story.

In the first half of the fourteenth century of the common era, Mādhava Kandalī, also known as Kavirāja Kandalī, composed his Saptakāṇḍa Rāmāyaṇa in the literary vernacular of Assam. In one of the several colophonic verses that intersperse the text, the poet states that he has rendered the Rāmāyaṇa of Vālmīki into the “language of man” at the request of the Barāhi king Mahāmāṇikya who was ruling over central Assam around that time. Śaṅkaradeva pays unstinting compliments to his predecessor Mādhava Kandalī as a “faultless” (apramādī) poet whose style cannot be matched by any later poet, including himself. Mādhava Kandalī’s Rāmāyaṇa has been considered as one of the earliest vernacular renderings of the epic into verse in northern India. It predates Kṛttibāsa’s Bengali Rāmāyaṇa (fifteenth century CE), Tulsidāsa’s Rāmacaritamānasa (sixteenth century CE) and the Oriya Jagamohana Rāmāyaṇa of Balarāma Dāsa (sixteenth century CE).

Mādhava Kandalī claims in a colophonic verse at the end of his ‘Laṅkākāṇḍa’ that he had rendered his “seven- kāṇḍa” Rāmāyaṇa in verse; but the ‘Ādikāṇḍa’ and the ‘Uttarakāṇḍa’, even if they had been there in the original work, were absent from the copies of the manuscripts that have been in circulation since the neo-Vaiṣṇava period which begins in the fifteenth century with the advent of Śaṅkaradeva and his disciples who initiated a vigorous movement for the dissemination of the ekaśaraṇa nāma- dharma. One can therefore only conjecture about the existence or non-existence of these kandas in the original Mādhava Kandalī text. But, as stated in the Kathā Guru Carita, Śaṅkaradeva and his disciple Mādhavadeva had decided to complete the vernacular Rāmāyaṇa of Mādhava Kandalī by supplementing the initial and concluding books which were missing in the available text of Mādhava Kandalī.

Sītā speaks in her own voice on about ten occasions in the seven books of Vālmīki’s Rāmāyaṇa. Vālmīki does not portray her merely as an embodiment of a certain set of patriarchal values, with no possibility of acquiring an agency of her own. In the delineation of her character, the poet allows ample space for questioning certain values associated with the concepts of hierarchical power. Sītā’s voice of resistance may not always be clearly heard in the Valmiki text, but it is audible above the din of battles and struggle for power, as a contrapuntal strain.

In the Assamese Ramayana text, especially the Uttarakanda ascribed to Sankaradeva, Sita speaks at length, especially in the final scene where she declares forcefully her decision to reject Rama’s proposal of taking her back after making her go through another test by fire. Sita’s last speech in which she vents her anger against Rama, contains strong words of condemnation which would not have found a place in the Valmiki text where Sita is portrayed as a woman who rarely uses words which might have been considered as inappropriate to her social position as the pativrata wife who is well versed in the rules of streedharma. It is intriguing why the Assamese Vaishnava poet chose to put those strong words in the lips of Sita in his vernacular version of the Sanskrit text despite the fact that his stated intention was to instill bhakti-rasa into the text composed by his predecessor Madhava Kandali. It remains a mystery therefore why the Assamese poet depicted the character of Sita in such a way as to almost make her a representative of the feminist voice of protest against a patriarchal order where the woman’s part was scripted to be meek and subservient to the masculine will.

In Sakaradeva’s Uttarakanda Sita does not hesitate to refer to Rama as ‘Yamkal’—the very incarnation of the lord of Death. This portrayal of Sita is unusual for a composition by a leading Vaisnava writer and preacher in whose religious structure women were generally excluded. In Mādhava Kandalī’s Rāmāyaṇa, Sītā is represented as a woman with extraordinary physical beauty. She is aware of her physical charm and the power she can wield over her husband because of this. However, despite her earthy attributes, Mādhava Kandalī’s Sītā has been endowed with suitable dignity in situations where she asserts her difference from an ordinary woman who is fickle and runs after trivial pleasures. When the distraught Kauśalyā asks her to be always attentive to her husband Rāma, she replies: “do not consider me to be an ordinary woman, mother” and then goes on to talk about the virtues of the pātivratya dharma. These words find an echo in her speech at the end of Laṅkākāṇḍa when she replies to Rāma’s unjust accusation.

Sītā’s views on the subordinate status of women do not come through very forcefully in the Vālmīki text. In the fifth book of Vālmīki’s Rāmāyaṇa, Sītā cries out in a moment of despair: “How pathetic is this human state! How wretched to be under the power of another! Although I wish to, I cannot end my life.” The word used for subjection here is paravaśyatama.

The ambiguity inherent in the Vālmīki text which may be subject to multiple interpretations including the feminist one, has however been dispensed with in the Mādhava Kandalī text. Sītā in the Assamese version repeats at least three times the line “strī jāti parādhīn, nahe svatantarī” (women are a subjugated race, they are never independent) thus using the term “parādhīn” in a generalized sense, attributing it to all women, irrespective of their status. The certitude expressed in Mādhava Kandalī’s version may have been possibly inspired by Manu’s views on the woman’s subordinate status. But when Sītā speaks the words which refer to a universal condition of women’s lack of freedom within the patriarchal structure, they seem to spring from her deep realization about the similarity between her own predicament during her confinement in the aśoka grove and the condition of the oppressed rākṣasa women who were compelled by Rāvaṇa, their master, to torment her. Her words seem to convey her gradual realization that for her there is actually no release from subjugation, whether in Rāvaṇa’s garden or in Rāma’s kingdom.

In the Assamese Rāmāyaṇa, Mādhava Kandalī adheres more or less faithfully to the Vālmīki version of the Sītā-Rāvaṇa and Sītā-Hanumāna encounters in the Sundarakāṇḍa. The emotionally charged turbulent scene between Rāma and Sītā which leads up to the first fire ordeal of Sītā, has also been represented in the Assamese version without significant alterations. But, Mādhava Kandalī makes Sītā speak a few extra words that sum up her views on a broken relationship between a man and a woman:.

1. At last Rāma raised his eyes to Sītā’s, His heart was in turmoil behind his stern gaze.
2. He spoke to her in a voice full of anger: “Listen to me, you Janaka’s daughter,
3. I killed Rāvaṇa in battle and cleared my name. By bringing you back I have recovered my family’s fame.
4. Had I not killed my wife’s abductor, people would have thought I had silently accepted defeat.
5. By silencing all scurrilous gossips of common men, now I have freed my illustrious family from all blame.
6. Your abduction by King Ravana had been ordained by Fate, and by annihilating your abductor I have asserted my might.”
7. Guessing the intention behind Rama’s words instinctively, the divine Sītā trembled and perspired in anxiety.
8. As when the full moon darkens when it is suddenly covered by clouds, her fair countenance lost its luster and brilliance.
9. “Listen to me Jānakī,” Rama said, “I will have nothing more to do with you. I have kept my promise to Vibhīṣaṇa by installing him on the throne of Laṅkā.
10. I have helped great Māruti to keep his pledge and I have fulfilled the aspirations of my friend Sugrīva.
11. “Not for your sake did I perform my heroic deeds, but to clear my fair name have I asserted my masculine prowess
12. “Now open your eyes and behold! The whole world is rejoicing at my victory. So I discard you now, Sītā. You may go where you please.
13. “Rāvaṇa had abducted you and kept you with him for a long time. Who would ever believe in your chastity after all that?
14. “Taking you back now would seem as foolish as to try and swim with a stone tied to my chest.
15. “It is impossible for me to accept you again after your long sojourn in the palace of Rāvaṇa .
16. “If I do take you back my reputation would suffer. I cannot accept you because I fear scandalous gossip.
17. “So, you may go and offer yourself to Bharata or Lakṣmaṇa , or even to Vibhīṣaṇa or Sugrīva .
18. “It is unbelievable that a woman of surpassing beauty like you would have been left untouched by Rāvaṇa.”
19. Hearing such cruel words from her husband Sītā’s heart became heavy with grief and shame.
20. Rāma’s cruel words like arrows pierced her heart and Janaka’s daughter at last slowly began to speak:
21. I was born into an excellent family and my father gave me in marriage to a mahanta. clan.
22.  But you have seen in me only a common woman, offering me to others as though I were a mere courtesan
23. “The sinful Rāvaṇa had abducted me and being a woman I had no freedom to assert my own.
24. “But my inner self I have always kept inviolate. My heart has remained faithful to you night and day.
25. Sacred dharma and the earth herself shall bear witness that I am not what you suspect me to be.
26. “Let ordinary men hold what opinion they I know in my heart of hearts that I am chaste and pure.
27. “ If you had let me know about your intentions then when Hanumanta had come in search of me,
28. “I would have given up my life in his very presence and spared your soldiers all the trouble they have taken for my sake.
29. “How heartless and cruel are all men! You do not have the sensitivity to remember any of my good qualities.
30. “I know that iron once broken can never be moulded back into shape again. So let me decide upon a medicine to put an end to my suffering.”
31. Then calling out to Lakṣmaṇa the hapless Sītā said, “I, the unlucky Sītā, appeal to you my brother! Build me a pyre as soon as you can.
32. “I shall find my own salvation by jumping into the fire. What use is there for a life like mine?”

In his poetic rendering of the Uttarakāṇḍa, Śaṅkaradeva gives ample scope to Sītā to voice her anger and disillusionment at Rāma’s inhuman behaviour towards her. Coming from the pen of a Vaiṣṇava saint-poet this bitter condemnation of Rāma by his pativratā wife seems to be incongruous with the perception of all devotees of Rāma that he is the paragon of virtue. But, scholarly exegetes on the Rāmāyaṇa have repeatedly pointed towards the manner in which, from the time of Vālmīki onwards, this ‘idealized model of humanity has been problematized” in the Rāmāyaṇa tradition. Various solutions have been offered in the Indian literary tradition to the bewildering problems raised by Rāma’s character. In keeping with the tradition of contributing creatively to the ‘ur-text’ of Vālmīki, the Assamese poets have added new emotional and philosophic dimensions to it, thereby enriching a vibrant tradition.

The silence of Sītā in Vālmīki’s Uttarakāṇḍa has been broken by Śaṅkaradeva who allows her to respond with scathing bitterness to the messengers of Rāma when they come to  take her back to Ayodhya to face another public trial of her chastity. Sītā speaks out in words which are loaded with bitter irony and cynicism:

1. Recounting before them all her travails in the forest, Sītā cried inconsolably in front of the four brave heroes.
2. Controlling her sorrow after a while , thus answered Sītā the chaste one:
3. “Listen O Suṣeṇa, Hanumanta, and the king of Laṅkā! Listen O Śatrughna, my husband’s youngest brother!

4. “I have been living here all this while trying to forget my misfortunes. Why do you come now to disturb me by reminding me of my agony?
5. “If I still cherish the desire to return to Ayodhyā and partake of all the royal pleasures there, if I wish to behold the face of Rāma once more,
6. “If I still yearn to live in Rāma’s house as his wife, then there never will be a woman more bereft of shame than me!
7. “I beg of you not to speak any more on this. Rāma has done me all the harm that is possible. Now nothing more remains for him to do.
8. “He who had arranged to kill me with the two infants in my womb, what does he intend to do now by taking me back again?
9. “I am living now only for the sake of my sons because they would be orphaned if I die.

Śaṅkaradeva’s depiction of the scene of Sītā’s final farewell is dramatic as well as powerful in its emotional content. The poet recreates the scene in accordance with the classical dramatic tradition. It must be remembered that Śaṅkaradeva had invented the form of the aṅkīya-nāṭa which is a uniquely creative combination of devotional music, dance and dramatic dialogue and that the Assamese saint-poet was also one of the earliest poets to dramatize scenes from the Rāmāyaṇa. The emotionally surcharged scene of Sītā’s final bow to the world is prepared by the poet with a preceding chabi section which acts as an interlude. In this the poet digresses into a brief sketch of his own family history, followed by a modest apology for his endeavour to compose the verses of the Uttarakāṇḍa in the footsteps of his great predecessor Mādhava Kandalī.

In the next pada section, Sītā makes her dramatic entry. Clad in the garment of an ascetic, her body thin and emaciated by the fasts and vows undertaken, she walks behind her guardian Vālmīki with eyes downcast, not acknowledging the gazes and comments of the people gathered by the wayside. Unlike Vālmīki’s text where there is a brief mention of the sages, courtiers, rākṣasas, monkeys and men from all the castes who have assembled in the sacrificial ground to witness the trial of Sītā, the Assamese poet paints a vivid and dramatic picture of the common folk, especially the women, who have come out to the street in large numbers to witness Sītā’s sorrow and to sympathise with her:

27. Showing loving concern for Sītā, Rāma then looked towards his brother, and Bharata at once offered her a golden chair.
28. All the three brothers then implored her to accept the seat; but the heart-broken Sītā with her eyes cast down, stood apart in grief
29. Anger, insult and shame had so wounded Jānakī’s heart that as she stood, uncontrolled tears streamed down her cheeks.
30. Her anguished and storm-tossed soul seethed with rage,as she cast angry sidelong glances at her husband.
31. His loving gaze rebuffed by Sītā’s angry looks, Raghunātha lowered his head and stood.
32. Afraid and ashamed to face Jānakī’s wrath , Rāghava the destroyer of foes diffidently stood apart.
33. Like a luminous flame of burning fire, Sītā’s body trembled in grief and anger.
34. Seeing her thus, Rāma’s heart was seized with great fear, and people stared at him in amazement:
35. So overcome was Sītā by her rage that the audience feared that she might reduce her husband to ashes with her curses.
36. Anticipating that a great catastrophe was about to strike the world, the sages and divines trembled in apprehension.
37. Silently she stood for a while with eyes cast down , sorrow and anger shaking her tender frame.
38. Then turning her back upon Rāma in her anger, Sītā faced the audience without any fear.
39. She spoke thus to the assembly from the depths of her unhappy soul: “I know you will censure me when you hear my words.
40. “Everybody knows that Rāma is my husband and I am his wedded wife, faithful and obedient.
41. “He went to the forest when he was banished by his father and I too spent fourteen years by his side in exile.
42. “I am a woman who is not a free being because I am subjected to the will of a single master. Therefore, when Rāvaṇa abducted me I could not protect myself….
43. “I have served Rāma with complete sincerity and devotion, knowing him to be my only lord and master.
44. “Judge, O ye people, whether such deceitful conduct is appropriate for a husband. Why did he adopt such treacherous means in order to get rid of me?
45. “Others may praise him for all his deeds. But Death incarnate is Rāma for me.
46. “I have never heard of a husband more unkind than he.  O how can I again look upon him again with love and pride?”
47. When they saw the rising tide of anger in Sītā, the people feared that a great calamity was surely near at hand.
48. In unbearable pain Sītā raved on thus: “ If you place some grains of paddy on Rāma’s treacherous tongue, they would instantly puff up and crackle in the heat!”
49. Then throwing an angry glance at Rāma she enquired: “Why did you take me back only to discard me again?
50. “Alas! Had I known earlier about your cruel intentions I would have happily accepted death as my salvation.
51. “O most heartless of men who I call my husband, you never could remember even a single virtue of mine.
52. “Just like an ordinary man who suddenly discards his wife, you sent me to exile by sheer deception.
53. “Your evil behavior is even worse than that of the rākṣasas because you tried to kill a woman defying all righteous codes of behaviour.
54. “Can you recall from amongst all your illustrious ancestors one instance of someone committing a sin so grave?
55. “By punishing me unjustly for a crime that I know not of, you have spread my infamy all through the world
56. “Never will my name be clear from such an infamy which Rāma’s unfair judgment has heaped upon me.
57. “If I now agree to live with you once again as your wedded wife, there never will be born a woman more devoid of shame than me.
58. “I am Sītā, the beloved daughter of King Janaka and the wife of the eldest son of King Daśaratha.
59. “My status was once that of King Rāma’s queen; but it is you who have reduced me thus to ruin .”
60. Thus spoke Jānakī as she sought her mother’s lap. Lying on the ground she moaned aloud and wept.
61. Sītā’s sorrow moved the hearts of all the beholders. They cried out in grief, sharing her great sorrow.
62. Nothing could expel the shaft that pierced her heart, as slighted by Rāma she writhed in agony and insult
63. She spoke again in a voice that was choked with pain: “Never again will I set my eyes on the face of this Rāghava.”
64. Then turning to the Earth with palms joined she prayed: “You who had brought me to this world, O my mother ,
65. “Grant me this wish that I may never again hear the name of this Rāma. So, open your door mother, and shelter me below.

Sītā’s last speech and her dramatic farewell to the world have inspired diverse poets through the centuries to represent the scene with greater cathartic effect. In Śaṅkaradeva’s composition, Sītā emerges as a powerful tragic heroine who towers over all the other characters in the scene of her farewell. She seems to escape into the fold of nature beyond all human laws (of kings/of Rāma). Even Rāma’s divinity appears pale in comparison with the brilliant tragic heights achieved by Sītā in this scene. Śaṅkaradeva’s handling of this episode in the Assamese Rāmāyaṇa, obviously differs from that in the Vālmīki text. It is because of the existence of variations such as these that attention has been focused in recent Rāmāyaṇa scholarship on the immense possibilities of re-reading the Rāmāyaṇa texts in the regional languages. These texts speak volumes about the different worldviews and cultural variations of the regions from which they emerge.