Tomorrow is Vivah Panchami, the wedding anniversary of Sri Rama and Sita Devi. Those who love them may like to celebrate it with their partners as our desi ‘Valentine’s Day’, buy flowers, and prepare or order something sweet. After all, their names are part of Indian weddings, including King Janaka’s immortal line “Iyam Sita, mama suta” to Rama at the wedding ceremony, meaning “This is Sita, my daughter”. Families and single people, young and old, may like to celebrate too for love is worth rejoicing in, be it romantic, platonic, or familial.
In some communities, the bride and groom sit on a flower-wrapped swing and the ladies gather around them, singing, “Sita kalyanam vaibhogamey” (‘The glorious wedding of Sita’). This is an 18th-century Sanskrit composition by Thyagaraja, who remained an ardent devotee of Rama, though he was mocked by his own brother. The song is set in Lord Shiva’s favourite raga, Shankarabharanam, whose Hindustani equivalent is Bilawal Thaat. They are fundamental scales and correspond to the C Major scale in Western music. The song begins, “Pavanaja stuti paatra paavana charitra”, meaning, “Praised by Lord Hanuman”, who would surely have loved being there had he known Rama then. It describes the beautiful wedding of Rama and Sita and praises Rama’s many fine qualities.
Some may ask, and with just cause, “Why should we celebrate? Did that marriage turn out well?” The answer to that is simple and straightforward. What went to the Indian heart and stayed there is the luminous quality of the love that Rama and Sita shared, their mutual loyalty, their unflinching acceptance of life’s twists and turns, and especially, how they made the best of things, not the worst.
Two particular instances come to mind about their positive approach. One, that Sita, a princess, who has only ever lived in palaces with maids and attendants to wait on her, is blithely open to new experiences as long as she is with her beloved Rama. In fact, she adjusts so well to her simple woodland life that she asks Rama wistfully, “Must we really go back to the city? Life is so pleasant here in the forest.”
And in the Valmiki Ramayana 3:15 (Aranyakaandam, Sarga 15), we see a touching family dynamic. The ‘three’ have arrived in the flowering forest of Panchavati in a green valley by the Godavari, with mountains all around. They’re looking for a place in which to build their little hermitage, as safe as possible from the snakes and wild animals in the forest. Rama notes with satisfaction the ideal location of a woodland glade full of flowering creepers and shrubs. It is conveniently located by the river, on which they see swans and chakravaka birds, just as Rishi Agastya had told them they would.
Rama notices that the coppery mineral streaks in the mountains catch the light and gleam like the oval vents in the houses and buildings back in Ayodhya, or like the ceremonially painted hides of the royal elephants in the Ikshvaku stables. There’s a lovely lake near the glade, in which deep pink and pure white lotuses bloom. Thick grass grows handily around to perform their daily prayers with the earth connection that is an essential part of their faith.
Sita, who loves gardens and parks, finds the air sweet with the scent of golden champaka flowers. Rama is delighted to see many other kinds of trees too—sal, tamal, jackfruit, mango, date palm, ashok, shami and kimshuk. He turns to Lakshmana and says, “Will you make a parna-shala, a thatched cottage, for us in this pleasant place by the Godavari?”
He doesn’t give Lakshmana a single order, nor does Sita tell him to do this or do that. Old-style commentators may like to remind us that Lakshmana is bound to serve Rama anyway as the avatar of Adisesha, the cosmic serpent. That may be so in theology, but story-wise, in their earthly situation, it’s a great gesture of respect, trust and delicacy from Rama and Sita.
Thus, Lakshmana, a prince who’s never made a cottage before, gets to work. He raises a high clay floor, makes strong bamboo pillars for the clay walls, and rafters of shami branches. He creates a snug thatch of kusa and kaasa, grass and leaves. He has independent charge of the project while Rama and Sita gather kindling and food for each day, be it roots, fruit and berries or venison that Rama hunts.
In passing, it’s true that some people view Rama’s diet through their own preferences. However, on page 120 of the 2014 edition of C Rajagopalachari’s Ramayana, originally published in 1951, Rajaji, a strict vegetarian himself, matter-of-factly states that three ate meat, noting that it was normal for them.
Lakshmana builds an admirable cottage so well that it thrills Rama and Sita. Rama is so moved that he hugs Lakshmana and says, “It’s like father is back”, meaning that Lakshmana has shown so much love and care in making the parna-shala that Rama, grieving for Raja Dasaratha, feels comforted.
As family situations go, it seems to be about giving each other space and, in turn, doing our thoughtful best for each other. Valmiki is subtle like that. He reports such moving incidents without commentary, leaving it to us to notice the positive nuances. This is grown-up storytelling, which is another reason this epic has gone so deep. Not that people really require reasons, I feel, to celebrate the wedding of Rama and Sita.
Renuka Narayanan | FAITHLINE | Senior journalist
(Views are personal)
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