Ram Navami – the unbearable burden

Today is Ram Navami. The birthday of Lord Ram. Millions of devotees celebrate today, praying to Him, asking Him for His blessings and His bounty. Whilst doing so, perhaps we should spare a moment to think about what He went through in His life. And wonder, did we and do we expect too much of Him?

The Washerman

The dhobi smote the greying dhoti hard on the stone. Soapy water sprayed. He lifted the soggy garment and struck the stone harder. Again. And again. The fabric protested and frayed, unable to contain his frustration.

“Why should she not come back?” he thought, angrily. “She’s my wife. What happens between us is our personal matter. Why the hell is everyone else getting involved?”

He threw the tired dhoti on the washed pile, and snatched up a sheet. He began scrubbing it furiously on the stone.

“So she walked out after our argument. So she went and stayed with someone else. She just wanted to prove a point. Now, it’s become a big issue; about her virtue! To everyone else! I know her. She did not sleep with Balu; he is her Rakhi brother. She has always been faithful and loyal and honest. Now, everyone says she is ‘soiled’! What is she, some kind of undergarment?

His shoulders sagged. The reality of the situation pressed down on him. He stopped washing the clothes as his eyes filled with tears. He knew that his marriage was over. And that he did not have a say in the matter. He cursed and angrily wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“I know that I am just a dhobi. I can’t stand against society,” he gritted to himself. “Am I to always bear the burden of others’ expectations? Am I never to be free?

His Mother

The old woman squatted next to the stove, stirring the glutinous mix that was bubbling in the stone pot.

“What is wrong with this world?”, she muttered, “How am I going to manage without my bahu? What am I, 30 years old? And what has she done? Nothing! She and my son fought, she walked out, she went to Balu’s place where she knew she would be safe, and then, when she knew he would be sufficiently contrite, she came back. Now, the elders are saying that she is unclean, and cannot return!

The dish was slowly coagulating, and the stirrer moved sluggishly. The old woman did not notice. She was visualizing a broken future, with a devastated son and a desolate household.

“I know I am just a woman. I can’t stand against society,” she wearily thought. “Are we to always carry the burden of societal norms? Are we never to be free?”

The King

Lord Ram leaned back on the throne, as his ministers and courtiers filed out of the room. The plush softness against his skin and the gentle breeze wafted by the punkhas did nothing to soothe His agitation.

“How am I supposed to tell my beloved?” He wondered, “How am I to live a day without her?”

He took a deep breath. His Kshatriya blood began to simmer.

“What has this world come to? Just because a dhobi is not taking his wife back after she stayed for a day in someone else’s house, does this mean that Sita is to be punished? What has she done? She is the paragon of virtue, the epitome of everything loving, caring and joyful. Only she has stood by me through thick and thin, even enduring fourteen years of a mendicant’s life in the forest because of me. Because of me, she was kidnapped. She was imprisoned in a foreign land. She walked through fire for me, for God’s sake!”

He stood up, unable to control His emotions any more. He began pacing the length of the throne room. As the minutes passed, His walk changed gradually, from a confident and assertive stride, to a passive and reluctant amble.

He went back to the throne, and lowered Himself into it gingerly, all His vitality having faded away. He turned to the courtier standing to His right.

“Call the royal charioteer,” He ordered. “Tell him to prepare for a journey to the forest…”

He lowered His head in His hands. “I know I am just a king. I can’t stand against society,” He mourned. “Am I to always dance to the tune of others’ opinions? Am I ever going to be free?”

The Victim

Lady Sita folded the sari carefully and slide it into the cloth hold-all. She stood back and looked around at the bedroom that she and her husband had shared for the past few years. Her lovely face was ashen, sorrow and dignity warring to dominate her expression.

“I knew this day would come,” she thought, “I knew it wasn’t enough being tested by fire. Finally, it is about walking the gauntlet of pitiless expectations.”

Against her will, a tear broke free from her lashes and slid down her cheek.

“I don’t want to blame Him,” she reined her emotions firmly, “I know that He is King, and that He has to bow to the will of the people. But, banishing me? Me, who has loved Him and stood by Him and surrendered everything to Him? It was not my fault that I was kidnapped…”

The tears flowed freely, as her hands squeezed the pallu of her sari.

“How will I live without Him?” she mourned. “How will I live in the forest again, without Him? He is the Supreme Being; if He casts me away, where do I go for shelter?”

Her hands left the pallu to swing free. Unconsciously, they went to her belly.

“And He doesn’t even know that I am pregnant. And I can’t tell Him. Not now”

“How long will we always have to please others, instead of living for ourselves?” she wept, “Will the earth have to swallow me before that happens?”

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SHESH / SINGAPORE / 13 APRIL 2019