Twice-born: A Saga of Earth and Fire

 Born of the earth,

Swaddled in a star-spangled blanket, 

I lay on the ground as a babe. 

The earth was my mother, the sky my father. 

Then I was adopted by the king and queen of Mithila. 

Sita, they called me. What does that mean, you ask? 

It means furrow. 

Where did I come from, people wondered; 

But my parents-- already I called them that-- 

Considered me a gift of Mother Earth, 

And cherished me as their own daughter. 

Later, they had a biological daughter, Urmila, 

And they loved us both equally.

Some called me a miracle child, 

Others a freak of nature. 

Even I did not know who I really was. 

But does it really matter? 

You know who I am, don't you? 

If not, you'll know soon enough. 

I won't bore you with the details of my life;

My story has been recounted often enough. 

Married to Ram, sent into exile, abducted by  Ravan, rescued by my virtuous husband. 

Virtue. A double-edged sword. 

As you know, Ram demanded a purity test;

An agni-pariksha. To determine my virtue. 

Don't judge him too harshly. I suppose he did what he had to do. 

You can guess how I felt, how every woman must feel, 

And so I steeled myself. I'll triumph over all of you, I thought. 

Into the flames I went. 

As I stepped on the pyre, the flames crackled, 

Growing softer and softer with every step I took. 

The Lord of Fire caressed me like a loving parent, 

And I walked out, glowing red-gold. 

I was now Sita the twice-born,

Sita, daughter of Earth and Fire. 

What's that? 

You guessed it, my story doesn't end here. 

Ram was delighted, and accepted me; 

We returned to Ayodhya, were crowned king and queen, 

And lived merrily for a while. 

To top it all off, I was with child! 

But, alas-- as they say, 

Happiness is ephemeral. 

It certainly was for us. 

Tongues will wag, they always do. 

Even a loved queen is not safe from their sneering whispers. 

She's impure, she's unworthy, they murmured; 

Their voices crawled through the city and stabbed the palace. 

You know what happened next, but let me go ahead and say it:

Perhaps that will act as catharsis. 

I was taken back to the forest-- this time, 

I was to remain alone, away from my husband. 

My belly moved with the signs of life, 

Even as I allowed myself to wallow in my grief. 

But then-- then I wiped my tears, 

And quietly vowed that I'd live. 

I had to, for my life was no longer my own. 

Well, I was taken in by the kind Sage Valmiki;

That's right, he's the mahakavi who wrote the Ramayan--

Ram's story. My story. Our sons' story. 

Desiring to keep my identity a secret, he called me Vandevi,

Goddess of the Forest. That suits me just as much as Sita. 

The forest was my succour and hope;

My twin sons, Luv-Kush, grew up 

Surrounded by Nature's abundant love, 

Just like me when I was a babe, and then 

during those surprisingly happy years of exile. 

But this, too, was not to last. 

Don't stare at me so sadly, I need no pity. 

Let me go on with the story: 

The Ashwamedha Yagna, my sons' first meeting with their father--

You can't imagine the anguish I went through. 

Even more so when he found out they were his children

After their sweet, golden voices recited the entire Ramayan. 

Try to picture Ram's feelings-- can you? 

Because I hardly could. 

Time to come back into the picture. 

Anger and hope were battling inside my heart;

I still loved the man who chose kingship over being a husband and a father. 

I know he loved me, too. But sometimes, 

One must make difficult choices and walk on burning earth. 

If tongues still wagged, I knew what I must do. 

That brings us to the last part of my life. 

When I appeared in court for the first time in years, 

Sage Valmiki stood in front of me, while my sons clung to me. 

I blocked everything out-- I could hear Ram's heartbeat. 

I could feel his love and anguish enveloping me. 

Surely he must have felt the same way: 

But so, so predictably, he asked for another agnipariksha. 

'Proof' that these children were his. 

What would you have done in my place? 

I couldn't take it any more. 

I love you, I said, my voice resounding, 

To my husband, my sons, my sister, my parents. 

But I can't stay with any of you any longer. 

I went back to where I came from: 

My first mother, the earth. 

In her embrace I gave myself up; 

Her love was a warm golden glow. 

I heard Ram's cries of anguish, his voice mingled with my sons'; 

My heart broke, but I couldn't stop. 

Deep into the bowels of the earth I went.

Would you say this is a sad ending?

I don't really know. 

Sometimes, you have to let your loved ones go. 

Sometimes, you must walk through flames to reach the earth. 

That's what Sita did.