When discussing the differences between men and women, feminist and author Eve Ensler described a social phenomenon that begins early in the lives of males: “From the time a boy cries, or has a feeling…or asks a question, or doesn’t know, he’s told he’s weak… ‘be a man’” (Ensler). In this vein of logic, to “be a man” is to enact the opposite of these behaviors – a man must censor emotion, must not question, must know. Only then is he strong and masculine. By these perimeters, the Hindu holy man Rama is an excellent example of masculinity. In the text chronicling his life, the Ramayana, he is purported as God and perfection embodied; compassionate, brave and strong. Beyond this, Kathleen Erndl in her essay “The Mutilation of Surpanakha” writes, “Rama, much more than Krsna, Siva, Durga or other Hindu deities, has been held as the exemplary ethical deity” (Erndl 67). Despite this honorable mantle, however, Rama’s interactions with female characters bear a surprising cruelty for a man of such prowess. Specifically Rama’s call for the mutilation of Surpanakha, and his distrust of his devoted wife Sita as illustrated in his hateful speech delivered to her at Lanka. Rama’s motivation for his actions is the potential for sexual deviance in these women, the distress surrounding this provokes extreme and brutal responses from the human deity. What is most captivating in relation to these instances is not so much Rama’s actions, but rather the powerful reactions of the women in question. Though both female characters have no real agency within the patriarchal structure that is their society, the women are able to illustrate their power within the realms accessible to them in this structure through self-sacrifice and influence upon men with authority in patriarchal society. Though these actions generate no permanent retribution for Rama, they are nonetheless incredibly impressive. The accounts of Surpanakha and Sita are clearly echoed in the writings of modern Indian activist and author, Mahasweta Devi; specifically in her short story “Draupadi”, in which a woman sacrifices her body to protect her male counterparts, only to become monstrous and terrifying to those around her.
Rama’s largest obstacle in the Ramayana, the defeat of the raksasi demon king Ravana, is sparked by an interaction with the king’s sister Surpanakha. Surpanakha sees Rama in the Panchavati forest and attempts to woo him, and in failing to do so grows frustrated and decides to devour the demi-god’s wife Sita in order to obtain him. She is unsuccessful in this venture, as Rama catches hold of her and then orders his brother Laksmana to “Mutilate this ugly, unvirtuous, extremely ruttish, great-bellied raksasi” (Valmiki 17.20). This part of the tale seems straightforward enough (a woman demon attempting to kill a pure being for selfish reasons), yet there is far more illustrated in this scene than simply comeuppance. As Erndl writes, “The immediate reason for Surpanakha’s disfigurement [seems] to be her attempt to devour Sita. However, the implied reason is her attempt at adultery” (Erndl 72). Surpanakha is an aberration in Hindu culture – a female being who roams the forest alone. She has no male companion, as she is a widow. Erndl describes Surpanakha as a woman who “is unattached and wanders about freely…she describes herself as a strong woman who goes where she likes under her own power” (83-4). Rama and Laksmana have encountered a woman with agency. Beyond that she is a raksasi demon with mystic powers. Erndl writes, “…there is a deep suspicion of women’s power and sexuality when unchecked by male control” (68). Surpanakha’s status as a widow is quite problematic, as it implies she is not a virgin yet not tethered to a man. Erndl argues it is the fact that Surpanakha is a widow which marks her as evil, even saying “[her] being raksasi is at best a contributing factor” to her evil nature (84). Though this all makes Surpanakha inherently untrustworthy to the brothers, her sexual advances are what condemn her, playing into the belief that a woman with no husband to rein her in will become wicked and adulterous. With her attempt to pursue Rama she is violating one of the greater conventions of her patriarchal society – no woman may approach a man for sex or love, especially not independent of a male liason. In the twelfth century retelling of the Ramayana by the Tamil poet Kampan (the Iramavataram), the issue of Surpanakha’s purity is addressed quite directly. When Surpanakha sees Rama, “the love in her heart swelled higher than a flooding river or even the ocean, as her wisdom disappeared, her purity waned” (Kampan 26.2854). Erndl writes of purity in Hindu culture, saying, “[Purity] is a significant quality…believed to provide women with great power…if Surpanakha lacks purity, then all her other powers will ultimately fail” (Erndl 73). But of course this is not true – the idea that Surpanakha’s power lessens with her lack of purity is a complete construct. She still remains incredibly powerful, as illustrated in the Tamil text during the evening after Surpanakha interacts with Rama: “When the water she bathed in began boiling, she was terrified in fear of the flames burning away her life” (79.2907). Surpanakha’s love for Rama is so strong she compels water to boil around her body. She still clearly possesses a great deal of capabilities despite her lust for the man. But her power is not limited to the corporeal, as Rama is quick to discover. It is because of Surpanakha he will be caught up in an incredible and lengthy battle and have his wife stolen from him.
With a woman demon like Surpanakha transgressing so offensively, the men feel justified in harming her in order to imprint her trespasses upon her bodily. Upon Rama’s orders, Laksmana cuts off Surpanakha’s nose and ears, after which she goes to her brother Khara and tells him to seek revenge (Erndl 71). In the Tamil version, Rama is not present during the mutilation, carried out by Laksmana when he “pushes her down and cuts off her nose, ears and nipples” (74). Both versions of the mutilation leave Surpanakha in a horrible state. In the Tamil text, Rama sees Surpanakha writhing on the ground and does not recognize her from their previous encounter. She says “When a woman has lost her nipples, her ears with their earrings, her nose like a vine…isn’t her beauty destroyed?” (Kampan 119.2947). Indeed, Surpanakha’s body has been devastated by the mutilation. Erndl describes the implications of these marred body parts, stating, “…cutting [breasts] off is a humiliating punishment which deprives a woman of her power. The nose is a symbol of honor” (Erndl 81-2). To these men, the loss of her nose simply illustrates the truth of her character. She lost her honor in approaching Rama as she did. This mutilation is a display of that heinous act – a marker for the fallen woman. Concerning the cutting of the breasts, it is again an attempt at stripping the raksasi woman of her power. Despite their efforts, Rama and Laksmana have not, in fact, excised Surpanakha’s capabilities from her. While still alive, this woman still remains incredibly skillful in executing difficult maneuvers. When Rama easily destroys Khara and his warriors, Surpanakha then goes to her brother the raksasi king Ravana (71). She informs him of Rama’s acts, and tells Ravana he must maintain his honor. Surpanakha is also sure to describe Rama’s wife Sita to the evil king. Her description of Sita is so beautiful Ravana falls in love with the wife of his enemy. He plots to steal her and wage a war against Rama (71). Surpanakha performs a wonderful manipulation here. She knows she is not capable of enacting her revenge against Rama and Laksmana directly – she is a woman within the oppressive patriarchal structure, one she had rebelled against and paid a heavy cost. She, marred as she is, is hardly able to physically defeat a man who single-handedly destroyed three warriors. In order to enlist her brother in her cause, she focused directly on what she knew his interest would be: Sita’s beauty. Ravana is quick to capture Sita by luring Rama and then Laksmana away, leaving her vulnerable (71). With this, Surpanakha’s quest is complete (for the moment). Objectively Surpanakha’s actions are considered evil – they insight a long conflict and separate the hero from his beloved. Her evil ways, however, are attributed to her being a woman. The habit of considering gender in this examination seems to be unique to women. Erndl deliberates on this, saying, “Ravana’s evil deeds, for example, are never said to spring from his male nature” (83). But then of course there is Sita, the opposite of the crude disfigured demon. Their polarity is startling in its extremeness. This, too, is a trope for women characters, according to Erndl; “Although male characters also divide into good and bad, the split between women is far more pronounced and is always expressed in terms of sexuality” (83). Despite Sita’s filling the role of the superlative “good woman”, her difficulties do not end after her rescue from Ravana’s clutches. The issue of her sexuality comes to the forefront of Rama’s concerns as well, which is illustrated in his speech to her at Lanka.
In considering the exchange between Rama and Sita at Lanka, the Tamil version is far more compelling. It is the singular instance in which this text seems to implicate Rama as a man capable of cruelty even more so than the original Sanskrit, which implies this scene as a trial more for Rama than his wife and leads to the reveal of his being a Hindu deity. Though there is a markedly sharp and brutal speech from Rama in Valmiki’s text, it pales in comparison to Kampan’s version. It must be noted that there is a wealth of love between Rama and Sita, which even has divine implications of their echoing another relationship of Hindu deities. David Shulman discusses this likeness in his essay “Fire and Flood: the Testing of Sita in Kampan’s Iramavataram”, stating, “the two lovers are Visnu and Laksmi who have become separated from one another…They find one another again, in moving silence, when Rama and Sita fall in love” (Shulman 99). Of course this only makes Rama’s brutality all the more confounding. Beyond his being perfection personified, this is a woman he clearly loves a great deal. Shulman writes, “…the relationship between Rama and his wife is generally idealized in the Tamil text; thus Sita’s ordeal by fire, with its bitter overtones, acquires an intriguing singularity” (90). During Sita’s imprisonment, she remains completely faithful to Rama. As she approaches him on the battlefield at Lanka, Sita thinks about the uncertainty of reincarnation and death (likely inspired by the captivity she has escaped) but, in the end, states:
still all is well
now that I have worshiped
this husband
this lord
(Kampan VI.37.59)
Even if Sita dies, she feels satisfied with her life because of her devotion to Rama. It is in him she takes refuge, feels certainty. Unfortunately for Sita, the feelings are not mutual. In what is expected to be a happy reunion, Rama tells his wife,
You took pleasure in food
you didn’t die
for all your disgrace
in the great palace of the devious demon.
…
What has brought you here?
Did you imagine that I
could want you?
(62)
But of course Rama called for Sita to come to the battlefield. He has decided to shame her publicly. His brutality is inexplicable. Shulman writes of the implications of Rama’s speech, saying, “[Sita’s] survival alone is enough to impeach her” (Shulman 100). Rama continues:
womanhood, greatness,
high birth, the power
known as chastity
right conduct
…
all have perished by the mere birth
of a single creature such as you
(Kampan 66)
And so we come to the heart of the matter: Sita’s purity. The paranoia surrounding the potential for a woman’s sexual deviance once more becomes Rama’s focus and incentive for cruelty, this time enacted against a woman he loves dearly. Perhaps this is the source for Rama’s particularly venomous words – he has a huge emotional investment in this particular woman. This hardly seems an appropriate excuse, however, considering his final command to Sita:
Your conduct has destroyed forever
all understanding.
The thing to do
is to die
(68)
As Sita neglected to die during her imprisonment (apparently the noble and proper action) Rama is calling for her to kill herself. Having aired his suspicions concerning Sita’s purity before all on the battlefield at Lanka, Rama has sullied a woman who was previously considered a perfect and virtuous wife. He can hardly have her maintain the title after their interaction. He is apparently dissatisfied in her even roaming errant, like Surpanakha, thus abandoned by her husband. Only with Sita’s death will Rama’s accusations be confirmed and the validity of his cruelty justified. Though damning, Sita knows she has no other option.
Like a deer
on the point of death
tortured by a terrible thirst
…
who sees a lake
just beyond reach,
[Sita] grieved at the barrier
that rose before her
(71)
This analogy incredibly well wrought, considering the full implications of the situation. In it, Kampan is implying that there is a source for survival (a lake in the simile). Sita, if she were a man, or a woman in a different societal structure, could survive such a situation. She could simply leave, she could attempt to kill Rama; she could do many things other than sacrifice herself. But this is not her reality. Her reputation is completely destroyed – she thus has no future in this patriarchal society. In the analogy, Sita is the deer near death. Kampan is illustrating there are the means for survival, but she is met with an insurmountable barrier of separation from those means. She grieves for her life, her situation, the social structures suddenly looming in front of her. She grieves, knowing she has no other option then that set before her by Rama. She tells her husband,
All that I have suffered,
all that care
with which I kept my chastity,
…
all this seems crazy now,
a futile waste,
since you, O best of beings,
don’t understand it in your heart
(74)
Sita bites back with pointed sarcasm, but she makes a depressing and resigned argument here. If even Rama, the man known for his wealth of compassion, cannot empathize with her plight, what can she expect from lesser men? Shulman writes of Sita’s statement, saying the protestation is a “complaint aimed at Rama as both husband and…a god” (Shulman 102). But it is more than this only – Sita laments that even a perfect man cannot have insight into her struggle. The immediate assumption this “perfect” man has is that she employed sex for means of survival. With no other option, Sita calls for Laksmana to build a pyre, which Rama silently assents to. Laksmana builds the pyre “as if he had lost his own life” (Kampan 79). When Sita jumps into the pyre, there is a cry of protest from all the living and celestial beings, including Agni, the god of fire.
It is in the moment she enters the fire that Sita illustrates her power, invoking even a god to protest against Rama’s actions on her behalf.
She jumped in;
and as she entered, that fire was scorched
by her burning faithfulness
(85)
Sita’s power is so strong that, when she enters the fire, she burns the fire itself. At this point Agni steps in, due to the fact he was marred by the incredible woman’s strength. Shulman writes, “Agni points out that the beads of perspiration, formed on her body by her anger at her husband…were not dried up by his flames” (Shulman 104). Sita emerges from her pyre unscathed, the flames having so little effect even her sweat remains. Agni addresses Rama directly, saying, “You did not think about this divine flame of karpu [chastity], and so you have destroyed my power” (Kampan 105). Agni is displacing agency here – of course Rama played his role in harming the fire god, but in actuality this is an illustration of Sita’s capabilities. She can mar a god simply with her emotion. Agni pleads with Rama, attempting to convey this incredible fact:
will the earth bear its burden
…
or can this universe survive
if she becomes enraged?
If she utters a curse
even Brahma on his lotus
will die
(95)
Despite the barrier that rose before her, Sita navigated within the patriarchal structure and demonstrated the wealth of power she carries. She does this so successfully she wins the aid of a deity. As Shulman states, “Agni, tortured by [Sita’s] superior power, becomes her advocate” (Shulman 106). Sita can maim a god, but she cannot convince her husband of her purity until a deity speaks to him directly on the matter.
But this is all focusing on the divine aspects of the sequence of events. Linda Hess in her essay “Rejecting Sita” does an excellent job of putting the corporeal into perspective, saying,
In the human drama a living woman’s body is consigned to the flames,
as culmination of her career of perfect devotion to her husband and as
a final test of her sexual and psychological purity
(Hess 6)
So when Shulman states, “Silence, separation, and the failure to tell or understand: these are the undercurrents surging through the story of Sita’s trial” (Shulman 109) it hardly seems accurate. He nearly places blame on Sita in citing “the failure to tell” in the list of issues concerning the interaction. Hess cites the issues with Shulman’s essay quite pointedly, stating,
The specificity of the husband-wife relationship, the relentless reminders
of the husband’s superiority, the horrifying abuse inherent in the model
of the husband-lord and the worshipful wife who lives only to guard
her purity and surrender to his will, the sacrilizing of the whole arrange-
ment by making the perpetrator an incarnation of God—none of this
becomes noteworthy in Shulman’s essay
(Hess 8)
Hess understandably has great concern for this scene in relation to the long-term effect of such an interaction and sequence of events. Establishing a character like Rama as a guide; “a blueprint for right human action” (Erndl 67), women are left in a desperate situation within the patriarchal system. As Hess states, “Sita who clung to the dharma of worshiping her husband and bowing to his will, even when he repeatedly and cruelly rejected her, is still embraced as an ideal woman by many Hindus of both sexes” (Hess 27-8). By having a godly man, who is supposedly exuding compassion and perfection, treat his wife this way creates a foundation for misogyny in the greater sphere of society. Men who want to deny women their agency can simply point to the Ramayana, a holy text, to justify their actions. Hess writes, “There is plenty of evidence that the oppressive, patriarchal view of Sita isn’t going away” (22). Unfortunately, Hess is absolutely correct. Even in modern writing we see the writers continuing echoes of the Ramayana tales and the merciless environments within which the women characters struggle to navigate in attempts to survive.
Mahasweta Devi’s short story “Draupadi”, despite the overt connection to the story of the queen of the same name, has overtones of Surpanakha’s plight. Set in the 1970s during hostility between East and West Pakistan, our heroine Dopdi/Draupadi is a guerilla fighter (Spivak 250). Dopdi, much like Surpanakha, is roaming alone. Her husband (Dulna) was recently killed by authorities, so she is also a widow (Devi 261). As a guerilla fighter, Dopdi has agency. She roams where she pleases and assists in attacks. In a snapshot of one such instance in which the fighters are beating a man, “Dopdi had said, His mouth watered when he looked at me. I’ll put out his eyes” (264). This is a perfect inversion of Surpanakha. A man lusts after Dopdi, and it is she who performs the mutilation to hinder him from ever executing such a trespass again. Even as a free woman, Dopdi is still inhibited. The first of Dopdi’s thoughts the reader hears are her desire to rid herself of lice, but her inability to do so as the authorities would trace the kerosene to her hidden location (265). Dopdi is acutely aware of her perimeters in which she can navigate with a relatively great deal of freedom. She is also aware of the potential of her being ensnared and tortured for information concerning her comrades. She thinks of the torture, and is resolved: “If mind and body give way under torture, Dopdi will bite off her tongue” (263). Dopdi is prepared to sacrifice her body in order to protect the other guerilla fighters. She thinks to herself, addressing her dead husband, “I swear by my life. By my life Dulna, by my life. Nothing must be told.” (265). Unfortunately for Dopdi, two men within her group defect and assist in getting her captured. When apprehended by the authorities, Dopdi calls out loudly into the forest in order to alert her comrades (267). This act and her withholding information from the authorities is, of course, not without great cost to Dopdi’s well being. Her concern for the safety of her coconspirators is at huge expense to Dopdi’s body. As theorist and translator of this story Gayatri Chakravotry Spivak writes in her essay “Woman in Difference: Mahasweta Devi’s ‘Douloti the Bountiful’”, “…in the crisis of the armed or peaceful struggle, women seem to emerge as comrades, with the return of everyday…the old codings of the gendered body, sometimes altered, seem to fall into place” (Spivak 113). The guerilla men who work with the authorities to capture Dopdi think of her as a woman first and foremost – they know she is vulnerable to the most horrible of tortures. If the authorities could not break her through the killing of her husband who she loved “more than her blood” (Devi 265), they would break her bodily. This is illustrated in the scene described after what is likely days of torture, “[Dopdi] lowers her lidless eye, sees her breasts, and understands that, indeed, she’s been made up right. Her breasts are bitten raw, the nipples torn. How many? Four-five-six-seven—then Dopdi had passed out” (268). This immediately recalls the mutilation of Surpanakha, though clearly the level of brutality here is unfathomable. Dopdi was a woman with agency and power in this realm shared with the authorities, but it was something she could not maintain indefinitely. She pays a heavy price for this agency. She is counting how many times she has been raped before she passes out – likely from loss of blood and mental collapse. Yet Devi does not leave us with this scene, though she very well could have. There is more than torture and death left in Dopdi’s life. When a guard gives her water to clean herself and clothing in order to present herself to the head officer, Dopdi dumps the water and tears the cloth. This disturbs the guard, who runs to a superior for direction (268). It is here that Dopdi shows she has not been defeated by the days of torture and rapes. She walks into the courtyard of the prison, toward the officer Senanayak, causing a furor so great it is “as if the alarm has sounded in the prison” (268). The story continues, “Senanayak walks out surprised and sees Draupadi, naked, walking toward him in the bright sunlight with her head high. The nervous guards trail behind” (268). Dopdi has rejected the boundaries forced upon her even within this physical prison. As soon as she is unbound from the torture platform, she illustrates her power. Dopdi’s flouting the conventions of the patriarchal structure has her oppressors terrified. The group of men who tortured and raped her are suddenly incapable of reining in the mighty woman. Granted, they have created a monstrous spectacle of her – “Draupadi stands before [Senanayak], naked. Thigh and pubic hair matted with dry blood. Two breasts, two wounds” (269). Though rattling as the reality of their brutality might be, it is Dopdi’s swagger of her maimed body, tongue still intact, that instills fear in the guards. Dopdi laughs at Senanayak’s fright, and when he asks where her clothes are, she responds, “What’s the use of clothes? You can strip me, but how can you clothe me again? Are you a man?…There isn’t a man here that I should be ashamed. I will not let you put cloth on me. What more can you do? Come on, counter me—come on, counter me—?” (269). Of course Dopdi is arguing she has no reason for shame, as nearly every man there has partaken in her body. When she calls for Senanayak to “counter” her, she means to continue the torture himself, rather than have his lackeys do it for him. Before presenting her translation of Devi’s story, Spivak discusses the original Draupadi story in which the queen is spared being stripped in front of the court because of Krishna’s elongation of her sari. In relation to this, Spivak writes of Devi’s Draupadi, “Rather than save her modesty through the implicit intervention of a benign and divine…comrade, the story insists this is the place where male leadership stops (Spivak 252). Indeed Devi has created a space upon which patriarchal authority cannot impede, despite their best and most brutal efforts. Dopdi has preserved that space, exposing it to her tormentors in this final scene. They are terrified by the reality of its existence. The scene continues, “Draupadi pushes Senanayak with her two mangled breasts, and for the first time, Senanayak is afraid to stand before an unarmed target, terribly afraid” (Devi 269). This is a woman who is stripped of everything – her husband, her dignity, her sanity, her physical well being, yet here she is seething with incredible power against her oppressor. Spivak writes,
It is when [Dopdi] crosses the sexual differential into the field of what
could only happen to a woman that she emerges as the most powerful
“subject”…whom the author can describe as a terrifying superobject –
“an unarmed target.”
(Spivak 252)
Dopdi’s experience is singularly female in the depth of the violation and cruelty inflicted on her by so many. Her response to this brutality is likewise unique and barbaric. She is holding a mirror to the guards and officers, and their reflection is wholly paralyzing. Yet there was no other person capable of performing this fierce act. Only a woman could demonstrate the monstrosity of these men to them, and Dopdi does so powerfully. It is not surprising then, as Erndl writes, “[A good woman] is a source of power, sakti…but her power must be controlled to suit the purposes of a patriarchal society” (Erndl 83). Without those controls, the women perform an awesome power beyond the capabilities of their male counterparts. The effects of which leave them terrified and impotent.
The instances of Rama’s cruel actions are not met without uncertainty. Since the original Sanskrit text, following renditions (with some exception in the Tamil version) slowly mutated the morally problematic instances in order to maintain the majority events (Hess 3), but allowing for the more compassionate Rama to occupy the story. Yet it is clearly illustrated in Devi’s writing that the Ramayana continue to influence modern Indian literature and thought. While Surpanakha and Sita suffer from the suffocating patriarchy, so does Dopdi (and many of Devi’s other female characters in her stories). Rama’s tendency for cruelty and paranoia remains a large part of his life, especially in his relationship with Sita in the original Ramayana. Rama orders Laksman to take the pregnant Sita into the forest and kill her for Rama believes she loves another man. After Laksman allows Sita to live, she gives birth to two boys and lives in exile until the two are reunited years later, the boys then men. Rama tells Sita he will take her back if she performs another trial by fire to show her purity. Sita instead calls upon the earth to open up and take her in. The earth answers her request, closing up behind her (Hess 3). Even in her final moments Sita shows her power. She is able to order the earth to open for her body. Rama has performed the final offense to his pure devoted wife by questioning her chastity for a third time, leading to her quiet but intense death. This is true despite the fact that “[All versions of the Ramayana] had one tendency in common: as the whole point of life was to love Rama, Rama had to be as lovable as possible” (Hess 7). Even with the goal of painting the portrait of a faultless man-god, cruel misogyny is inherent in his actions. Yet Rama’s victims demonstrate their own incredible power despite their oppressive environments and situations. Bengali writer Kalpana Bardhan states in her essay “Women: Work, Welfare and Status”, “…female conservatism develops out of women’s strategies of influence and survival within patrilocal, patriarchal structures. They are…the product of resourceful behavior under extremely disadvantageous circumstances” (Barhan 12). These women are nothing if not ingenious. Even when faced with the great barriers of patriarchy, they employ influence and self-sacrifice in order to exhibit their powerful capabilities. If only such power could be coupled with agency, then there would perhaps be a force even the god Rama could not counter.
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