“Death Incarnate is Rama for Me”: The Fiery Sita in the Assamese Ramayana

  • The Assamese Ramayana (14th century) features a fierce, outspoken Sita who defies injustice and patriarchal norms, a stark contrast to Valmiki’s version.
  • Tilottoma Misra’s Sita’s Voice highlights Sita’s agency, intellectual depth, and expressive rebellion, offering a unique feminist reinterpretation of the epic.
  • This book is essential for exploring diverse mythological narratives and fostering future scholarship on gender, power, and identity in vernacular literature.

While Valmiki’s Ramayana dominates popular culture, it’s just one of 300 different versions. What if I told you that there exists a 700-year-old version of the Ramayana, where Sita doesn’t silently endure suffering, but instead rages against injustice with clenched fists and fierce words? Where she calls Rama “death incarnate” and confronts her abductor with the intensity of “dry leaves suddenly set on fire”? This is the Assamese Ramayana, and Tilottoma Misra highlights this voice in her review of Sita’s Voice in the Assamese Ramayana.

The lesser-known renditions, often shaped by regional traditions and historical contexts, require more attention. The Ramayana tradition in Assam dates back to the 14th century. At the request of Barahi King Mahamanikya, Madhava Kandali composed Saptakanda Ramayana (Seven-Canto Ramayana) in the first half of the 14th century. This version is one of the earliest vernacular renderings of Ramayana, which predates Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanasa and Krittibasa’s Bengali Ramayana.

A key line from the book essentially captures the essence of the Assamese Ramayana. It says “…is not simply a pale precise of a standard Ramayana narrative nor a literal translation of the Valmiki text, but a broadly faithful version of it, with several abridgements, embellishments, and omissions.”

Misra’s choice of verses for translating the Assamese Ramayana positions Sita as the central character of the narrative, which sets it apart from her portrayal in northern counterparts.

From the very first time that she speaks, Sita rejects and responds convincingly. She has her own set of values, even though these values ultimately uphold the very patriarchy she is a part of. The emphasis on affirming or disclaiming Sita’s chastity and purity, as well as her faithfulness to the ideals of Stree Dharma, reveals a deep internalisation of patriarchal values. However, despite being penned by poets from a patriarchal society, her voice acquires a ferocity that makes the Assamese version of the Ramayana unique. Her personality is a seamless mix of irresistible attractiveness and intellectual demeanour.

Image Credit: Pallabi Barah

In many parts of the Assamese Ramayana Sita confidently portrays her beauty profoundly and convincingly be it when she convinces Rama to accompany him to the forest (Adhyaya 12 of Ayodhyakanda) or hurling accusations at Lakshman when the latter refuses to leave her and help her husband alleging that “how a lowly creature like him (Lakshmana) can dare to desire for her” (Adhyaya 12 of Aranyakanda).

The portrayal of Sita in the Assamese Ramayana reveals a remarkable intellectual depth, particularly in her engagement with issues of agency and autonomy, themes that resonate strongly with feminist theory.

One poignant example is when Sita scolds Hanuman for tormenting the rakshasi women, whom Ravana had placed to guard her. In her rebuke, Sita highlights the lack of agency these women possess, pointing out that they are not independent actors but are forced by Ravana to do so (Lankakanda, Adhyaya 49).

Misra, in her book, draws attention to the emotional depth and voice of Sita in the Assamese Ramayana, offering a stark contrast to the portrayal found in the Valmiki Ramayana. In her interpretation, readers can visibly feel the divergence, and her voice exudes a powerful resistance to the oppressive patriarchal values embedded in the Valmiki Ramayana.

Beyond the choice of words, the physical gestures attributed to Sita in the Assamese Ramayana offer a compelling dimension that demands deeper exploration and critical analysis. Whether it is beating her breast with a clenched fist or breaking her hair when she suffers and pointing fingers while raging in anger, these gestures add more emotional depth, along with a dramatic touch to the portrayal of Sita’s character in the Assamese Ramayana.

Although translating vernacular text is a daunting task, Misra, in her book, is able to provide a regional perspective to this classical text.

For instance, the unique portrayal of Sita in the Assamese Ramayana can be largely attributed to the strong presence of powerful female voices during that era in what is now present-day Assam. The bold depiction of Sita’s character is closely linked to the influence of women patrons from the Koch and Kachari kingdoms, such as Chandraprabha (a Kachari queen) and Garama Kunwari (a Koch princess). Additionally, the egalitarian social structures of various indigenous communities in northeast India likely contributed to shaping a more assertive and empowered version of Sita in this regional composition.

The writing style is academic yet accessible, with Misra effectively balancing rigorous scholarly analysis with an engaging narrative. The use of analogies in this vernacular version of Ramayana is another significant aspect, especially in those Adhayas where Sita confronts Ravana with intense anger. Whether using phrases like “mere frog trying to confront a snake” or “dry leaves set suddenly on fire”, humanise Sita’s character and offer deeper insights to readers about her emotional journey.

Image Credit: Pallabi Barah

The book makes a significant contribution to the discourse on gender, literature, and mythology in South Asian studies. Misra’s work stands out for its interdisciplinary approach by blending literary elements with feminist interpretation and cultural and historical situatedness. However, this book would have been more inclusive and holistic if it had given more voice to other women characters in the Assamese Ramayana, such as Surpanakha, Manondari, and Kausalya, while selecting the verses for reinterpretation. The limited attention given to other female characters, particularly in terms of their reinterpreted meanings and significance, presents an area where the book could have been further expanded. A broader examination of the diverse female figures, such as those in the text, would have enriched the feminist analysis and offered a more nuanced view of gender dynamics within the epic.

A must-read for those who are interested in exploring lesser-known episodes of mythology, this book is an academically valuable endeavour as it focuses specifically on interpreting Sita’s voice, offering a distinctive and thought-provoking portrayal of her character. As one of the most significant literary works from Northeast India, it offers readers a unique perspective on Sita, diverging from traditional narratives. Misra’s work lays a crucial foundation for future scholarship and opens up venues for deeper, more expansive explorations of gender, power, and identity within the realm of vernacular renditions of mythological literature.

“Sita’s Voice in the Assamese Ramayana” stands as powerful evidence that feminist perspectives have always existed, even in the most unexpected places. They just needed someone to listen. And in this case, what we hear is a Sita who refuses to be silenced and demands to be heard across 700 years.