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Sati for Sita

 

(A Poetry of Sita’s Passing)

The Queen stood with tears in her eyes,

But no one consoled her,

For she was the subject of despise,

In the drama of life she was just an actor.

The clouds out of sympathy,

Shed their tears in the form of raindrops,

The sun decided to conceal out of empathy,

And the jackals moaned ready for another corpse.

“Blasphemous!” they said,

“Impure” they chimed,

“Sinful” they cried,

Each cry was mistimed.

Sita stood, with her torn Saree,

Her eyes wandered into their faces,

In search of clarity,

As the self made pyre raged on.

“What wrong did I do?

What sin did I commit?

All I knew was love,

And that was only it.”

Sita cried,

Her eyes searched for Rama,

As she sighed,

She found him, in full view.

He avoided her stare,

She knew he was in despair,

But honour mattered most,

Although hugged her he almost.

As the rain fell,

Like tears from the heavens,

Drenching everybody,

Except the pyre reserved for her body.

The very same people,

Who loved her,

Respected her,

Now accosted her.

“Jump!” they cried,

“Prove it” they said,

Honour was placed,

On a higher pedestal than Love.

The swans sang their song,

The clouds grew darker,

And as though it was a signal,

Sita jumped into the pyre.

Nay!

Mother Earth did not embrace her,

As they sang in the legends.

Nay!

She did not jump to the earth,

As it was written in the scriptures.

Nay!

The earth did not tear open,

As the legends were told.

This here was a pyre,

Self made,

A Sati for Sita.

As Sita burned,

People looked away,

Rama unable to bear, crumbled,

And he crushed down to earth without a sway.

It was a mighty fall,

“The King had fallen!

There is Sita burning,

And here is Rama mourning”

The clouds cried out of despair,

As more droplets of tears fell from the Heavens,

Rama was inconsolable,

And the Gods cursed.

Hanuman rose,

With tears in his eyes he cried,

“Have you all no shame?

Have you all no sense?”

He paused, sobbed a little,

Sighed and continued,

“She was our Mother,

And now we’ve made our King a miser.”

“Have you got no shame?

Have you all no sense?”

Hanuman covered his face,

His face full of rage.

He rose and he beat his chest,

He was in pain,

Sadness engulfed him,

And he cried.

“This here is a pyre,

A symbol of truth,

A sign of purity,

This here is a Sati,

A Sati for Sita!”

sita

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