A Note from the Author
The Ramayana is a famous and ancient Sanskrit epic written by the Hindu sage Valmiki, during the 4th century, B.C.E. The text depicts different societal roles—king, wife, brother, servant, etc.—and the ideal relationships expected to exist between them. The Ramayana follows the story of Rama, the hero and prince of Ayodhya and an incarnation of Vishnu, as he struggles to reclaim his kidnapped wife, Sita (an incarnation of Lakshmi, Vishnu’s consort), from Ravana, the demon. The Ramayana is comprised of 7 books (kandas), each following chronologically the story of Rama and Sita’s journey.
While I was studying in India during my spring semester in 2010, the Ramayana was brought up in most of my classes. Indian culture is saturated with the story, even as they angrily debate things like its social injustice towards women or the responsibility of a king to his people compared to the responsibility towards his wife. I, too, found myself caught up in the lore and the portrayed relationships, though in my own terms as a writer and photographer playing tourist in India.
What you are about to see is an ekphrastic representation of the Ramayana with the main characters molded into more abstract ideas. Rama is played by the idea of India as a country trying to shrug off the memory of Britain as their ruler. Sita is played by a tourist’s camera, trying to capture the perfect image of its new “marriage” with this country. Though not demonic or evil, Britain is a force that clashes violently against the idea of India as a being on its own, as so much of India’s identity is reliant on the fact that Britain was the one in power and had established many things that weren’t there before, particularly in industrialization and education.
Each photo reflects my tourist-eyes (particularly through my camera lens) and each “kanda” reflects my new vision of the Ramayana in 108 words, 108 being an auspicious and holy number in India and therefore representing in my work a tiny piece of the mystical element we so often miss in our daily mythology and personal epics.
Bala Kanda
The first book of the Ramayana, the Bala Kanda, describes the birth of Rama and his brothers. Sita is found in a field in a neighboring kingdom and is considered a gift from the gods and a daughter from Mother Earth. She grows to be an extremely beautiful woman, and once she is old enough her father holds a contest with her hand in marriage as the prize. Rama enters and is the winner, and a grand ceremony takes place with their marriage and the marriage of Rama’s brothers and Sita’s sisters and cousins.
He brings them there to his sandy beach where he begs for ice creams from women and rupees from softer men. The sun bakes him and his sons and daughters. The rest of the world sucks on clean ice cubes and worries about his future.
But still he brings her there, excitedly shows her keeper where to point her. She blinks and opens her memory for him, and he marvels at his beach’s colors. She blinks again—at him, when he is not ready.
He will grow to be a handsome man, but for now his face is dirty, his shirt is Western, and he has no shoes.
Ayodhya Kanda
Rama is next in line for the throne, but in the second book of the Ramayana, the Ayodhya Kanda, one of the king’s other wives claimed a boon and demanded that Rama be exiled into the wilderness for 14 years and that her son, Bharata, become next in line. Rama is joined by Sita and one of his other brothers, Lakshmana. The king dies and Bharata, upon finding out his mother’s plan, visits Rama, who refuses to return until his exile is over. Bharata returns with Rama’s sandals and places them on the throne, which he decides to keep watch over until Rama’s return.
Their sandals sit empty right where their owners left them, on a doorstep of foreign slate. Some of their shoes are shaped by quality cowhide leather, but he does not need to know that. He is too busy embracing past sultans in pink granite. Cracks in the stone widen as roots take hold and work their way up to the top, sprouting saplings that chip the lotus dome that was once so elegantly painted. But he cradles these unopened lotuses in his dusty hands, wraps them in the hem of a crimson and gold sari, and pleads to her, “Focus on my legacy, my past; blink for me.”
Aranya Kanda
In the Aranya Kanda, Sita’s beauty catches the eye of a demon, Ravana. He sends a golden deer to Rama and Sita’s abode and Sita begs Rama to capture it for her. Knowing it is a trap, he goes anyway. Then Sita hears Rama’s cries in the forest and begs Lakshmana to save her husband, his brother. Despite explaining that Rama is invincible and that he should protect her instead, she forces him to leave. Sita is then alone, and Ravana takes the opportunity to kidnap her.
His brothers play gods, knowing that she’d be impressed, would pleasantly examine their painted skin and gilt plastic crowns. They journey ‘round the circle of the dusty marketplace, children laughing at the god-men’s feet.
She focuses on his brothers, watches them play, seeing him in and about them. Foreign intruders turn, blink at her with dark intrigued eyes. They hunger for her keeper and desire them both as a prize, just as she desires more of him, of his gold and gods and shrines.
He sadly watches her, sees her blinking and blinking, knows she has fallen for it all, but continues to whirl about her eye regardless.
Emily Northey is a senior creative writing major, minoring in photography and Asian studies. Her poetry and photographs have been published in RiverCraft and she has had a photographic essay published in Essay. When she's not writing or taking pictures, she spends her time shimmying with the SU Belly Dance Circle, of which she is the marketing and promotions manager.
Also by Emily Northey: "Tanvi"
Coming next week: "Blink: Ramayana, (part two of three)"
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