Hanuman Obhong : Cajoles

"For a while, Hanuman watched Sita weep silently. Then, fearful of the rakshasis who lay around her, and he saw two that were awake, he crept away and climbed back into his shimshupa tree. His heart overcome equally by pity and rage, and his body by great exhaustion, the little monkey fell asleep in a cleft branch of that tree," the Moon moved on.

Dawn broke over the horizon, and the first shaft of pale light divided the sleeping ocean, full of dreams, from Ravana’s island. The Lord of Lanka rose from his bed. He had no eyes for Mandodari, his queen consort, Indrajit's mother. He pulled on the fresh robes of white silk laid out for him. Putting on a necklace and golden bracelets, so brilliant they dispelled the last straggles of night that lingered wistfully in the world, he came out of his apartment. He strode through interminable passages, and arrived by his own private entrance in the asokavana where his heart lay captive.

But as he went like a storm through the antapura’s passages, there were others already awake: lovely women, who, alll along his way through the harem, they approached him with soft caresses; but he strode impatiently along. Those women followed him to the asokavana, in a small throng. Some brought chamaras to fan him with, others held lamps to light his way since the corridors were still dark.

Like Indra surrounded by his apsaras, Ravana came out into the crisp dawn. Not looking left or right, without a glance at the silken sea that lay like a languorous woman herself below Lanka, the Rakshasa made straight for the little shrine of the white pillars, where Sita sat sleepless and distraught.

Hanuman hid himself behind a screen of leaves, and peered down at Ravana. His white robe was like froth at the crest of the turbid sea of presence and power that was Ravana. In his time, Hanuman had seen other kings of the world, but never one nearly as arresting, as awesome, as this Emperor. Greatness sat lightly on those rippling shoulders; fame and measureless authority radiated from his central face. Ravana had the power to make his cluster of nine heads become invisible at will. At dawn today, he came out with just one face showing, because he did not want to risk repelling Sita. Now Hanuman saw even more plainly how magnificent the Rakshasa was: tall and dark, handsome as Kamadeva.

For all the dark majesty it wore, Ravana’s face was haggard and careworn. The single-mindedness with which he stalked to the little temple in the asokavana cried out that great Ravana was strangely vanquished: that his vast kingdom meant less to him than the woman who sat sorrowing within that retreat. She had become all the kingdom he wanted, all his heaven and earth. Ravana breathed the image of Sita; he slept and woke in obsessive love.

Obsessive love appears to be the ultimate passion, but this romanticized view obscures the dark side of obsession. In the real world, obsessive lovers ride the crest of exhilarating hope and heightened sensuality, but they inevitably pay for their unreal expectations with disappointment, emptiness, and desperation.

From his perch, Hanuman could see into the little temple. He saw Sita grow pale, when she knew Ravana had arrived. Swiftly, in a reflex of fear and shame, she covered her body with her hands. Like frightened birds, her eyes flew this way and that, avoiding his smouldering stare as he came and stood tall and ominous before her. Ravana sighed. In his voice like somnolent thunder, he said, ‘Whenever I come here, you try to hide your beauty with your hands. But for me any part of you I see is absolutely beautiful. You are the perfect woman; beauty begins with you. Honour my love, Sita, and you will discover how deep it is. My life began when I first saw you, but you treat me so cruelly.’

She said nothing, never raised her eyes up to him. Hanuman, little monkey in his tree, trembled with what he saw and heard.

‘You say it was dishonourable for me to abduct you; but you forget I am a rakshasa. It is natural, and so, entirely honourable, for me to take another man’s wife if I want her. It is even honourable for me to force myself on her if I choose. That is a rakshasa’s nature, and his dharma.’

Sita gasped. At once Ravana regretted what he had said. He went on more gently, ‘I will never force myself on you, because I love you. I will wait for you to return my love, to give yourself to me willingly. You are my day and my night, and all my dreams. I feel I was never alive until I saw your face.

Abandon this wretched grief; you were born to be a queen of queens. It does not suit you to sit on the bare floor like this, with your clothes soiled, your hair unwashed, your face covered by a screen of dirt, and starving yourself almost to death. No blame attaches to me for loving you as I do. The fault lies not in my love, but in your perfection.

I do not ask you to return my love with the same passion I have for you. Not even a shadow of it. I only ask you to begin to think kindly of me, to care for me a little. I beg you, come and rule my palace as my only queen. All the others will serve you as sakhis, even Mandodari. I will be your servant. Everything that is mine shall be yours.'

But again she picked up the long blade of grass and set it between herself and him like a naked sword. She said, ‘I am the wife of another man, Rakshasa, and my husband is my life. How can you even think of me as becoming yours, when I am already given to Rama? Given not only for this life, but forever, for all the lives that have been, and all those to come. I have always belonged to Rama, and always will. You have many beautiful women in your harem; don’t you keep them from the lustful gazes of other men? How is it, then, you cannot conceive that I would be true to my Rama? That it is natural for me, because I love him. You court death for yourself and your kingdom. Have you no wise men in your sabha, who advise you against your folly?’

Ravana laughed, ‘They all know I am a law unto myself. They know I am invincible.’ Sita sensed that this Rakshasa Emperor was a covert narcissistic. Narcissistic behavior is usually associated with over the top, attention-seeking and manipulative traits. There's more than one type of narcissist, and despite the word being very commonly used these days, not all narcissists conform to one specific behavioral pattern. Narcissism is a very complex form of abuse that doesn’t have a ‘one size fits all’ set of characteristics. Covert narcissists are a type of narcissist who don’t fit the stereotypical, over-the-top, ‘look at me, the world revolves around me’ personality that is usually attached to a narcissist.

She looked up briefly into his eyes and, her voice firmer, said, ‘You have violated dharma and punishment will come to you more quickly than you think. You don’t know Rama; he is not what you imagine him to be. You speak of this sea being an obstacle between him and me. But I say to you, Ravana, even if the ocean of stars lay between us, my Rama would come to find me.’

Something flickered deep in Ravana’s plumbless heart, and she saw it in his eyes. But she did not know whether it was fear, or a sorrow too distant to fathom.

‘But it is not too late for you, Rakshasa. Take me back to Rama and he will forgive you. I will tell him you did me no harm. I am part of Rama as the light of the sun is part of the star. Nothing in all the worlds, no cause in the yawning ages of time, will persuade me to give in to you. Take me back to Rama, before doom comes to Lanka.’

Ravana stared at her in amazement. He looked at his women around him, and, throwing back his dark head, began to laugh. ‘Are you trying to frighten the Lord of the rakshasas, at whose name the universe trembles?’

‘Rakshasa, there is no escape for you anywhere. Take me back to Rama and ask his pardon. He is kind beyond your understanding; he will forgive you. Listen to me, Ravana, you do not know what you have done.’

The smile vanished from his face. The veins stood out on his temples from the anguish she caused him. His skin turned a ghastly pallor, his lips twitched. Deep in his eyes, terrible wrath and untold tenderness hunted each other; shadows, dark and bright, flitted across his face. He clenched his fists and drew himself erect. He said to her in deadly quiet, ‘One month more I will give you, out of my great love. Remember to be in my hug before those thirty days are past. If you are not, my cooks will serve you to me in pieces for my morning meal.’ And turning on his rakshasis, he cried, ‘Coax her, threaten her; do anything you have to! Your task is to make her come to me. If you fail, I will have your lives as well.’ Then, one of his once favourite women, Dhanyamalini, lead him away. After he had left, Sita sat very quietly, drained. A rakshasi brought her some food and water. She ate a morsel and drank just enough to keep her alive.

Let me tell you a little bit about this Sitaji, the Rama's love. It was said that she was born of the earth, Bhudevi, and raised amongst sages. It was the start of the sowing season in Videha, which . The farmers invited their king, Janaka, to be the first to plough the land with a golden hoe. To the sound of bells and drums and conch-shell trumpets, the king shoved the hoe into the ground and began to till the land. Suddenly, the king stopped. The furrow revealed a golden hand: tiny fingers rising up like grass, as if drawn by the sunshine. Janaka moved the dirt away, and found hidden within the soft, moist earth a baby, a girl, healthy and radiant, smiling joyfully, as if waiting to be found.

Was it an abandoned child? No, said the farmers, convinced it was a gift from Bhudevi to their childless king. But this was not fruit of his seed—how could she be his daughter? Fatherhood, said Janaka, springs in the heart, not from a seed.

Janaka picked up the infant, who gurgled happily in his arms. Placing her close to his heart, he declared, ‘This is Bhumija, daughter of the earth. You may call her Maithili, princess of Mithila, or Vaidehi, lady from Videha, or Janaki, she who chose Janaka. I will call her Sita, she who was found in a furrow, she who chose me to be her father.’

Everyone felt gladness in their hearts. The ceremony was truly successful. The childless king had returned to the palace a father. No harvest could be better.

A few years later, to everyone’s delight, Janaina, the King's consort, gave birth to a baby girl—Sita's sister and dearest companion, Urmila. Sita and Urmila grew up in the delightful company of their cousins, Mandavi and Shrutakirti. They were the daughters of King Kushadhwaja, her father’s younger brother. They learn about their ancestors, to recognize their national identity. As per royal tradition, the four of them learned all the arts essential for princesses. But they each had their favorites. Painting and calligraphy were

a passion with Mandavi. Urmila’s natural grace led her to study movement and rhythm. She was a stunning dancer, and the sound of her ankle bells echoed merrily through the palace every day, while Shrutakirti wove sweet melodies with her voice and instruments, charming everyone who heard her music. Sita grew into a beautiful woman, good at reasoning and arguing. She would spend her time reading and pondering. She loved the way history and philosophy challenged her mind, teaching her about law, tradition, logic, and wisdom.

Her meeting with Rama, was a fate. That night, as she slept, Bhudevi appeared in her dreams and put her fears to rest. Bhudevi told her that a prince, a man of kshatriya, will be the man of his dreams. So, she told her father that she wanted the man who lifted the heavy bow belonged to her grandfather—and only Sita could picked it up, at her swayamvara, will be her husband. And of course, Rama was the last man standing who held it as if it were a light toy, and he used such force to string it that the great bow snapped in two.

The sound of the crack was like the clap of a thousand thunders. Everyone heard it: the heaven's inhabitants and the nagas under the earth. Everyone was stunned. Had Rama succeeded or failed? All eyes turned to Janaka. And he said, ‘From today, Rama, you shall be known as the beloved of Janaka’s daughter, Sita.’ The court erupted in cheer. Rama had impressed everyone: everyone hailed him as a worthy groom for Sita. And so, in the presence of Vishwamitra and Parashurama, Sita garlanded the eldest son of Dashratha. She would be his wife, and he would be her husband.

Messengers were sent to Ayodhya and Dashratha came to Mithila, Videha's capital city, with his guru, Vasishtha, and his other two sons. Janaka had a proposal, which was still valid in his time, ‘You have three more sons and my family has three more daughters. Let the four brothers marry the four sisters and let your house be united with mine.’

Dashratha accepted this proposal and a grand wedding was organized to mark the union of four couples. Lakshman married Urmila, Bharata married Mandavi, and Shatrughna married Shrutakirti. Janaka gave his daughters to the sons of Dashratha, saying, ‘I give you Lakshmi, wealth, who will bring you pleasure and prosperity. Grant me Saraswati, wisdom. Let me learn the joy of letting go.Learning when it’s time to let go is often the most difficult part. Deciding how to let go becomes easier when you are certain the time has come and that your future happiness depends on a new start. To focus your energy on living positively and proactively, you need to learn how to move on. Holding on is a natural human instinct—and it’s also a critical way that we stop ourselves from reaching our goals. Because ultimately, not knowing how to move on harms you: it prevents you from achieving your true potential.'

So, Rama and Sita embarked on an odyssey. Separated and reunited until she returned to Bhudevi's belly. Indeed, man is from this part of earth, and someday, the earth will ask for it back. And When the earth is shaken ˹in˺ her ultimate quaking, at the command of her Rabb, she throws out ˹all˺ her contents. And all affairs will be returned to the Creator.

When Ravana left, the rakshasis began to cajole Sita again. They knew their master would not think twice to kill them if Sita did not give in to him. These were not beautiful consorts, they were coarse warrior women who guarded his female prisoners, his spoils of war. It fell to them to persuade the more desirable captives brought back to Lanka that the best course open to them was being a public official. Among the rakshasi who had completed their duties, some served as ministers, deputy ministers, directors and commissioners of imperial-owned enterprises, advisors to the emperor, and the like.

After the morning’s encounter between Sita and their master, the rakshasis of the asokavana were alarmed. They were determined to persuade her, by fair means or foul, ‘The most beautiful women would give anything to spend a night in Ravana’s bed; but you refuse him.’

‘She is vain.’ ... ‘And foolish; she doesn’t know what she is doing.’ ... ‘Silly creature, your beauty blinds you to the truth of your plight. But beauty does not last long. Be Ravana’s queen, arrogant one, and you will have wealth beyond your dreams.’ ... ‘And power.’

They brought their fanged faces close, making her gag with their putrid breath. They smiled and snarled at her; they hissed in her ears like serpents. Sita wept. Little Hanuman sat in his tree, wisely restraining himself from committing any rashness; though his blood boiled and he longed to tear those rakshasis limb from limb.

Sita knew that the rakshasis were trying to manipulate her. The first key principle about manipulation can identify it. The first law is that people will attack you if they think that you are weak. The second thing is that people are trying to sense any weakness in you to know whether they should attack you or back off. And the last one is that people are after easy victories. So people are going to sense whether you are weak, and then they're going to think about whether they should attack you or not. If they feel like you're going to be an easy win, then they're going to attack you. And if they think that they are going to get hurt in the process, then they are going to back off and look for the easier victim. And the thing is that these people try to sense your weakness. If they sense that you are weak, they will attack you, and that is where you should use a defensive stand as an offensive stand.

Manipulation isn’t making people do what you want them to do but to get them to do what you want them to do. Many people want to manipulate others for short-term gain. However, the genuine art of manipulation is defined by the long game.

Sita said, ‘I don't care. I would rather die than be unfaithful to Rama.’ They growled like a pack of wild dogs, snapping around her. Seeing that reason and argument had little effect on Sita, they began to threaten her. ‘What a tasty meal she will make.’ ... ‘She is too succulent to be left alive.’ ... ‘She torments our king. He neither wakes nor sleeps in peace.’ ... ‘Let us cut her up and divide her soft flesh.’

Sita jumped up and, stopping her ears, ran out of the little temple. She stood panting under an asoka tree like a fawn at bay. The pack of rakshasis still growled and raged.

‘Her flesh will be better for us to eat.’ ...‘She is so vain she will be cold in his arms anyway.’ ... ‘When he knows she is dead, he will come to his senses again.’ ... ‘We will be doing him a service.’ ... ‘If we are to die anyway, let us kill her first.’ ... ‘Let us do it now; this folly has gone on too long.’

The rakshasis streamed out of the little shrine with murder on their minds. She saw the rakshasis advance on her, their eyes full of death. She moaned. When they were just a few feet from Sita, an older rakshasi called Trijata awoke from a strange dream. She came flying out of the little temple. She slapped two of the younger ones resoundingly. ‘Have you gone mad? Do you want to die a slow death in the king’s dungeons? Come away, you fools, and listen to what I have to tell you.’ Trijata was the strongest of them, their leader, and the ones she slapped whined. The rakshasi disperse and re-enter the shrine. Trijata—Vibeeshana's daughter and married to Jambavan after the Lanka War—had always been kind to Sita, since Ravana first brought her to the asokavana. As time wore on, and Sita resisted the Demon’s every effort to seduce her, Trijata’s kindness had grown into adoration.

Trijata said, 'Sita, I'll leave you alone for a moment, calm your self.' And to comfort Sita, the rakshasi chanted,

 

Pakai telor, nggak pakai telor

[With eggs, without eggs]

Cintamu bagai kolor yang kendor

[Your love is like a loose underpants]

Janji-janjimu selalu molor

[Your promises are always delayed]

Kau buat cintaku kendor

[You make my love saggy]

Pakai sayur, nggak pakai sayur

[With vegetables, without vegetables]

Cintamu bagai bedak yang luntur

[Your love is like faded face-powder]

Aku dan kamu nggak pernah akur

[You and I would never get along]

Lebih baik aku yang mundur

[I'd better back off]

Aku bukan mie instant

[I'm not instant noodles]

Yang bisa mudah kaudapatkan

[Who you can easily get]

Di saat engkau butuh, di saat engkau mau

[When you need it, when you want it]

Harus ada untukmu *)

[Must be there for you]

On his shimshupa tree, Hanuman went along with Trijatas' song, by waving his head. Yet, it was not the right time to come near to Sita."

Citations & References:
- Ramesh Menon, The Ramayana: A modern Translation, HarperCollins
- Bibeck Debroy, The Valmiki Ramayana, Penguin Books
- David Cliff More, Manipulation Techniques, International Kindle Paperwhite
- Devdutt Pattanaik, Sita: An Illustrated Retelling of the Ramayana, Penguin Books
*) "Mie Instant" composed by Vic ILIR7

[Part 7]

[Part 5]

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