The Bandit Queens (97)
The Ramayana began when Ram was about to be crowned king but was instead banished from his kingdom for fourteen years at his stepmother’s behest. His faithful wife, Sita, chose to accompany him, trading her plush palace life for an ascetic one in the forest. While the couple was ostracized, Ravana (king of Lanka) kidnapped Sita to avenge his sister, whom, Geeta thought it was worth noting, Ram had bullied and maimed. Ravana then fell deeply in love with Sita but wanted her love in kind (meaning he did not rape her). Geeta supposed it was a dark day in this world when a man received kudos for not raping, but Ravana acted with honor. Though Diwali celebrated light banishing darkness, Ravana was not a flat villain. And Ram was not an infallible hero.
Ram (with a lot of simian help from Hanuman) ultimately rescued Sita, but to her chagrin, he rebuffed her affection with icy apathy. Apparently, Ram had some trouble believing his wife had remained “pure,” what with her “living” with another man for so long. The roots of slut-shaming, Geeta surmised, ran deep. Only, back in 7292 BCE, it’d been called “dharma.”
While Sita was displeased at such inimical treatment, she loved Ram and wished to go home. Though she was a mere woman, she had the benefit of being privileged and wellborn, which Geeta likened to being the best player on a losing team (akin to how Khushi was the richest of the poor Dalits). Sita proved her purity by surviving a sacrificial fire. And lo! Ram’s pesky, chauvinistic doubts were assuaged! Their lauded homecoming in Ayodhya then gave rise to Diwali. But evil wasn’t vanquished in the battle. Evil came home with them. And the fairy tale soured.
Ram’s subjects considered him a cuckold. His authority severely compromised, he exiled the by-then heavily pregnant Sita back into the woods. To his credit, he was pretty crestfallen over his own decision, didactically babbling about how he’d suffer too, pampered and forlorn, ruling the people from his giant, lonely palace.
Meanwhile, destitute in a hut, Sita delivered and reared twin boys. When they matured, they reunited with Ram, who then extended Sita a mealy-mouthed invitation to return, so long as she could once again prove her purity by surviving fire. Sita, for some silly, hysterical reason (probably dignity), declined Ram’s magnanimous offer and instead asked Mother Earth to swallow her. The goddess Bhumi, aware of her daughter’s unhappy lot in life and her son-in-law’s trifling love, promptly obliged. Behold Sita! The Adarsh Bhartiya Nari: the Ideal Indian Woman. Truly, Geeta thought, Sita had every reason to come back as a churel.
What odd damage, Geeta wondered with sudden alarm as she watched costumed children play throughout the village, were they perpetuating with these stories? Sita was admittedly a top-notch lady: levelheaded, bright, kind and loyal. But in idealizing her suffering, people justified Ram’s punitiveness. An apology, for fuck’s sake, would have gone a long way. But from the get-go, they trained boys not to apologize and women to not expect it of them, to instead mutate pain into an art form. It was—
“Geeta!”
She started with a yawp, nearly dropping the steel pail.
Saloni stood, fanning the heat on her cheeks. “I’ve been calling you. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No, I was just thinking— Hey, is Aparna dressing up as Sita this year?”
Saloni looked puzzled. “That’s what you were—never mind. Yeah, in the school play. She grew, though, so we had to stitch a whole other outfit. And Farah wasn’t lying. She has no time to die, she’s so slammed.”
“Yeah, but should she?”
“Why not? It’s good money.”
“No, I mean Aparna. Why glorify the sexism in—”
Saloni groaned and clapped her palms over her ears. “Are you kidding me with this? For weeks, I’ve been chewing my own brains trying to not only convince my father-in-law to give a council seat to Khushiben, but also to convince him that it’s his idea. Then I chewed the sad leftovers of my brains to figure out how to do you-know-what to you-know-who. And now you wanna boycott Sita mid-Diwali? I swear, Geeta, you have more causes than I have pubic hairs.”
Geeta was too excited to remind her that Khushi wanted no part of the council. “You figured it out?” She gripped Saloni’s hand in gratitude. “That’s incredible! What’s your plan?”
“Oh no,” Saloni said, shaking her head. “I remember you at the police station; you’re a terrible liar. The less you know, the better.”
Geeta frowned, mildly offended. “Did you tell Farah?”
“No, she still refuses to get involved. It’s fine; we don’t need her. I know we said we’d wait until after the distraction of Diwali, but I just realized: use the distraction! Most of the town will be at my party. Firecrackers will be going on all night. It’s the perfect time to strike.”
“Won’t Ramesh also be at your party?”
“Yes, that’s why I was looking for you. At the party, you need to send him back to your place for something you forgot. I’ll be waiting there—”
“Wait, but if you’re not at your own party, people will notice.”
“Nah, there’s so much work, I’m never at the party. Saurabh floats around and people just think they see us both.”
“Really?”
Saloni’s pointed look was softened by her smile. “You would know, if you ever came.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me there.”