Rama And Sita Relationship Quotes

In our relationship, what is it that you like the most?’ Sita had asked Rama one day. ‘Protecting you like an eyelid protects the eye. If a thorn pierces your foot, I must pluck it out. I must, myself, kill the wild animals that approach you. The thought that I’m protecting you gives me greater pride and pleasure than sovereignty over Ayodhya,’ Rama had said. ‘I can protect myself. I can match you in archery,’ Sita had said, laughing. Rama’s face had fallen. ‘As long as I am alive, you will never have to protect yourself. Such a situation must never arise. You must look towards me for protection. You must turn to my strong arms for protection. If you take care of yourself, what am I for? Promise me that you will never do that.’ Sita had placed her hand in Rama’s. Abduction. Waiting in Ashoka Vanam—Sita had no alternative.

The children were pining for their father. They were dreaming about him. Though she had brought them up like they were her very life, though they knew nothing about their father, though their father did not even know about their birth or growing up—they wanted him. Sons needed to grow up inheriting their father’s name. She was Janaki—daughter of Mother Earth. Yet, she became Janaki—daughter of Janaka—under his care. These boys would get recognition only when they were regarded as Rama’s offspring. Rama was Dasarathi—‘of Dasaratha’—he was fond of that name, revered it and took pride in it. These children too wanted that kind of acknowledgement. It was indeed the order of the world. But would that happen? Would Rama embrace these children? Would he give them his name? Would he acknowledge them as descendants of his family? If that did not happen, how these innocent hearts would grieve! If Rama accepted them as his children and took them to Ayodhya, what would happen to her? She had left her father who loved her like his own life and taken Rama’s hand. Rama, whom she loved like her own life, had let go of her hand. These children whom she had brought up, caring for them like her own life—would she be able to hold on to them? Should she even attempt to do that? Would they remain in her grasp even if she did? Would they not run to their father if he called them? What did she have, other than the disgrace that Rama, bowing to public opinion, had heaped on her? In comparison, Rama had a kingdom—which was so dear to him that he could not give it up even for her sake. Would these children give up such a kingdom for her sake? Would their kshatriya blood allow them to do that? Sita’s mind was in turmoil. As a mother she had no power over them. Power never fascinated her anyway. She only had love—she loved her father; she loved Rama; she loved her children. There was no desire for power in any of those relationships. She did not want it. These children were nature’s gift to her. She had raised them like fawns. When fawns grow up, they go off into the forest, never to return. These children too … Sita struggled to rein in her mind.