Why We Need a Feminist Retelling of Hindu Mythology

Hindu mythology is bereft of a feminist lens. Fables like Ramayana and Mahabharata are passed down for centuries as the literal Words of Gods, teaching men how to live a good life. But, what about women?

Country-wide Permeation

In 1987 and 1988, these two famous epics were adapted as TV series on Doordarshan. Almost instantly, reaching thousands of Indian people across a spectrum of faiths, ages, educational backgrounds and economic mobility.

In particular, the success of DD’s shows amid middle and upper-middle-class watchers led to the fables themselves gaining unprecedented popularity. Ramayan was telecasted in 55 countries and garnered a viewership of 650 million. Mahabharat broke TRP records in India and even attracted over 5 million viewers in the UK.

In March, it was announced that Mahabharat and Ramayan would be aired again for Indians during the COVID-19 lockdown. On April 16, DD National stated that 7.7 crore people across the globe watched the show.

These mythologies haven’t remained as bedtime stories. Over time, they have set the standards for the perceived good and evil, for purity and pollution and most importantly, the definition of an ‘ideal woman’. Three decades later, a different generation is watching these mythologies.

With more awareness about inclusivity, feminism, casteism, and transgender rights, one can’t help but wonder if there would be more critical perspective instead of blind awe?

Misogynistic narratives

The heavy influence of the male gaze in any religion is obvious. Hinduism is not different in this regard. Valmiki wrote Ramayanas. At the same time, Ved Vyas narrated Mahabharata; both men. Like most women’s stories told by men, it reflects the fantasies and expectations of a patriarchal world than reality. The women often reduced to pawns used by men to attack each other, as seen in the case of Sita and Draupadi.

After decades of the feminist movement, small and big wins, women are asserting their space, unlearning intergenerational conditioning and raising their voice to demand equity. With these mythologies being retelecasted, it’s essential to broaden the narrative, to read the stories from inclusive perspectives and to start new conversations.

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In their books, authors Volga and Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni gave voice and space to Sita and Draupadi. They explored different dimensions of their personalities, and questioned the baggage of conditioning they are forced to carry.

Self-love and individuality

In well-known Telugu writer Volga’s The Liberation of Sita, translated into English by T. Vijay Kumar and C. Vijayasree, we read about Sita’s interactions with the four overlooked women in the Ramayana. Surpanaka, Ahalya, Renuka, punished for their perceived sexual transgressions; Urmila, abandoned by her husband, Lakshmana. Sita is inquisitive. She is drawn to these women for incomprehensible reasons.

Most women characters were one dimensional in the original texts. Surpanaka, Ravana’s sister, was a woman arrogant about her beauty. That’s the only thing we learn about her. She was punished for expressing her feelings for Rama. Surpanka’s deserved the mutilation, or asked for it through her bold action of soliciting a man’s attention, is the general consensus. Today, if a girl pays attention to her appearance, you hear patriarchal conditioning speaking through grandmothers: “Don’t be so vain. Your nose will be cut off like Surpanaka’s.”

In Volga’s book, Sita meets Surpanaka, the latter woman expresses remorse for the humiliation she went through. She opens up about struggling with feelings of resentment for Lakshmana, Rama and Sita and with the distorted ideas about beauty. On learning to let go of toxic emotions, she says: “I had to wage a huge battle against myself”.

Complexity of Character

When given a voice, Surpanaka is a relatable woman, learning to love herself in a society created on the foundation of male egos and power. One of the reasons Lakshmana cut off her nose was so that she could never feel pride in her beauty, and no man would ever marry her.

In the book, when Sita says, “How does it matter if a man appreciates your beauty or not?” Surpanaka clears the air by introducing her partner, Sudhir, busting the stereotype that you have to look a particular way to find a companion.

Another woman who appears in Ramayana is Ahalya. She turned to stone for allegedly committing adultery and was freed from the curse by Rama. Ahalya’s story reflects how men treat women as property, and those notions of purity and pollution set by Brahmanical patriarchy lie beyond the definitions of truth and untruth.

In Volga’s book, a husband-less happy Ahalya surprises Sita. When Sita points out how Ahalya’s husband left, the latter woman nonchalantly replies, “Pity, that’s his loss.” Simple words that snap the patriarchal dominance over her.

Talking to Surpanaka and Ahalya, Sita feels a strong sense of sisterhood, which is a dominant theme in the book. We see all the women tied together by their tribulations and an unspoken understanding. She does the one thing that an ‘ideal woman’, as described by original texts, shouldn’t: questions.

After all, unlearning starts with questioning.

Taking back the power

In the original texts, Draupadi is different from Sita. She’s not as submissive, obedient or passive throughout the story. Instead, she is a rebellious and intelligent woman with thoughts of her own.

But, with a catch: these are negative characteristics, according to the authors.

Her intelligence is manipulation, of men and her husbands, and her anger causes the great war.

Read more like this: #InTheirWords: About Being A Woman

In Divakaruni’s Palace of Illusions, we see Draupadi as a fiercely strong woman. She has insecurities about her skin-colour. But, doubt doesn’t stop her from etching out space in a patriarchal world.

Draupadi’s disrobing is synonymous with humiliation. However, in Divakaruni’s version, Draupadi reacts by questioning the worth of being royalty. What value was there in being born a princess, marrying kings, if men had absolute authority over her? Draupadi refuses to let men shame for her body. “Why should I care? They and not I should be ashamed for shattering the bounds of decency,” she says.

One of the dominant themes in both books is the emphasis on sisterhood. Stories of women pitted against each other, either as rivals fighting for a man’s affection or to establish dominance in the households, are the norm.

The ubiquitousness of these ‘catfight’ narratives in culture makes it all the more important to normalise women’s sharing of shared life experiences. Most power systems work on a divide-and-rule concept. If women bonded and their voices became one, it could shake the foundation of patriarchy. It is, after all, held up by fragile egos and normalised half-truths.

When women such as Divakaruni and Volga re-told the epics from a woman’s perspective, the unspoken bond between the female characters. The intimacy is reflexive. It comes from the baggage of discrimination passed on from their foremothers.

Sita learns to detach her identity from the men in her life through the conversations with the four women. But, Draupadi decides to use her privilege of being a queen to implement changes after the war. She resolves to form a separate court for women to talk about their problems. “Hastinapur stayed one of only a handful of urban areas where women could approach their day by day lives without harassment.”

The re-telling shows that an inclusive space is crucial to address discrimination and to create ripples of change. The narrative can’t be changed when stories are an echo chamber of men’s voices.

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