Why The Choice Still Matters
The spiritual heartbeat behind this pivotal tale.
---
You won’t find my name in any scripture, but I was there, serving in the palace of Ayodhya when Queen Sita was sent away.
I swept the marble halls, polished the golden doors, and listened. Servants hear things. Things the world shouldn’t know. Things the heart struggles to forget.
Lord Rama—beloved king, seventh avatar of Lord Vishnu—had conquered Lanka, defeated the demon king Ravana, and returned with Sita, his wife, after years of exile. Ayodhya rejoiced. Flags flew. Drums rang out under the sky. Everyone believed this was the ending.
But it wasn’t.
Some people whispered doubt. “Was Sita pure?” they asked. “She lived in the house of another man.” Lord Rama knew the truth—he had watched her prove her chastity through fire. Agni Dev, the god of fire, returned her unharmed. What more was there to question?
Still, rumors grow fast in cities. Especially where ego and fear seep through cracks.
Rama was no ordinary king. He was the ideal man. A king must protect not just his family, but the faith of his people. His dharma—his sacred duty—demanded sacrifice beyond feeling. That is what killed him, I think. Not swords or age. But that choice.
The choice to abandon Sita.
I remember the day clearly.
She stood at the edge of the forest, wrapped in silence. Her face betrayed nothing, but I saw how she looked back—just once—toward Ayodhya. She didn’t cry. She didn’t curse. That’s what stayed with me.
Her eyes held everything: pain, love, strength—like Arjuna on the battlefield before Lord Krishna. Her duty was now her children, her solitude. She would raise Lava and Kusha in the hermitage of Sage Valmiki. Alone. Unseen.
I asked an older servant once, “Why would Lord Rama do such a thing? He loved her.”
He only replied, “Because love without dharma turns selfish.”
That confused me for years.
But then, I remembered the tales my grandfather used to tell. About Lord Ganesha—how he transcribed the epic Mahabharata for Sage Vyasa without rest. Duty over comfort. And the Upanishads—how they taught that truth must be lived, not just spoken.
So I began to understand.
Rama’s decision hurt—maybe more than war. But dharma isn’t about ease. It’s not about always feeling right. It’s about being right—before the divine. Even when the world turns away. Even when the heart protests.
Sita understood that. She never returned to Ayodhya. Never demanded they explain themselves. She mothered two boys who later sang the story of their father’s life in the very court that exiled her.
And when the time came, she asked Mother Earth to receive her. The ground broke open, and the earth embraced her as its daughter.
No anger. No revenge. Just return.
That was her final lesson.
That sometimes silence is stronger than defiance. That to walk away, with grace, can be the highest form of courage. In that moment, she became more than a queen, more than a wife. She became the embodiment of strength through surrender.
The kind of strength the Upanishads speak of. Inner fire. Self-mastery.
Rama — he kept ruling. Kept walking the path. But those who heard him weep in meditation said his tears never stopped. He fulfilled his duty. But duty leaves scars.
And yet, thousands of years later, we still speak both their names.
Sita.
Rama.
Not just because of gods and kings, but because of choices made under pressure. Because every soul, from child to elder, knows this tension—that pull between love and responsibility.
We learn from Arjuna’s hesitation, from Ganesha’s wisdom, from Sita’s silence.
I left Ayodhya years later. The palace grew loud. Heartless. I wandered south, then east, sleeping under stars, listening to wandering sages. One of them said something I carry still:
“Dharma is not given. It is discovered. And once found, it demands everything.”
That’s what Rama did. He gave everything. So did Sita.
And that’s why their story still matters.
Even now.
Even for a nameless servant like me.
---
Keywords: Ganesha, Upanishads, duty, Sita, Arjuna, spiritual wisdom
Word Count: 599
Why The Choice Still Matters
The spiritual heartbeat behind this pivotal tale.
---
You won’t find my name in any scripture, but I was there, serving in the palace of Ayodhya when Queen Sita was sent away.
I swept the marble halls, polished the golden doors, and listened. Servants hear things. Things the world shouldn’t know. Things the heart struggles to forget.
Lord Rama—beloved king, seventh avatar of Lord Vishnu—had conquered Lanka, defeated the demon king Ravana, and returned with Sita, his wife, after years of exile. Ayodhya rejoiced. Flags flew. Drums rang out under the sky. Everyone believed this was the ending.
But it wasn’t.
Some people whispered doubt. “Was Sita pure?” they asked. “She lived in the house of another man.” Lord Rama knew the truth—he had watched her prove her chastity through fire. Agni Dev, the god of fire, returned her unharmed. What more was there to question?
Still, rumors grow fast in cities. Especially where ego and fear seep through cracks.
Rama was no ordinary king. He was the ideal man. A king must protect not just his family, but the faith of his people. His dharma—his sacred duty—demanded sacrifice beyond feeling. That is what killed him, I think. Not swords or age. But that choice.
The choice to abandon Sita.
I remember the day clearly.
She stood at the edge of the forest, wrapped in silence. Her face betrayed nothing, but I saw how she looked back—just once—toward Ayodhya. She didn’t cry. She didn’t curse. That’s what stayed with me.
Her eyes held everything: pain, love, strength—like Arjuna on the battlefield before Lord Krishna. Her duty was now her children, her solitude. She would raise Lava and Kusha in the hermitage of Sage Valmiki. Alone. Unseen.
I asked an older servant once, “Why would Lord Rama do such a thing? He loved her.”
He only replied, “Because love without dharma turns selfish.”
That confused me for years.
But then, I remembered the tales my grandfather used to tell. About Lord Ganesha—how he transcribed the epic Mahabharata for Sage Vyasa without rest. Duty over comfort. And the Upanishads—how they taught that truth must be lived, not just spoken.
So I began to understand.
Rama’s decision hurt—maybe more than war. But dharma isn’t about ease. It’s not about always feeling right. It’s about being right—before the divine. Even when the world turns away. Even when the heart protests.
Sita understood that. She never returned to Ayodhya. Never demanded they explain themselves. She mothered two boys who later sang the story of their father’s life in the very court that exiled her.
And when the time came, she asked Mother Earth to receive her. The ground broke open, and the earth embraced her as its daughter.
No anger. No revenge. Just return.
That was her final lesson.
That sometimes silence is stronger than defiance. That to walk away, with grace, can be the highest form of courage. In that moment, she became more than a queen, more than a wife. She became the embodiment of strength through surrender.
The kind of strength the Upanishads speak of. Inner fire. Self-mastery.
Rama — he kept ruling. Kept walking the path. But those who heard him weep in meditation said his tears never stopped. He fulfilled his duty. But duty leaves scars.
And yet, thousands of years later, we still speak both their names.
Sita.
Rama.
Not just because of gods and kings, but because of choices made under pressure. Because every soul, from child to elder, knows this tension—that pull between love and responsibility.
We learn from Arjuna’s hesitation, from Ganesha’s wisdom, from Sita’s silence.
I left Ayodhya years later. The palace grew loud. Heartless. I wandered south, then east, sleeping under stars, listening to wandering sages. One of them said something I carry still:
“Dharma is not given. It is discovered. And once found, it demands everything.”
That’s what Rama did. He gave everything. So did Sita.
And that’s why their story still matters.
Even now.
Even for a nameless servant like me.
---
Keywords: Ganesha, Upanishads, duty, Sita, Arjuna, spiritual wisdom
Word Count: 599
