Nagendra Sharma
If Helen’s was the first face that launched a thousand ships and burned the towers of Ilium, Nepal had an eternal feminine flower not born to blush unseen in what today is an obscure little town, Janakpur. Sita…her beauty made a dim world bright but made herself an unenviable central figure in a tragedy of epic dimensions.
The story of the Ramayana does not bear repititions here. But in Nepal, where the Princess of Mithila symboloses a lotus rather than a Venus-a daughter of the soil whose exemplary womanhood conjures up visions of a Great Age in the country’s own pre-history, many a folk-song or a bard-song has come down countless generations as a legacy of the past extolling the virtues of King Janaka as also of Sita, but which in no way feature in the famous Epic.
If there is any possibility of ascertaining the age of origin of the Kathmandu valley following the draining out of a lake, we may, perhaps by cross-reference, also establish the era during which the great legendary foster-father of Sita ruled an empire which his capital in the vicinity of today’s Janakpur Dham in south-eastern Nepal.
As the stories go, following the founding of civilization by Manjushree in the Nepal valley, Dharmakara, one of the savant’s disciples, became the king of Kathmandu. This king had ni issues, however, and was succeeded by one Dharmpala, a contemporary of Krakuchhanda Buddha.
That Rama, the prince of Ayodhya, had to enter into a traditional feat of archery in order to win the hands of Sita is well known. What is little known, however, is that Dharmapala’s descendant and successor to the throne of Kathmandu, Sudhanwa, had also set forth for Janaka’s capital with a view to matching his talents in archery with all the other princes gathered there to compete for the coveted hands of Sita. But somehow, a battle ensued between King Janaka and Sudhanwa in which the latter was killed. If we set this against the historical belief, held by some, that the story of Ramayana dates roughly back to the 7th century B.C., the Kathmanduites may have some food for thought about the timing of their own legendary civilization indeed.
Now for the other part of the story. So intimately woven in Sita’s name into the local legendary fabric that, given credence, many a Nepalese tribe, like the Maithilis, would be found with her own blood running in their veins!
Even an obscure little community, the Chepangs, claim to be the direct descendants of Sita. While living in exile at sage Valmiki’s hermitage on the banks of the river Gandaki, so goes the legend, Sita had given birth to a son, Lohari by name. One day Sita took the wailing Lohari to the river to bathe. Returning to the hermitage in the meantime, Valmiki saw Lohari’s cradle empty and thought the baby must have fallen a prey either to some wild animals or to baby-lifters. Apprehensive that Sita would create a scene upon her discovery of the loss; Valmiki hurriedly created a living likeness of Lohari out of the holy Kusa grass and left it in the cradle. Upon her return with Lohari, Sita was spellbound to see another child playing in her son’s cradle and it was not until Valmiki explained the whole thing that her doubts were set at rest. Valmiki also advised her to bring up both as twins and named the second one Kushari (born out of Kusha grass). Chepangs hold fast to the belief that they are thus the direct descendants of Lohari whereas Kushari’s descendants are the Kusundas, a food-gathering and hunting tribe living today in forested areas west of the Chepang