Toru Dutt:
Toru Dutt (1856–1877) was an Indian poet, translator, and novelist who wrote in English and French, and is regarded as one of the pioneers of Indian English literature. Born in Calcutta into a progressive Bengali family, she received early education in both Indian and Western traditions. The Dutt family converted to Christianity in 1862, and Toru, along with her sister Aru, later studied in England and France, making her one of the first Indian women to receive higher education abroad.
Her literary works reveal a rare fusion of Indian themes with European forms. Her first book, A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields (1876), is a collection of translations from French poets, while Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan (published posthumously in 1882) retells Indian mythological tales such as Savitri, Lakshman, and Sita in English verse. She also wrote the French novel Le Journal de Mademoiselle d’Arvers (1879), making her the first Indian to write a novel in French.
Toru Dutt’s poetry blends Romantic emotion, mythic symbolism, and proto-feminist insight, exploring themes of faith, exile, and womanhood. Though she died of tuberculosis at just 21, her work bridges Indian cultural identity and Western literary expression, earning her lasting recognition as a trailblazer of Indian women’s writing and a symbol of cultural synthesis in the colonial era.
"Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!
It is, — it is my husband's voice!
Oh hasten, to his succour fly,
No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.
He calls on thee, perhaps his foes
Environ him on all sides round,
That wail, — it means death's final throes!
Why standest thou, as magic-bound?
"Is this a time for thought, — oh gird
Thy bright sword on, and take thy bow!
He heeds not, hears not any word,
Evil hangs over us, I know!
Swift in decision, prompt in deed,
Brave unto rashness, can this be,
The man to whom all looked at need?
Is it my brother that I see!
"Oh no, and I must run alone,
For further here I cannot stay;
Art thou transformed to blind dumb stone!
Wherefore this impious, strange delay!
That cry, — that cry, — it seems to ring
Still in my ears, — I cannot bear
Suspense; if help we fail to bring
His death at least we both can share"
"Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,
No cause is there for any fear,
Hast thou his prowess never seen?
Wipe off for shame that dastard tear!
What being of demonian birth
Could ever brave his mighty arm?
Is there a creature on earth
That dares to work our hero harm?
"The lion and the grisly bear
Cower when they see his royal look,
Sun-staring eagles of the air
His glance of anger cannot brook,
Pythons and cobras at his tread
To their most secret coverts glide,
Bowed to the dust each serpent head
Erect before in hooded pride.
"Rakshasas, Danavs, demons, ghosts,
Acknowledge in their hearts his might,
And slink to their remotest coasts,
In terror at his very sight.
Evil to him! Oh fear it not,
Whatever foes against him rise!
Banish for aye the foolish thought,
And be thyself, — bold, great, and wise.
"He call for help! Canst thou believe
He like a child would shriek for aid
Or pray for respite or reprieve —
Not of such metal is he made!
Delusive was that piercing cry, —
Some trick of magic by the foe;
He has a work, — he cannot die,
Beseech me not from hence to go.
For here beside thee, as a guard
'Twas he commanded me to stay,
And dangers with my life to ward
If they should come across thy way.
Send me not hence, for in this wood
Bands scattered of the giants lurk,
Who on their wrongs and vengeance brood,
And wait the hour their will to work."
"Oh shame! and canst thou make my weal
A plea for lingering! Now I know
What thou art, Lakshman! And I feel
Far better were an open foe.
Art thou a coward? I have seen
Thy bearing in the battle-fray
Where flew the death-fraught arrows keen,
Else had I judged thee so today.
"But then thy leader stood beside!
Dazzles the cloud when shines the sun,
Reft of his radiance, see it glide
A shapeless mass of vapours dun;
So of thy courage, — or if not,
The matter is far darker dyed,
What makes thee loth to leave this spot?
Is there a motive thou wouldst hide?
"He perishes — well, let him die!
His wife henceforth shall be mine own!
Can that thought deep imbedded lie
Within thy heart's most secret zone!
Search well and see! one brother takes
His kingdom, — one would take his wife!
A fair partition! — But it makes
Me shudder, and abhor my life.
"Art thou in secret league with those
Who from his hope the kingdom rent?
A spy from his ignoble foes
To track him in his banishment?
And wouldst thou at his death rejoice?
I know thou wouldst, or sure ere now
When first thou heardst that well known voice
Thou shouldst have run to aid, I trow.
"Learn this, — whatever comes may come,
But I shall not survive my Love,
Of all my thoughts here is the sum!
Witness it gods in heaven above.
If fire can burn, or water drown,
I follow him: — choose what thou wilt
Truth with its everlasting crown,
Or falsehood, treachery, and guilt.
"Remain here with a vain pretence
Of shielding me from wrong and shame,
Or go and die in his defence
And leave behind a noble name.
Choose what thou wilt, — I urge no more,
My pathway lies before me clear,
I did not know thy mind before,
I know thee now, — and have no fear."
She said and proudly from him turned, —
Was this the gentle Sita? No.
Flames from her eyes shot forth and burned,
The tears therein had ceased to flow.
"Hear me, O Queen, ere I depart,
No longer can I bear thy words,
They lacerate my inmost heart
And torture me, like poisoned swords.
"Have I deserved this at thine hand?
Of lifelong loyalty and truth
Is this the meed? I understand
Thy feelings, Sita, and in sooth
I blame thee not, — but thou mightst be
Less rash in judgement, Look! I go,
Little I care what comes to me
Wert thou but safe, — God keep thee so!
"In going hence I disregard
The plainest orders of my chief,
A deed for me, — a soldier, — hard
And deeply painful, but thy grief
And language, wild and wrong, allow
No other course. Mine be the crime,
And mine alone. — but oh, do thou
Think better of me from this time.
"Here with an arrow, lo, I trace
A magic circle ere I leave,
No evil thing within this space
May come to harm thee or to grieve.
Step not, for aught, across the line,
Whatever thou mayst see or hear,
So shalt thou balk the bad design
Of every enemy I fear.
"And now farewell! What thou hast said,
Though it has broken quite my heart,
So that I wish I were dead —
I would before, O Queen, we part,
Freely forgive, for well I know
That grief and fear have made thee wild,
We part as friends, — is it not so?"
And speaking thus he sadly smiled.
"And oh ye sylvan gods that dwell
Among these dim and sombre shades,
Whose voices in the breezes swell
And blend with noises of cascades,
Watch over Sita, whom alone
I leave, and keep her safe from harm,
Till we return unto our own,
I and my brother, arm in arm.
"For though ill omens round us rise
And frighten her dear heart, I feel
That he is safe. Beneath the skies
His equal is not, — and his heel
Shall tread all adversaries down,
Whoeve'r they may chance to be.
Farewell, O Sita! Blessings crown
And peace for ever rest with thee!"
He said, and straight his weapons took
His bow and arrows pointed keen,
Kind, — nay, indulgent, — was his look,
No trace of anger, there was seen,
Only a sorrow dark, that seemed
To deepen his resolve to dare
All dangers. Hoarse the vulture screamed,
As out he strode with dauntless air.
Critical Note on Toru Dutt’s “Lakshman”
1. Introduction
Toru Dutt’s poem “Lakshman” is one of her most accomplished narrative poems, written in English but rooted deeply in Indian mythology and moral tradition. The poem is taken from Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan (1882), a posthumous collection that sought to reinterpret Indian epic tales for an English-speaking readership. “Lakshman” dramatizes a single intense moment from the Ramayana—the exchange between Sita and Lakshman when Sita hears Rama’s cry in the forest and insists that Lakshman go to his aid.
Through this brief episode, Dutt explores human psychology, gender hierarchy, and moral duty, infusing the myth with emotional realism and a proto-feminist perspective. The poem is remarkable for the way it humanizes divine figures, rendering their emotional turmoil in universal terms of fear, doubt, love, and loyalty.
2. Historical and Biographical Context
Toru Dutt (1856–1877) was one of the first Indian women poets to write in English. Educated in Europe, she was deeply influenced by both Western Romanticism and Indian classical mythology. As Meenakshi T (RJELAL, 2016) notes, “Toru Dutt was doubly distanced from her native land geographically and then she started interpreting the mythologies even after following Christianity.” Despite being a devout Christian, Dutt turned to Hindu epics not as religious texts, but as repositories of cultural meaning and moral complexity.
Her reinterpretation of Sita and Lakshman reflects the colonial encounter between East and West: she translates the Ramayana ethos into English verse, yet introduces the Victorian moral sensibility of inner struggle, restraint, and conscience. The result is a hybrid poetic vision, shaped by her diasporic consciousness and her attempt to “interpret the spirit of the East to the Western readers.”
3. Thematic Analysis
a. Gender, Anxiety, and the Humanization of Sita
The poem opens with Sita’s urgent cry:
“Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!It is,—it is my husband’s voice!Oh hasten, to his succour fly,No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.”
Sita’s plea reveals her fragile humanity. Dutt transforms the divine consort of Rama into a woman tormented by fear and insecurity. As Meenakshi T observes, “This kind of words from Sita expresses her heightened anxiety as a woman who is scared that her husband and her master is in danger.” The poem thereby reveals how the mythic Sita’s divinity dissolves into human vulnerability.
Sita’s transformation from devout wife to accuser also dramatizes the conflict between faith and fear, reason and emotion. She accuses Lakshman of cowardice and even lust:
“He perishes—well, let him die!His wife henceforth shall be mine own!”
These lines, shocking in their vehemence, display Sita’s psychological realism: her grief turns into suspicion, her devotion into irrational rage. Toru Dutt, thus, presents Sita not as a goddess, but as a woman caught in the throes of emotional and patriarchal subjugation.
b. Lakshman as the Moral Centre
While Sita’s passion dominates the poem, Dutt titles it “Lakshman.” This title choice, as Meenakshi T notes, “shows the strength of his character,” as he remains “noble and sublime” even when insulted. Lakshman’s calm response reflects stoic self-control:
“Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,No cause is there for any fear,Hast thou his prowess never seen?”
Lakshman’s tone is dignified, respectful, yet firm. He stands as a representative of duty (dharma), bound by Rama’s command to protect Sita. When he finally yields to her accusations, he does so not out of weakness but out of moral anguish:
“Have I deserved this at thine hand?Of lifelong loyalty and truthIs this the meed?”
His calm dignity amid Sita’s outburst elevates him to moral heroism. The “magic circle” he draws before leaving—
“Here with an arrow, lo, I trace / A magic circle ere I leave”—symbolizes both protection and patriarchal limitation. It prefigures the Lakshman Rekha as a metaphor for women’s constrained agency in patriarchal culture.
c. The Lakshman Rekha as Feminine Confinement
The “Lakshman Rekha” becomes a symbolic boundary—a literal and figurative line that separates safety from agency, purity from temptation. Meenakshi T interprets this as “the supreme metaphor for women’s restricted movement.” Sita’s subsequent crossing of that line (after Lakshman’s departure) leads to her abduction by Ravana, underscoring how patriarchal mythology equates female autonomy with transgression.
Toru Dutt, through her modern lens, both preserves and questions this moral lesson. The tension between divine law and human impulse becomes a subtle critique of gender hierarchy. The poem, therefore, not only recounts myth but reimagines it in the light of 19th-century colonial and feminist consciousness.
4. Stylistic and Structural Features
Toru Dutt employs a lyrical narrative style marked by emotional immediacy, rhythmic fluency, and visual imagery. The dialogue form—rare in Victorian poetry—creates dramatic tension, resembling a miniature verse play. Her diction blends the elevated tone of epic with the tenderness of domestic pathos.
For instance, the imagery of wild animals—
“The lion and the grisly bear / Cower when they see his royal look”—conveys both Lakshman’s reverence for Rama’s power and his attempt to reason with Sita through vivid natural imagery. The tone alternates between anxiety, accusation, and resigned dignity, mapping the shifting psychological terrain of both characters.
Dutt’s command of iambic rhythm and controlled rhyme gives the poem an epic dignity while retaining lyrical emotion, bridging Western poetic form and Indian thematic substance.
5. Symbolism and Moral Dimension
Every element in “Lakshman” carries symbolic meaning:
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Sita’s cry — human vulnerability and love’s anxiety.
-
Lakshman’s patience — dharma, reason, and self-sacrifice.
-
The magic circle — confinement of women and the illusion of protection.
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The vulture’s scream at the end — an ominous foreshadowing of disaster.
The poem, in its moral essence, portrays how emotion undermines reason, how love can turn to suspicion, and how duty demands painful self-denial.
6. Conclusion
Toru Dutt’s “Lakshman” transforms a mythic moment into a psychological and moral drama. It questions the divine perfection of epic characters, exposing their human flaws and emotional depths. Sita, the “protected threat,” becomes a tragic emblem of womanhood—both sacred and constrained. Lakshman, though secondary in myth, becomes the poem’s moral hero, embodying integrity, loyalty, and restraint.
Introduction
Among the many reinterpretations of the Ramayana in Indian and world literature, Toru Dutt’s poem “Lakshman” (from Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan, 1882) occupies a unique place. Written in English by a 19th-century Indian woman poet educated in Europe, the poem revisits a moment of high tension from the epic — the instant when Sita hears Rama’s cry and urges Lakshman to his aid. In Valmiki’s Ramayana, this episode functions as a moral test of obedience and faith; Sita, the ideal wife, becomes the victim of deception, and her crossing of the Lakshman Rekha precipitates her abduction by Ravana.
In Dutt’s hands, however, the episode becomes a psychological and emotional drama. Her Sita is no longer the silent, self-effacing emblem of chastity but a woman tormented by fear, love, and doubt. Through this reimagining, Dutt reinterprets the Ramayana from a modern and proto-feminist perspective, exposing the contradictions of patriarchal ideals that expect a woman to be both divine and submissive.
Thus, while Valmiki’s Sita stands as a model of patience and purity, Toru Dutt’s Sita emerges as a deeply human figure — anxious, impulsive, and vulnerable. The contrast between these two versions not only reveals differing conceptions of womanhood but also reflects Dutt’s attempt to reconcile Indian mythology with Western psychological realism and moral complexity.
Sita in the Ramayana: The Ideal of Divine Womanhood
In Valmiki’s Ramayana, Sita is revered as the epitome of womanly virtue — pativrata dharma, the code of absolute devotion to one’s husband. She follows Rama into exile without complaint, declaring, “The forest where my Rama dwells is to me Ayodhya itself.” (Valmiki, Ayodhya Kanda, II.27). This unwavering loyalty forms the moral core of her character. She embodies endurance, faith, and purity; her trials — the abduction, the Agni Pariksha (trial by fire), and eventual withdrawal into the earth — only reinforce her sanctity.
Devdutt Pattanaik (2013) calls her “a goddess who follows the dharma of a mortal woman” — one who upholds cosmic order through obedience and self-sacrifice. Sita’s silence and composure are not weaknesses but marks of spiritual strength. Even when wronged by Rama, she does not rebel; she accepts her suffering as a part of destiny, demonstrating the idealized Hindu image of feminine virtue — patient, forgiving, and self-effacing.
Thus, the Sita of Valmiki’s epic exists as an ethical symbol, more divine than human. Her emotions are sublimated into virtue; her words serve duty rather than passion. This Sita represents what Meenakshi T. calls “the ethereal mythological character,” one who “fails to project her potentiality as a goddess because she stays within the Lakshmanrekha” — the ultimate metaphor for patriarchal control.
Sita in Toru Dutt’s “Lakshman”: Humanized and Emotionally Vulnerable
Toru Dutt radically reconfigures this ideal. Her poem begins not with the serene voice of virtue but with panic:
“Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!
It is,—it is my husband’s voice!
Oh hasten, to his succour fly,
No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.”
From the opening lines, Dutt’s Sita is not an embodiment of patience but a woman seized by fear. The goddess becomes human; divinity dissolves into emotion. Her love for Rama manifests not as composed faith but as desperate anxiety. She is no longer the silent sufferer of fate but a speaker whose words are urgent, irrational, and commanding.
Lakshman’s calm response — “Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen, / No cause is there for any fear” — contrasts sharply with her hysteria. He appeals to reason, reminding her of Rama’s invincibility:
“The lion and the grisly bear
Cower when they see his royal look…”
But Sita’s terror blinds her to logic. Her speech intensifies into doubt and suspicion:
“He perishes — well, let him die!
His wife henceforth shall be mine own!
Can that thought deep embedded lie
Within thy heart’s most secret zone?”
These lines mark the greatest departure from the Ramayana’s ideal. The epic Sita could never utter such accusations; yet Dutt’s Sita, overwhelmed by panic, becomes capable of imagining betrayal. She charges Lakshman — the paragon of loyalty — with lust and treachery. As Meenakshi T. observes, this transformation “shows the working of a woman’s mind… she acts impulsively and easily falls into the trap laid down for her by Ravana.”
Thus, Dutt replaces the mythic ideal with psychological realism. Sita’s fear and anger are not flaws of faith but manifestations of human fragility. The poet grants her what Valmiki denied — the freedom to feel and speak as a human being.
From Divine Obedience to Emotional Agency
Dutt’s Sita, despite her fragility, possesses a strong sense of agency. When Lakshman refuses to leave her side, she confronts him with rhetorical fury:
“Oh shame! and canst thou make my weal
A plea for lingering! Now I know
What thou art, Lakshman! And I feel
Far better were an open foe.”
Here, Sita is not submissive but assertive, even aggressive. She demands action, using sarcasm and moral authority to compel Lakshman. In contrast, Valmiki’s Sita would never challenge male authority so directly. Her strength lies in suffering silently; Dutt’s Sita, however, claims speech as her weapon.
Yet, this newfound voice is double-edged. Her command ultimately leads to disaster — Lakshman’s departure and her own abduction. Dutt’s treatment, therefore, is not merely feminist protest but tragic realism: Sita’s passion becomes her undoing. Her agency exposes, rather than resolves, the contradictions of gender hierarchy. As Meenakshi notes, “The goddess incarnate fails to project her potentiality as a goddess… the earthly woman is in need of protection.”
The Symbolism of the Lakshman Rekha: Protection or Imprisonment
One of the most powerful moments in Dutt’s poem is when Lakshman, before leaving, draws a “magic circle”:
“Here with an arrow, lo, I trace
A magic circle ere I leave,
No evil thing within this space
May come to harm thee or to grieve.”
This circle is both literal and symbolic. In the Ramayana, it represents protection; in Dutt’s version, it becomes a symbol of confinement. The circle marks the limits of female autonomy — Sita is both protected and imprisoned within it. As critics such as Hélène Cixous have argued (in The Laugh of the Medusa, 1976), patriarchal culture “castrates” female voice through such boundaries. Dutt’s image of the Lakshman Rekha thus exposes the paradox of patriarchal protection: the woman is safe only when she is silent and contained.
In making this metaphor central, Dutt anticipates later feminist readings of myth. Sreemoyee Piu Kundu’s Sita’s Curse: The Language of Desire (2014) echoes this idea when she writes that “Sita’s boundaries were drawn not by Ravana but by her own protectors.” Dutt’s poem subtly articulates this insight long before modern feminism: the greatest threat to Sita’s freedom is not the demon outside but the divine order that restricts her within.
Human Nobility and Divine Failure: The Contrast Between Sita and Lakshman
While Sita succumbs to emotion, Lakshman becomes the poem’s moral centre. His calm endurance and humility highlight the dignity of human virtue against divine fallibility. He forgives Sita’s harsh words:
“Have I deserved this at thine hand?
Of lifelong loyalty and truth
Is this the meed?”
Despite being wounded, he continues to protect her dignity and prays to the forest gods for her safety. His nobility contrasts sharply with Sita’s impulsiveness. As Meenakshi observes, “Lakshman’s calm composure even in the deepest mental agony shows the strength of his character.”
Dutt’s choice to title the poem “Lakshman” rather than “Sita” reflects this shift: she presents a world where divine figures falter and human loyalty triumphs. In doing so, she democratizes the epic, suggesting that moral greatness lies not in divinity but in disciplined humanity.
Sita’s Fallibility as Feminine Truth
Despite her failings, Dutt’s Sita is not condemned. Her doubts and accusations are presented with psychological empathy. The poet’s tone, while tragic, is never judgmental. The very humanity that causes Sita’s fall also makes her relatable. She becomes what Meenakshi calls “the protected threat” — both sacred and flawed, goddess and woman.
Through this portrayal, Dutt challenges the moral absolutism of the epic. The Ramayana ideal of womanhood — pure, obedient, voiceless — is replaced by a vision of woman as emotional truth. Sita’s breakdown becomes a mirror of the human condition: love mixed with fear, devotion mingled with insecurity.
In this sense, Dutt’s Sita anticipates the modern reinterpretations of Sita in later works, such as Volga’s The Liberation of Sita (2016), where Sita evolves from passive virtue to conscious individuality. Toru Dutt thus stands at the threshold of this transformation, giving voice to an early form of feminist consciousness within the colonial literary framework.
Conclusion
Toru Dutt’s “Lakshman” marks a profound departure from the ideal image of Sita found in the Ramayana. Valmiki’s Sita is the divine exemplar of chastity and endurance, whose silence and suffering uphold the moral order. Dutt’s Sita, by contrast, is intensely human — emotional, fearful, accusatory, and self-willed. Her speech replaces silence; her doubt replaces blind faith; her vulnerability reveals strength of feeling rather than moral weakness.
Through this reimagining, Dutt does not desecrate the goddess but humanizes her, exposing the psychological reality beneath mythic perfection. She reveals that the idealized image of womanhood is both sacred and suffocating. As a poet standing between East and West, tradition and modernity, Dutt transforms Sita from a symbol of submission into a mirror of human passion and fallibility.
In the end, Dutt’s Sita differs from the epic ideal not because she is less virtuous, but because she is more real. Her tears, fears, and accusations make her not a goddess to be worshipped, but a woman to be understood — and in that transformation lies Toru Dutt’s enduring contribution to both Indian and world literature.
Toru Dutt’s poem “Lakshman” (from Ancient Ballads and Legends of Hindustan, 1882) is one of her most compelling reinterpretations of a classical Indian episode through a distinctly modern and gendered lens. Drawing upon the Ramayana, Dutt reimagines the moment when Sita, hearing Rama’s cry in the forest, implores Lakshman to go to his rescue. What in Valmiki’s epic is a brief exchange becomes, in Dutt’s poem, a psychological and gendered dialogue — one that exposes the tension between duty and emotion, loyalty and suspicion, reason and passion. Through the clash of Sita’s impetuous emotionality and Lakshman’s rational obedience, Dutt reveals the complex intersections of gender, voice, and power within both epic and colonial cultural frameworks.
While the traditional Ramayana portrays Sita as the ideal wife — devoted, self-sacrificing, and unquestioning — Dutt’s Sita speaks with fierce independence and emotional assertiveness. The dialogue thus becomes a space where gender expectations and moral hierarchies are tested, revealing how patriarchal ideals govern both speech and silence.
From the very opening, Sita’s dialogue embodies both emotional urgency and moral authority:
“Hark! Lakshman! Hark, again that cry!
It is,— it is my husband’s voice!
Oh hasten, to his succour fly,
No more hast thou, dear friend, a choice.”
Here, Sita’s imperative tone overturns the traditional submissive model of womanhood. Her voice, rather than being passive, commands action. Dutt’s Sita is not a silent sufferer but a woman of moral conviction and agency. Yet, this assertiveness is rooted in emotional excess — a stereotype historically ascribed to femininity. Her fear and passion, though justified, are later interpreted by Lakshman as “rash,” “wild,” and “unreasoned,” exposing the gendered bias against emotional intelligence.
Toru Dutt, writing in colonial Bengal, was acutely aware of the tension between the Victorian ideal of womanhood (domestic, emotional, pure) and the Indian ideal of pativrata (the devoted wife). Through Sita, she merges both yet allows the character to speak beyond the boundaries of both traditions — a significant act of feminist re-reading.
Lakshman’s responses are couched in logic, restraint, and authority, qualities aligned with patriarchal constructs of masculinity:
“Oh calm thyself, Videhan Queen,
No cause is there for any fear…
What being of demonian birth
Could ever brave his mighty arm?”
Lakshman’s diction — measured, didactic, almost paternal — assumes moral and emotional superiority. He silences Sita’s intuition by invoking Rama’s invincibility and divine order. His tone suggests that reason belongs to the masculine domain, while emotion — even when prophetic — is dismissed as feminine hysteria.
Moreover, his duty to remain beside Sita is framed not as personal choice but obedience to Rama’s command:
“For here beside thee, as a guard
’Twas he commanded me to stay.”
Thus, Lakshman embodies patriarchal duty, subordinating his personal agency to a male authority. His loyalty is masculine, defined by control, endurance, and silence — in contrast to Sita’s passionate speech.
The heart of the poem lies in the tragic miscommunication between Sita and Lakshman, born of gendered expectations. Sita interprets Lakshman’s hesitation as betrayal and cowardice:
“Art thou a coward? …
Or is there a motive thou wouldst hide?”
Her accusation — that he secretly desires her or conspires with Rama’s enemies — dramatizes the female fear of male duplicity within patriarchal power structures. Dutt’s choice to intensify Sita’s suspicion transforms this moment into a psychological confrontation between female vulnerability and male restraint.
Lakshman’s anguish at being misunderstood reveals another gendered tension: men’s emotional suppression as a mark of strength. His response is full of restrained pain:
“Have I deserved this at thine hand?
Of lifelong loyalty and truth
Is this the meed?”
In this reversal, Dutt gives the male figure emotional depth, yet he cannot voice his feelings freely without violating masculine codes of composure. Both characters are thus imprisoned — Sita by her emotional excess, Lakshman by his stoic discipline.
This duality reflects Dutt’s subtle critique: patriarchal ideals dehumanize both genders, denying emotional truth to men and rational authority to women.
Toru Dutt’s retelling departs from Valmiki not by altering the story’s outcome but by transforming the interiority of its characters. Sita’s passionate voice, amplified and dramatized, becomes a critique of her silencing in traditional epics. Dutt, a woman writing in English in colonial India, reclaims Sita’s voice for a new moral and emotional discourse.
The moment when Sita declares —
“Learn this,— whatever comes may come,
But I shall not survive my Love”
— reinforces her autonomy through devotion. Her agency lies not in disobedience but in the ethical power of love, which transcends patriarchal duty. Dutt’s Sita is not merely a symbol of chastity; she is a thinking, feeling subject, capable of moral reasoning even when driven by emotion.
At the same time, Dutt’s sympathetic portrayal of Lakshman’s inner turmoil complicates simplistic gender binaries. His final words —
“We part as friends,— is it not so?”
— restore harmony through empathy rather than authority. Thus, Dutt envisions a gender complementarity, where mutual respect, not hierarchy, defines moral strength.
Conclusion
In “Lakshman,” Toru Dutt transforms a mythic episode into a profound exploration of gendered psychology and moral conflict. The dialogues between Sita and Lakshman reveal how patriarchal structures shape speech, silence, and misunderstanding. Sita’s voice, marked by passion and devotion, becomes both her strength and her vulnerability, while Lakshman’s rational restraint exposes the emotional cost of masculine ideals of obedience.
Through this poetic dramatization, Dutt anticipates a proto-feminist sensibility — one that does not merely invert gender roles but interrogates their limitations. By giving Sita a fuller, more complex emotional life and allowing Lakshman to feel pain without relinquishing honour, Dutt reclaims the Ramayana as a site of human, not merely divine, experience.
Thus, yes — it can certainly be said that the dialogues between Sita and Lakshman in “Lakshman” throw light upon the perspective of gender, offering both a critique of patriarchal codes and a vision of mutual moral dignity.
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