Why Must Women Suffer to Be Respected? A Question Sita’s Story Leaves Us With

"Na stree swatantryam arhati"—Ancient texts often reinforced the idea that women do not deserve independence. But in a society that worships Sita, why does it still demand her suffering as proof of her virtue?

When Did Women’s Suffering Become a Measure of Virtue?
Sita’s story in the Ramayana is a saga of sacrifices that society romanticizes as devotion. But behind the poetic retellings lies an uncomfortable truth—her life was a series of tests imposed on her simply for being a woman.

She followed Rama into exile, leaving behind her home and royal comforts. This is often seen as an act of love, but was it truly a choice, or an expectation?
Even today, this is the reality many women face. Women are often told to "adjust," to "make things work," and to put their families first, just like Sita. The idea of sacrificing for the greater good is drilled into their minds from a young age. As young girls, we are taught that we must endure, be silent, and put others' needs before our own. If we question these expectations, we’re labeled as selfish or difficult. It is this very narrative that shapes how women live their lives today, constantly feeling that their value is tied to how much they’re willing to bear for others.

When Sita was rescued from Ravana, her purity was questioned, not his crime. She was asked to prove herself by walking through fire. “Why should I, a chaste woman, suffer such humiliation?” she asks in some versions of the Ramayana, but still, she complies.

This echoes in modern times when women who face harassment or assault are asked, "What were you wearing? Where were you? Why were you alone?" Just like Sita, they are put on trial for a crime committed against them. The message is clear—women must always be accountable for how they are perceived, and they are always guilty until proven innocent. Worse still, even when they do prove themselves, they are never truly free from judgment. The precedent of doubting a woman’s word, dignity, and agency was set centuries ago, and it continues to dictate how society views women today.

Rama is often revered as the ideal king, but his choice to prioritize duty over his wife’s dignity is a reflection of how society expects women to endure for the greater good. Sita was abandoned while pregnant, not for any fault of her own, but because the whispers of a doubtful society mattered more than her truth.

Even today, women are expected to bear pain for the sake of family honor. A divorced woman is judged more than the man who leaves her. A working mother is scrutinized for not "putting her family first." A woman staying in an abusive marriage is glorified for "keeping the family together." The burden of proving oneself never ends. Sita’s abandonment mirrors the reality of countless women who are discarded when they are no longer "convenient" or when society deems them unworthy of protection.

From childhood, girls are told to be "like Sita"—patient, sacrificing, selfless. "A woman’s strength is in her silence," they are told, shaping the idea that tolerance equals virtue. When she questions injustice, she is labeled difficult, disobedient, or even impure—just as Sita was doubted even after proving herself.

This upbringing ensures that women internalize suffering as their destiny. It conditions them to prioritize everyone but themselves. It makes them believe that questioning injustice is rebellion, not self-respect. Women are taught that their highest form of duty is to serve others, and that their worth is measured by how much they can endure. This is why so many women continue to tolerate toxic relationships, unequal opportunities, and unfair expectations, fearing that speaking up will make them less "virtuous."

The Ramayana is more than a story—it is a cultural blueprint. When religious texts glorify suffering as a virtue, society follows. Women who endure pain with a smile are revered; those who demand equality are shamed. This is why the modern woman still fights battles that should have ended centuries ago.

Even today, a woman who prioritizes her career over marriage is questioned. A woman who refuses to tolerate abuse is blamed for "breaking the family." The echoes of Sita’s story are everywhere, making suffering seem natural and questioning seem unnatural.

A woman’s pain is often dismissed as something she "must endure." Period cramps, childbirth, emotional labor, workplace discrimination, unequal wages—women are expected to go through it all without complaint. If they speak up, they are labeled weak or dramatic. If they endure, they are praised for their "resilience."

This expectation is not coincidental—it is deeply rooted in stories like Sita’s, where endurance and suffering are rewarded, while defiance is punished. Women are conditioned to believe that pain is an essential part of their identity. When a woman tolerates mistreatment in marriage, she is "strong." When she speaks up, she is "difficult." This harmful expectation has trapped generations of women in a cycle of silent suffering.

Sita's ultimate act of defiance was not fighting for acceptance but choosing to return to the Earth, her original mother. A silent protest, an assertion that if respect comes only through suffering, then perhaps she no longer seeks it.

Her story, however, set a dangerous precedent—that a woman’s struggle is expected, that she must endure in silence, and that her worth is linked to how much she can bear. This narrative continues today, shaping mindsets that tell women to adjust, endure, and never question.

If we truly revere Sita, why do we still subject women to their own Agni Parikshas?

Isn’t it time we rewrite the narrative? Shouldn’t respect be given freely, not earned through pain? Let this question linger, not as a conclusion, but as a challenge to society itself.