Ancient Indian epics and the many retellings of the Ramayana have accorded Sita an importance inseparable from Ram's. There is, after all, no Ram without Sita. Yet, reinterpretations of the 2,500-year-old epic well into the 21st century continue to impose new ideas upon a woman whose story has already been retold in countless forms. The most common idea, which has taken on a new garb, is: Why is 'X' actor playing the role? This has been doing the rounds since Sai Pallavi was cast as Sita in Nitesh Tiwari's Ramayana. Sai Pallavi is not new to scrutiny, but the question of whether she is beautiful enough to play one of India's most revered mythological women is as unfounded as it is unnecessary.
Sai Pallavi herself has spoken about her battle with insecurities, even after her dream debut in Premam (2015). She recalled trying multiple creams to clear her pimples and lighten her skin in the hope of gaining sharper facial features. Eventually, she abandoned them all and chose to embrace her skin and hair as they were. In the years that followed, that decision became an integral part of how the actor was perceived. She was hailed as a "natural beauty" precisely for renouncing make-up and refusing to conform to the artificiality often associated with conventional glamour. Her features, once a source of insecurity, became the very things she was celebrated for.
Until The Ramayana: Part 1 trailer dropped. Sai Pallavi, as Sita, was no longer beautiful enough. Her features were suddenly deemed "unnatural" and "culturally inappropriate" to be cast as the princess of Janaka. Rakul Preet Singh, who plays Soorpanaka, was described as a beauty who could "eat 50 Sai Pallavis for breakfast". Discussions ranged from "How could Sita have curly hair?", "Why was a South Indian cast as Sita?", "Why is Soorpanaka looking more beautiful than Sita?" to "Why is an anti-national cast as Maa Sita?". Sai Pallavi was also compared to Assamese actor Surabhi Das, who plays her on-screen sister, Shrutakirti, prompting comments that Das would have been a better choice. Other actors like Dipika Chikhlia, Nayanthara, Debina Bonnerjee and Kriti Sanon, who played the character in various adaptations of the epic, were placed on a higher pedestal.
Sai Pallavi, who was hailed for her unassuming beauty, was discarded in an instant when conventional beauty standards came into play. Their defense? Scriptures had repeatedly described Sita as the "epitome of beauty", and she did not fit the bill. But who gets to define beauty in an ever-evolving landscape?
History's most 'beautiful' women often did not fit into a tan theta formula. Egyptian queen Cleopatra, whose features still remain a mystery, reportedly had a prominent aquiline (hooked) nose, a strong jawline, and a pointed chin that might not have made her striking or ravishing in this era. We saw what happened to Helen of Troy, when she was imagined as a black woman in Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey. Interestingly, in epics, she is described as the daughter of Zeus and Leda, a princess disguised as a swan. The logic is not logic-ing, right?
Besides, for most of human history, a chubby body shape was considered the highest standard of female beauty and a symbol of high social standing. During the Renaissance, fuller female bodies were frequently associated with beauty, fertility, health, and prosperity. In the Victorian era, waist-cinching corsets that always came with a back-breaking pain reflected the standard of having a small waist. In ancient Rome, parts of ancient and medieval Asia, and Renaissance Europe, women used cosmetics containing lead compounds to create a pale complexion because it was associated with social status.
Similarly, Sita is being scrutinised and dissected for features that cannot be substantiated through any pictorial representation in human history. So, where and why is there a necessity to establish a yardstick for what constitutes "real beauty"? If that is the standard we choose to apply to women across different eras, then it is worth remembering that Lord Ram and Krishna have often been described in scriptures as having blue or dark complexions. They are called Shyama or Meghavarna, evoking a dark, radiant or cloud-like appearance. When this scrutiny and backlash are disproportionately directed at women, it exposes a deeply rooted gendered double standard. This is not merely a debate about historical accuracy or representation; it is about the male gaze and the persistent policing of women's bodies.
Ironically, even sections of those supporting Sai Pallavi's casting are not necessarily appreciating her acting chops. Instead, they place her on a pedestal for embodying ideals of "modesty" and "chastity" on and off screen. Society always finds a way to disproportionately reduce a talented woman to her perceived "purity" and conformity, rather than recognising her agency, individuality, and achievements as an actor.
History has rarely been kind to the reinterpretation of ancient Indian epics and stories. Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Padmaavat (2018) was nearly banned for Deepika Padukone's attire, which showed her midriff. Manikarnika: The Queen of Jhansi (2019) also ran into trouble due to allegations of historical distortion. Ramayana: The Legend of Prince Rama (1993) also faced severe bans and protests as production coincided directly with the peak of the Ram Janmabhoomi movement. Om Raut's Adipurush (2023) continues to face heavy trolling, with many critics criticising the costume choices for Kriti Sanon, who felt they were 'too revealing.' It is evident that the common thread that ties all these films is armchair activists spewing hatred and dictating what and how a female lead in a historical film should look like. When filmmakers cast light-skinned women, who will never pass the Sexy Lamp test, in commercial 'entertainers', no one bats an eyelid.
So, perhaps the larger debate should be—or rather, people should be enraged about—why a woman's face must first pass through a cultural, religious or patriarchal litmus test before she is allowed to embody a popularly known character.
Beauty in literature is metaphorical, cultural and contextual. Sita has never belonged to one fixed visual mold. Neither does Sai Pallavi. So why must beauty alone have a prescribed template? Perhaps it is the uncomfortable reality that women's bodies have long been treated as public property — to be examined, judged and defined. Sita was once put through an 'Agni Pariksha' to prove her innocence and 'chastity' to society. Today audiences are putting Sai Pallavi through a different trial by fire to prove her Sita-ness.
By doing so, we are no longer merely reading or celebrating the Ramayana. We are actively becoming a part of it.
