Two sides of the same coin

His

It was cold in the cave that night. He could feel the crude robes of tree bark chafing his skin. It barely gave them any protection from the biting wind. He turned over and raised himself on his elbow to check on his brother as he always did when he woke up. His face was twitching violently with emotions spilling over from his dreams. The nightmares had become all too familiar a routine for Lakshmana now- it would begin with the sweat on Rama’s face and then he would mumble and toss around before he woke up choking back sobs and screaming Sita’s name. Lakshmana would rock him back and forth like a child till his dreams were slowly engulfed by reality.

He had become worse ever since they had come to Kishkinda. Lakshmana gently stroked his brother’s feverish forehead with his cool hand hoping that the dream would pass quietly. Then, suddenly, Rama got up crying. Lakshmana gently placed a hand on his shoulder and began to mechanically murmur the same reassuring words that Sita would be found soon when Rama interrupted him abruptly “I do not fear just for her safety today, Lakshmana. I miss her. I miss seeing her angry pout, her mischievous smile, the skeptical arch of her eyebrows but I can’t see her face! Do you remember her atleast, Lakshmana? I had a dream now just as vivid as all those other nightmares. I found Sita standing with her back to me, I touch her lightly on the shoulder to turn her towards me and she had no face! No face! I can’t remember what the love of my life looks like!” and he started shivering again.

Lakshmana felt his eyes fill up seeing his brother suffer. He had been the crown prince, darling of the nation and now here he was in the middle of a forest, searching for his wife. He could feel his jaws become tense as he attempted to maintain his composure. He began talking slowly of the first time they went to Mithila, the grand Swayamvar, Lord Janaka and the mighty bow in the middle of it all. Rama’s face relaxed as Lakshmana continued “I can see Sita now, Lakshmana, sitting beside her father resplendent in a saree the color of honey. I see her smiling at me.” He slowly drifted back to sleep on his brother’s lap.

Lakshmana moved a little closer to the walls of the cave to rest his sore back. His thoughts ran back to that beautiful day in spring when they had gone for the Swayamvar. He could still remember seeing Urmila’s face peeking from behind a pillar, giggling with her friends, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man her sister was to marry. He smiled to himself when he recalled how Urmila's expression had changed from a mischievous smile to a slow blush rushing from her forehead to her cheeks when she realized they were actually discussing her own marriage to Lakshmana.

She had barely looked up at him throughout the wedding. All he had seen when he tried to peek was the edge of the red bridal saree covering her head and face. Once they were alone, she reminded him of a shy deer, walking gingerly in the room lightly touching each new object in her new home. He had watched her amused till it dawned on her that she could no longer avoid meeting the eyes of her new husband. She had looked at Lakshmana bashfully and before she could help herself had seen the big scar on his left shoulder and burst out “How did that happen? Did it take long to heal? Do you fight a lot?” His laughter had made her retreat into her shy cocoon once again “Do you always ask these many questions at once?”

She had a quiet fascination for everything in the world around her and would sit near Dasaratha and listen to stories for hours about the Ikshvaku dynasty and her innocence was so endearing that everyone in the palace still saw her as a child. The only time Lakshmana ever saw her completely serious was when she painted. Lakshmana was filled with pride as he recalled those beautiful canvases she created; their palace was full of Urmila’s work. She had often joked that they would soon run out of walls if he put up everything she painted on the walls. He wondered with a pang of sadness if she painted now or was she too distraught to go near her favourite colors?

That day would be etched in his memory forever. He had stormed into her room, furious and with the veins in his forehead prominent and throbbing with rage. She had been startled and fell with her color palette onto her canvas and upset everything. She had looked at him with such fear in her eyes that he instantly regretted the decision he had taken a few minutes back without asking her. Everything was still a haze to Lakshmana. Kaikeyi had manipulated their father to take the kingdom away from Rama and also insisted that Rama be exiled for fourteen years! How could this ever happen? She gently made him sit down and went to get water to calm him down. When she returned he had abruptly told her he was going to follow his brother into the forest. She had not uttered a single word as she picked up her canvas from the floor, set it on the easel and tried scrubbing the red and blue from the floor. “Sita is going with him too” he had slowly revealed. Her face had brightened instantly “So that means I can come too?”

He had to take a few minutes to steady his quivering voice “I am going with Rama to protect him, if I take you along, Will I be able to give him the attention he needs? Besides, if Sita and you come with us, there will be no one to look after the queen mothers. What will Bharata do to them once he comes back? I will feel a lot better if I know you are here for them”. She had buried her face in her hands “But who will protect me, lord? What am I do in this palace without you or my sister here? What will happen to me?”

He had kept his distance for both their sakes and to make the separation that much easier. “Urmila, please understand. I need you here, for my sake.” She had continued to cry quietly but he had seen resignation in her face and knew immediately that she would let go of him. He had asked for one promise from her, it seemed cruel in hindsight- to not shed a single tear till he returned. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes properly which reminded him disturbingly of a hunted animal filled with conflicting panic and resignation of its ultimate fate. He had felt his heart pounding in his mouth when he glanced behind as he left and saw her standing next to his mother on the palace balcony biting her lower lip hard to try and keep the tears inside.

It had been a difficult thirteen years and tonight, he wondered if he had been selfish. His brother, who couldn’t even sleep properly, without his wife by his side and he, on the other hand, had left his behind because of his own sense of duty.

Left her to an exile that was never her choice.

He shut his eyes as he thought how easy it had been for all of them to forget her- all everyone saw was a wonderful son who would follow his father’s promise blindly even if it meant sacrificing the throne, a loyal brother who would choose to follow his sibling into the forest just to protect him and a princess willing to sacrifice the comforts of the palace and risk the dangers of the wild just to always be by her lord’s side. He had let himself get carried away with those words. His heart had brimmed with pride when they spoke of the inseparable love he had for Rama. He wondered now how all of them could have so easily forgotten the child whose life revolved around him and whose innocence he had probably taken away forever. Had her sacrifice not counted enough to even be noticed?

He sighed deeply and wondered if she had changed much in these thirteen years- if she still slept with her fist buried in her left cheek, if she still liked to paint the sky a vivid orange instead of blue, if the ducks from the palace lake still followed her around, if she still twirled around in her skirt embroidered with tiny mirrors to see the lights dancing on the ceiling…

And what if after all these years apart they were nothing but strangers to each other? Would she ever be able to forgive and forget? He shivered slightly as he looked out at the valley just as the tips of the trees turned orange with dawn.

Hers

Had it really been thirteen years? She had walked in to see Kausalya and Sumitra animatedly discussing how they only had a year left to see their sons return from exile. She had maintained a constant smile through their conversations while her brain furiously tried to make sense of the last few years of her life.

She still had that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought of the day the three of them left. She knew she had to keep her promise to him so she had held the tears in as she watched their retreating backs. She would honor her word to him even if it broke her.

Even when her father-in-law died, her face had remained impassive as she arranged for his final rites, despite loving the man much more than her own father. Not even when she heard one of the sages describing the perils that the princes were facing in the forest. Or even when her hopes were dashed after Bharata came back empty handed after failing to convince his brothers to return from their exile.

She had expected to be excited at the talk of their imminent return but in its place she only found exhaustion within her, exhausted from trying to pretend that she was strong enough to handle everything and being there for everyone. She could hear the clock tower in the palace signaling the time of day with four clear chimes which rang through the air. It was time for her to go to the temple but today she had no inclination to go stand before a God who had never granted in thirteen years what she truly wanted.

She picked up a bag of birdseed and walked to the tiny lotus pond tucked away in a quiet corner of the palace. As always, it was completely deserted except for the birds. There was stillness in the air here and she had always felt the trees whispering reassuringly to her. This had always been her refuge in these difficult years away from all the prying eyes and wagging tongues discussing the princess who preferred her soft mattress to being with her husband. She would come and sit with the ducks for hours thinking of what she could have done differently.

Should she have insisted like Sita that she would refuse to leave her husband?

Or could she have dared to use her love to prevent Lakshmana from leaving?

Even as she thought it, she knew how futile it would have been. Lakshmana had loved her a lot certainly but even she wouldn’t dare asking him to choose between her and his brother. She knew it went beyond mere hero worship for Lakshmana. It was a relationship between siblings such as she had never seen before- a wonderful mixture of love, trust and respect. She had seen it in Lakshmana's eyes-the brother whom he adored even more than his own twin.

Why had she and Sita never been that way?

She thought of her childhood in her father’s palace. She had always been the quiet one always preferring to laugh at a joke privately in the shadows. Sita, on the other hand, had been the very life of the palace- laughing all the time, making the entire palace revel in her playfulness. All Sita had needed was a tiny quiver of her lips to get their father to do anything she had wanted. A mighty king he certainly was but ultimately a father who couldn’t bear to see his child unhappy. Urmila still wasn’t sure if she herself played the part of the ideal daughter to keep her father happy or to finally get some attention from him away from Sita.

'Am I still doing the same thing?' She asked the ducks as they looked at her hand for the next batch of food. She was still attempting to play the part of the ideal wife willing to bear separation from her husband to fulfill her duties to the family she was married into and once again, she remained in the shadows and it was Sita’s stubborn insistence to refuse to leave Rama that had everybody in tears.

When they were young, Urmila and Sita's mother used to tell them the story of an a king who was a tyrant and terrible to his subjects until he was ultimately punished by the gods to turn invisible and wander on the streets of his own kingdom forced to listen as a mute spectator what his subjects really thought of him. She wondered what she could have done to deserve her invisibility.

She had always taken for granted that she loved Sita but she slowly realized now that she had probably resented her all her life. Urmila would have given anything to go along with Lakshmana, after all, he had always been the one person who had truly seen her and loved her for it.

And yet, even he had not thought of her when he decided to leave her behind.

One of the ducks meandered up to her and gently pecked her toes demanding to be fed. The sun’s descent could be seen from where she sat with Ayodhya’s mighty fort silhouetted against the pinkish blue sky. Her expression softened as she saw the orange flag flapping in the breeze. Ayodhya had certainly also been kind to her.

She remembered crying by this lake as a young bride missing her mother terribly when Sumitra had come down the steps and hugged her tight and told her how she had always wanted a daughter.

She smiled as she recalled sitting at the foot of Dasaratha’s bed and listening to the stories of the mighty battles that he had been part of and gasping at his description of each wound.

She could still feel Lakshmana’s hands on her eyes as he took her to the garden for a surprise- her very own fawn with such beautiful eyes.

She remembered slowly exploring the palace with Sita and discovering secret passageways much like they had in their old palace.

Yes, it certainly wouldn't be fair to say she had only experienced pain in this palace. There had been tiny moments of joy interspersed along with the sadness of her memories of Ayodhya. She had endured thirteen years; it was but a year more for her Lakshmana to return. She knew she had changed in these years of exile, transformed from a child to a woman holding her stead while facing adversity.

She was very different from the Urmila that Lakshmana left behind. She now anticipated the look of admiration in his eyes when he returned. Tickling him on his neck and hearing his deep, throaty laugh. Having his hand protectively over her stomach. Never letting go of him again.  As the stars began to dot the sky, she got up slowly looking forward to the many more happy mornings ahead.

After all, she couldn’t be invisible forever

Joy of words

As a child, I used to fill notebook after notebook with ideas for novels, names for trilogies that I hoped to get stories for and poems about everything from a ride in my school bus to the guy who made tea in a restaurant. I distinctly remember the phase when I had as much joy in creating stories as much as I loved reading them.

Lately writing seems to have become an emotional roller coaster for me. I find myself thinking way too often how other people will see what I write and if it is good enough. There are also mornings where I wake up loving what I have created, reading and re-reading them over and over again and there are the mornings when I wake up with my finger hovering cruelly over the delete button.

But last night, I looked at what I had written over the last four months. While I still cringe looking at what I began with, I am also really in love with a lot of what I have written lately. Maybe everyone was right, you do get better the more you write. But maybe, there is an even deeper truth. Writing also requires just a little bit of kindness to yourself. To realise that everyone needs to begin however small it may be. And more importantly, to be aware that I love the process of writing- on my notebook, ipad, phone, anywhere!

Here’s to more Writing, simply because it keeps me happy!

Immortal

Most people would be jealous if they knew I could live forever. If only they knew the burden of the curse. The first few years are wonderful, you walk around brashly with the knowledge that you are invincible, you are all powerful, then the memories begin to resurface- first in thinly veiled dreams slowly moving to haunting images all around you even while your eyes are wide open. Mocking faces. Dejected faces. Peaceful faces. I see them all. Remnants of a mighty war which destroyed millions and left a handful alive.

I stay away from the cities. When I see people, I am reminded of the old times, the splendor before the war made us all wary and sullen, each house now mourning the loss of a loved one.

~~~

He visits me most often in my visions. It was my uncle Kripa who was designated to break the news to me-hesitant and afraid. He knew what my temper was capable of. And how poorly I took the news would be legendary. Yet he slowly continued to explain how my hero whom I always presumed could never be vanquished was defeated. A simple lie was told to him using my name which made him lose his will to fight anymore. Perhaps he did truly love me after all.

They told me about his last few moments- his fighting ebbing from the fury of a forest fire to that of a weak flickering flame. They also say his favourite Arjuna did repent at the very end and pleaded with the others to capture him alive. Did it all just come to this ultimately? Arjuna would participate in this charade merely for a kingdom, for a man who had loved him much more than his own son. The mad man who ultimately claimed his life had jumped like a maniac around the battlefield with my father's head in one hand and his sword in the other like an ancient absurd deity in fury.

I could feel the blood pounding my palms. I had one thought, one mission- destroy the sinner who killed my father when he was defenceless, destroy them all.

~~~

I was running in the streets happy as ever, the age where a stick and a mango seed could keep us engaged for hours when I heard that elusive word for the first time- milk. I could not resist my curiosity but in the secret pride peculiar to children I pretended I knew it well.

It was the time of my life where I was slowly beginning to notice my mother crying silently in the house  in the night with her saree stuffed into her mouth to muffle the sobs and that my clothes were more worn down than all my friends. That night, after ensuring father was asleep, I had slowly put my head on Ma's shoulder and nudged her awake with my chin and whispered the question burning in my head "What is this milk ma? My friends claim that it tastes like the very nectar of the gods themselves"

More silent tears. More shame without knowing why.

The very next day, an offering from friends to enjoy the elusive white nectar. A cruel prank to call out a poor boy who pretended he knew about things he truly didn't. Flour mixed with water, yet I knew not the difference. I smacked my lips despite the odd sticky feeling at the back of my throat. I ran proudly through the streets to show my father that I had finally tasted milk. He took one look at the mixture and flung it across the street. You stupid boy, will you lap up anything?

The boy who never knew when to believe. The boy who let his father down.

~~~

I wish I didn't have to disappoint him at every stage of life. I was thirteen when I heard that secret conversation between teacher and pupil. A promise to make him the best archer in the world. A secret wish that he was the son born to him instead.

I could never compete as an archer. I could never match his favourite Arjuna. The taunts continued at home. "Do you see the single minded determination with which he practices? Do you even spend half the time at the archery range? You will never amount to anything if this continues"

Do you spend as much time teaching me as you do for him?

Do you not see how well I wield the mace, much better than your Arjuna?

Do you see that I am kind and fair, honest and humble?

Secret questions which I dare not give voice to. Lest he brush them away as insignificant. A son who will forever be unworthy of following in his father's footsteps. A son who has to smile at the boy he knows is his father's ideal son.

Yet he died because of this ideal son. There are moments when I feel he deserved what was coming to him. I would have liked to see his expression if he knew his precious Arjuna was orchestrating his murder.

~~~

There he lay, my friend, my king. His thigh had been split open just as Bhima has promised he would. Never strike your opponent below the hip, my father had taught us all. Yet another unfair death against the rules of battle. In the name of Dharma with hushed whispers of the end justifying the means.

I was surprised to see him move. The fire was ebbing out of the mighty Duryodhana’s eyes. His face lit up when he saw me. He asked me to come closer to check that I wasn’t a mirage. “I am sorry, for everything, for not winning, for making you lose your father, for letting a petty kingdom come in the way of everything...” and he coughed blood and was unable to continue. I paused as I waited for the emotion choking my throat to descend. Why was he apologising? Why were the sinners who killed my father and my friend so unfairly rejoicing? They fought the war for the “petty” kingdom too but just choose to hide themselves under the cloak of Dharma and a righteous war.

Victory would not be sweet. There would be retribution. I would ensure that- for my father with a head no longer on his body, for my friend with his mangled thigh and for the mighty Karna with the arrow still wedged in his back. Oh yes, victory would not come without a price.

~~~

The camp was dark. They had finished all the revelry and merry making and the air was filled with content sighs and bodies resting after the war. Nobody noticed my footsteps as I padded through their tents. My first prey would be the son of Drupada, the accursed one, who took my father’s life. Then would be their sons- let the mighty Pandavas know what my father felt in his last few moments- what it is to lose a son!

There will be no survivors.

~~~

Time has no meaning for me anymore. Seconds slipping into minutes into hours and days. Life flashes before me in one giant meaningless hour glass. There are days which pass by like seconds and there are moments when a second feels like an eternity. And more recently, days where I don't know the difference between the two.

I live now with the ghosts of my past.

Fair Play

The morning light was seeping into the room slowly when he first heard the call for combat.

Why would his uncle be silly enough to risk his life another time? Did Sugriva wish to die at his father’s hands? Angad had learned the art of battle from the very best himself, his father, Vali the fearsome., and he knew the fate that would meet his foolhardy uncle. He could still see the raw wounds on Sugriva’s fur from the last encounter with Vali, gaping like a thousand tiny, pink mouths. His uncle had barely escaped with his life the last time. Yet here he was, with a garland around his neck, and his brave calls contradicting the slight tremble in his legs.

He had to go see his father destroy this foolish man. He had loved Sugriva but this was before he came back that cloudy day and told them that Vali was dead and that he would be king from henceforth. Angad had to be strong for his heartbroken mother. The gentle Tara would not believe that Vali was dead. There were few who could vanquish him in combat. And Vali had returned, just like she had predicted. One look at him and his angry eyes, Sugriva had shot for the forest with his tail between his legs. The coward that he was. How was he brave enough to return now after yesterday’s fight? Angad could feel unease bubbling in his stomach. What was his uncle really up to? He had to warn his father.

He rushed out into the corridor and found his parents having a loud argument in the central courtyard. He could heard Tara’s high pitched voice ‘No, my lord, this is a trap. Please do not go. Your brother, who couldn’t bear to even meet your eyes in an argument, has come back the second consecutive day for a fight. There is something wrong. He would not dare face you again without someone’s help’. Vali was ready for combat and his stance told Angad that there was no way they were ever going to convince him to avoid this fight. When they saw Angad, they both smiled and tried to relieve the tension. Vali guffawed loudly and told Angad that his mother was warning him against fighting his weakling of a brother. Tara persisted ‘My lord, my spies tell me that Sugriva has a new friend. A king from Ayodhya in exile. Rama they call him.I have a feeling he has something to do with your brother’s new found bravery’. Vali looked at his wife kindly ‘It may be so, Tara, but as a king I must honour the call for a fight. My code of conduct will not allow me to ignore this challenge.’ Mother and son had held each together in fear and went to the window to watch the fight with great trepidation.

His father was a great warrior. Angad had no qualms about that but there was something else in the air today. Vali had always brushed away intuition. He believed in cold, hard facts and interpreted things as he saw them. This is what made him a fair and just king. His subjects could be rest assured that in his court, justice would be meted out. The king did not care for a person’s position, wealth or power and only gave his judgement based on the facts of the case. His subjects feared his might and legendary temper just as much they respected his considerate side.

The first few minutes, Tara and Angad could barely discern what was happening amidst the cloud of dust surrounding the two brothers. The only way they could tell them apart was from that ridiculously garish garland that Sugriva wore around his neck. Sugriva seemed to have a new found strength and was fighting harder than usual but Vali had finally managed to grab his neck with the crook of his arm and within a few moments, Sugriva would be dead. Nobody had escaped Vali’s deathhold. When all of a sudden, they had heard a whizzing noise out of nowhere and before they could understand what was happening, Vali had released Sugriva and fallen to the ground with an arrow lodged in his chest. Tara and Angad had rushed out to help him and as they were calling out for the palace physician to come and help him, they had seen two tall men walk towards them. Vali had brushed their administrations away and his blurry eyes sought the man who had perpetrated this outrage and his eyes finally locked on the taller one amongst the two. “Why? Why would you shoot an arrow at me from behind a tree? I have heard of your skills, I would have faced you and died with honour if it was a fair fight. Why did you have to hunt me secretly using my brother as a shield?” Vali’s voice had shaken with indignation.

Angad still shivered when he remembered the look in Rama’s eyes when he spoke ‘O mighty Vali, the one who chased his own brother from the throne without an explanation, I do not need to face you and fight. You are of the monkey clan. When we hunt deer, we do not see if the deer is aware of our presence when we shoot. The same rules apply to you!’

Vali’s face now had a rueful smile ‘Oh Rama, if only you had come to me and asked for my side of the story....Isn’t that the mark of a true king? To hear both sides of the argument before your proclaim your judgement? Did you ask me what happened? No! You heard what my brother wanted you to believe and now you have committed murder!’

Rama had looked troubled. Flummoxed, almost like he hadn’t anticipated to face this decision about who truly was evil. Vali had pulled Angad and Tara close to him and had collapsed in their hands with a tiny sigh. That was the end of Vali, a mighty king, killed like a hunted animal, anointed with bitter tears of his subjects who had now gathered all around their dead king.

~~~

Angad still felt the last few months had been a dream. His father was dead and his uncle was the king again. Sugriva had promised Lord Rama and his brother that they would mobilise an army as soon as Spring began to go and find his wife Sita and rescue her from the demon who had kidnapped her. Sugriva seemed to have forgotten his promise, he was happy in his harem in a permanent state of intoxication with the fruit wine freely available to royalty.

Angad watched with disgust as his uncle turned up in court with his fur disheveled, eyes still red and sunken from his previous night’s debauchery with a far off look in his eyes showing no interest in the proceedings. Is this the man who was truly seen as apt by Lord Ram to be the king of Kishkinda? He knew the storm was brewing. Rama’s patience would wear thin when he realised that Sugriva had only wanted his kingdom and would truly make no genuine attempt to help Rama. He had not even visited the two brothers ever since he became king. In the distance, Angad could see Lakshmana, Rama’s brother, storming towards the palace. His anger and restlessness was evident. It was finally time for Sugriva to face the consequences.

The spring breeze moved through the palace. He placed his head against the cool walls and wondered ‘What if Rama had come to my father first? What if he had promised to help him? ’ Vali would have moved the very earth for a cause as important as this. Vali would have ensured the army was mobilised the very next month, ready to march out in four corners in the quest for Sita and Vali, himself, would have led the charge against the demon who had taken her away. What cruel twist of fate had taken Rama to Sugriva? What desperation had driven him to kill Vali without hearing what had truly happened? His father had died a harsh death, an unfair death for a warrior as great as him. He had died knowing that he had been killed in an unfair fight, deceived by his own little brother, by a man of whom he wasn’t even aware of. Hunted like an animal from behind a tree when his attention was elsewhere.

Assassinated for the sake of a throne. Murdered in exchange of a promise of rescue. In the name of  justice.

Proposal

My mother had always loved telling me the story of my name- Meenakshi, the fish-eyed one, she named me. She told me that the minute I was born, she had to take just one look of me gazing at her  from the mid wife's hands to decide my name. Dushtabuddhi had always loved my eyes too. He had said that he felt like he was sinking deep in deep brown pools of light. Ah, Dushtabuddhi, how happy we had been, when it had just been the two of us, before he was enamoured by the political landscape in Lanka, before he had been murdered by my brother to curb his desire for power. Ravana, lord of Lanka, would not hesitate to make his own sister a widow if it kept him on his precious throne. Ravana had not wanted me to leave Lanka but I couldn’t live there without Dushtabuddhi, my Lanka, she assaulted me with memories of the happy days everywhere I turned

Now when I gaze my own reflection in the lake, it saddens me. I can see my cloudy eyes with saggy purple bags underneath them. My mouth now wide and filled with razor sharp teeth from chewing on wild game. sometimes, just sometimes, if I turn around really quickly I can catch a glimpse of it- the Lankan princess that I used to be. Soorpanakha they call me now- the long nailed one. 

I vaguely remember how these hands looked when Ravana placed them in Dushtabuddhi’s hand at the marriage ceremony. Memories now obscured by a smoky screen. Dushtabuddhi had been the one to win my heart after all the multiple suitors who had tried their luck. There was something in his eyes- whimsical yet serious, deep yet playful, a bundle of contradictions that I couldn’t wait to unravel. My brother had always been rather surprised with my choice. He had expected me to marry someone far more powerful but my heart had gone out to the young, ambitious man. You could see he was destined for great things. 

I was flattered when my brother began relying more and more on him. Ravana finally saw my husband's worth. There was never a decision in Lanka without Dushtabuddhi’s counsel. Then the whispers slowly began, a soft rustle in the air, from the courtiers, slowly to the ministers and finally to Ravana himself where the storm would erupt. I warned him to lay low, told him Ravana would not see advice as advice anymore. Yet, there he was, lying face down in the saddles near the manure heap with the blood already dried. Dusty and dead. They gathered around me and told me family comes first. I tried to let it all go. But my ‘family’ had murdered the love of my life. I couldn’t bear to see Ravana sitting in the throne knowing what he would do to stay on it. 

When I left, they told me a princess could never survive in the forest. But I find the dark canopy soothing while I nurse my wounds. Away from the depraved world of men. Who could I trust if my own brother didn’t care? I wanted to live in a place which never let me forget my dark past. My palace with its jewels and comforts will make Dushtabuddhi’s inert frame fade from my memory. I wanted to bide my time till I could have my revenge. Till my brother yearns for love that is forever beyond his reach, till he and his mighty kingdom are brought to their knees. 

I sense some movement in the forest today. Panchavati is usually very quiet now that the animals are wary of my footsteps. The birds discern it too. I can see them hopping from tree to tree and chirping loudly as if spring has just begun. I tread cautiously. I do not want to be prey myself. 

I am startled at the sound of human voices. I have grown unaccustomed to my fellow beings. How long had it been since I heard the sound of my own voice? There he is, broad shouldered and dark skinned, with the impression of the bow string imprinted on his shoulders. Must be a great warrior indeed. He is dressed like a hermit but those regal eyes belies his simple garb. Look at those long fingers and the muscular arms. I have forgotten the thrill of excitement coursing through my body when a man engulfs my hand in his. Firm yet gentle. Ah, how I long for a light caress on the cheek or for a stray lock of my hair to be tucked behind my ear. I have been lonely for too long now. 

I approach him slowly, for I do not want to startle him, shyly, for I know not how he will react to me. His hands immediately reach for his bow when he sees me moving about in the shadows and his grip relaxes as I move forward into the clearing. I have cleaned my face and hair as well as  I could to make a good impression. His voice is delightfully sonorous and deep as he asks me ‘What can I do for you, my lady?’. Chivalry after so long. I never realised until now how much I longed for human contact. Before I can pause to gather my thoughts, the words are out of my mouth ‘Take me as your wife, dear king, I promise to be a faithful companion in your journey’. I stand there shyly with my tongue having betrayed my true emotions. 

He looks startled. He begins hesitantly with a smile on his face ‘My lady, I am afraid I cannot accept your proposal. I am already married and I want to stay loyal only to my Sita’ He looks at my crestfallen face and continues ‘Well, you can tell my brother of your wishes, I assure you that he is my equal in both looks and valour. I hope you will find a suitable match in him. Lakshmana..’ he bellows. 

I see another prince walk from behind the rough hut they are constructing. I see the other prince was right. This Lakshmana is definitely his equal in every way and would make just as wonderful a partner to spend the rest of my life with. He was a kind man, you could tell by looking at his eyes. You can always tell by looking at their eyes. Could he see mine? The longing, the heartbreak from Dushtabuddhi’s death. the yearning to start life afresh and create new memories? 

He is as startled as his brother to see me. Yet he approaches him respectfully to ask why he was summoned. The first one, whose name I gather from their conversation to be Rama, tells his brother of my proposal. I stand shyly twisting the vine of flowers I hold in my hand. I finally look up to see the two of them laughing, such wonderful deep throated laughs. Something flutters in my chest at the sound of the now long forgotten sound of a human laugh. I want to kiss his white neck as I see him throw back his head and laugh. 

‘Oh, dear brother, I am sorry but I have to refuse this young lady’’s proposal’ Lakshmana begins ‘She is far too pretty for me’ and the brothers smile at each other. I sigh in relief. This has happened to me before- so many Lankan noblemen intimidated by my beauty to ask for my hand. I want to reassure him that that he nothing to worry about. He was perfect for me. ‘I must agree with you, Lakshmana, her hair, her eyes, this beauty is beyond your reach indeed. Why just imagine what people will say when they see the two of you together’ the elder one adds. 

I am beginning to feel the flush in my face now when I suddenly catch a glimpse shared between the brothers. A glint of a cruel joke. My face reflected in the lake comes back to me in a flash. They are making fun of me! The true meaning of their words dawn on me. Cruel tears sting my eyes as I try to cover my face and its ugliness. 

I hear her voice as she steps out of the half constructed hut ‘That is enough, both of you! You have had your joke, let the lady go’. She looks exquisite, her eyes are beautiful. I always look at the eyes. She looks content and peaceful. A harsh reminder of my past. The one named Rama turns to look at her with a playful smile on his face and so does the muscular Lakshmana, both looking admonished like naughty children caught in the act by their mother. This must be the Sita he spoke about. Standing in the forest surrounded by a golden bubble of love and affection. It struck me, here was a lady who had never known the lack of love in her life.

I only have a blurred sense of the world around me. I can feel my feet running towards her and my hands outstretched with my long nails just inches from her beautiful, unmarred face. My body is no longer in my control. I suddenly feel a sharp burning sensation on my nose as I fall back in pain. I pull the hands away from my face as I run and see it covered with the sticky redness of my own blood. The contours of my face have changed. Even amidst the mangled mess my face is in, I can distinctly feel the edge of my nose missing. Did one of the brothers cut my nose off for going near their precious one? 

Do they know what I have endured? How fate had slowly eaten my beauty, each hard knock taking its price. All I had to offer was love. Now all I have left is the desire for bitter revenge, make them feel the pain. 
They are all cruel. Unable to see the true implications of their actions. Murdering your sister's husband. Making a cruel joke out of an offer for love.

I must make them all pay. I must.
Would Ravana take the bait? Could I possibly make all of them pay in one fell stroke? 

Blood for blood. Both Dushtabuddhi’s and mine. Their time must come. 

Borders

They say they saw him leave to Mathura yesterday. With the cows straining on their ropes to leave with him. I ran as fast as I could to see him go but all I could see was a cloud of dust in the far distance and Radha clinging to the fence and crying silently. I was secretly glad. It was heartbreaking that he would never be mine but it was comforting to know he wasn’t hers either. Delicious vengeance laced with guilt. She was with me too, on the this side of the fence experiencing what it meant to lose him. She never should have trusted his charming words and that disarming smile.

It was difficult not to fall in love with him. Who could resist those black eyes and those lips always twitching as though beginning a new smile. I had feigned annoyance along with all the Gopikas whenever he tied our plaits together while we worked, stole our clothes when we were having a bath or stole butter from our churners when we went inside to get the milk. But when I went to sleep at night, I had smiled secretly and wondered if he paid me any extra attention. Yes, he had laughed looking straight at me and he had pinched only my cheek when he ran away with the butter. I would spend hours thinking about what he did and what he said even if I didn’t want to.

Little did it occur to me that the other Gopikas were probably having their own secret dreams or that Krishna had his own favourite. Which explains why I was so stunned when I found out about my best friend.

I had been tying the firewood into a large bundle for the evening meal when I thought I saw Radha humming a song and skipping deep into the forest. Radha was terrified of the forest and the animals she feared would attack her. But it had most certainly been her! I would recognise that voice anywhere. I had followed her slowly incredulous at her new found bravery hoping to hide behind a tree and scare her. As she appraoched a clearing, I hid behind a tree ready to spring out in an instant.

When I saw what my eyes had to offer, I was gasping and I could feel my heart pounding in my mouth. There he was! He had fashioned a swing from the creepers on the tree and was smiling at Radha with an extra special smile which I always thought was only for me. She had stood shyly by the tree when he had swung towards her and caught her lightly by the hips and placed her on the swing beside him. She had thrown her head back and laughed showing her pale neck. Radha- how could she do this to me? We had known each other since we were babies, we could complete each other’s sentences, we could spend hours in complete silence comfortably, my soul mate. Yet she betrayed me on the one secret that I had kept from her.

He had taken the flute tucked away in his garments and started playing. The animals stopped to listen to the music and from the smiles on both their faces it seemed to be a cheerful tone but why did it sound so painful to me- I could only hear notes of longing replete with sighs and ‘if only’s. I could even hear a note or two of jealousy and one note where I could have sworn I heard pure rage. I could feel my toes tingling as I heard to that unearthly music. I wanted to run, go as far away from the scene as my legs would take me. Yet they seemed rooted to the ground, I could barely lift them. I finally managed to tear myself away and ran straight back to the river.

I watched the two of them from then on in a strange self-imposed torture. I noticed he seemed the same but to my eyes it seemed like he paused a little longer as he looked at Radha. His face softened just a little more. She, on the other hand, gave away nothing yet I now noticed her secret smiles and glances at him. Her sweet face now irked me. What was it that she had that made her special? We were so similar that people often mistook us for sisters and yet what had the dark-skinned one seen in her?

Did Radha ever sprinkle a little sugar on the freshly churned butter ready for him to steal?

Did Radha ever hide behind boulders listening to him play the flute as he grazed the cows?

Could she ever love him as much as I did?

Yet now when I think about it, what was it about him anyway? With him, I would have to be one of the many flowers happy to have the bee visit for a few brief seconds. I was right not to trust him. He had always been a restless soul emanating a sense of responsibility for fulfilling a larger destiny beyond Vrindavan.

I want a man whose eyes twinkle just for me and not merely rest on me as one amongst the many.

I want a man who never wanted me to see me cry, even if was in jest.

What could Krishna offer me?

So what if I don't experience the same thrill of excitement when the man in my life grazes my cheek with the back of his hand?

So what if I don't feel my chest burst with anticipation when his gaze skips across the room and finally locks itself with mine?

So what if no other man will ever make me want him so much that I need to stuff my fist in my mouth and cry myself silently to sleep each night?

Yes, Krishna, I don't need you to make me happy. 

Offering

The face of the noble nishada 

Continues to haunt me at nights

I wake up with his smiling face 

Still imprinted on my eyelids

Those magnetic eyes

Filled with disappointment 

I could not teach him I said

For his birth was not befitting

Of the warrior clan

Yet he surpassed us all

In skill and heart

In thoughts and action

Seeing my likeness

In a statue of mud

Garlanded and cared for

A young lad with piercing eyes

Practicing before his guru

Who had turned him away

His skill was unparalleled

The dog's mouth sealed

With a beautiful formation

Of arrows arranged

With concern as much as precision 

For the dog bled not a drop

Arjuna's pronounced pout

Jealousy evident in his eyes

"What of your promise? 

How can this dark boy

Be your best student?

You have let me down."

The boy who refused 

To let his guru down

The hunting Knife held aloft 

Over his prized right thumb 

Off in one fluid motion

With an unwavering smile

"I am honoured to grant you this,

Consider this my Guru dakshina

In return for the art I learned"

A simple gruesome deed

A tribute from a student

That I never knew I had

Mandodari's lament

I see my lord beside me

Feverish and tossing

Inconceivable for a man of his might

Muttering the one name 

Certain to be the death of his soul

Certain to be the death of us all 

Where is the face that glowed with happiness when Akshayakumara was born?

Where is the face that beamed with pride when Meghanada conquered Indra?

I still remember when we first met

Strong and proud 

Yet, blushing ever so slightly

When my father gave me away

I was to be his queen

And finally understand complete happiness

The  strings of the Rudra veena

Played as if by magic in his fingers

Devotion in every twang

Enchanting the Gods themselves

Was it not the mighty Shiva himself

Who granted him the intellect worthy of ten heads? 

Women hanging onto his muscular frame

Oblivious of the lives they left behind

With only one longing- to be with him

If not for just one night

And yet, what is it about her?

That makes her turn her face in disgust

I was his favourite- beautiful and proud

Revelling in the jealous whispers

Then she arrived

With her hair in disarray and heartbreak in her eyes

Yet to him she seems

A beauty beyond mortal imagination

I can sense it already

No good will come of this

I can hear the battle drums

Rama's wrath will be harsh

Would not the mighty Ravana been the same

If his Mandodari had been taken away from him

This woman from across the sea

Is to cause the end of all I hold dear

So, I curse you Rama

You will, one day, be separated once again from the love of your life

And, I curse you Sita 

You will, one day,not understand why your lord pushes you away

My tears shall be avenged

Karma is a cycle after all

Roots

She comes to me, my queen

Pale and Shaking

“She says I must go to him again

And bear another one

Who will be born fit to be a king

Not blind. Nor pale.”

“I cannot face
Those red eyes
Or the matted hair.

She can't make me go
Not another night
Absolutely not"

I wonder now
How I could possibly help

"You must go in my place!"
Her face frozen with fear
Twisted with loathing
Unable to defy nor endure.

The room is dark

Though his silhouette

Is all too clear to me

Surprisingly gentle

Surprisingly kind

A man who knows he has deceived.

Yet he shows it not

He calls me his queen

Lets me reside

In the palace of my dreams

Even if just for a night

Even if reality was just round the corner.

They say a son will be born to me

An epitome of Dharma himself

Yet I care not for that.

My first child he is to be,

Born to be one amongst kings

Free from his mother's taint.

His legacy will lie

In his beginnings

A permanent reminder

To be true and humble, kind and just

The wise one he will be

And I shall name him Vidur.

Flames

I could hear them
Gnashing their teeth 
Just as we sat down to eat
Oh how I wished
Our hearing were as poor
As my dear lord's sight 

The war is now over they say
But the scars may never heal
Fruits of my womb 
All destroyed without a trace
For what they called Peace
For what they claim is righteous 

"I would not have eaten- 
Not a single morsel! 
After giving birth to such monsters”
I heard the mighty Bhima whisper
Yet what wrong did my sons do
That Kunti's sons could absolve themselves from? 

"You must forgive them
Their blindness exists not in their eyes
But in the love for their children"
I heard the beautiful Draupadi laugh
Oh, mighty kings and queens they were indeed
Yet t'was never beneath them to taunt

The forest was to be our refuge
My lord and I
Away from the jeers
And the cruel whispers 
Sheltered beneath sweet words 
From tongues dipped with poison

Once a mighty queen with a hundred sons
Bravely choosing to blind myself
To the world my lord couldn't see
I sit here now tending a wooden stove
Cooking a meagre meal, just apt
For two souls who had lost to destiny herself 

Ah, I look at the glowing embers and wonder
Could I do it? Would it hurt? 
How would death finally greet us? 
Fire on skin, melting into oblivion
Do I dare to burn away
The insults and the sadness?

Wood on straw
As simple as that 
Final rites for those already dead inside
Destruction of mere shells 
I am coming to you, my children
A little flame is all I need!