Geetha Krishnan's Blog, page 23

Love Triumphant

Three

The forest was in bloom again. Dipping into the forest pool, Parvati wondered at the marvels that each day in the forest revealed. Whilst she lived in the palace, she had never noticed the primeval attributes of nature. Nor the savagery inherent in her. She’d seen the beauty of flowers, of a sunset or a sunrise, of the blue sky, of neatly trimmed lawns, of rainbows and sparkling pools. But she’d never seen the power and beauty of a thunderstorm, of a lion stalking its prey, of a river in spate. Now, all that seemed but an integral part of the world. Her world.

The water was icy cold even though spring had arrived in the forest. She shivered slightly as it first touched her skin, but she was used to the cold now. She had bathed in this pool even in the depths of winter. It was not to mortify the flesh, but rather to remind herself that the flesh and its comforts meant nothing now. Her goal was all important.

She did not really know how long it had been since she left the palace. It might have been a few years, it might have been a few months. Time really had no meaning anymore. She was aware of the passing of seasons, but she did not notice their cycle nor even think about how many seasons might have passed. All that mattered to her was Him.

She was still lost in His thoughts. Only now, she used that thoughts to meditate on Him. She went without any sustenance for days on end, His thoughts and His name was all the sustenance she needed. Even when she ate, she ate only the fruits she could find fallen from the trees. She drank the water from the forest streams. She slept on the bare earth or on leaves. And she’d never been more content or happy.

He still had not come, but she was not concerned. She knew it would take time. And she was prepared to wait. Time did not matter. Only her goal mattered. She’d never expected attaining Him to be easy. She’d always known her patience would be tested to the limits. And she was prepared for that.

She dressed herself and dried her wet hair as best as she could. She spread the clothes she had washed on the bushes to dry and made her way back to the crude idol she had made. It was by no means perfect, but she knew that it did not matter. Appearances had no value. What mattered was the devotion and the love that went into worshipping Him.

She collected flowers for the worship and was making her way to the idol when she suddenly had a feeling of being watched. She turned around quickly. A young man stood near the tree which bordered the pool. He was obviously an ascetic by his garb, but the expression on his face was hardly ascetic.

How long had he been there? She wondered? How long had he been watching me?

His hot gaze raked her body and she was suddenly feeling uncomfortable. She pulled her robe tighter around herself and addressed him politely,

“Are you lost, O holy one? Do you require any assistance?”

“I was about to ask you the same, O lady. How come one so beautiful is clad like a hermit? How is it that one who should be living in luxury is living in such austerity? Who are you, O lady? And what are you doing in this dense forest?”

“My name is Parvati, O holy one. I am the daughter of Himavan and Mena, here to perform penance for attaining Lord Siva for my husband.”

“Lord Siva? That mendicant?” The man looked horrified. “How can any delicately nurtured maiden even think of obtaining that beggar for her husband? No, Devi! Give up this foolish dream. One such as you should never demean herself by binding yourself to Siva! He’s not worthy of you!”

He had moved forward as he spoke and now stood in front of her. His face held so much earnestness that she could not even bring herself to be angry at his words.

“Please, do not test my patience,” she told him. “Siva is my Lord and my chosen husband. I am not likely to tolerate such remarks as these about him. I suggest you leave!”

A look of contempt came to his eyes.

“Lady!” Said he. “You do not know this Siva! You are deluded by him! He calls himself an ascetic and roams in the company of ghosts and ghouls! He is a drunkard and likes to dance naked in graveyards! He wears animal skins and ornaments himself with snakes! His body is smeared with ashes and he consorts only with the lowly! One such as you should put him out of your mind! You are a princess and even in these simple robes, your beauty shines like the sun! Your limbs are shapely and your mind elevated. Do not degrade yourself by seeking to ally with him!”

Her eyes kindled in fury. Well-meaning or no, the stranger had crossed all limits of propriety.

“Do not speak another word against my Lord!” She said angrily. “I could pardon your ignorance, but that does not mean you should say whatever you wish! You do not know who Siva is! He is the source of all creation as well as the end. He is all-pervading and all-knowing. For those whose eyes are clouded with this material world, his greatness cannot be understood. Only the truly enlightened can understand Him and even they understand but a part of him! There is none in all the three worlds who is worthy of him!”

“Worthy of him!” Exclaimed the man. “He has properly deluded you , lady! My concern for you is what prompts me to say these words. Even if you do not like them, I must utter them, for it is for your benefit only.”

“Your venomous words are of no benefit to me!” Her anger was growing. “I cannot compel you to leave, but I certainly can leave your foul presence.”

She turned from him and was startled when he caught her hand. She turned to him in fury and-

“Parvati,” smiled Siva. “Please forgive me, my dear. I could not help testing you.”

She swallowed. It was Him! And she had not even realized! Instead, she’d been angry and had ordered him away.

“My Lord,” she whispered, contrite. “I did not recognize you.”

His smile deepened. “And how could you? I was in disguise, you know.”

He had drawn her into the circle of his arms as he spoke. She looked into his eyes, her eyes wide, her lips parted. She was afraid to ask why he was there. But she had to know. She cleared her throat, but before she could speak, his lips had descended on hers and all thought was lost.

“Was that another test?” She asked when his lips finally released hers.

“No,” his voice was husky. “That, my adorable wife-to-be is only a sample of things to come. I am not the most patient of beings, I must warn you. So, if you want to change your mind, now might be the last chance.”

She nearly laughed aloud at that. Change her mind? Not likely! She shook her head. “Never.” Said she emphatically. “I am never going to change my mind.”

But, thought she, she was not free to bestow her hand on whom she pleased either. That was her father’s decision. She smiled at her Lord. She would need to tell him.

He smiled and released her. “I shall arrange for you to be escorted to your father. I believe I would need to request your father to bestow your hand on me.”

She looked at Him in wonder. How had He known the thought in her head. But then, he was God. He knew what was in every mind. The realization didn’t frighten her. It only made her love him more.

She put her arms around him, wondering if she was in a dream or was hallucinating. He laughed as he lifted her face to look into her eyes.

“This is no dream, my love,” there was so much tenderness in his smile, it turned her knees to water. She was really glad about the support his arms provided. His smile held promises of all that she’d ever dreamt of and she sighed contentedly.

Dream or no, she would not exchange this for anything.

Love Triumphant

Two

 

“You are resolved on this,” it was a statement, not a question. King Himavan knew there would be no turning his daughter back from this course. She’d always had a will of her own. And he’d always known that she’d chosen Lord Siva as her husband.

“It is the only way for me, father,” she replied.

Himavan knew pride as he had never felt before. She was determined to do this. And all he could do was to give his blessing and pray to the God of gods that his child attain her wish. For he knew his Parvati’s happiness, nay, her very life depended on gaining the Lord for her husband.

But he also knew a moment’s apprehension. How could his gently bred daughter face a life of austerity, even to attain her goal? How could he allow this beautiful flower to wither in the wilderness in meditation and penance? Wasn’t it his duty as her father to protect her from hardships? Shouldn’t he be using his authority to stop her?

But one look at her face told him he had to control himself. She knew well what she was doing. And she was not a child. His duty as a parent lay, not in stopping her, but in standing by her decision. His duty was to respect her determination, not to question it.

“I bless you,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “May you be successful in your endeavour.” He paused. “Bid good bye to your mother. I shall arrange for you to be escorted to the destination of your choice.”

“There’ll be no need for that, father.” Her protest was half-hearted. She knew he would not have peace unless he ensured her safety during the journey at the least. And she still had enough fears in her own heart that she was glad of the escort.

“For my sake, child.” He said now.

She nodded. “I would need to bid good bye to mother.”

It was not something she relished. Her mother would understand, she had no doubt about that. But that was not going to prevent her from shedding tears. Mena was too much a queen, too loving a mother, to hold her back. Even her tears would not fall till Parvati was away, but Parvati knew her mother well. Mena’s eyes would not stay dry once she left. And the tears would not stop till she returned.

One more reason to ensure she would succeed, thought she. Her chosen husband, Lord Siva had to accept her. Not only hers, but her parents’ happiness was also riding on it now. Now that she’d finally made up her mind to do what she’d set out to do at seven.

It was her mother who had stopped her then, she remembered.

“Uma!” She’d said. ” Don’t!”

And she’d heeded her mother’s words then. Uma. The name had stuck, a pet name or a nick name, she was called Uma as much as she was called Parvati.

But her mother would not stop her now. She knew that. And much as it would comfort all of them, she could not allow her father’s soldiers to escort her either.

She looked at him now. “I will go alone, father,” her voice was steady though she quaked with fear inside. Himavan looked as though he wanted to protest. Any other man would have insisted, would have called her fickle, would have pointed out the danger in a gently-bred maiden going into the forest alone. But Himavan was silent. As if he knew that his daughter had to do this by herself. This was her destiny. And he had to let her find it.

Thus it was, the Princess Parvati cast aside her silks and jewels and garbed herself in simple hermetic robes. Her long hair, that used to be washed, dried, perfumed, combed and braided lovingly by her maids were gathered into a coil, and covered with her Uttariya. A long necklace of Rudraksha beads adorned her neck and her arms were bare of all adornments. The necklace was all the ornaments she wore.

Barefooted, she walked out of her father’s palace, the simple garments she wore preventing the populace from recognizing their princess. Blending into the crowd on the road, Parvati directed her feet to the forests that fringed their mountain Kingdom,

Love Triumphant

One

She lay by the pool, her fingers in the water. The water was icy cold, but she hardly felt it. Her mind was still in shock. Were someone to ask her, she would have no answers as to how she reached here. Her feet had carried her here, to this spot, of their own volition. Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, this had been her favourite spot in the garden. And in the aftermath of the devastation she’d experienced and witnessed, she’d made it here, purely on instinct.

Her eyes went to her reflection in the water. Distorted as it was by the ripples on the surface, it still was clear enough to cause a frown to appear between her brows. How could she look as if nothing had happened? She looked just as immaculate as when she had set out that morning. That morning already seemed so long ago. Was it really her in that reflection? Her eyes moved over the intricately knotted hair with jewelled clips holding them in place, to the face with its delicately arched eyebrows, wide eyes, straight nose, moulded lips and firm chin. The nose-ring and chain shimmered in the reflection as did her ear-rings and the jewelled necklaces which were around her neck. Her dress, of a delicate shade of pink that complemented her dusky colour draped her form in silken folds. The sunlight glinted off the wide gold bangles she wore and the water flowed over the rings on her fingers. A delicately wrought gold chain was around her waist, embracing her lovingly. The breeze lifted the hem of her robe to reveal the silver anklets that tinkled musically with every step she took. She looked at herself in distaste. Thus had she adorned herself this morning, thus had she gone to Him….

Him…. she closed her eyes, the pain that lanced through her heart at His thought was so intense it left her breathless. And well might she be, thought she. For He was the sole purpose for which she drew breath. Without Him, she might as well be dead.

And He was gone now. Gone forever from her life. And she did not know how to find Him again. It was an answer to all her prayers, His coming here. And now He was gone, and her dreams were but ashes.

Like the ashes He’d left behind. The ashes that Kama Deva had been reduced to. She still saw it in her mind’s eye. His furious gaze finding the God of Love, his arrow aiming straight at His heart. And then He’d opened His third eye and all that remained of the Deva and his arrows were a heap of ashes.

And yet…. and yet, there had been a moment before that… a moment where His eyes had locked on her as she was offering him the lotus flowers she had gathered. A moment when His eyes had softened, an expression of tenderness had come to them, and a moment when He seemed to notice her, and His eyes had darkened with-desire? She had trembled then, but not with fear. A thrill had gone through her….

And then, the moment had passed, and He’d regained mastery over His senses, but not before punishing the one responsible for that momentary flutter.

She looked at herself again. She looked what she was. A princess. Pampered, sheltered, soft, privileged. Her dress, her ornaments, her adornments, her appearance, all proclaimed her status.

Had she thought to win Him over thus? Had she sought to win him with her charms? With her graces? With her beauty? Him, who was the master of all three worlds, who was the master of his senses, who was above all desires? Him who disdained his own beauty by smearing himself with ashes and covering himself in skins? Him who sought to emphasize his detachment from the world by choosing to dwell in graveyards, by choosing to consort with ghosts and ghouls?

And she had gone to him thus, a painted doll, her heart on her sleeve. Did she really think He’d be moved? Did she really think He’d spare her a second glance?

She drew her hand from the water and rose, not languidly as was her wont, but energetically. There was a determined glint in her eyes and resolution on her face.

She’d chosen Him. She would win Him. But not with her beauty or with her femininity, but the way all His devotees had won Him. With devotion, unshaken by anything. With meditation, unbroken by needs of the body. She would cast aside her silks and her ornaments and would garb herself as He was garbed. She had set her heart on the greatest renunciate of all. And she would win Him through renunciation.

But win Him, she will. For her life had no meaning without Him.

Inexorable

The night was warm, though the room was at a comfortable temperature. But Bheeshma tossed and turned in his bed, unable to sleep. He should have been sleeping peacefully today. For, he was in Indraprastha where his grandson was conducting the Rajasuya.

He could blame it on the long journey from Hastinapura. He could blame it on the excitement. He could blame it on the unfamiliar surroundings.

Or he could be honest and blame it in the shock of seeing a pair of dark eyes and the hatred burning in their depths.

“Sikhandi, our brother-in-law, elder brother to Panchali,” Yudhistira had introduced the owner of those eyes who’d bowed gracefully and yet, managed to express his contempt even in that bow.

Sikhandi! The son of the King of Panchala. Nay, the daughter of the King of Panchala, for it was rumoured that he’d been born a woman and been brought up as a boy by his parents. They even found him a bride. And the trouble had started then.

Bheeshma still remembered all the reports his spies had laid before him. There had been threats of war from the bride’s father, till somehow, Sikhandi turned into a man. His father-in-law was appeased and Sikhandi had even fathered a few sons.

But the eyes that looked out of that handsome visage belonged to Amba. Behind the masculine body, hid the feminine soul that thirsted for one thing only. Bheeshma’s death.

Bheeshma sat up. It was no use fighting this any more. He would nor be able to sleep. Not tonight. Not as long as Sikhandi and he lived under the same roof. But lack of sleep bothered him less than the presence of Amba’s reincarnation at such close proximity.

He went out of the door, the guards looked at him in question, but made no attempt to follow him. He was grateful for that. He did not want a retinue of body guards while he took a stroll around the garden. Even less did he want his grandsons to learn he was unable to sleep. And he definitely did not want them to learn the reasons for that. A day might come when he might tell them about Amba, but that day was not here yet.

It was cooler in the garden. The moon was a pale sickle in the sky and the garden lay more in shadow than in light. Somehow, Bheeshma did not mind it. The night was mostly still, with an occasional breeze stirring the leaves of the trees that bordered the path.

Bheeshma’s feet carried him to the pool that lay in the centre of the garden. It was surrounded by flowering shrubs and the path leading to it was lined by trees laden with fruits. Some of the fruits had fallen on to the path and Bheeshma could feel his shoes squashing them underneath.

There were carved seats near the pool from which one could watch the ornamental fishes frolicking in the pool or the fountain that played, creating rainbows in the sun. In the night, the pool was still and lay without a ripple. There were no rainbows in the night.

Bheeshma sat down on one of the seats, his eyes lingering on the shimmer of the water, reflecting the pale moon. He wished he could be as serene as that water. But his mind was in turmoil. By focussing on his surroundings, he was trying to forget the reason for his disquiet.

“What happened, old man? Could not sleep?” The mocking voice jarred his ears, breaking the silence of the night so rudely.

Bheeshma did not turn to face the speaker, not even when the man seated himself on a nearby seat. He did not want to look at Sikhandi. He did not want to see Amba’s eyes looking out from behind this stranger’s face.

“Sleeplessness is common among the elderly, I’ve heard,” the mocking voice continued.

“So it is,” agreed Bheeshma. “What is your excuse?”

“I came to meet you. I came to your room but saw you slipping out and I followed.”

Bheeshma frowned. He had not noticed. And such a thing was rare. He had been too distracted, he thought. He’d been careless.

“Why did you want to meet me?” He asked now.

“To renew our acquaintance.” Sikhandi was on his feet and was leaning over Bheeshma. His arms were on the sides of the seat on which Bheeshma was sitting and his face was inches away. Bheeshma found he could not look away from those eyes. Amba’s eyes. Thus had she looked at him the last time he’d seen her, just after his duel with his Guru. The same fire burned in her eyes. The fire of hatred, of revenge. Bheeshma shivered in spite of himself.

“Are you afraid, Devavrata Bheeshma?” Sikhandi whispered. “I can smell your fear. What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of ghosts? Or of death?”

“I do not fear death,” Bheeshma’s voice was steady enough. “Nor ghosts.”

“Good,” Sikhandi murmured. “I do not want you afraid. I want you as you were the day you abducted me. I want you as you were the day you defied your own Guru.”

“My Guru asked the impossible,” said Bheeshma. “I would have laid down my life had he so commanded, but I cannot break my oath.”

“Your life is all I wanted then,” whispered Sikhandi. “Your Guru never saw that. He thought he could make you marry me!” He snorted. “All I wanted was your death! But he loved you too much to demand it! But now I need no one. I will kill you myself! And when the day comes that I stand before you in battle, not even your father’s boon will protect you!”

“If that is my destiny, then so let it be. But if you think that I will face you in battle ever, you are deluding yourself.”

Sikhandi’s eyes narrowed. “What game are you playing, old man?” He demanded harshly. “You think because your grandsons are married to my sister, we would never meet each other in battle? It will happen, I assure you! Even if I have to wait for another lifetime, it will happen!”

Bheeshma shook his head. “I could never raise arms against you. Sikhandi is only a cloak. You are Amba. And I would not lift arms against a woman.”

“You’re a fool, old man. And your foolishness is going to get you killed one day!” Sikhandi grated out. “And make no mistake, I will be there facing you on that day!”

He straightened, turned and left, as lithe and as silent as when he came, leaving Bheeshma alone and still in the night.

A Golden Day

She smiled into his eyes. The breeze played with her hair and caressed her body, lifting her Uttariya that she caught it and hugged it close to her. He suddenly felt jealous of the breeze, of her Uttariya, of the jewelled bangles that adorned her shapely arms, of the rings on her fingers, of the chain that wrapped itself lovingly around her hips and which swung seductively as she walked, of each and everything that touched her when he himself was not able to.

It was the circumstances that prevented him. Had they been somewhere more private, those clothes and those ornaments would be off her and it would be his hands that would be roaming over her body. But they were outdoors and in plain view of their son, who was practicing with the sword. He was readying himself for the coming war. His eyes lingered on the man who was his son’s sparring partner. And he felt a wave of emotion that was so overwhelming that it surprised him.

Bhanumathy placed a hand on her husband’s arm. She could imagine the thoughts that might be going through her husband’s mind. The war was coming. The war that would end only with the end of him and his allies or with the end of his cousins. She knew there was no preventing it.

Suyodhana smiled at her, but he still looked distracted. She looked at where Vasusena was sparring with Lakshmana with Vasusena’s sons as interested spectators. Padmavathy was also there, her hands on the shoulder of her youngest who was making vain attempts to shrug it off in an effort to look like a man and not still the mother’s boy that he was.

It hit her then, the realization that this might well be the last time she might be seeing all of these people. This might be the last time she might be seeing her son. This might be the last time she might be seeing her husband. It chilled her, that realization.

Was that why Padmavathy was holding on to Vrishaketu so tightly? Was that why she stood watching her husband spar, not from afar as a woman was supposed to, but standing close to the arena that she could see every muscle ripple as he moved?

Bhanumathy turned her attention to her own man. He was watching the sparring too and his pride and his love was easily discernible from his expression. Her eyes traced the firm jaw, the aquiline nose, the moulded lips, the hair that now was being played on by the breeze. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, to place her lips against his, to make him forget, as only she could, the world that waited for them outside, of the war that was in store for them.

And maybe she wished to forget too, and only in his arms, joined with him, his mouth on hers, was she ever able to do that. He made her forget everything, even herself. And she did not think she would survive one day without him. At which thought, her grip on his arm tightened almost unconsciously.

“Bhanu?” He did not know what caused that shadow on her face, but he was ready to do everything in his power to chase it off. She was everything to him, this woman who had won his heart through her rejection and pride and love, who had taught him that love was no mere possession, that it went beyond the physical.

She gave him a tremulous smile. He drew her into his arms, her head resting against his chest. His hand caressed her head.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. She knew it was a weakness. She was a Kshatriya woman, a princess, a queen, the mother of a Kshatriya, the wife of a Kshatriya warrior, the daughter of Kshatriyas. She could not shame her line and her clan by weakening at the thought of war. War was the most sacred duty for a Kshatriya. It was the most certain way to attain the heaven reserved for warriors.

And if she repeated it often enough, she might reconcile herself to losing all whom she held dear.

“Don’t be,” Suyodhana murmured, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “Whatever happens in this war, you will not lose me.”

She looked up at him in wonder. “How can you say that?”

Because I live in your heart, thought he. Because I always will even if I am not here anymore. But he lacked the articulation to put it in words. So he smiled and placed his hand on her heart. He could feel the fluttering of her heart beneath his hand.

“If a day comes that I’m not here, just place your hand here. I’m always there. You will not lose me, ever.”

She felt a lump rise to her throat and tears prickled her eyes. She buried her face in his chest and could hear the steady beating of his heart. It grounded her. He was here. Her son was here. Her friend was here.

And they still had time.

She lifted her face to look at him. “Take me riding,” she said. “Just you and I. For today, let us pretend that there is no war looming in the horizon. For today, let us just be two people who love each other and want to be together.”

He nodded. It was such a small thing she asked for. He would have done far more for her. But she never asked him to be other than he was. She loved him with all his faults and flaws and for her, he’d tried to be a better person, a better son, a better King.

But he had his blindspots and she knew them too. And she knew that some compromises would have been worse than death to him. And so, she had never asked.

He was smiling as he saddled the horses and helped her mount. He was looking forward to this ride, to this day when he had no cares other than how to make her happy. She was smiling too. Only he had this power, to make her forget the world, the future, everything. She smiled into his eyes.

“Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Whatever the future held, they still had today. And nothing would ever take this day from them.

She knew then that he was right. She would not lose him. Ever.

Kanyakumari: A confluence of Three Seas

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The Homecoming

The palace was the same and yet, Pritha felt the difference. It was the same in appearance, but the atmosphere had changed. From the suspicion in the eyes of her nephews to the barely concealed hostility in the eyes of the Prince of Gandhara, Hastinapura had changed.

Pritha tried to tell herself it was her imagination, though she knew better. But she hoped that she could change the suspicion of her nephews to acceptance and even love. After all, they were the sons of Gandhari.

She knew that there was nothing she could do about the hostility of Sakuni. But he was only a visitor and was not of much moment. She dismissed his hostility as chagrin.

She was saddened by the decision of Satyavati and the two queen mothers to take sanyasa, but accepted it. It was the way of Kshatriyas. To go to the forest, to be an ascetic. The last stage of life.

She looked around her apartments nostalgically. They were not the same ones she occupied before. But almost all the apartments in the royal palace followed the same design. The rooms were large, well lit and luxurious.

She sighed as she sank down on to a chair. Already, her life in the forest seemed a lifetime away. She felt tears seeping out of her eye and did nothing to stop them. The cremation and last rites of her husband and Madri had to be done the next day. She would need to be composed and dignified. And she would need to hold her tears in check then.

She thought of her life with her husband. A slight smile appeared on her lips, though tears still flowed down her cheeks.

“Kunti,” she could hear his voice. He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Shy of your husband?”

She dropped her eyes, her heart racing. His eyes held passion and yet his touch was gentle.

He cupped her face with both hands and lifted it to his. She closed her eyes and raised her face in anticipation of the touch of his lips.

She opened her eyes as cold air met her upturned face.

Pritha buried her face in her hands and wept.