Geetha Krishnan's Blog, page 32
January 18, 2016
A Story Lost In Time
Book One: The Fire Does Not Consume
Prologue
Arjuna rushed into the tent. Draupadi looked up. She did not know what made her come there that day. Some sixth sense had drawn her thither.
She had come to learn that Vasusena and Arjuna were battling. Yudhistira had told her about his defeat at Vasusena’s hands.
“He did not even injure you seriously?” She had been surprised.
Yudhistira had frowned. “It really is strange, now that you mention it,” said he.
They had waited in the tent, waiting for some news from the battlefield. The sun went down and yet, no messenger came with any news.
Draupadi felt an overwhelming sense of relief at seeing Arjuna. Her husband was safe!
Yudhistira too jumped up as he saw Arjuna.
“He is dead,” said Arjuna. “Suyodhana’s staunchest ally, our bitterest enemy, my greatest rival is dead. Vasusena is dead.”
Yudhistira laughed, a laugh of joy and relief. “Now we’ve won!” He was exultant. “Now we have won the war!”
He went to Arjuna. “Take me to him, Arjuna! I want to see it!”
Arjuna nodded, smiling. Then it was that he noticed her.
But it was Bheema who asked her, “Aren’t you coming?”
She nodded. She too had to see it. For she too would not believe it till she saw it.
The chariot reached the battlefield. Though the sun had set, there was still enough light to see him.
He lay by the side of his chariot which seemed to lay on its side. As they reached nearer, it was evident that one of its wheels was mired in the mud. The position of Vasusena’s body seemed to indicate that he was attempting to raise that wheel when he met his end.
His severed head lay near his feet, the arrow that severed it lay broken near to his head. It seemed to Draupadi that there was still a smile on his face.
She remembered him as she had seen him for the first time, brilliant as the sun. She remembered the tenderness and the smile in his grey eyes.
She looked into those very eyes now, but there was no life in them, and she could not recognize their colour or their expression.
She had a sudden impulse to bend down and close those staring eyes.
She turned away, unable to stand the accusation she imagined in those eyes.
She was aware of Krishna standing by her side.
“You should be happy,” said he softly. “Your husband is safe.”
“If my husband had been on the ground and his enemy on the chariot, my husband would still have been alive,” said she.
She could not help saying it. Vasusena’s death did not bother her as much as the manner of it.
Krishna nodded. “True. He was an honourable warrior.”
“Then why did he have to die like this?”
“Because there was no other way,” said Krishna simply.
He turned to the Pandavas. “Let us go back,”
They rode back in deafening silence.
The Vampire and the Hunter Part One
A/N: Another ff based on Dracula The Series
1.
Max was feeling bored. This vacation was beginning to be a very bad idea. But after the accident, it had seemed like a good idea to take some time off. But since the accident had not caused any damage and had only shaken him up a bit, within a week he was bored with his surroundings. There was nothing to do but to swim and to watch the sea and learn how to dive or surf. But to Max, the sea was rather less challenging than vampire hunting. He was strongly beginning to suspect his family’s motives in sending him off to this god forsaken beach ostensibly to recuperate.
Of course he had known neither his mother nor Chris was very happy about his line of work. Sophie and Klaus were equally opposed to it. They all knew firsthand the dangers inherent in vampire hunting and they had done everything in their power to stop Max from making it his career. But their power over him was nil and their influence very limited. In addition to which there was nothing else Max wanted to do with his life. So, in the end his family had accepted his decision with good grace. Or so it had seemed to Max till recently.
The alacrity with which his family had packed him off on this holiday, however, showed that their opinions hadn’t changed at all. Being in the line of work that he was in, it was impossible for Max to be so shaken up that he needed a break. But the doctor, who Max began to suspect was in cahoots with his family, had advised him to take a break, and since his family were also quite adamant, Max had agreed. He was also, he thought, a bit shaken up at the time and his family probably knew it.
Max stifled a yawn and glanced at his watch. It was nearly four. He stretched himself and looked around the beach. Only a few swimmers were there, stretched in the sand at various places. At least, he reflected, the place was not crowded. That was the only good thing about this place. He was not prepared to make small talk with a lot of strangers who somehow felt the need to spill their life-stories to chance acquaintances.
Max got up from where he was lying, picked up his towel and shook the sand out of it. Wrapping himself in it, he walked back to the hotel. At least, thought he, I will have a tan to show for this totally pointless break. He yawned again. One more day of this and he would certainly go mad. His room had been booked for three weeks, but that was of no importance.
On reaching his hotel, Max went straight to the reception. The clerk at the table gave him the smile practiced by hotel clerks the world over. Max returned the smile, noticing in passing that the girl was rather attractive. Her smile would have been attractive too, had she been more sincere about it.
“How may I help you, sir?” she asked, still with that smile”
“I want to check if any tickets are available on the next flight to New York,” he said.
“Oh, are you leaving, sir?” she asked. “I thought your reservation was up to the 29th.”
“Yes, but something came up at work.”
“All right, sir. I will make enquiries.” The smile was back.
“Thank you,”
“Thank you, sir.”
Turning to leave, Max froze on his track. He stared intently at the man who just walked into the hotel and turned back to the receptionist.
“On second thoughts,” said he. “I think I will stay till the 29th.”
She smiled again, this time, a genuine smile.
Max turned again and nearly bumped into the man whom he had watched just a few seconds ago.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact with the stranger.
“It’s all right,” said the man in a strangely accented voice. Max all but ran from the reception. He sank on to a sofa on reaching his room and was surprised to find that he was shaking.
“For God’s sake, Maximilian,” he muttered. But he was shaken, he admitted to himself. This was the last place on earth he would have expected to find Dracula.
“Damn!” muttered Max. He had none of his vampire hunting equipments. Or rather, nothing suitable for a quarry as tough as Dracula. What he had was defensive, suitable only for protecting himself from an attack. He was not expecting to hunt vampires during this vacation.
Max wondered if Dracula had recognized him. True, it has been nearly twenty years since he had seen him, but vampires had a highly developed sense of smell, Max knew. It was quite possible that the twenty nine year old Max and the ten year old Max had the same smell. But he could hope that Dracula did not associate him with the most successful vampire hunter of their time. He had gone to great lengths to protect his identity, but Dracula was not just another vampire. Max gave a mental shrug. He would be prepared, but he would not worry. He may not be able to destroy the vampire, but he was certain that the vampire would not be able to harm him either.
At least, thought he, having Dracula here would at least end his boredom.
The Vampire and the Hunter
A/N: Another ff based on Dracula The Series
1.
Max was feeling bored. This vacation was beginning to be a very bad idea. But after the accident, it had seemed like a good idea to take some time off. But since the accident had not caused any damage and had only shaken him up a bit, within a week he was bored with his surroundings. There was nothing to do but to swim and to watch the sea and learn how to dive or surf. But to Max, the sea was rather less challenging than vampire hunting. He was strongly beginning to suspect his family’s motives in sending him off to this god forsaken beach ostensibly to recuperate.
Of course he had known neither his mother nor Chris was very happy about his line of work. Sophie and Klaus were equally opposed to it. They all knew firsthand the dangers inherent in vampire hunting and they had done everything in their power to stop Max from making it his career. But their power over him was nil and their influence very limited. In addition to which there was nothing else Max wanted to do with his life. So, in the end his family had accepted his decision with good grace. Or so it had seemed to Max till recently.
The alacrity with which his family had packed him off on this holiday, however, showed that their opinions hadn’t changed at all. Being in the line of work that he was in, it was impossible for Max to be so shaken up that he needed a break. But the doctor, who Max began to suspect was in cahoots with his family, had advised him to take a break, and since his family were also quite adamant, Max had agreed. He was also, he thought, a bit shaken up at the time and his family probably knew it.
Max stifled a yawn and glanced at his watch. It was nearly four. He stretched himself and looked around the beach. Only a few swimmers were there, stretched in the sand at various places. At least, he reflected, the place was not crowded. That was the only good thing about this place. He was not prepared to make small talk with a lot of strangers who somehow felt the need to spill their life-stories to chance acquaintances.
Max got up from where he was lying, picked up his towel and shook the sand out of it. Wrapping himself in it, he walked back to the hotel. At least, thought he, I will have a tan to show for this totally pointless break. He yawned again. One more day of this and he would certainly go mad. His room had been booked for three weeks, but that was of no importance.
On reaching his hotel, Max went straight to the reception. The clerk at the table gave him the smile practiced by hotel clerks the world over. Max returned the smile, noticing in passing that the girl was rather attractive. Her smile would have been attractive too, had she been more sincere about it.
“How may I help you, sir?” she asked, still with that smile”
“I want to check if any tickets are available on the next flight to New York,” he said.
“Oh, are you leaving, sir?” she asked. “I thought your reservation was up to the 29th.”
“Yes, but something came up at work.”
“All right, sir. I will make enquiries.” The smile was back.
“Thank you,”
“Thank you, sir.”
Turning to leave, Max froze on his track. He stared intently at the man who just walked into the hotel and turned back to the receptionist.
“On second thoughts,” said he. “I think I will stay till the 29th.”
She smiled again, this time, a genuine smile.
Max turned again and nearly bumped into the man whom he had watched just a few seconds ago.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact with the stranger.
“It’s all right,” said the man in a strangely accented voice. Max all but ran from the reception. He sank on to a sofa on reaching his room and was surprised to find that he was shaking.
“For God’s sake, Maximilian,” he muttered. But he was shaken, he admitted to himself. This was the last place on earth he would have expected to find Dracula.
“Damn!” muttered Max. He had none of his vampire hunting equipments. Or rather, nothing suitable for a quarry as tough as Dracula. What he had was defensive, suitable only for protecting himself from an attack. He was not expecting to hunt vampires during this vacation.
Max wondered if Dracula had recognized him. True, it has been nearly twenty years since he had seen him, but vampires had a highly developed sense of smell, Max knew. It was quite possible that the twenty nine year old Max and the ten year old Max had the same smell. But he could hope that Dracula did not associate him with the most successful vampire hunter of their time. He had gone to great lengths to protect his identity, but Dracula was not just another vampire. Max gave a mental shrug. He would be prepared, but he would not worry. He may not be able to destroy the vampire, but he was certain that the vampire would not be able to harm him either.
At least, thought he, having Dracula here would at least end his boredom.
January 17, 2016
The Red Jacket
A/N: This is a piece of fan fiction I wrote based on the 90s TV Show, Dracula The Series.
Alexander came upon it so accidentally. He had not even known he had kept it. But rummaging in his wardrobe for a clean shirt, he found it hanging in one corner. The red jacket was quite small and certainly not new. Even hanging in a corner of the wardrobe, its colour had begun to fade.
Alexander stared at it for a moment, diverted from his search. He took it out, wondering how he came to keep it. He had certainly forgotten its existence. But the sight of it now, brought back the memory of a long forgotten night, twenty years ago.
More like a nightmare, thought Alexander. He was ill, in pain and dying. It certainly was an unexpected experience for him and one for which he was not prepared. Death, he could accept. But he had always assumed his would be quick and violent, not this lingering, degradingly painful process.
He had managed to drag himself to the bank of the spring whose waters, Dr. Varney had assured him, would cure him of the poison that was spreading through his blood stream. But before, he could reach the spring, his most implacable enemy was there, blocking his path.
In a way, he was glad of Helsing’s presence there. Helsing would certainly kill him quickly. It was then he saw Max. For a moment, he wondered if Helsing had finally gone mad. This was no place for a ten year old. Even he knew it. Max took off the jacket he was wearing and gently placed it below Alexander’s head. Alexander was touched by the act, due no doubt, to his fast approaching death. Of course, he could have told Max that he could hardly feel anything and that there was no point in Max freezing to death. But he saw the look in Max’s eyes, sadness and compassion and innocence and a lot of things he could not even name and so he refrained, simply thanking the child.
Max was also looking pale and a bit upset. And who could blame him? Thought Alexander. After all, he was only ten and while it was all very well to talk of killing vampires and purging the earth of them, what Helsing was about to do was more or less cold blooded murder. Well, maybe not murder, conceded Alexander. After all, he was a vampire and could hardly be considered as being alive and as such, destroying him cannot be said to be murder. But, murder would do till he could think of a better word.
He could understand Max’s reluctance. Max had staked a few vampires, but it had all been in self defense or defending his brother or Sophie. Never had he tried to kill a vampire that was not even able to move, let alone defend itself. Besides which, Alexander thought, he must be a gruesome sight. Max had probably never seen a dying vampire. Come to think of it, Alexander had never even heard of a vampire dying of natural causes. Hell, their very existence was unnatural!! Whoever heard of a vampire falling ill or being poisoned? And he had been around for a while too. Certainly quite a few centuries more than Max or Helsing who were, after all human and had limited lifespans.
Fortunately for him, Dr. Varney arrived just then, preventing Helsing from putting a period to Alexander’s existence. Just in the nick of time too, thought Alexander. The good doctor had also brought the cure.
Alexander frowned as he tried to remember when he had picked up Max’s red jacket and brought it to the castle. And what was more, he had hung it in his own wardrobe too. But try as he might, he could not remember when that might have happened.
“How much longer is it going to take you to find a clean shirt?” exclaimed the young man who burst into the room without knocking.
He was shirtless and was holding a wine stained shirt in his hands. Alexander looked up, interrupted from his musings, the red jacket still in his hands. The young man saw the jacket in Alexander’s hands and his eyes came alive with mirth.
“That, I think, would be a bit small for me,” said he seriously and with a perfectly straight face, except for his eyes, which were laughing.
Alexander smiled and held up the jacket. “I do believe you are right,” he said as he hung it back into the wardrobe.
“Had I realized you meant to keep me shirtless for the evening, I would have been more careful with that wine,” said the young man as brushing Alexander aside, he reached into the wardrobe and took out a clean shirt.
“That,” said Alexander, “is definitely, a tempting prospect.”
“Why are your shirts all white?” muttered the young man as he buttoned up the borrowed shirt. “May be its time I started keeping a change of clothes around here.”
“High time, I should say,” said Alexander, smiling at his lover.
He and Max had certainly come a long way since that night.
January 16, 2016
January 15, 2016
Prologue
He stood in the shadows, watching, as he had been doing for eons. Landscapes had changed since he began his shadowy watch. Forests which were once his refuge had shrunk almost to nothingness. New Roads had come where there were once only grass and trees. Houses made of strange materials never seen in his boyhood now dotted the landscape. Exotic fruits and flowers grew in profusion in gardens and groves. Noisy Vehicles with poisonous fumes had replaced the animal drawn chariots. He had watched it all at first with wonder, then with anger and now with impassivity.
The changes were slow and gradual, making it easy for him to adapt. To go deeper into the shadows, to blend with them, to hide himself behind trees, among grass, though there were times he wondered if it was worth it, whether the men of that age would actually be able to see him. But he took no chances and stayed out of sight, an art he had perfected over the centuries.
The changes in the world were not to his liking, but he learned to live with them and to survive them. The river waters were no longer good for drinking, so he took refuge in wayside wells and the strange instrument men called a tap. The trees grew back in their ancient habitats, no matter how many times they were felled.
It was the mountains he hated. They had not changed much and only superficially. They were still as majestic and towering and awe-inspiring as they were in his boyhood. They stood there, their snowy peaks lost in the clouds, a baleful presence, pinning him under their pitiless gaze.
He looked up at the sun and wondered if Suryadeva was up there somewhere, still mourning his lost son. Why did all those events seem so fresh to his memory and more real than the centuries that he had witnessed? The men of this age did not believe in devas. They offered no sacrifices. They said the sun was a burning globe of gases though they had never been to it. They mocked at people for believing in God, and asked them for evidence. He wondered what evidence they had for believing the sun was a burning globe and no God.
They did not believe in Indra or his Vajra. They had explanations for rain and rain clouds and for the thunder which still shook the skies and for the lightning. They believed in nothing, thought he. And their lives were much simpler in consequence.
He loved the rain. It cooled his skin, allowing him to forget that he was cursed for all eternity, though the rain clouds brought the images of the one who cursed him. The raindrops soothed him, like the apologetic caress of the one who laid that terrible curse on him.
Sometimes, he pitied the men of that age. They had never known what it was to believe with absolute certainty; to do a sacrifice with the welfare of the world in mind; to live life on the scale of a God or a demi god.
But mostly he pitied himself, for being the one left, for being in this age where no one believed in him or his life, where their deeds were but a tale told by grandmothers and the truth had been embellished so many times that none now knew what the real tale was.
There were times when he was tempted to move out, to go to some house, to beg for a chance to tell his story, but he had desisted. The curse came to him, “You will be shunned by all, you will forever dwell in the fringes of men.” And so he stayed away, though he could not rightly say who was shunning whom.
January 13, 2016
The Night of the Game
A/N: This is a fan fiction inspired by the Dice game sequence in Star Plus’ Mahabharata show. It has no relation to the epic.
I sit there, stunned. My four brothers are now slaves of Duryodhana, but Sakuni’s dice did not listen to him in my case. I am still free. Not only that, I am now the master of Karna, the King of Anga and Duryodhana’s best friend and staunchest ally.
The loss of Karna had affected Sakuni and Duryodhana’s thinking skills as well. For instead of asking my brother to stake me and Karna together, they had asked him to stake Bheema and then himself. I guess Duryodhana’s hatred of Bheema was stronger than his thinking capacity.
“One more round,” Duryodhana says to Yudhistira now. “Arjuna and Karna against the four of you.”
Yudhistira sits back with a half smile.
“I have lost myself,” says he. “I am no longer master of Arjuna.”
Duryodhana turns to me. “One round of dice, Partha. Karna against your brothers!”
I shake my head. I am not my brother. I am no King nor Dharmaraja. I am a warrior and a Kshatriya. I am not bound to accept an invitation to dice.
“No,” say I.
Duryodhana frowns but Sakui looks wary.
“You don’t want to free your brothers?” Duryodhana sounds confused.
In reply, I twang my bow string. The echo of Gandiva’s string reverberates in the hall.
“I only need this to end your life and that of your brothers and to free mine,” say I. “And your mightiest ally is now my slave. If I ask, he shall slay you himself!”
I glance sideways at the King of Anga as I speak. His face might have been carved of stone, but the tightly clenched fists tells their own tale. The man is shaken.
Duryodhana opens his mouth to speak, but Sakuni forestalls him. “Do you think it is going to be so easy? Aren’t you forgetting the great Bhishma and Guru Drona?”
I direct an indifferent glance at the two he mentioned. “I think I can handle them both, especially now that I have Karna on my side,”
I knew I was deliberately rubbing it in, but it was small revenge for what Karna and Duryodhana had tried to do to us. Maybe I was forgetting Sakuni was the main architect of the scheme, but he was insignificant.
“The sun has set,” Pitamaha’s voice breaks the silence. “Neither dice nor war can happen till it rises again.”
“You have one night,” say I to Duryodhana. “Either you free my brothers or I will.” I pause for effect. “And if my brothers are mistreated in any way tonight, there shall be war tomorrow, irrespective of your decision.”
I turn to Karna. “Come,” say I as I walk out of the sabha.
I do not go to the quarters given to us this time, but to the apartments set aside for the King of Anga. I figured since he was my slave, his quarters were now mine.
Karna follow me in silence. I could not guess his thoughts. Not that it mattered. All that mattered were my brothers. I would do anything to free them.
We enters his apartments in silence. As I had guessed, there are no guards. Everyone must have heard that the King of Anga is now a slave. And Pitamaha would have ordered the captain of the palace guards to remove the guards from this apartment.
Four more apartments would remain unguarded tonight. My insides twist in fear as I think of my brothers.
I close the door and bolt it. And then I sink down on to a chair and bury my face in my hands. I do not care that Karna is a witness to my weakness. I cannot trust him, but even less can I afford to send him out when I do not trust him.
I had no doubt that Duryodhana would try some underhanded method to kill me tonight. And I was not going to sleep tonight. But I was not going to let Karna escape whatever Duryodhana had planned for me.
He would not harm my brothers. Not till I was out of his way. I was my brothers’ only hope. My staying alive was necessary for their safety and freedom.
Karna holds out a goblet to me. It is water, I notice. I drink in one gulp. He pours me one more goblet which I empty too.
“Enough,” say I.
Karna sits opposite me, his expression neutral.
“It was a gamble you took,” says he. I shake my head. It was no gamble. I had pushed Duryodhana into a tight corner.
“He might have called your bluff,” Karna persists. “He could ask your brothers to take the field against you tomorrow.”
I shake my head. “My skills would protect myself and them even if they were standing against me.”
“I know that,” says he. “But does Duryodhana?”
I attempt a smile, but my mouth won’t co operate, “Duryodhana might not, but you can be certain Sakuni does.”
“Defeating your Pitamaha or your Guru is not easy, even if the two of us join hands,” says he.
I know it too. But I also know that I only need them out of the way for the time it takes me to kill Duryodhana and his brothers.
I say as much and Karna gives me a strange look.
“If you kill Duryodhana,” says he. “You better not set me free.”
Our eyes meet. I say no word. We both know that one day we shall battle unto death.
I avert my eyes from his. I know he is good, but I am better. If we meet, he shall die.
“Go to sleep,” he says now.
I shake my head.
“Trust me to protect you tonight,” says he.
“It’s not that,” say I. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight,”
My worry must have shown on my face. His expression was unreadable.
“If you trust me,” says he. “I shall get you information on your brothers.”
I shake my head. “Your friend won’t harm them as long as he knows I am alive.”
He does not look angry at my words. Perhaps he knows what Duryodhana is like too.
We stay like that the whole night, still as two statues.
There is a knock at our door as the sun was rising in the eastern sky and Karna is fidgeting.
“Arjuna!” It is Bheema’s voice. “Open the door. “Duryodhana has set us free. He has returned our Kingdom. Open the door.”
I slump in my chair, my relief greater than my joy. Karna rises to open the door, but I stop him.
“If they are free, then I free you.”
I stand up. I myself had not realized how tensed I had been, how worried.
Karna looks at me with that unreadable eyes. Then he nods, just a slight inclination of the head that might have been a bow as well. He moves to the door to open it and my brothers spill into the room. They hug me tight and I them and I see over Nakula’s shoulder Karna being hugged by Duryodhana.
I smile at my brothers. We were safe now. It was time to return to Indraprastha.
What Might Have Been
He held her close. So close he could feel the hammering of her heart like his own. She sighed in his arms. They stayed like that, and then she broke free of the circle of his arms and looked into his eyes.
“What was I supposed to do?” She asked, her voice full of bitterness. “You swore yourself to celibacy. And my father wanted to marry me off! What could I have accomplished by waiting? Would you have changed your mind?”
He said nothing, her words were just, he knew.
He looked at her. Amba looked forlorn. He had carried her off alongwith her sisters, ostensibly for his brother, yet, he acknowledged to himself that he would have killed Vichitravirya before he let him touch this woman.
The Princesses of Kasi were traditionally married to the Princes of Hastinapura. Thus it was that he and Amba were betrothed to one another when he had been crowned Yuvaraja. Their betrothal was known only to them and to their fathers, for Santanu had wanted to announce it on the day Devavrata would be crowned King.
But fate had decreed otherwise, tempting Santanu by throwing Satyavati across his path. And the face of Amba had not intruded in Devavrata’s mind when he took that terrible oath, relinquishing the Kingdom and forswearing the company of women forever.
But her thoughts had come to him as he rode back to his father. His heart had bled as he sent the secret missive to Kasi informing her father of his oath.
And he had succeeded in forgetting her. Or so he had thought. Till the day he heard that the King of Kasi was holding his daughters’ swayamvara.
He had never meant to abduct her. He meant to carry away her sisters by force, but to leave her to choose her husband. But he had seen the expression on her face when she saw him. And he would have to have been more than a man to have left her there.
He had been stunned when she announced that she had chosen someone for her husband in her heart. Though he was relieved she would not be marrying his brother, he had to know who his rival was. And so he had cornered her in the garden, demanding to know who had won her heart.
Her look had been answer enough and he had taken her in his arms, holding her close.
She shook her head sadly. “Why did you have to carry me away?”
He looked at her. She had put aside all the finery she had worn for the Swayamvara. Yet, she looked even more lovely than he had ever seen her. There was a droop to her shoulders.
She stood there, head bowed and lifted a hand to dash away a tear. She raised her head and looked at him, tears glistening on her lashes.
“I shall go to my grandfather,” said she. “He’s a hermit. I shall adopt the life of a hermit. I should have done this then. But I was a child.” She paused. “I am a woman now. And this is the only decision that will free us both.”
She was right, he knew. She had been a child when her father and his had betrothed them. And she had not yet entered womanhood when he relinquished her. But he had been a man. And he had dreamed of the day she would grow up and be his. And his heart had bled for his dreams.
And now, he knew, he had wronged her again.
She looked at him and her heart melted for him. She had never known what it meant to love. She was too young at the time of her betrothal and its annulment.
But she had heard tales of him. And though she knew he would never be hers, she had sought out story tellers to listen to his tales. She had fallen in love with him and when she saw that he had come to the Swayamvara, she had allowed herself to hope and worse, she had allowed her hope to show.
Which had led to this situation. And now, she had to find a way out. For him. She could not be the reason for his torment. She did not care for herself. Life without him was meaningless to her. And the thought of another man abhorrent. She would adopt Sanyasa so they could both have peace.
“No,” said he, his voice sounding strange.
She looked at him in surprise.
He took her face between his hands, looking into her eyes.
“I am not going to lose you now,” said he.
She gazed into his eyes, not trusting herself to speak, for the joy that coursed through her was greater than anything she had ever felt.
He bent down and kissed her. His mouth was warm and his kiss seared her like a flame that found its way to her very soul.
She put her arms around him, kissing him back.
After what seemed like an eternity, he lifted his head and looked at her. Her head lay against his arm, her face was delicately flushed, her hair dishevelled.
With infinite tenderness, he tucked in a strand of stray hair behind her ear.
“What of your oath?” She asked half heartedly.
“I don’t care,” said he.
She placed a hand on his cheek. “I can’t bear to have you maligned for breaking your oath.”
He placed his hand over hers, turning his head to kiss her palm. “We won’t be here to listen to them.” He paused. “We will go away tonight, to my uncle’s kingdom. He has no heirs and he had once asked my father to send me to him. I stayed thinking Hastinapura needs me. But not any more. We will go to him. It is far in the mountains. The Kings of Aryavarta would not disturb us. The politics of the plains will not affect us.”
She snuggled close to him. “Sounds like a dream.”
“It’s going to come true for us,” he promised.
January 4, 2016
Random Thoughts
1. Some true stories read like bad screenplays of unrealistic movies. Except that the audience are not given the option to boo, hiss, catcall or walk out.
2. What is meant to be broken, cannot be mended.
3. Sometimes, the darkness seems to be a perfect symbol for my life. Unchanging, monotonous and without any light.
4. From the frying pan to the fire is quite a natural progression for some people. I am one of them.
5. Life and death jostles each other; joys and sorrows nudge each other; night follows day and day follows night; great losses are tempered by small victories till in the final reckoning, it is found that everything has balanced out somehow. Sufferings and pain and happiness and pleasures and losses and gains and griefs and hopes all even out in the great plain of death.
6. The poems that remain unwritten are still more beautiful than those that have found their way out of my spluttering pen.
7. There are times when life seems intent on grinding you to dust. At those times, it may help to remember that sooner or later, life will grind everyone to dust. You are not alone, just one of many; and neither life nor death has favourites. If you have the courage for one, you must have the courage for other. All life does ultimately is give you the strength to face death with dignity, if not tranquillity.
8. Opportunity. Is that all life is about? Hopes and dreams and love and pain does not matter?
9. When you love, love with all you have. Hold nothing back. Give all that is there in your heart, good or bad. For then only will it be worthy of being called love.
10. Grind me to dust if it is Thy Will; Let me suffer hurt and humiliation and heart-break if it is Thy Will. I ask no blessing; seek no reprieve, save the heart and the strength to accept Thy Will.
11. “I will give my life for you,” said he with complete conviction. She smiled, a bit sadly. “I know. But I would prefer you to live for me.” “As opposed to die for you?” “As opposed to die. Period.”
12. Death is not the end of life. It is merely the end of the life we are familiar with.
13. What is worse, pain or embarrassment? Maybe they are just illusions too as this entire world is said to be. But why does an illusion have to be painful? Why do there have to be hunger and disease and war? Why can’t an illusion be all rosy dawns and days and dusks?
14. Though we know that death is inevitable, we never fail to be surprised by it.
15. Imagine the state of mind when the solid ground you stand on turns to quicksand and starts to suck you in. You may escape, but will the scars ever fade? Will you ever learn how to trust? How long before the fear leaves you and night brings healing sleep instead of nightmares?
16. There are no good ways to die; only good ways to live.
17. There may not be any good ways to die, but there are plenty of degradingly painful ways to meet your end.
18. Absences are felt more keenly than presences.
19. If you want to have your portrait pained, it is always a good idea to hire a painter to do it. You cannot say, there is only this wood cutter available, so he will have to paint my picture. You may shout at and abuse him and tear your hair out in frustration, but if you want your picture pained, you will have to hire a painter.
20. Death does not end anything for the living. Life just turns over a new page. One without the dead one. A new life without him or her. A whole lot of chapters where he or she will have no role.
21. Some dreams get broken, some just die. Some dreams just vanish as if they have never ever been.
22. When I am with you, I am afraid to close my eyes, lest the blink of an eye should see you all grown up. When I hold you close, I am afraid to breathe, lest, the slightest stir should cause you to break free. When you fall asleep in my arms, I am afraid to dream, lest, my dreams should turn real before I am ready to let go.
23. There are times when I grow so tired of this life; times when I wonder why I go on. And then I come home and find that life is worth living; that I do have reasons to go on. My reasons for living are just two and they both call me mother.
November 28, 2015
The Abduction
Now it seemed the man was no longer in a hurry. The first frenzied rush of the horses and chariot was past. And Subhadra was getting a good look at her abductor.
She had heard of him, of course. They were cousins after all. But even if they were not related, she would still have heard tales, for he was one of the greatest warriors of their time.
She had known he was a guest of her brother, Krishna but she had not met him. Many a times had Krishna regaled her with tales of the Pandavas and the fabled city of Indraprastha that they built out of the wilds of Khandava, but never had he specifically mentioned the middle Pandava.
She had also heard the bards sing of the story of the five brothers. Of how they were born, of their escape from the house of lac, of the slaying of Hidimba and Baka and of the near impossible feat of archery that the man beside her had performed at the Swayamvara of Draupadi.
She looked at him. All his attention was centred on the horses. And the horses were her brother’s, she noticed. So Krishna had abetted this man in abducting her. She felt bile rise and turned her face away.
Why brother, thought she silently. Why this newly discovered cousin is more important than your sister? Don’t I have more claim on you? Does the bond of blood between us mean less than the bond of blood between you and him?
She could almost hear Krishna’s answering laugh and his teasing reply, ‘Why sister? Don’t you trust me? How many times had you told me that your future husband shall be chosen by me? And when I do that, you are complaining?’
She could see the look in his eyes, tender and teasing, amused and grave. She had never seen any one’s eyes that held so many conflicting expressions at the same time.
She looked again at her abductor, her brother’s choice for her future husband. He was dark like Krishna but there the resemblance ended. He had thick curly hair which he wore long and which flew behind him like a horse’s mane.
She bit her lip. She could not see his face properly, but his profile was certainly arresting. He had high cheek bones which she found strangely attractive. His face was flushed dark from the exertion and probably excitement. His lips were drawn back in a smile and he did seem to have good teeth.
He had a magnificent physique too, and she had a clear view of his torso, his Uttariya having been blown away by the wind a long time back. But then, he was a warrior and an archer, the scars across his forearms bearing ample testimony to the fact.
He knew how to handle horses too, she conceded. Her brother’s horses were not easy to handle, but he seemed to do it so effortlessly. At least his face held no strain, only a smile, the bunched muscles of his arms the only evidence of his effort.
Dusk was approaching, she noticed. And it was beginning to be cold.
She shivered as the horses slowed to a trot.
They stopped by a spring and he got down briskly and started to unhitch the horses from the chariot. She sat down in the chariot, placed her chin over her laced hands and watched him as he attended to the horses’ comfort.
Next he built a fire and even a crude but serviceable shelter.
She also got a good look at his face, though he never once glanced at her. He was really most amazingly handsome, but that did not make her feel better.
She hugged herself to stop the cold. She was shivering again.
“You can sleep there, it will be warmer,” his voice broke into her thoughts. It was a pleasant voice, deep and rich and reminding her of mountain peaks and ocean waves.
She looked up to see him, regarding her gravely. A lump rose to her throat which she swallowed as she got down from the chariot, ignoring his outstretched hand and walked to the shelter he had built.
It was warm as he had said and she sat there, her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them, her arms around her legs. She watched the flickering fire and was aware of him kneeling next to her.
“Am I beyond forgiveness?” He asked.
She looked at him. “You abducted me.” Said she. “You did not think what my feelings would be.”
He looked into her eyes. She strove not to fall into the spell of his gaze.
“Is there anyone else in your heart?”
His question took her by surprise.
“No, but that is irrelevant.”
“But it gives me room to hope,” said he quietly. “And I am prepared to wait for as long as it takes, my lady.”
“That from the man who abducted me.”
“I was desperate, my lady. From the moment I saw you, I knew my life would be incomplete without you.” He paused. “That I would be incomplete without you.”
She looked into his eyes and believed him.
“And how did you reach that conclusion?” She ignored the tremor in her own voice. “Did a bolt strike you from the blue?”
He shook his head. “I saw you,” said he. “I loved you.”
It was a simple statement. She wondered if she was foolish for believing it.
“A bit sudden, wasn’t it?”
“Not for me. When I saw you, I knew my wandering was at an end. I had been seeking you, though I knew it not.”
He leaned over and took her face between his hands. His touch was as gentle as the expression in his eyes. “It was unthinkable that I should lose you. That is why I was hasty. But you have nothing to fear from me. I swear to you on my honour as a warrior that you shall have no cause to fear me.”
She looked into his eyes and saw herself reflected there. And she knew then what he meant when he said he had been seeking her, though he knew not. For, in that moment, she realized that she had been seeking him too.
She dropped her eyes. It was too sudden. She needed to think. She needed time.
He released her face and rose. “I shall sleep in the chariot,” he put something before her. “You must be hungry. These fruits were all I could find.”
She shook her head mutely. He stood, looking at her. Then shrugged and went to the chariot.
She looked at the fruits he had placed in front of her. She lay down, facing away from the fire, smiling softly.
It seemed she could trust her brother’s choice after all.
