Geetha Krishnan's Blog, page 33

What an amazing poem!

Invictus

BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

A poem by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet – never – in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.

So we’ll go no more a roving…. by Lord Byron

So, we’ll go no more a roving

So late into the night,

Though the heart be still as loving,

And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause to breathe,

And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,

And the day returns too soon,

Yet we’ll go no more a roving

By the light of the moon.

Ganesh Chaturthi

sunshineofthetropics

Today is the day we welcome our beloved Ganesh to our humble abodes. He stays for different lengths of times in different homes with a minimum being a day & a half to a maximum of ten days. On the tenth day the idols are immersed in seas & oceans & on the eleventh day we wake up to a beach strewn with the remains of our beloved God. His trunk, his half dissolved arms, ears, clothes lie on the beach. Volunteers & municipal workers then get down to cleaning these beaches. And then begin the endless posts on Facebook, WhatsApp, forwarded emails, etc whether this is how we respect our religion & our Gods, is it necessary to pollute nature while worshiping our Gods while the atheists & agnostics feel superior for a few days as they condemn this God which leads people to pollute nature. Some devotees are confused…

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A fanfic

“Radheya,” a voice whispered in his ear; someone’s breath fanned his cheeks. Someone nibbled his earlobe.

“Vasusena” A hand skimmed his body with a touch as light as a feather.

He woke, feeling disoriented, and as the last vestiges of sleep cleared, he sighed softly.

A dream after all.

His hand touched his ear. It still tingled from a familiar voice and touch.

He lay down, closed his eyes.

Someone leaned over him, dark face flushed in passion.

“Radheya…”

Butterfly kisses down his neck, his collar bone, his chest, a nip here and there and a mouth moving lower…

“Vasusena…”

He opened his eyes and thought he could see the flash of a yellow robe just beyond the corner of his eyes.

He sighed and turned on to one side, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to recapture sleep. The night was still young and more than six hours remained for sunrise.

He was drained by all that had happened and wished to sleep.

He did not know when it was he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He woke groggy and disoriented, wondering what it was that woke him. A warm body pressed against his from behind and he stiffened.

“Relax,” murmured the drowsy voice of someone whose dreams filled his nights.

He relaxed allowing himself to be pulled into the circle of his arms.

The steady breathing of Krishna lulled him back to sleep. But it was to be a short-lived sleep. He was woken by lips brushing against the nape of his neck, a nip at his shoulder and earlobe.

He turned around to see a wide awake Krishna grinning mischievously. He was almost nose to nose with him.

“You seem determined not to let me sleep.”

“Do you need sleep that badly?”

“That’s beside the point.” He paused. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I heard you dreaming of me,” said Krishna with a perfectly straight face.

Vasusena blushed in spite of himself. “Even my dreams are not private?”

Krishna seemed to ponder over it. “Since they were about me, I consider them as much mine as yours.”

“That’s a nice logic!” He frowned. “But what were you doing?”

“What did it look like I was doing?”

Vasusena considered for a moment. “It looked like you were attempting to seduce me.”

“I was trying to make your dream come true and for that I am called a seducer?” Krishna said in an injured tone.

Vasusena lifted an eyebrow in amused question but made no answer.

“So,” Krishna murmured. “Was I succeeding?”

Vasusena laughed softly. “Not satisfied with all the conquests you made?”

Krishna shook his head. “I do not make conquests. It is I who is the conquered one.”

Vasusena sighed. “I hardly think that is true in my case.”

“Yes, you are right. But I can still try.”

“And what difference does it make?” Asked Vasusena, his voice quiet. “My loyalty is still with Suyodhana and yours with his cousins.”

“They are my cousins too,” replied Krishna. “And you do not believe that this peace between the cousins is permanent?”

“Do you?”

“No,” Krishna agreed. “It is a volcano waiting to erupt.”

“And when it does, we’ll be on opposite sides. Nothing in this world can change that.”

Krishna’s expression was inscrutable, though the smile still lingered.

“What happened today at the Rajasuya was only a prelude of things to come, isn’t it?” Asked Vasusena.

“That action was mine,” reminded Krishna.

“You are their dearest friend and staunchest ally. Your actions at this yajna will reflect more on them than on you.”

“You mean your friend will judge them based on my actions.” There was an edge to Krishna’s tone.

Vasusena rose and walked to the window. He stood gazing out into the night. The night was velvety dark, with pale moonlight turning the landscape colourless.

“Suyodhana is only human.” Said he finally. “And you can’t fault him for judging his enemies.”

“And does that mean you should always encourage in his enmity and his scheming against them?”

“As his friend,” said Vasusena stiffly, “his happiness is important to me. And it is my duty to help him against his enemies.”

Krishna snorted as he too rose and went to stand near Vasusena. “Your duty,” said he, his tone intense, “is to direct him to the right path.”

“And what is the right path?” Asked Vasusena, not turning. “One man’s path may seem right to some and wrong to someone else. And every man walks the path they feel to be right. And to enemies, all paths walked by enemy may seem wrong.”

“How nice to be able to find justifications for everything!” Krishna’s voice was sarcastic. “But not all paths are right. Some can lead to destruction too.”

Vasusena shrugged. “Nothing can be certain. And whatever path he walks, I will walk it with him.”

“Admirable loyalty,” Krishna’s voice was dry.

“You think you are the only one capable of loyalty?” Vasusena asked, an edge to his voice.

Krishna stared at him for one long moment and then strode to the door. He turned at the door. “Not everything is about loyalty.” Said he, his voice even. “There’s a thing called right too. And no matter how much you justify yourself, the day will come when your friend will reach the point of no return. And on that day, do not forget your own culpability!”

He opened the door and went out, slamming it behind him. The slam echoed in the still night.

One shot

The walk felt good to Vasusena. The gardens were beautiful. He was not able to enjoy them the previous day. Much as he loved Suyodhana, his envy of his cousins was something he could not understand. So the Pandavas had turned a barren wasteland to a thriving city. So they had beautiful palaces and gardens. What did it all matter? Hastinapura with all its majesty, tradition and history still belonged to Suyodhana. And anyway, should Suyodhana so desire, Vasusena was prepared to conquer this city and to place it at Suyodhana’s feet. Then why did his friend have to be jealous?

He sighed as he turned his attention to the gardens. They truly were beautiful. The lush green grass covered the area in an emerald carpets. Artificial hillocks and pools could be seen here and there. Shady trees with flowering creepers winding around them flanked the walkway. Clumps of flowering bushes dotted the lawn. Tinkling fountains were placed on hillocks. The flowerbeds were arranged in such a way as to arrest the eye of the beholder with their colours. Trees laden with fruits could also be seen in the garden. The fragrance of flowers and fruits and the sound of the water and the buzzing of bees made him feel at peace.

The walkway split in two, one continuing amongst the lawns and the other going through the hedges. It was cool and shady but the hedges grew tall and thick, blocking all view to what lay beyond. On an impulse, he turned to go that way.

It felt good walking between the hedges. He did not feel claustrophobic as Duhshasana did in such places. He never felt suffocated as long as he could feel the sun’s rays on him. The walkway split again and Vasusena took one of the paths. He was enjoying the walk.

It did not take him long to realize that it was a maze. He chuckled. It was probably meant for the children. But it did not bother him. He just hoped no one will come to break his solitude. It has been a long time since he had had solitude.

He turned a few more corners at random and found he had reached the centre of the maze. It was quite large, he saw. There was a fountain in its middle and a few seats. There were also a few flowering plants and trees. He sat down on one of the seats, determined to enjoy the solitude to the most.

He heard a noise like the laughter of a child and groaned inwardly. He wondered if he should leave. But before he could leave, Krishna was there, a child tagging along.

Krishna stopped short on seeing him, but did not seem surprised. He smiled at Vasusena and walked to him.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Vasusena looked at Krishna in surprise. “Of course.” Said he. “Why ask me?”

Krishna sat down next to him. The child looked at him in curiosity. Then he turned and leaned over to whisper something in Krishna’s ear. Krishna nodded. The child ran off.

“He wanted to go find his brothers,” said Krishna.

“I did not ask,” said Vasusena.

“I wanted to tell,” was Krishna’s response.

Vasusena studied the man. He had never had a chance to talk to him or to meet him. He had seen him at the Swayamvara of Drupada’s daughter. And then later at Hastinapura, though that was a brief visit. He knew of his intimacy with the Pandavas. But curiously, he felt no enmity for this man.

“I’m flattered,” Krishna murmured.

Vasusena stared at him, not understanding.

“That you don’t feel enmity for me,” Krishna clarified.

Vasusena was startled. “How do you know that?”

Krishna smiled. “Your thoughts reflect on your face. Your eyes are also very expressive.”

Vasusena could not believe that. “You are the first one to tell me so.”

“I am the first one to attempt to read your inexpressive expressions.”

Vasusena chuckled. “I’ve heard stories of you. It seems they are not exaggerated.”

“Do not believe everything you hear.”

“I don’t as a rule. But there are exceptions.”

“Once again I’m flattered.”

“A man who’s flattered by truth. Now, that’s a rare thing.”

“But truth is a rare commodity these days,” responded Krishna. “How can one not be flattered when someone is truthful to one?”

“It’s not that rare a commodity,” said Vasusena.

“Ah, but I have seen more lies than most,” said Krishna. “My life itself was a kind of lie. Lies kept me alive. So I am flattered by truth more than lies.”

Vasusena did not know what to say in response.

They were silent for a while.

Then Krishna spoke, “I hope you have been looked after well. Is the palace to your liking? Are the servants and other attendants attentive enough?”

“Yes,” said Vasusena. “But why do you care so much? You are not my host.”

“But they are my cousins. And my friends.”

“They are lucky,” said Vasusena, feeling a twinge of envy.

“Luck?” said Krishna. “You think what you see around you is the result of luck? Have you any idea of the effort involved in building a place like this? Of turning a barren wilderness into a city?” he paused. “You think them lucky? They were born in a forest who should have been born in a palace. They were poisoned, attempted to be burned alive and finally all but exiled into this place. You call that luck?”

“They certainly have a loyal friend in you,” said Vasusena. “And I don’t have to sit here and listen to you malign Suyodhana.”

“I wasn’t maligning anyone,” said Krishna. “I was simply saying what some people may call luck is often the result of a lot of hard work and sacrifice. And it’s quite unfortunate that when I attempt to explain that, I am held to be maligning others!”

Vasusena flushed a little. “I’m sorry,” said he, a bit stiffly.

“Why are you so touchy?” Krishna asked.

He shrugged. “Comes of having to bear insults at almost all gatherings, I suppose.”

Krishna shook his head. “Why do you consider them insults? I am called cowherd and coward by many. Have you ever seen me bristle at that?”

“Not everyone has your fortitude.” Said Vasusena, still stiffly.

Krishna sighed and rose as the unmistakable noise of a group of children’s laughter came closer.

“My nephews are coming. They are more destructive than a storm. I would advise you to leave before they come.”

If not for the mischievous twinkle in Krishna’s eyes, Vasusena might never have believed the man was joking.

But he had no desire to meet the sons of his enemies. He rose. “I think I’ll take your advice.”

He heard Krishna’s soft laugh follow him as he exited the maze.

Mourning

The sky was grey. The storm clouds had gathered overhead. He could feel the wind whipping his body.

Let the rain come, thought he. Let it cleanse me of this terrible sin. It had been a week since he learned the truth. He was yet to recover from its effects. The initial shock had passed, but now he avoided thinking of it. His older brother grieved openly. He wished he could too.

He wanted it to come, the shower. He wanted to stay there and let the waters soak him, to let the river rise up and to cover him. Jalasamadhi.  Death by Water. It was as good a way to go as any.

Except that he could not. He was not free. He had never been. And for the first time, his bond with his brothers seemed like a fetter.

He saw his friend stand near the river. He wondered what he was doing there. To what departed soul did he commune?

He approached him hesitantly. He stood still as a statue, his yellow robes flapping in the wind. His dark complexion seemed to merge into the atmosphere. He stood for a moment, admiring the beauty and the stillness of the man who held his heart and his soul.

“Arjuna,” Krishna spoke then. Arjuna did not wonder how Krishna knew he was there. When had he not known? When had he not been ready to assume all of Arjuna’s burdens as his own?

He walked towards Krishna. If anyone could give him peace, it was Krishna. If anyone could make him forget the terrible deed he did, it was Krishna.

They stood near to each other. Neither spoke a word. But they had never needed words. Their relation had always been beyond words. It was a connection of their souls. Arjuna always thought it had existed before time and was beyond time.

Krishna’s hand reached for his and they stood there, their fingers intertwined. Arjuna looked at their hands, joined together. They were the same colour, he and his cousin. It was difficult in the dim light to see where Krishna’s hand ended and Arjuna’s began.

“I told you to do it,” said Krishna softly. “He was unarmed and standing on the ground. He had asked you to desist in the name of dharma. I told him he deserved nothing. I reminded him of all his worst deeds.” He paused. “I made him die with the memory of his worst deeds.”

“You knew he was my brother.” It was not an accusation. Arjuna had never accused Krishna. He had always followed. He was not about to change now.

Krishna nodded. In the darkness, Arjuna might have missed it. But he could feel the tightening of Krishna’s fingers on his.

It seemed to him that the darkness around them was so complete that they seemed part of it. Both Partha and his Sarathy were absorbed into the darkness.

What is left for us to do now, he wondered. They had succeeded in their mission. They had cleansed the earth and made it possible for dharma to reign in the form of his older brother.

A bitter smile twisted Arjunas mouth. Always before, Yudhistira had been thought of as the eldest brother. But not now. Their eldest brother was dead. Killed by him.

As the first drops of rain fell, he felt Krishna drop his hand to put his arm around Arjuna as if to protect him from the elements. But then, Krishna had always protected him, shielded him, helped him, guided him. Without Krishna he was lost. A body without soul.

The rain strengthened, accompanied by lightning and thunder.

“Come, let’s go!” Krishna shouted above the rain, dragging him towards the tents.

Arjuna followed as he always did.

Back in Krishna’s tent, Arjuna dried himself and dressed himself in the spare set of clothes he always kept there. During the war, they had spent most of the nights together. It had been convenient to keep a spare set of clothes in each other’s tent.

Now, Arjuna looked at Krishna and saw the deep seated grief in his eyes.

“I destroyed him.” said Krishna. “You only put him out of his misery.”

“I don’t understand.” Arjuna was confused.

“He loved me.” Krishnas voice was so quiet, Arjuna had to strain to hear it, above the muffled sounds of rain from outside. “He trusted me. But I-”

Arjuna stared at Krishna, not understanding the words he spoke. His brain was in a whirl. He had known Krishna had other love interests. They both had. But that had all been women. Somehow, he had never imagined another man in Krishna’s life.

Not even in his wildest dreams had he associated Karna with his friend. His eldest brother whom he had slain. And his best friend, his lover for so many years. It was something he could not digest.

Silence stretched between them, a silence which held long years of trust and friendship and love and somewhere, in the deep recesses of Krishna’s heart, a face as bright as the sun.

Krishna smiled sadly. “He died, not knowing I loved him. He died believing my words.”

“You loved him,” repeated Arjuna stupidly. He could not wrap his brain around it.

Krishna looked at him. “My heart belonged to him. Only to him. But my soul was yours. And I could never sacrifice my soul to please my heart.”

The words washed over him like a wave. There was a time when it would have thrilled him to hear Krishna’s soul belonged to him. But now it only evoked a grief so intense that it left him empty.

“I cannot forget,” murmured Krishna now. “Though I wish to.”

He had come to Krishna, hoping to forget.

Arjuna placed his hand on Krishnas. It seemed to him, a ghostly hand was there between their entwined fingers.

Arjuna leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his friend, shutting out the ghost of the one he had killed.

“Then let us both remember,” he whispered before fastening his mouth on the other man’s.

Outside, the rain’s fury had settled into a steady downpour.

Lucifer

You were the first rebel

Not just the Evil Tempter

Who made us taste the Forbidden Fruit

But the first who dared to rebel against omnipotence

To some you were a hero, to others a villain

But to all, you were the absolute evil

You were blamed for everything that went wrong

You were the cause of all our misery

Reviled, hated and feared by most

And adored and worshipped by a few

You were compared to the worst of our race

Or rather, they were compared to you

(Though one wonders if you could have held a candle to them)

After all, what is it that you really did?

By making us taste the fruit,

You only made us aware of good and evil

The choices thereafter were made by us, not you

So why blame you for everything?

Ultimately you are nothing but a fallen angel

Foolish enough to think you could challenge The Omnipotent

And win

But we are the Crown of Creation

Created in God’s own image

We cannot lose

So now we have you

To blame for our ills

And the Son of God

To bear the burden of our sins