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problem becomes a problem only if you believe it to be so. And often
a story gains power with retelling.
“Of me?” I asked, startled. I hadn’t thought of myself as particularly fearsome. “Why?” She pressed her lips together, angrier than I’d ever seen her. But she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give me an
uneasy when he visited me and rarely looked directly
even call it a swayamvar, then?” I cried. “Why make a spectacle
When I touched the peaks of the Himalayas, my hand tingled, and I knew that those icy ranges would be significant in my life.
People love to believe that virtue is rapidly rewarded, and that agitation is the fruit of unrighteousness. But things are not so simple.
I’m going to heaven to enjoy all its pleasures with my friends. You’ll rule a kingdom peopled with widows and orphans and wake each morning to the grief of loss. Who’s the real winner, then, and who the loser?
“Husbands, you must cremate every warrior who died in Kurukshetra with due honor. You must pour ghee into the fire for them all, and offer rice and water so that their spirits may be at peace.”
To see a loved one in pain is more wrenching than to bear that pain yourself.
that has always been my problem, to rebel against the boundaries society has prescribed for women. But what was the alternative?
If what I felt for Karna was a singeing fire, Krishna’s love was a balm, moonlight over a parched landscape. How blind I’d been not to recognize it for the precious gift it was!
