The Kaunteyas

by Madhavi S. Mahadevan

Love between a man and a woman seems a mystery, intimate yet subtle, its nebulous shape a rush in the blood, an imprint on the soul; its essence to be divined in songs, stories, secret yearnings and dreams, but never to be evaluated, examined or weighed in words. It is unknowable, until the moment one is struck by it. And then it is as if the world is lit up from within.

Love depletes you. It restores you. Love is regeneration. It gives rise to a new receptivity. Love transforms. It is the lone spark that drives away the darkness in the depths of our hearts. It is all we need, but it can also reduce us to nothing. Love is the dancing flame that burns the lamp’s soft wick to blackness. Love can, on occasions, bring pleasure, but it always, always brings pain.

Happiness is a composite emotion, a distillation of bliss, delight, joy, ecstasy and ease. Misery, on the other hand, is unsubtle. Opaque as the unseeing eye, hard of hearing, thick-headed with its own anguish. Like an abyss, it offers nothing but darkness. Yet the acknowledgement of a condition more miserable than one’s own can be an eye-opener.