R for Romance

The mystery and excitement surrounding love has to be experienced to be known. Romance blossoming between two people is the tenderest of emotions and can often knock one off their senses!

This is one such tale of the tender romance blossoming between a beautiful princess and a prince disguised as an ascetic* (Yati).

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“Beautiful,” said Arjuna, lost in Subhadra’s mesmerizing eyes.

“The food?” teased Subhadra.

“Ummm…hmmm” said Arjuna, his gaze transfixed on the fair maiden before him.

Subhadra broke out into a laughter. His reverie broken, Arjun was visible embarrassed. 

“I mean, tasty, very tasty,” he clarified with a silly, shy smile beginning to form on his lips.

She had been serving him food and tending to his needs ever since he had come to Dwarka as Krishna’s guest. He had been living as a yati*, and she did not know who he was. He had been smitten by her beauty ever since he had first seen her. He loved the attention she had been showering on him.

“Tell me about your travels yatiraj*, tell me about the beautiful places you have visited,” she would urge him with the innocence of a child. He would answer them all patiently, and she would spend hours listening to his charming voice.

An expert charioteer, the horses obeyed her to a fault. He had seen her command the six horses chariot as effortlessly like one would pluck flowers from the garden. When she rode, her hair would fly all over her face making him go weak in his knees. Her knowledge and expertise in several skills was amazing. As the days passed, he had begun to fall in love with her.

Last evening, he had been hiding behind the trees watching her play blindfold with her friends, and she had caught him, imagining him to be one of her friends.

“Caught you”, she had screamed in joy, wrapping her hands around his back. Her soft palms rubbed against his skin, and he felt a bolt of lightning course through his body. As she removed the blindfold and saw it was him, she had run away embarrassed.

Oh! How he wished he had stayed locked in her arms forever!

He almost thought she wouldn’t turn up today, but she had, and she also had the nerve to tease him!

 Maybe she liked him too. He must know.

“Subhadra,” he said, unsure of what he must ask her, “I have heard that you are in love with someone,” wondering if she would bite the bait, “Would you like to tell me about him?”

Subhadra’s blushed, her face turning the deepest shade of pink. How had the yati known what lay confined in her mind? Maybe he was all-knowing. Should she tell him who had stolen her heart? Perhaps he would bless her and grant her a boon, and she would be united with the love of her life.

“Arjuna,” she said, turning to face away from him, lest he saw the longing in her eyes.

Arjuna was shocked. Did she see through his disguise? How could she have known it was him? Did Maadhav tell his sister who he was?

“Yes?” he asked, thinking she had called him.

“Arjuna, the greatest archer ever, has stolen my heart, oh great yati,” she said unabashedly. “I have secretly nurtured the dream to marry him and have a son like him, who will be the best archer in the world.”

Arjuna was pleasantly surprised. Subhadra was in love with him? But when had she seen him?

“Subhadra”, he said, trying to suppress his happiness and yet keeping up the pretense, “Have you met Arjuna?”

“No, yatiraj,” she said still looking away, “But I have heard about his lovable qualities and beauty from my brother. Bhratasri says, he is as handsome as he is valiant; he is as charming as he is skilled, and he is as loving as he is dutiful. Bhratasri cannot stop talking about him and I am always eager to hear more,” she said still blushing.

Subhadra had fallen in love with him without even seeing him?

The thought made him incredibly happy!

Emboldened, he decided to tease her further, “Subhadra,” a mischievous grin adored his beautiful face, “If I could call Arjuna here, right now…”

She suddenly turned to face him, her heart pounding with joy. “Do you know him? Is he in Dwaraka?

“Yes he is,” answered Arjuna, “and he is listening to the most beautiful woman in the world tell him how much she loves him.”

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This day...last year....R for Romance

Q for Quiescence

While quiescence can be a virtue at times, in love it can leave a lacuna, and a longing to be loved. Love needs expression; you cannot just love and leave.

This is a tale of two people, who loved each other. The love was never lost, but it never found its rightful expression and left the protagonist aching and hurt.

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Draupadi sat inside the royal bath, tears streaming down her face. She sat devoid of her robes, unmindful of the maids looking at the bruises on her bare body.

What use are these robes that cover my outer body? The honor and dignity that covered my soul is gone, she rued.

Her long lustrous hair fell to her knees, messy and unfettered. Her kohl had breached its boundaries, flowing freely out of her eyes, past her pink fluid lips. Her maids poured milk strewn with petals of rose on her, and as the milk touched her skin, it bubbled with the heat emanating from her.

“Colder…” she screamed, with pain ridden voice and the maids rushed to get pots of cold milk for her.

No matter how cold, the milk refused to soothe her.

“Leave,” she commanded her maids, with a flick of her wrist. Warm blood continued to ooze out of the fresh wound on her wrist, formed by her broken bangles, as Dusshasan dragged her to the court.

The maids looked at the wound, trying to decide if they should bandage it first, and then they looked at her eyes. No, she needed to be left alone to heal her wounds in solitude.

All alone, Draupadi sat immersed in the tub of milk and roses and closed her eyes.

“Why Parth, why?” she said looking at the exquisite emerald ring Arjuna had put on her finger after the swayamvar.

“Your quiescence kills me Parth….” she thundered, and the echoes of her screams shook the pillars in the room. “What is it that seals your lips? Why cannot you speak?” she shook with uncontrollable anger, and as her body convulsed into spasms of indignation, she held on to the sides of the tub, breathing heavily for several minutes, before her muscles relaxed and her body loosened and slid into the pool of milk.

She remained drowned till she could hold her breath no more and as she emerged, the anger in her eyes had been replaced with tears, 

“It was your quiescence that led to me being shared amongst your brothers, Parth. You shocked me into a stunned silence that matched yours, but I accepted your judgment. I loved you Parth, and I wanted to be yours alone.” She reminisced about that day, about how her heart had fluttered as she garlanded Arjuna, the most handsome and capable archer and how she had dreamt of a perfect life with him, and almost like a curse her dreams had come crashing down.

And then the tears turned into an ache.

“It was your quiescence that sent you into exile for twelve years. My body ached for you, Parth, and my heart longed to hear words of love. I have pined for you in every moment of your absence. Did you not long for me like I did, Parth?

Chitrangada, Subhadra, Uloopi….you showered them all with your love. Why did you forget me, Parth?”

It was beyond her understanding, why he would love her so briefly and then forsake her like he had never loved.

And he had done that again today. She should have known. Why had his silence shocked her? He had been quite predictable. Her eyes had turned a fiery crimson and the scenes from the day gone by flashed before them.

“Today your arch rival Karna called me a characterless woman; did it not make your blood boil, Parth?

Dusshasana dragged me by my wrist,” she looked at the clot of blood that was beginning to form at the site of the wound, “and then by my hair, and you kept silent? Why Parth? Did you not want to chop those hands that dared to touch your Paanchali?

Duryodhana ordered me to sit on his thigh, and you said not a word. I died a thousand deaths not by his disgraceful words, but by the silence that adorned your lips.”

And with that she broke into fits of delirious sobbing. She had loved Arjuna the most, but he had always chosen quiescence over expressing his love towards her, leaving a void in her heart, that stayed till she lived.

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This day..Last Year.... Q for Quiet

P for Platonic love

Platonic love, the purest form of a relationship between a man and woman, a relationship that goes beyond physical intimacy and yet the closeness to each other cannot be ignored. A relationship, that rests at the cusp of the physical and the spiritual.

This is one such tale of a tender love between two individuals, a love that is beyond the ordinary.

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The gardens of Panchal were in full bloom. Maybe it had something to do with the visit of Krishna.

“Maadhav, do you work your magic on the flowers too?” teased Draupadi, as they sat together on the swing, enjoying the cool breeze blowing through their hair.

“Krishnaa…” he said laughing, but she cut him off.

“Why do you call me Krishnaa? Am I as dark as you?” she asked, pouting like a little child.

“Krishnaa; because you have such fiery eyes,” he teased back, “Krishnaa; because you are beautiful, Krishnaa; because your attraction cannot be resisted.”

“Like you?”

“Like me.”

As they sat swinging, she gazed into Krishna’s beautiful eyes. Was it love that she saw on his face? If it was, then it was so different than any other kind of love she had ever known.

 “Maadhav, why do I feel this intense love for you?” she asked. She could ask him anything, knowing he would always tell her the truth. “The love I feel for you reaches past my body. It makes my heart tremble; it penetrates parts of me that I never even knew existed.”

Krishna smiled and held her hands. “You are the Aatma, Krishnaa, and I, the Paramatma. You are the soul which is eternally in search of the divine. The love that the Aatma feels for the Paramatma is natural, Sakhi. It cannot be described, it can only be felt. It is beyond the body, it is beyond understanding, it is cosmic and yet it is concentrated in the self."

"Beyond understanding, Maadhav?" she asked, not quite sure of what he meant.

"Sakhi, the love I have for you is not the same as I have for maiyya Yashoda; and yet, we nurture each other, we love to trouble and tease, and yearn to be protected by the other. The love we share is not the same that I have for Rukhmini, she is my wife; and yet, I share my most intimate secrets with you, like you share yours with me. It is not the love I have for Subhadra; it is above that, I wouldn't rush to hold, and yet I wouldn't let you fall. The feelings are not that of a lover, and yet we pine to be together. The feelings are beyond lust, but when we touch, the feeling is magical and yet so pure. It is different than the love for a child, and yet we can be children when with each other. If you cry, it brings tears to my eyes, and when I am in pain, you feel the hurt. We are connected and yet separate. You are an extension of me, and yet you are not me. And that is why Sakhi, it is beyond understanding."

She smiled at the thought. Friendship was such a complex feeling. It was truly beyond anyone's understanding, except the two people bound by it. 

 “Will you always hold my hand, Maadhav?” she asked innocently, resting her head on his lap. There was an amazing comfort when she leaned on him; it felt like all her troubles had suddenly eased away.

“You are not an ordinary woman, Krishnaa; you are Yagnyaseni, born out of the holy fire,” he said gently stroking her head, “You are stronger and courageous than any man. You are an embodiment of virtue, chastity, and intelligence. But whenever you think about me, whenever you need me, I will be there,” he said, “Amn’t I your Sakha?”

 She knew that he would always be there; she just had to call out to him. She knew that she was the only one who enjoyed that unique relationship with him.

And then he untied his flute from his waist and raised it to his lips. As the notes of his flute wafted into the winds, Draupadi closed her eyes, losing herself in the celestial song and the whole world seemed like it had come to a standstill.  

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A love so endearing, that it melts your heart. A friend so sincere, that he is there when she needs him. A mentor so great, that he not only guides her but also holds a mirror to her strengths.

Do you share such a lovely and deep relationship with anyone?

This day...last year....P for Positive Thinking

O for Obsession

Obsession brings together love and lust, betrayal and hurt, grief, life and longing. It strips the human spirit of all pretense, exposing shame and sorrow, desire and desperation.

What happens when someone loves you to the point of insanity? What happens when someone’s love becomes such an obsession, that it clouds all rational thinking? This is a tale of obsessive love of a father for his son, which led him to shun all reason and hand hold him to the path of destruction.

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“Maharaj, the fight between Bheem and Duryodhana has claimed its final victim. Your eldest son is no more,” said Sanjaya.

“Nooooo……” screamed Dridhrashtra, falling to the ground, shrunken like a corpse, head buried between his knees, and hands capping his ears, as if shutting himself off the news would make it unhappen.

“Maharaj….control yourself,” pacified Sanjaya.

“How can a father who has lost a hundred sons, be calm?” cried Dhridrashtra, “What did I do wrong, Sanjaya?”

Many things Maharaj, Sanjay wanted to say, but how could he say to a bereaved father?

“Was it wrong to want the throne of Hastinapur? Wasn’t I the eldest son? It was my birthright. Was I not strong? Was I not knowledgeable?” Dhridhrashtra’s hands clutched the sword slung across his waist, digging into them, as if he was ready for battle right then. Blood had begun to ooze out of his palm and he let the cold liquid trickle out.

Yes Maharaj, but Hastinapur could not have a blind king. But Sanjaya said nothing. He quietly took the king’s hand and tied a cloth to it, ebbing the flow of blood.

“Pandu was never the king, he could rule only till my son was old enough to be king. My Duryodhana was right. The Pandu sons deserved nothing. So how could they refuse him? My Duryodhana was capable.” screamed Dridhrashtra, wrenching his hands from Sanjaya and banging them on the ground.

No Maharaj, YOU were the caretaker king after your brother’s death. And you could rule till Yudhistir was old enough. Why did you refuse him?  He helped the king collect himself and seated him on his chair.

“They blamed Duryodhana for Draupadi’s vastraharan, but what could he have done? She provoked him, didn’t she? She called him the son of a blind man.  She deserved it. My Duryodhana was right.” There was a sarcastic smile on his lips, more sinister than Sanjaya had ever seen, as if he was reliving the events of that fateful day.

No Maharaj, that was sinful. How could you support your son and keep quiet when your daughter-in-law was being humiliated? But again, he dared not say anything. The king was grieving, and he should be allowed to spit out the venom from his heart.

“Yudishtir and his brothers had been identified during Agyatvas, hadn’t they? So why didn’t they go back into exile? My Duryodhana was cheated.” Dhridhrashtra shook his head in self pity. If they hadn’t come back, perhaps his Duryodhana would have lived.

The agyatvas was over Maharaj. Duryodhana tried to cheat them. But the exile itself was wrong. You should have stopped Duryodhana from sentencing them to exile.

 “Duryodhana was right. He was always right. His plans were perfect. He had wisely chosen Krishna’s vast narayani sena, how could he die? It must be that cunning Krishna and that cowardly Bheem, who must have schemed to kill my son. My Duryodhana was invincible.”

He was seething with rage, and all his hatred was beginning to rise into every muscle in his body. If the Pandavas had been here, he would have gladly crushed them into pulp merely by holding them in an embrace. He got up from his chair and walked across the room like one inebriated and possessed, pushing away everything in his path, banging into walls and pillars, chairs and vases, roaring like a wounded lion, crying like a child, screaming like warrior, and all the while Sanjaya helplessly tried to calm down the king.

Who could change destiny?

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Dhridrashtra was born blind, but what his eyes could not see, his mind understood, his ears heard and his heart followed. Why then had he been so been blind to the atrocities of his son? Tied up in the obsessive love of his son, he had rejected all wisdom and had encouraged Duryodhana’s plans. The war had been suicidal right from the start; why was the knowledgeable king unable to see that?

This day....last year....O for Organise

N for Noxious

Can love be noxious? Can it be so poisonous that it consumes the one you are supposed to have protected? Can your love for someone be a mere pretense?

This is a tale of hatred and revenge, rather, a love so noxious that like a termite, it kept gnawing at the object of his hatred from within, till it led to his complete destruction.

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The gates of the prison had opened.

Finally.

Sister Gandhaari had managed to convince her son to let him free. As Shakuni limped out the prison gate, he took a deep breath and inhaled the stench. This stench he must not forget. It was the stench of death. The death of his brothers and his dear father. Their death… that was responsible for his life. A life… that would now be committed to revenge.

The pain in his legs was excruciating. Silent tears flowed out them and Shakuni remembered how his father had dealt that severe blow and broken his leg. Even the memory of it was traumatic. Each step was torturous.

“Let this affliction keep reminding you of the suffering of your brothers and father,” his father had said. How could he forget?

As he took another step, a scream of pain rose to his throat but died down before it could escape his lips. He could not let his nephew see the agony on his face.

His nephew stood smiling at him. Was he mocking him? Was he mocking the way he limped? Laugh away my dear nephew, laugh away.

“How are you, Mamasri?” asked Duryodhana.

Very well, my dear nephew. Life in prison is great. And especially, when you have seen your brothers and father die before your very eyes. 

But he just smiled back.

Gandhaari hugged her brother and wept. “I am sorry Bhratasri, I am so sorry,” she kept repeating. “I should never have told Duryodhana that father married me off to a goat and slaughtered it before marrying me off to Arya,” she said amidst sobs. “I did not know he would do this to you.”

Blood rushed to Shakuni’s eyes with such enormous force that they turned purple. A sinister smile was beginning to form on his lips, his jaws tensed, and his whole face assumed demonic proportions. His grip around his sister’s body was beginning to tighten and if she could see his face, she would have collapsed from fear if not from suffocation.

“Mamasri…” his nephew’s voice broke the spell, and Shakuni released his grip and let the moment slip.

“Yes, my dear nephew,” he said in his inimitable style, smiling as he turned to face him.

“Lunch is served, come let’s eat.”

“Ah! Lunch…yes, let’s eat.”

A bowl of rice…that had fed him through the months in prison, while his brothers and father starved to their deaths. The food, that they sacrificed for him, so that he may live. The food that had given him strength to hold on in the hope that one day he would avenge all that.

Did Duryodhana’s hands not tremble when he sent a mere bowl of rice for his 100 uncles and an old grandfather? Did he really think they could survive on that?

His father Subala’s hopes were pinned on him. He would never let his father down. His sacrifice would not be wasted.

“Pass this thread through the tiny hole in this bone”, his father had said, “Whoever can do that, will be my chosen one… the one to avenge our plight.”

Where all his brothers had failed, Shakuni had won. That had been easy, hadn’t it? He had tied a grain of rice to the thread and fed it to an ant. Then he had guided the ant through the hole in the bone! And he had won his father’s trust and the bowl of rice.

He looked at the plate of food before him, and then he looked at Duryodhana’s plate. 

Mentally, he injected the most venomous poison into it and imagined Duryodhana choking and withering away.

No, he could not die so easy. He deserved to die a slow, painful death. A sugar coated poison that would kill him slowly.

Be ready Duryodhana, he said to himself, your countdown to destruction has begun!

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This day...last year...N for Nonchalance