Wednesday, April 15, 2015

M for Maternal love



Maternal love- The word that sums all bliss! How can the theme of love be complete without a mention of maternal love? Can there be a love purer than the love a mother has for her child? The love of a mother is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no boundaries.

Here’s a tale we have all listened to a hundred times before, and yet it never fails to fill our hearts with infinite love for Him. He, who is our master, and yet to her, he was only a child- a child she loved the most in the world. A tale of how her emotions see-saw between love and anger, then between anger and guilt, and again between guilt and love! 


                                                               ****************

“Mausi, why are you behind my son. If he says he did not steal, believe him,” says Yashoda, even as Kanhaiya peeks from behind his mother and sticks out his tongue at Jamuna Mausi.

 “Oh my God, look how he lies! Yashoda, I saw him stealing curd with my own eyes. My pot of curd is sitting right here,” says Jamuna, pulling Kanhaiya out from his hiding place and tapping his little tummy, “and on his face too. Look!”

Yashoda looks at Kanhaiya’s face and sure enough there’s a thick white moustache formed around his tiny mouth.

“Kanhaiya, why do you steal?” she asks, tears beginning to form at the rim of her eyes. Why couldn't he be truthful to her at least, had he been truthful, she might even have let him off. At least she wouldn't have to be humiliated by this wretched woman!

“Maiyya, I did not steal,” says little Kanhaiya, batting his eyelids and wiping her tears with his little hands.

The innocence in his deep black eyes and the softness in his voice begins to melt her heart. She looks away, lest she forget that she is supposed to be firm with him.

“Teach him a lesson, Yashoda, or your son will keep breaking into our houses for butter and curd.”

Feeling humiliated and in anger, she picks him up and carries him to the backyard. He continues to smile at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. She fetches a rope and sets him down next to a heavy wooden pestle. Then she ties him firmly to the pestle by his waist.

“Let me see how you steal butter and curd again,” she says. But all the while, she avoids looking at her Kanhaiya in the eye. Kanhaiya observes how she is fighting hard to control the tears that threaten to roll out of her eyes. She bites her lips and turns her back to him, lest she is unable to leave him tied up thus.

With a heavy heart, Yashoda, goes back to the house and tries to concentrate on her work.

A little while later, Balarama comes running into the house.

“Mother, come soon,” he says, “Look at Kaanha.”

Her heart skips a beat. What could have happened to her dear Kanhaiya? Did she tie the rope too tight? Did he faint standing in the sun? How silly of her to have listened to old Jamuma Mausi. Why didn’t she believe her Kanhaiya? Didn’t he say, he did not steal the curd? What a wicked mother she was!

A thousand thoughts in her head, she rushes to the backyard. But Kanhaiya is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Kanhaiya?” she asks Balrama, her heart filled with fear.

“Come with me,” says Balarama leading her to the meadows.

Then she spots the huge pestle wedged between two trees that have been uprooted. Where was Kanhaiya?

“Oh, Kanhaiya…” she cries, “I have killed you, what a wretched mother I am,” she says, thinking her child has been crushed in between the trees and the pestle. The color drains from her face and she is about to faint. 

Just then, she spots him! 

There is her little child, playing with the cowherds. As she sees him, color returns to her cheeks and then, suddenly, she is shocked.

How did he come here? Didn’t she tie him up?

“Maiyya, Kaanha is eating mud,” says Balarama.

Yashoda closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. What a naughty child he is, she thinks. This time I will not spare him. I will not look into those eyes, she promises herself as she walks up to him.

“Kanhaiya, did you eat mud?”  

“No Maiyya, I did not eat mud, Dau is lying,” pleads Kanhaiya.

“Yes Kanhaiya, everyone except you is lying. Now, open your mouth”, she orders and then pressing his cheeks with her thumb and forefinger, she forces open his tightly clamped mouth.

“Open, Kanhaiya, open.” But the tiny mouth is tightly shut and she is suddenly scared she will hurt her little one.

As she loosens her grip, Kanhaiya smiles mischievously and then opens his mouth. 

As Yashoda peers inside, she sees not mud, but the entire cosmos. She sees the sun, the moon, the stars, the galaxies, the earth and the other planets, she sees the plants and all the living creatures that walk on the earth, she sees the past, the present and the future. And then everything turns into a big ball of fire.

She is terrified and faints, and when she wakes, her little one is in her arms, smothering her with his kisses, stroking her cheeks gently with his tiny plump hands, his cherubic face staring down at her.  

Not sure of what happened, she gathers him in her arms, laughing and crying at the same time, and hugging him ever so tight like she’d never let him go.

                                                        **************

This day...last year....M for Miracles

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

L for Lust






Lust is the thorn on the flower of love. Lust is to the other passions, what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to desire, avarice, cruelty, and revenge, and brings in its wake destruction, either of the one who lusts or the object of his desire.

This is a tale from the Mahabharata, of the time during the 13 year wrongful exile of the Pandavas, and during the last year of their Agyatvasa, when they lived disguised as servants in the kingdom of Virata. A tale of Draupadi, who in her disguise as Sairaindri, unwittingly fell prey to Keechaka’s lust.

                                                   ****************

Keechaka looked at the maiden plucking flowers from the palace garden. She looked like a dream. Her eyes danced, as they flitted like a butterfly, from one flower to another. The veil over her head fluttered as the wind tried to tug it off her head. She laughed as she draped it around her head again, and the sound of her laughter gave him goose bumps. He looked at her lips, slightly parted, luscious and inviting. He could almost taste the nectar in her lips, and he was possessed with the thought of locking his own into them.

As the wind flirted with her veil, he saw her bare shoulders. He sighed.

How he longed to bite into her flesh and leave his mark on her pristine skin!

His gaze lingered on her body, moving to her bosom and then to her slender waist, and as he undressed her with his eyes, he felt the burning desire in his loins, like he had felt every day since he had laid his eyes on her. He couldn’t bear to look at her anymore.  The heat consumed him and he thought the fire would engulf him right then. He needed to own her tonight, or risk being burnt to cinders. He looked away, and walked to the royal bath, drowning himself in a pool of cold water.

“Sudeshna,” he thundered, entering his sister’s chamber that evening. “Who is that new maid of yours?”

“Sairaindri?”

“Send her to my chamber tonight.”

“Brother, stay away from her, she is guarded by five Gandharva husbands,” cautioned the queen of Virata.

“Do as I say,” he commanded.

No one had dared disobey Keechaka, for, the power he wielded in the kingdom was frightening.

“Sairaindri,” she called Draupadi, after supper was over, “Keechaka, my brother has asked for some wine. Go over to his chamber and supply him some wine.”

“Maharani Sudeshna, I don’t think it is appropriate for me to do so,” said Draupadi, quite aware of Keechaka’s roving eye.

But no amount of pleading helped. Bowing in to the queen's command, Sairaindri covered her head with a veil and carrying the tray of wine walked to Keechaka’s chamber.

Seeing Sairaindri in his chamber, Keechaka tried hard to conceal his palpable excitement, “Come my love,” he said, pulling her towards him, “Come and please your master. I will weigh you in gold. A beautiful nymph like you does not deserve to be a mere maid.” 

 As he forced his lips onto hers, she screamed and struggled to break free. He dragged her by her hair and pulled her veil off her head in one swift action. Using all her strength, she pushed him away and ran, with Keechaka pursuing her hotly. Finally, he lost her as she escaped and hid in her room.

“Paanchali,” said Bheem, as he entered the room and saw her shivering in a corner, her eyes red and swollen with incessant crying, her lips bleeding, her hair a mess, and clothes in disarray. “Who dared to do this to you?” he thundered.

Draupadi clung to him like a child to her mother, crying copiously, narrating the lustful attack by Keechaka.

And despite the request by Yudhistir, despite knowing that their Agyatvas if broken, could sentence them to further thirteen years of exile, Bheem’s anger erupted like a volcano waiting to spew its molten magma. And the lava did spill, taking the lustful Keechaka in its wake, reducing him into an unrecognizable pulp.

                                                                  *********

This day....last year...L for Letting go




Monday, April 13, 2015

K for Kidnap




Kidnap? How can that be a manifestation of love? Did I digress from my theme? Well no, in the tale that I talk of today, the protagonist kidnaps his lady love and at her insistence! So there, when in love, there is no right or wrong!

                                                                        **************

Swathed in golden light, as if the last rays of sun fell in yearning just on him, draped in an electric yellow flowing Pitamabara robe, the Srivatsa twirled on his bare chest, and a peacock feather adorning his crown, he sat majestically on his jeweled aasana. His face, the colour of a full blown blue lotus, his magnificent eyes the shape of a delicate lotus bud, wearing white lotus earrings, and a pink lotus garland that touched his knees, the king of Dwarka smiled. His aura was mesmerizing and as Krishna smiled, the flowers bloomed, and the koels sang their sweetest song.

“Kaanha, why the smile?” asked Balarama, Krishna’s elder brother.

“Dau, Rukhmini has sent me a message,” he said, handing over the scroll to his brother.

“My beloved Shrikaantha, my brother Rukhmi, is about to marry me off to Shisupala. So come and take me away, for, if I cannot marry you, I will kill myself in this birth and for a hundred more, until you are mine.”  

The incarnation of Goddess Lakshmi, Rukhmini was waiting to be married to her beloved Vishnu in this birth too. Her brother Rukhmi, however had other plans.

“Dau, I had approached Rukhmi asking for his sister’s hand in marriage, but he has promised her to Shisupala.”

Balarama smiled. “Go Kaanha, go and bring Dwarka’s rightful queen. You have my blessings.”

“Dau, kidnapping and eloping thus would be termed as a rakshasa vivaha,” worried Krishna.

“No Kaanha, not if the girl herself wishes to elope and has herself requested to be kidnapped,” assured Balarama.

The streets of Vidharbha had been decorated for the wedding. The whole kingdom had been decorated with lights and flowers, and the palace itself had been abuzz with festivities, befitting the wedding of a princess.

Within the palace, in her royal chamber, Rukhmini glowed with happiness. She knew her Krishna, her Madana Mohana, would be here to take her away. She readied herself for her wedding, not with Shisupala but her Lord, who she knew would not disappoint her. She anointed her body with rare sandalwood oils, and wore precious jewels around her delicate neck. The rubies and emeralds glowed on her fingers, set in exquisite golden rings. She draped herself in her finest silks and looked every inch the bride, befitting the Lord of Dwaraka.

Her long eyelashes curled around her almond shaped, kohl lined eyes trying to conceal her excitement, even as her lotus pink lips quivered in anticipation of her Blue God.

It was time for the Gouri Puja before the wedding, and her maids walked with her, showering fragrant flowers at her feet. She bowed before the idol of Maa Gouri at the temple and sought the Devi’s blessings, offering rice, bangles, kumkum and turmeric, praying to be united with her beloved. The people who were gathered there stood bewitched by her beauty. “She is only fit for Krishna” they whispered amongst themselves.

She stepped out of the temple, her heart pounding wildly, eyes looking out for the one who had stolen her heart. Suddenly, a golden chariot appeared out of nowhere. 

Her Krishna had arrived! 

She smiled at him and as Krishna pulled her inside, the chariot disappearing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a thunder of horses’ hooves and a kingdom full of spellbound people. Krishna had managed to whisk away his lady love from right under the noses of her brother and the prospective groom!

It took a kidnap and an elopement to unite Lord Vishnu and his consort, Goddess Lakshmi in their birth as Krishna and Rukhmini.

                                                                  ******************
 Glossary-
Srivatsa- an auspicious symbol meaning beloved of Sri or Lakshmi
Shrikaantha- One of the many names of Lord Krishna, meaning Husband of Goddess Lakshmi.
Madana Mohana- God of love who mesmerizes everyone

Rakshasa vivaha- demonic wedding

This day...last year...K for Karma

Saturday, April 11, 2015

J for Jealousy


Sharing your loved one with another is impossible. And when you know that the object of your affection has been nursing emotions for another, jealousy and anger are inevitable. Jealousy is born out of love and the feeling that your loved one prefers someone else over you.

This tale from the Mahabharata talks about the protagonist and what led to her feeling jealous and bitter.

                                                                     *************

Draupadi sat before the huge mirror in her chamber and let her maids dress her up. Komala had dried her hair and was holding a clay bowl of the most fragrant sambrani  (resin of benzoin)  to perfume her hair. Anagha was putting on the ornaments, and as Draupadi saw her reflection in the mirror, she blushed. She looked like a bride; the girls had done a good job indeed. Parth would be so pleased to see her. Swara draped the beautiful red saree around her slender waist and pleated the end so that it fell neatly around Draupadi’s right arm.

Draupadi raised an eyebrow, and her eyes spoke, questioning Swara about her appearance.

“You look very beautiful Maharani. Rajkumar Arjuna will not be able to take his eyes off you today,” she teased.

Draupadi smiled, her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

She had waited for this day for the past 12 years. She had married Parth, but by a quirky twist of fate, had been married to his brothers too. To prevent any bitterness amongst them, it was suggested that Draupadi would stay a year with each of her husbands. Unfortunately, Arjuna had interrupted Draupadi and Yudistir during their time together and had been sent into exile for 12 years. He was coming back today, and her heart was full of excitement. The husband she had loved the most would finally be united with her.

Her body shook in anticipation of their union and she bit her lips to control her overflowing emotions. The sound of the horses’ hooves could be heard as they galloped towards the palace and as they drew nearer, and the sounds became louder, she could hear her own heart beating wildly. The chariots screeched to a halt and the drummers who had been beating a soft tune, increased their pace, reaching a crescendo, before slowing down again to a rhythmic beat.

Parth must have gotten down from his chariot she surmised.

Just then, Chaitali, another maid, entered her chamber, her face devoid of any emotion.

Draupadi could immediately sense something was amiss.

“What’s the matter, Chaitali? Did Parth not come?” She was suddenly worried.

“No, Maharani, he has come.”

“Why the sad face, then?”

“He has brought his new bride with him.”

“What?”

New bride? Who was she? Why had he brought her here? She had agreed to her husbands marrying other women, but did they not promise her, that she would be the only wife who would live with them in their palace? Why then, had Parth brought his bride home? Did he not know that she would be waiting for him?

She dropped to her seat, tears beginning to form at the cusp of her eyes. Did it mean that Parth loved this new girl more than he loved her? It must be so, or why else would he break the promise given to her?

She turned to Chaitali, “Is this new bride more beautiful than me?”

“No, Maharani…” Chaitali hesitated, “But she is younger to you.”

“Oh…”

“Is she fair?”

“She is…”

“Hmm…”

Draupadi looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had been named Krishnaa because of her golden skin. But did she not look resplendent in it.

“Is she dressed more beautifully than me?” Jealousy had begun to creep into her heart. She could not bear the thought of relinquishing her place to another.

“No Maharani, she is dressed quite plainly. Not a piece of jewelry on her.”

“Oh…” Whom had Parth married? Why wasn’t she dressed as befitting a queen?

As she sat immersed in her thoughts, Ranjini, came rushing in.

“Maharani Draupadi, the new bride has arrived, everyone is awaiting your presence to welcome her,” she announced.

“Hmmm…” Draupadi waved her off with a flick of her wrist and the maid made an exit with her head bowed.

How could Parth do this to me? she thought. I loved him more than I loved any of my other husbands, and this is how he decides to reward me? Who is this girl who has snatched my Parth away from me? I will never forgive her.

Jealousy was slowly giving rise to anger and in a fit of rage she removed the kamarbandh from around her waist and threw it away, breathing heavily, eyes moist with tears.

Mother Kunti, came to call her and sensed Draupadi’s restlessness.

Putri, come and welcome your sister,” she said simply, not wanting to rouse ruffled feathers at this time.

“Yea Maate….” bowed Draupadi politely.

With a heavy heart, she dragged her feet outside to welcome the woman who would take her place in her beloved Parth’s heart. Or maybe that place was already taken.

As she reached the door, she saw Parth, smiling at her. She did not smile back. She then looked at the bride.

Putri, this is your sister, Subhadra,” said Kunti.

She was beautiful and young and very fair. No wonder Parth was so taken by her. But like her maid had informed, the girl was dressed very plainly. Seeing Draupadi, the girl walked up to her and touched her feet.

“Didi….” she said, “Give me your blessings and a little place in your home and heart,” she said innocently. “You shall always remain my elder sister and it will be my duty to do as you say. Consider me to be one of your many maids.”

Draupadi’s jealousy suddenly turned to love. What a sweet little thing she was. How wrong she had been about her.

Draupadi blessed her and picked her up. “No, my dear sister, you will enjoy the same place in Parth’s life that I do.” They both smiled and hugged each other.

Arjuna and Lord Krishna looked at each other and sighed with relief.

                                                               ********************

This day...last Year...J for Being Judgemental

Friday, April 10, 2015

I for Immarcescible



What do you call the love that is unfading, imperishable…the love that never dies…and stands tall even in the face of adversity…? Being in love is never easy, and when your mind is filled with questions and doubts about the one you love, keeping the trust intact is even more difficult. But some love transcends all situations and emerges victorious, and that is the immarcescible love this tale is all about.

                                                                  *******************

Bhanumathi had been restless all evening. She had not slept a wink yesterday; her mind had been as turbulent as the ocean on a full moon night. Duryodhana had not visited her the night before, not that she had expected him to. She did not doubt her husband or his motives for one moment, but she needed answers. Answers, that would relieve of her discomfiture and assure her of his love.

There were sounds of footsteps and the maids hurriedly announced the arrival of Duryodhana before they left the couple alone. Bhanumati got up to greet her husband, and he immediately noticed that she was not her usual self. 

“Bhanu, my love, you don’t look well today. What is troubling you?”

“Swami…,”she hesitated. What would she say? Wouldn’t her husband think she didn’t trust him enough? She lowered her gaze and turned away from him lest he see her lips quiver.

“Bhanu,” he said turning her face towards him, “Ask.”

“Swami, why did you order her to sit on your thigh? Why did you order her to be disrobed? Did you lust for Draupadi?” She stared at her feet, unable to look at him in the eye. She expected him to thunder in anger like he had done the evening before. Her body shook with trepidation and tears began rolling down her eyes.

“Bhanu, my sweet, innocent wife,” he said stroking her delicate cheeks and wiping away her tears, “I am a Kuru Prince. We have colossal egos, the size of mountains and inherent arrogance rooted deep inside us. Our egos and arrogance supersede everything.  When someone angers and insults us, they incite the demon inside us, which is what she did when she mocked me thus, “A blind man’s son will be blind forever.” I became an incensed, egoistic man, I was the devil incarnate, and devils do not have a sense of right or wrong.” And then he looked at her lovingly, pulling her closer to him and embracing her in his warmth. "I never did lust for her. I just wanted to teach her a lesson."

The love they shared was beyond these questions. In a way, he was happy she had chosen to ask. If she had chosen to be quiet, she would have nurtured doubts in her mind and the love between them would be gone.

Bhanumati looked into his eyes for the first time since last evening. She saw a sincere lover, a loyal, trusting husband, who had valued her much more than any man had ever valued his wife, she saw a faithful friend, who did not think twice before breaking hackneyed traditions, she saw a doting father, who loved his children to bits. People might see him as a roaring, scheming arrogant villain, but to her he was the person she loved the most in this world.

As they sat in silence, Duryodhana held her hands and looked at her celestially beautiful eyes. Even though she seemed satisfied with his answer, she still looked like she had something more to ask. He waited for her to break the silence.

“Swami…would you have put me at stake?” she asked him, earnestly.

“You are my wife, the one who shares my life, and you could never become an article to be possessed. You are a symbol of my honor, my strength, the mother of my children…you are the reason I stand with my head held high. You complete me, my love, and you are too precious to be dishonored thus. I would never have put you at stake like that, not even if Dharma deemed it right.”

She looked at him with pride in her eyes.

“Bheem promised to kill us for dishonoring Draupadi, but had someone spoken thus about you, I would have torn him to pieces and fed them to the lions, right there,” he said holding her in his protective embrace.

As she lay contentedly in his arms, her heart was full of love for this man who respected and loved her so much. The turbulence in her mind had ceased. Her mind was now calm. The world might hate him for what he had done in a fit of devilish rage, but to her, he was a symbol of immarcescible love.

                                                                    ***************

This tale is not to glorify Duryodhana. It is to talk about the love and respect he had for his wife, irrespective of what he was to the world. She trusted him too and when doubts threatened to destroy her peace, she chose to speak to him rather than keep her thoughts to herself. Communication is such an essential part of a relationship, and when people communicate it keeps their love imperishable.



This day....last year...I for Innocence




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