The Conversation

The wife urged, “ We need to talk!”

The husband said, “Yes, why not.”

The wife whispered, “It’s private.”

The husband smirked, “ There’s just two of us here anyways.”

The wife sighed, “Of course you can’t see them!”

Courtesy : Google.com

Suyodhana Uvacha - II

*Haven't read the first part? Tsk Tsk! Never mind.Here's the link

 Rise of a new sun

I remember, clearly, of those Gurukul days. Days of playful abandon –of running about the lush green forest meadows, of climbing the trees in Guru’s orchard, of swimming in the cool waters of the brook, of fighting and learning. Mostly of striving to excel in studies so that Guru would pat on our back affectionately murmuring, “Good work my boy, good work!”

         Guru Drona was smitten by Arjuna, by his skills with bow and arrows. Arjuna’s fingers were magical, they could coax any arrow to find it’s mark and his sense of timing was unparalleled. Grudgingly, I accept, I was in awe and secretly disappointed by the absence of one like him on our side.Arjuna, for all his faults, is a spectacle to watch when he stands poised with his strung bow, ready to pluck the arrow – exuding raw power yet with the grace of a dancer. He shone like a diamond, like a star, above all of us!

         When Guru Drona arranged for a graduation ceremony it was more of a martial exhibition rather than a competition between the princes. Needless to say Arjuna turned out to be the star pupil. I can still remember Kunti Ma, covered in the white of widowhood, her eyes sparkling with unspoken pride.Oh well, the rest of us mortals had to be satisfied with obligatory claps and cheers from the crowd. As for me, I was over joyed. I had defeated Bhima in the mace duel. It might have been an a friendly match, but for me it was far from friendly. I am sure, for once, Bhima and I felt the same about something. I had vanquished Vrikodhara – the wolf bellied one. Period. Between, I gave that name, Vrikodhara, to Bhima in loving memory of his insatiable hunger. No, I have no qualms about it – Vrikodhara that he is!

         Arjuna had finished dazzling the crowds with his unmatched skills at archery. A mesmerized crowd was still murmuring adulations when through the western gates of the Royal Arena a chariot entered. In the chariot stood a handsome young man adorned in simple white cotton and bright golden armor. For a moment passing clouds overcast the sky but the arena was lit by a glow – bright rays emanated from the young man’s radiant earrings. There he was, a radiant sun, right in the middle of the ground, burning in all his glory!

        

         The young man stepped out of his chariot and bowed deeply, palms folded in a Namaste, to the King, teachers, nobles, elders and the crowd. He straightened, face tilted at an angle, defiant eyes scanning the crowd, a small smile playing on his lips. In a resonant voice he presented himself,

“I am Karna, pupil of Saint Parashurama. Here, in front of this esteemed audience I challenge myself to display skills at archery better than Savyasachi Arjuna!”

         The crowd went silent, the tension in the air palpable. People looked each other in disbelief and at this young nobody of a warrior who claims he can do better than their Prince Arjuna!

“Prove it!” Dronacharya thundered, eyes blazing in rage at this vagrant boy’s untimely appearance !

Well, prove Karna did and he was not just better than Arjuna, in fact he was the best Hastinapura had ever seen! Karna’s each move, each arrow, each pluck, each minute detail – better and more precise than Arjuna’s. This guy was not an amateur – he was a class apart. Arjuna’s skills simple paled in front of Karna’s. The Pandavas looked crestfallen - Arjuna devastated and Bhima brimming with indignation.

The crowd applauded, cheered and praised. Everyone wanted to know who this extraordinary warrior was.

“That boy is simply too good! What did he say his name was?”

“Better than Prince Arjuna”

“Better than all our Princes.”

“Did you notice his featured? Such noble features! He does look like an elder brother to Arjuna!”

“Who is he? Who are his parents?”

“What? He is a prince from a minor state of Kalinga?”

“I bet he is of royal blood!”

Karna bowed again accepting with much humility all the appreciations coming his way. Before anyone could ask anything came rushing Athiratha, chief of royal stables and slapped Karna.

“How dare you? You, you worthless ungrateful wretch! Whom do you think you are to match skills with our beloved Princes!”

An anguished Athiratha apologized to my blind father, the king “Forgive me and my son Karna, Your Highness. Forgive us. I will see it that even his shadow does not fall on the palace walls. Spare him Oh benevolent King for he is all I have!”

Murmurs thickened!

“Soothaputra – son of a Sootha – son of a charioteer!”

“Wasn’t it Athiratha the one who rescued an infant who had come floating in the river in a wooden box ?”

Kripacharya stood up silencing the crowd instantaneously. “Hey Sootha, Take your son away from here. Ask him to learn about horses and stables, the trade of his forefathers.” Throwing a smoldering look at Karna, Kripacharya continued, “ Boy, don’t bother picking up weapons anymore. That is what Kshatriya’s are here for. Remember who you are and act accordingly!”

Those words struck like a lighting bolt. Voices barely registered. Everything just seemed to be happening in a blur.

Athiratha pulling Karna away.

Karna standing rooted to his spot, head hanging in shame.

Bhima screaming at the top of his voice, emboldened by Kripacharya’s

Accusations. “Now a soothaputra wants to match skills with my brother. He should be whipped!”

All I saw was a fine warrior. I saw only Karna. I felt pity not for Karna but for the so-called wise men who couldn’t see merit over social hierarchies. Here was a warrior who just proved his worth. People claim he cannot be an archer because he was the son of a charioteer. Which era are we living in?

“Silence!” I commanded, “Karna is a gifted warrior. His bow and arrows have vouched for the fact.”

Courtesy : Devdutt Pattnaik

An unconvinced Bhima countered,” Soothaputra, that is who he is! Hey Suyodhana, you don’t need to blow his skills out of proportion.”

I continued, never breaking eye contact with Bhima, “ Father, grant Karna the right to rule Anga so that no dog can ever again question Karna’s right to be a warrior!”

In the comfortable knowledge that my father would never disagree to my wishes I walked up to Karna and straightened his slumped shoulders. Smiling at Karna, I announced “ I, Suyodhana, Son of King Dhritharastra declare you, Karna, Son of Athiratha the ruler of State of Anga so that you may rule Anga, her subjects and all that there is as you deem fit!”

The day ended prematurely with Kunti Ma fainting in the gallery because of the heat. In a way that was good as I was about to beat up Bhima. I had done one act of impudence with the coronation of Karna and beating up my cousins would have made my day!

That day I had talked for Karna and my voice was heard. Karna had looked at me, his eyes filled with gratitude and I knew I was the first one to ever have respected him for who he is. Make no mistakes, I did not feel like some omnipotent God who had showered blessings on a devotee. I simply felt happy. For the first time I had done something good for someone and I had not done that to spite Pandavas.

And as a token of his unpredictability, Karna hugged me. I knew I had found a true friend – a kindred spirit!

Swinging back to present day from the trip down the memory lane, Suyodhana stated, “No, I did not expect anything from you Karna. I simply loved you more than I loved my family or my own brothers of blood”

“Bhanu, did you know that Karna is an eternal romantic? Behind this tough veneer is a tender loving heart. I know you wouldn’t believe me. But that, my love, is the truth. Look at him blush like a girl!” Suyodhana guffawed.

“Bhanumathi, do you know who caught the fancy of this wild horse? Who else? The untamed spirit of Panchal! Drupada putri Panchali! I was confidant Karna would come home from the swayamavar with Panchali by his side. I was prepared to welcome her as my own little sister, the wife of my dear friend!

“Karna, I can read your mind as though it were a book! You loved Panchali. You’ve always loved her. Pure untainted unrequited love that transcends all barriers."

(to be continued...)

Suyodhana Uvacha

Vermillion. Rust. Flame. Garnet. Ruby. Crimson. Wine. Red. Blood red. The horizon is a calico of shades of red mirroring the war field of Kurukshetra. The Great War is over and done. The just and the brave have won. After years of suppression and tyranny the people of Hastinapura will wake to a new morning – a precursor to a new world, a world of rights and no wrongs. A land of equality, justice and happiness. A land ruled by sons of Pandu; the Pandavas! Yet this sunset is far from beautiful, far from enjoyable.

         Vultures sweep down in hordes and their cries fill the otherwise silent war field. The faint distant laments over the loved ones slowly drift over the lifeless bodies. The stink of carrions hangs in the listless air. And Suyodhana? “Who Suyodhana?” One might ask brows knitted in confusions as the brain searches in vain for a face.

Suyodhana, the first-born of the blind regent king Dhritharashtra of Hastinapura and Queen Gandhari, Princess of Gandhar!  Now we remember, lips curling in much distaste, about the wayward son of Kurus, scion of Kauravas!

Born to a regent king, forever shadowed by his glorious cousins who never even seemed to pause before they stole the limelight at each opportunity, Suyodhana would’ve unquestionably made it to the Hall Of Fame for the overlooked princes; if one existed. Ah! The vagaries of life! Born to riches, brought up amidst pomp and splendor, Suyodhana earnestly believed in his right to be the crown prince and future king of Hastinapura! Alas! Life dealt him an unfavorable hand leaving him to a dastardly death, which was now taking its sweet time to arrive and embrace him. Suyodhana lay half dead, half awake. Unhinged yet aware, life force ebbing away, slowly. Hallucinating.

Courtesy:Artist Namboodiri

         Suyodhana sighed. He could no longer feel his arm or legs. For that matter he could barely move his torso. He knew he was dying. He had accepted his fate with much grace unlike Bhima who chose to trick him into his downfall. That was Bhima’s karma and Suyodhana had already forgiven Bhima. At the face of death people behave very differently. In spite of his weariness, Suyodhana saw very clearly two people walking towards him. Two people he loved and who loved him unconditionally.

“O Bhanumathi, my beloved Bhanu! Love my life, the light of my eyes that was doused too soon. How I had rejoiced at the prediction of that vagabond astrologer Brahmin! He had predicted the death of the puthra-vadu of Kuruvamsa and the future ruler of Hastinapura before the new moon! I knew my mercenaries would finish off Princess Draupadi and Prince Dharmaputra! Little did I know that along with you Bhanu, puthra-vadu of Kuruvamsa I was going to lose our unborn son on that wretched Amavasi! Our son, Bhanu, could’ve been a king! A King! Our son Bhanu! Our son! “ Suyodhana let Bhanumati wipe away the uncontrollable tears he had held for years. He watched Karna sit down at his feet.

“Oh Karna, is that you my bosom friend? How resplendent you look in your golden armor. Just like a radiant sun! ” Suyodhana smiled sadly.

“Karna, you fought for me, died for me. You were one of the Pandavas yet you chose to be by my side. You chose me over your family.  If you listened to Krishna and joined the Pandavas, you could’ve been the king of Hastinapura. You could’ve rule over Bharat with the beautiful daughter of Drupad by your side and your able counsel of brothers standing around you, heads bowed in respect, awaiting your orders!

“Karna, Karna, stop smiling at me like that. And stop shaking your head in playful reproach! I know you couldn’t, or should I say wouldn’t, have made a different choice. You fought your brothers for me. The entire world knows that but for your presence in the Kaurava camp the 18-day war would’ve ended in 8 days. No, for me the war would’ve been over even before it started if you had left me to join the Pandavas!

Suyodhana laughed out aloud coughing up spittle of blood, “ Oh Karna, you are one of a kind I must say. To stand by a friend when the entire world divided their allegiances based on obligations and Dharma, you chose me because I was your friend. When kings and warriors fought for Hastinapura you alone fought for this Suyodhana!“

Shaking his head, Suyodhana continued, “ Friendship over bloodlines! Friendship over Dharma! Friendship over every single dictate of the world! These noble follies to this wretched world, my friend, are singularly your contributions! You are the first one in the history of time to commit them and undoubtedly the last one too! ”

“Bhanu, do you remember the day of our graduation from Guru Dronacharya’s academy? Off course you don’t! I didn’t even know of your existence then. Surely you remember the stories I have told you about out Gurukul days and the graduation ceremony.”

Suyodhana closed his eyes reminiscing, blood rushing to his pale face at the memory of his beloved friend’s public humiliation!

(To becontinued…)

The Oonjal Kattil

CREEEAK. CREEEAK. CREEEAK.

SILENCE.

CREEEAK. CREEEAK. CREEEAK.

SILENCE.

The half-awake instant-response-to-stimuli-mother in me tensed and jolted the other sleepy half of the mother in me. Together we checked the time. 2:13 AM. Blink blink.

“By God! What are the kids doing at this time of the night in the family room?”

The strict disciplinarian in me bristles while the lets-have-some-fun person in me tells me to turn over and sleep. Being a mother is not easy. You simply cannot take the easy way out, ever!

CREEEAK. CREEEAK. CREEEAK.

SILENCE.

CREEEAK. CREEEAK. CREEEAK.

SILENCE.

That creaky sound has been part of my existence since infancy. It comes from the Oonjal kattil which hangs in the family room. This swinging bed fashioned out of a single Burmese teak hangs from brass chains from the roof. My mother inherited it from her mother and I would hopefully pass this to future generations (Disclaimer: If and only if the two monkeys I bore reach adulthood without swinging it to pieces!). This Oonjal kattil is the centre of all the fun, laughter and fights in our family. And if it’s creaking at 2 AM; it can only be the kids!

I tiptoed to the family room. I have to catch them red handed. Little monkeys, here I come.

The room was pitch dark and unusually silent. Did I imagine all this? Ha, may be they are hiding in the shadows hoping to get away from wrath.

Trapped monster, that’s what you are!

Amma of this home, that’s who I am!

CLICK! I switched on the lights to reveal an empty room! Everything in its place, 

just the way I left it before I retired for the night. Cushions in place, remotes on the shelf, magazines and newspapers on the rack, the heavy layered curtains drawn and Mini kutty’s grinning rag doll propped proprietarily on the Oonjal Kattil.

Sigh! I dragged myself to bed disappointed with my late night adventure and fell in to a deep slumber.

Even in the depths of my sleep something disturbed me .Something obscure, something sinister; something vaguely familiar yet totally strange. Like the misplaced grin on the face of that doll. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, I’ll throw that stupid piece of rag in the dumpster. Tomorrow.

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

A sliver of pale moonlight steals in through the curtains lighting up the cheeky grin on the doll’s face.

From the dark shadows emerge a pair of silhouettes. Their shadows unnaturally long as they silently climb over the Oonjal Kattil and sit with the rag doll between them.

A grey cloud passes over the bright moon drowning the family room in inky black darkness.

CREEEAK. CREEEAK. CREEEAK.

SILENCE.

CREEEAK. CREEEAK. CREEEAK.

SILENCE.

The Warrior Princess Of Thiru Kochi

Dawn

I opened my eyes to smile at her beaming face. She smiled back, her large black eyes reflecting my dimpled face. Isn’t it easy to love waking up in the mornings? I simply love waking up to her smiles.

Suddenly her face clouded. At first blood drained from her face, then it turned pink with anguish and then a bright red with an uncontrollable fury of a wounded she-wolf.

“They’ve attacked again, in the dark of the night, against all our defences .They’ve hurt my child again! I will kill them all. One by one!” She hissed as he squeezed my ankles where the wound had reddened into a terrible rash.

Little did I know that I would have to wait the entire morning and afternoon to watch my mother execute her brutal attack!

Evening

Every evening I sit, washed, powdered, clothed and fed, snuggling contently against my great-granny (GG). GG’s lips move in a silent prayer whilst her wrinkly leathery bony fingers drum a lost rhythm on my plump thighs. Our eyes meet every now and then. I smile at her baring my toothless gums; she flashes her squirrelly-two-toothed smile at me. I giggle and snuggle closer to her burying myself in the familiar smells of clean starched cotton and cuticura talc. We both sit content, watching the sky turn from a golden yellow to deep orange to a brilliant red and in the end into a star spangled midnight blue blanket.

This is what we do, the old matriarch and the little me, every evening, day after day. Today we are watching a different show. My mother’s battle against my tormentors! Let the show begin!

Dusk

Ma stands in the middle of our garden armed with her orange rimmed electric bat (akin to Goddess Shakti’s Trishul but has an uncanny resemblance to a tennis racquet with electricity pulsing through the cords). It looks harmless but can deliver fatal blows. Sparks fly each time one of them falls. Ma is running up and down the garden paths like a crazed all-court tennis player swinging her weapon in precise backhand and applaud-worthy forehand strokes. I have to give her the credit for changing her tactics every now and then.

She sweeps over the evergreen boxwood hedges ambushing a few guerrillas. She engages our faithful canine, Rosie, as a bait to lure the enemy soldiers into the line of fire err line of bat. No offence meant Rosie, you are pretty crazy yourself.
“Wooshie woowie wwoooshh shooww”
(Stop fighting with Ma over the sparky-thingy Rosie! Ma would send you off to your room!)

Ma did exactly what I told Rosie. After getting royally shouted at for her indiscipline and stupidity, Rosie, now sits by our side complaining in whimpers about the injustice meted out to her.

“Wooshie woo wyu wooo!”

(I told you so Rosie! GG stop sshh-sshing me!)

In spite of her failure-of-a-partner (read Rosie), a content Ma is about to retreat to the safety of our heavily netted home. Just then a lone enemy courses by her, humming a taunting tune in her ear. Ma stiffens forehead crinkled in intense concentration. She shifts her weight positioning her feet in a defensive stance each fibre in body alive and alert.

The lone attacker flies past her, high above her head. Ma jumps off the ground, her right arm swinging a beautiful arc. Craaackkleee! The blood sucker is down. Ma does a beautiful swirl in mid air, her oiled long plaits snaking around her and lands gracefully on her feet with her lips curved into the most beautiful crooked smile I’ve ever seen.

(Ma says I have a lot more to see and learn. For me Ma remains the best thing that happened to me)

She looks resplendent in the last lights of the day.

My mother, my protector, my warrior princess!

I clap hands happily and coo energetically.

Just then Ammamma comes along, “Di, thrisandhyakku Wimbledon match kalikandu poyi erunnu namam chellan nokku! Naatukare kondu oronnu parayippikan muttathu odi kalikka pennu!”
(Girl, Stop playing Wimbledon matches and go pray for a while. Running around the garden to give people a chance to pass opinions on her !)

P:S: I am on vacation in Kochi . I accept with much grace the overcrowding of my home town, traffic blocks and power cuts (timely and untimely). Mosquitoes – Good Lord. God Save Kochi and her suburbs.

It so happened that after much mosquito hunting on an evening, Amma and I retired for the night. I got up at around 3 AM in the morning half asleep announcing the attack of mosquitoes on me and promptly fell back to an itchy-scratchy sleep. Amma woke up. Battled the mosquitoes and couldn’t sleep any more. This one is for you Amma, my warrior princess!