देवहूति

Wanted to shamelessly promo my panchal family fic! Your poem was the very first panchal family post I reblogged and ever since then my obsession has only grown aaa!!

Shikhandi watches Bheeshma fall with no small amount of rage. He knows what happened was according to the plan. He knows, that to win, Bheeshma must have considered him a woman. It does not sting any less.

“I know you- you probably do not want me to say this, right after what we just did, but, my condolences. I know it was difficult for you to do that to a respected elder,”

“Oho, you know what hard is?? I want to know, really, how you can show your face to me after- Hey I was wondering, are all of your princes bred to kill ours? What's next, huh? Drishtaketu killing Shatanik? How can you feel happy after definitely killing Pitamaha?”

“Why is it my fault if he refuses to fight me? It wasn’t seventy years ago for me, Arjun! It feels like it happened yesterday. So, what do you want to know huh? Do you want to know how, with the same hands that he used to pinch your little cheeks with, he dragged me away, kicking and screaming, unable to defend myself? Loaded me onto a chariot even when I was screaming at him that I was already betrothed? What do you want me to say? ‘Sorry for killing the man who hurt me and ruined my sisters’ life?’ Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for your siblings… Tell me-”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. His wife handed him his cane, and pulled him away from the argument. An arm around him, she escorted him back to their tent. Sitting down on the bed, she laid him down so his head was pillowed on her lap.

“You don’t need to apologize for doing that,” Shalaka said quietly. “I remember when you finally opened up to me, the pain and tears in your eyes. How you said that even though it had happened ages ago, it still felt like a fresh, festering wound to you. You missed your sisters, miss them even today. And how many times have you told the story to people? I know you talked to your parents, when you were young, and your brother and sister. I know you told me and Kshatradev, and I know for a fact that Vasudev also knows. You don’t need to keep repeating it,” she stroked his hair, “You don’t have to say anything, I’ve known you for many years. I can understand you without you needing to speak,”

“I won’t- I won't be, soon enough. I have been fighting for so long, I feel tired. If I- if I die before you, can you take care of Kshatra? What is there for me now? I’ve done what I came here to do. I Don't know if I’ll be able to walk without a cane again… Somewhere, wherever they are, I hope my sisters are proud of me. You know, I see them sometimes. When I met the late king, or King Dhritarashtra, I saw them. They looked like- like my sisters. I saw them in their sons, and all I could think of was the pain that my sisters went through. Tell me, was it worth it? Taking him down after he had already ruined the lives of many, many more women than just my two sisters? Sometimes I feel I wasn’t fighting for Ambika and Ambalika, but for- for yajnaseni. I never forgot those two, I swear! I promise you I never forgot them!” Even though he’d started in a quiet voice, he had gotten frantic by the time he finished.

“Shh, shh, I know. I know, okay. I know you didn’t.” Shalaka whispered. How could he have forgotten them, when he told of their plight with the pain and turmoil of a fresh wound? How, even now, he panicked when he thought he’d forgotten an aspect of their personalities, how his mission for his sisters actually became successful. How he was so single-minded.

“You know, I’ve grown up in a militaristic kingdom. All my life, I’ve seen men who never got over grudges going to war. They never give women a chance, say we are too flighty, too emotional, but men have always been the ones who ruined kingdoms and lives with their grudges and greed. I’ve seen men less single-minded than you neglect their families and kingdoms for petty reasons. But you? You persisted. Even after what I did, you worked so hard to build a relationship with me again. I remember the days before we were married. And I remember after we’d just become parents. Even when pursuing your goal, you never forgot your family. You never forgot us. You never forgot Panchali. Or Dhrishtadyumna. The story doesn’t have to end with the hero dying. Sometimes, he can complete his mission and live happily ever after with his family,” she smiled.

“Everyone says Revenge is bad, Shalaka. Is it wrong of me to feel free, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders?”

“No,” Shalaka said, and bent down to kiss his forehead. “Not really.”

Shalaka felt her saree grow wet. Her husband wasn't crying openly, but he didn't need to make a sound for her to know. She never stopped stroking his hair, staying quiet as he let all of the exhaustion, pain, and exhilaration he felt after today. He looked so peaceful right now.

Their son walked in. Shalaka instinctively put a finger over her lips. Glancing over the scene, he took a blanket and draped it over Shikhandi, and sat on the side of the bed. “Is he happy now, mother? He was always so sad.”

“He will be, eventually. Don’t you worry about it.”

He is the oldest son of Drupada. Born after Drupada performed penance to Mahadeva.

He was born a girl, but raised as a son. No one but Drupada and his wife Prishati knew the truth.

He's quite good at painting and the arts.

He was tutored by Drona in archery and other weaponry.

He was married to the princess of Dasharna, the daughter of king Hiranyavarma. As a woman still.

His wife didn't know Shikhandi was a woman for some time after the marriage.

When she did find out, she reported it to her father, who was angered at the deception and decided to wage war on the Panchalas.

Tangential, but Drupada trusts Prishati a lot: he asks for her advice, something not often seen in these stories.

Shikhandi was extremely ashamed by seeing his parents so dejected and decided to kill himself, and left Panchala, wandering into a forest.

The forest he went into was of the yaksha Sthunakarna, who asked why he was so dejected, and they exchanged their sex organs for a short time as Sthunakarna promised.

Sthunakarna was cursed by Kubera to remain as a woman until Shikhandi's death for not appearing before him.

But Shikhandi was faithful to his promise: he came back to Sthunakarna, who was very pleased with him and told him that he would remain a man.

Drupada "gave Shikhandi to Drona as a student" after this, so presumably, Shikhandi was taught twice over by Drona: once as a woman, once as a man.

Shikhandi had one son, Kshatradeva, who was killed by Lakshmana Kumar, Duryodhana's son.

And begs for alms

Some give him food,

Others turn away.

But he doesn't care.

He sings the Holy Name

Drenched in the color of the Lord.

He knows not hunger, he knows not pain,

Sleep has abandoned him,

And his thirst has been vanquished.

The swevens are sweet as apples

And he drinks in the nectarine words of his Lord in them.

Some are divine visions,

Bathing him in pure ecstasy.

To the wise one,

The world is merely a play.

And he knows that he is but an actor,

Dancing to the tunes of the Father.

The seeker travels far and wide seeking the Divine,

And at last,

Comes at the holy gates of Dwaraka.

He lays down on the ground,

Fanning his weary self.

The wind picks up speed and seems to whisper around the gates,

The Holy Name.

"Dwārakadheesha ShriKrishna",

It whispers.

The traveler smiles,

Tears welling up in his eyes at the Name 

And whispers,

"Prabhu"

As his eyes close, he hears a sweet male baritone,

"I am with you forever, son."

The seeker smiles and folds his trembling hands in reverence;  devotion and love oozing out of every pore out of his body.

And his mind thinks of only one thing,

'Hari',

Just the name brings a newfound energy in him, 

And he stands up, fresh as the new sun,

He resolves to follow the Preserver's path,

The path of dharma.

The path to service,

The path to moķşã.

"Krishnam vande jagadgurum",

He prays.

And suddenly he hears a rumbling sound.

Looking up, he smiles.

The Leelādhari is upto mischief again

As he pours down in the form of Shrāvan rain, 

Onto the seeker,

Drenching his saffron clothes in rain- the rain of His love.

And the saint, full of ecstacy begins dancing,

As his khartāl plays along with him.

And from the Heavens,

Nārayana smiles,

Looking down with the pride and love of a father

Onto His son.

As He promises to His devotees everywhere in the world,

I shall always be with you.

****

When Sati’s form was struck by the sudarshan and was destroyed into pieces and ash, it were the elegant fingers of Shiva that picked up the specks and smeared them on his eyelids. The tears that welled in his eyes left gentle tracks on his ashen face and fell like a raging storm back onto the earth, feeding the rivers and turning them into floods.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. They grew in Dwarka by bunches. Against the green and brown of trees, they looked like waterfalls of the furnace, he said.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He had planted his first plant of palash in the palace of Dwarka, he had watered it everyday after his sword practice.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He fought ferociously against his grandfather, Vasudev, when he wanted to tear down his palash tree for the renovation of the palace.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He hid in the branches of his palash tree when he ran from his mother. He stepped on his uncle, Krishna, and reached those heights with loud laughs. He watched his mother run around the tree as he hid.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. He wrapped them in leaves and took them to his father every time he was allowed to visit him. Arjun wore them in his hair proudly, said the flowers matched his ascetic clothes.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. When he was married, everyone who had seen him grow threw palash flowers on his head. He laughed when his aunt Revati claimed she specially ordered the flowers from Vidharbh for him, he knew she could possibly do it just for the ostentatious idea.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. Uttara wore the same colour as them the next day of their marriage. His aunt Rukmini and Elder mother Draupadi teased him red for it.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers. His uncle Balram gave him a new bow for the upcoming war. It had palash flowers carved at all seven joints.

Abhimanyu loved palash flowers.

Books I’ll recommend for Mahabharata and Ramayana that were written after a lot of research and reading are -