#arpitascribblesonmb

A horse seemed to rest his weary hooves in front of the humble dwelling in the state of Hastinapur. The rider wasn’t a usual rider that horses were accustomed to carry. Yet she was as adept as any of the Mustang’s male riders. A surreptitious restlessness seemed to surge through the faraway silhouettes of the stretches of the sky, as she seemed to shed her darkness to circulate light and warmth in the realm whose slumber awaited her arrival to freshen itself into activity.

The rider’s blood rippled through her veins, replicating the dilemma of her being, even as she took her steps towards the cottage.

What if he shuns me?, she pondered.

Nevertheless, standing rooted to a spot would not disengage the mesh that the neurons in her brain had tangled themselves into. So, she, in the most resplendent manner of her tremulous stride glided towards the doorsteps of the minuscule cottage.

Daybreak was near. The rays of the sun would clarify a lot more than the world set to spin on its rote of life.

Today, the sun would determine the fate of the fireborn.

 ***

Radha was dumbstruck as her eyes beheld the empyrean beauty of the Panchala Princess standing in front of her. She hoped her haggard frame did not look as confused as her interior. Last night when Vasusen had come in after having been spurned by this very girl standing at her door, she had been nothing less than disgusted with her haughtiness. Her heart had been filled with pity for her gallant son, even as it scorned their humble origins. Somehow, the slanders heaped upon her boy by some chit of a princess had sent her instincts into a whirlpool of grimness that rued the fact that her child had to bear the high-handedness of royals who followed caste norms to the core. Vasusen still had to bear the brunt of being the descendant of a Suta, despite his divine demeanour, despite his supreme skills in archery, despite his excellence as a warrior.

Radha stood stiff, while Panchaali neared her, with her hands folded.

‘Mother,-‘ she bowed in reverence before the elderly lady. ‘-I assume, you’re the one after whom the mighty Angaraja is known?’

Radha couldn’t help being mesmerized by her gait, and her voice. Yet, she held herself steady.

‘And you, I assume, are the princess who belittled my boy to be unworthy of her hand?’ she spoke, her stiffness firmly in place, towering over Panchaali’s bowed frame.

Panchaali felt her insides squirm. Which mother would tolerate an insult –and an insult to this degree- to her son?, she wondered as she straightened herself.

‘Mother,-‘ Panchaali contemplated the next words her lips would frame by way of a consolation to Vasusen’s  distraught  mother. ‘-I wish to speak with Angaraja.’

Those were the first words she could think of. And those would be the last ever words she could ever think of in the dilemma that she was in. Wasn’t this all spewing into a universe of incongruities?

Both the women hadn’t noticed the sun descend itself into the cottage, behind the elderly lady, as it rose afresh, clothed in a lean, muscular embodiment, that made its divinity bearable to the human sight.

‘Tell her,-‘ he spoke with a gravity that could have defied Shiva in his grimness of demeanor, ‘-that she is no longer eligible to be courted.’

Panchaali could feel bile log itself into a lump in her throat. Was it made of the same acrimony she had spewed in her swayamvar hall, was a question she framed for her profoundly muddled self.

‘I do not seek to be courted, Angaraj!’ she found her voice to be stronger, and remarkably clearer than her ravelled state of mind.

‘It wouldn’t be befitting of a married woman to seek so. As is her presence in a Suta’s cottage, especially on the day succeeding her wedding.’ Vasusen’s tone was firm, and cold, reflecting his gaze.

But it was Radha who had spoken the next words following her son’s steely retort.

‘Come in, Princess. Your breath evidences your weariness.’

Vasusen didn’t wait to exhibit his stupefied countenance at his mother’s gesture.

  ****

Radha found the Princess of Panchaal to be a very pleasant guest. Her demeanour demonstrated nothing of the rancour of the spite of the previous day, as she engaged herself in a very formal conversation with their seventeen-year-old guest, trying to decipher the exact reason behind her presence.

The reason, which she already had received a hint of both in her fiery eyes, and the surreal eyes of her son.

 ***

 The days when Vasusen was present in their household, were the best. They recuperated the memories of the times when she had been the mother of an exceptionally gifted boy. His elevation to kingship, warranted his presence in the land that he ruled, thus resulting in the absence of a son, and an affectionate brother to his younger sibling. Yet, whenever, the burden of kingship sagged his shoulders, Vasusen would always find solace in the thatched shrine of his parents’ humble abode to relieve himself of the dross spewed by the regularities of his new existence, which still, however obscurely bore traces of the vitriol that haunted his status as a charioteer’s son.

He was conveniently ignoring Panchaali, who in turn made no conspicuous attempt to win his attentive gaze. And when he realized that his mother would not let go of the lonely girl, out of her characteristic affection, he busied himself with his brother, much more than he would have in the usual course of his visits.

Both Radha and Panchaali watched as Vasusen tapped on his brother’s shoulders to straighten them in order to enable him to flex the bowstring properly.

‘He is a very affectionate brother, isn’t he?’ Panchaali said.

Radha smiled proudly at this compliment. There were so many, many likeable attributes of her child. Most of which remained hidden under a very cold, steely masquerade that he chose to eclipse the venom he bore within him. Hatred spewed hatred, Radha had known that by way of her experiences with this world. Vasuen was trying very hard to adhere to the path that she had taught him to abide by. This adherence in spite of all the corrosions that life threw in his way, was a test of austerity.

‘He has a lot to him, Princess.’ she replied looking affectionately at her children.

Panchaali didn’t volunteer to further the conversation.

‘Why are you here, Princess?’ came Radha’s voice, apropos of nothing. The question seemed to startle the listener, initially because of its unfamiliarity to the context of a casual conversation.

Panchaali flustered. Radha sensed her discomfiture. It was all to evident in her gait. One look from Panchaali conveyed everything it needed to, when she mustered the courage to look directly at the woman who was a mother.

Surely enough, when did mothers need the skills of a clairvoyant to sense the disturbance of a younger one? When did a woman need the appendage of a tongue to convey her dissonance to another of her clan?

Radha took Panchaali’s hand in hers, her touch conveying the warmth that soothed the fireborn.

‘Come with me.’ she said formidably.

***

 ‘Do not force me into this, Mother!’ Vasusen was now making no endeavour to conceal his spite, as Panchaali stood behind Radha.

‘I’m only asking you to listen to her, child. Is it too much to ask for?’

‘She doesn’t warrant consideration!’ Vasusen spat, almost setting the cottage afire with his face that reddened with every passing second at the sight of the girl, who had acrimoniously shouted acerbic insults at him, only a day ago.

‘Such obstinacy is not characteristic of the child I had brought up,-‘ Radha shot back, relentlessly, ‘-This is not my Vasusen speaking! This is the voice of the haughty King of Anga violating my humble roof with its wounded slight of pride!’

Vasusen breathed desperately. How could he explain to his mother, that talking to someone who had molested his pride as a warrior, had hurt him more than any poisoned arrow shot with extreme dexterity ever would.

‘A King must allow the liberty of defense to a miscreant.’ Came a soft melody of a voice. Vasusen turned to look at the possessor of the voice, which had the same texture as the rancourous one, that had chastised him the day before.

But somehow, she didn’t possess the spite that had been a integral part of her bearing yesterday.

‘Am I not correct, Angaraj?’ she continued. ‘Isn’t the offender allowed a chance of defence?’

Vasusen’s expressions cemented themselves into the incomprehensible.

‘Tell me, Angaraja,-‘ she spoke further,’-isn’t this denial unbecoming of a King’s conduct?’

Both women knew, he had lost.

***

  ‘So,-‘ Vasusen said through a deep, long drawn breath, deliberating upon Panchaali’s narration, ‘-she asked you to marry the five of them.’

Panchaali nodded expressionlessly.

‘That still doesn’t explain your presence here, Princess.’ he said.        

‘It doesn’t.-‘ she said, ‘-I haven’t reached that part yet, Angaraj.’

She sensed his impatience on his apparently neutral countenance.

‘Didn’t Krishna try to persuade you to agree on this proposal?’ he asked.

‘He did. It was I who refused him.’

Vasusen seemed lost in thought, hearing of the preposterous proposal.

‘What occupies you more than my appeal, Angaraj?’

‘I’m pondering what arguments Prince Yudhishthir would have presented in order to corroborate his action.’ he said.

‘Well, the imagery of the alliance of the tree spirit to the ten Pacheesa princes, and the origin of life by their union, was argument enough to entreat my father’s approval,-‘ she said.

Would a mere imagery suffice for a father to agree to his daughter’s prospect of acrimony?, he thought.

‘We are a prejudiced lot, Angaraj. Sometimes, rote adherence to ethics calls for meek submission to prejudice, without a second consideration for humane factors.’

Vasusen didn’t voice further questions.

‘Dharma, the cosmic order,-‘ he breathed, ‘-requires a lot to keep people tethered to itself.’

Panchaali’s lips curled themselves upward in a smile that reflected her dichotomous feelings of confusion and relief. Confusion, for the response her next few sentences would elicit from her listener, and relief for his consideration.

‘I do owe you the truth, Angaraj.’ She said, drawing a deep, lotus scented breath.

‘Please speak further.’

Panchaali readied herself for her purpose.

‘Had Kaanha not instructed me otherwise, during the ceremony,-‘ she looked directly into Vasuen’s eyes, ‘-I would have garlanded you.’

‘And what if I’d failed?’

‘You wouldn’t have failed. The moment you lifted the Pinaka, the moment you flexed the string, I knew.’ she said.

‘I was mesmerized by your entry.’ She continued. ‘The very gait you bore, that serenity on your face resembling the soothing aura of the early morning sun. Your stride bearing the firm bearing one meant to conquer the celestial in his being, were too captivating for me to let go.-’

‘-And yet you did. Such conduct was not expected of a Suta, was it?’

‘Your lineage makes no difference, Angaraj, I realize.’

She couldn’t decipher the transmogrification of his expressions.

‘And it is a realization that has dawned too late. I do not say this because, I seek escape from being wived by five men, and neither do I expect you to be my savior,-‘ she said, ‘-I say this because, I owe you the truth. I say this to unburden my conscience of the guilt of the spite I had spewed in my speech, at Kaanha’s insistence. I say this, because, I owe myself the crime of not attending to the clamours of my soul, and yielding to the cacophony of supposed adherence to ethics. My defiance doesn’t result from fear, it is only a manifestation of my apology.’

‘And you say, you don’t fear refusal.’ He asked.

‘Refusal is your right to exercise, Radheya.’

Vasusen’s gaze deepened at the mention of his name.

‘How did you know, that I would be here?’ he asked.

‘Your turbulence wouldn’t let you rest in the grand silks of the palace bed. The ravages of your heart couldn’t soothe themselves in the Sura that kings devour. The dissonance of your soul couldn’t drown itself in the mellifluous flawlessness of a court singer. That heat that singes one’s being seeks to be calmed by the fresh spring water present in a humble cottage. The cacophony of one’s turbulence craves for the simplistic melody of a mother’s voice. The wounded pride of a King humbles itself to normalcy in her lap. The vitriolic venom shuns itself to nectar in the warmth of her bosom. These comforts aren’t within the capacity of the meager luxury of a palace to provision. It is only one’s origins that is replete with such comforts, that are the staple food to satiate one’s soul.’ she answered.

‘What do you seek, Panchaali?’ enquired he.

‘I told you.’ She said, ‘I told you that I owe you the truth. I now have absolute clarity in my conscience. There is no burden that I bear, no cloud to murk my vision any further, now that I have lightened myself of the burden of truth.’

‘Do you hold no apprehensions of the consequences?’

‘Had I held apprehensions, I would have consented to the alliance they sought to tie me in.’

Vasusen breathed again, and this time she felt a tremor in his breath while she neared him with absolute solidarity of her stride.

‘I do not seek acceptance, Radheya.’ she said, her voice bearing the calm succeeding the catastrophe of a storm. ‘Spurn me, if you will. I shan’t retaliate with spite. With my disclosure, I find myself liberated of the strings of mundanities that manacle the marionettes of our existences. I shall find solace in austerity, for I have been true to my conscience. I am purer, my being now transcends my carnal encasement now that I seek to shun the divine connotation stamped to my birth. I shall live a life of purpose framed by the Gods, but that shall be bereft of the celestial predictions riveted to my origins.’

‘Did your creators forget to inculcate fear in you?’ he asked.

‘Fear isn’t for fire to inculcate.’ she answered.

‘They say, you’re an instrument that would be the cause for a metamorphosed posterity.’

‘Posterity doesn’t warrant rancor in its origin, Angaraj.’

Vasuen realized that the warmth of the fire in front of him that melted the steel he housed within him as a result of yesterday’s spite.

‘You are one to revere, Yajnaseni.’ he breathed. Her ethereal fragrance inundating his nostrils. ‘You weren’t one to be divided, for you are no prize to be coveted. You’re a seraph to be enshrined in a sanctum sanatorium-‘

‘-And where shall such divinity find solace, Radheya?’ she interjected.

‘I would fain bear her in my heart.’ he answered, reverently.

‘And I would heartily seek sanctity therein. I shall be honoured to occupy space in a place that ensconces the luminosity of the sun in its fold’

‘And what of the predictions attached to your birth? Shall you not offend the Gods who sired you?’

‘My sire bears consideration enough to differentiate between adherence to the desired course of one’s heart, and abiding by decrepit ethics that propel one towards destruction. The former brings harmony in its wake, and the latter brews venom that results in a monody of harmony and peace. He wouldn’t desire such destruction of the ones wrought in his hands.’

‘And what of the allegiances I bear? The Kaurava Scion isn’t one who appeals to the ethical ideologies pandered by texts. He isn’t one favoured by concourses.’

‘That makes no difference to me. Your allegiance to them is one bound by merit of conscience.’

‘Panchaali,-‘ he breathed, ‘You disarm me with every syllable you speak. Turning you away shall be my fall from the meagre grace I own.’

‘Do not fear, Angaraj. Spurning me shall not result in me yearning to be your nemesis in my next incarnation.’ she smiled as her eyes gleamed with a naughty twinkle.

‘I think you would make a fine negotiator, Princess.’ he smiled back.

‘Does the state of Anga require the services of a statesperson?’ she inquired.

‘I cannot vouch for the need of a statesperson. But the King of Anga certainly needs a sensible Queen by his side.’

‘Does he?’ she asked, stars glittering in her line of sight.

‘And his quest for a Queen, ends here.’ came his reply.

He neared her. The reverent tremor that had possessed him only moments ago conveyed itself to her. Every line of their empyrean frames trembled with the gradual compression of their distances.

‘We do have an alliance to solemnize, don’t we?’ she whispered.

‘Shan’t the alliance consummate itself in the presence of fire?’ he whispered back.

‘Radheya!-‘ he felt her chant his name. As he felt every pore of her body repeat the incantation.

‘Panchaali!-‘ he chanted back.

Their eyes met, and so did their lips.

No ethics would stop them from unifying themselves into the sacrosanct fold of each others’ hearts.

And if there was a the fell prospect of war to herald posterity, it would materialize, in some way of the other, there were enough circumstantial instruments to result in such a consequence.

***