kalpanarj

Oct 16, 2008 03:22

THE PEACOCK FEATHER

I want to be worthy of this diary, its rich red leather, its gold edges, its fancy lock proclaiming of secrets - lived and fantasized. I thought of the applause it would generate when passed around. Or I would sit brooding in secret over its contents like a mother hen waiting for events to hatch so I can make a move. These were joys that depended on secrecy that would vanish if told untimely. That might even reek of betrayal. Strangely I was content to be a boring bystander, recording unfolding events that were enacted with a dramatic flourish.

I knew all the events that were astir within me like stuck phlegm. I had kept them buried all these years, unforgotten for being so carefully embalmed. I had polished my undertaker’s art that the slightest stirring led to a scattering of ink. No appeal approved, no exhumation granted. Yet I could not resist entering the Bluebeard’s chamber, tracing the words that I had once disgorged in another time, another place. Was I ever truthful or merely factual? I tried telling the truth once, I had a broken nib for my efforts and so I accumulated facts.

I wrote of Kunti married to an impotent King. I wrote of Draupadi and her polyandrous marriage to five warriors. Of Ahalya’s marriage to her Guru Gautama. Two warriors Ravana and Sugriva killed by the same God, Rama and their wives, Tara and Mandodari given to their younger brothers. It is interesting isn’t it that these five married women are known as the PanchKanyas of Indian Literature - the Five Virgins.

Now I will write the truth; of Kunti and her love for the Sun God to whom she bore a warrior son. I shall tell you of Draupadi and her secret love for Warrior Karna but forced to marry his five step brothers. Ahalya’s incestuous marriage to Sage Gautama whom she considered her father and her love for Indra. I will write of Tara and Mandodari, the only two non-Aryan women who questioned the ethics of God Himself.

I will celebrate the womanhood of these women who have enjoyed the realization of self and the supreme power within them and forced the men to respect their choices. Such was the power they wielded that they were termed the Five Virgins and accorded their rightful place in society.

I take myself much too seriously of course. What does it matter to anyone what the truth was or what the fact? I have neither added nor subtracted from the glorious epochs. I have come to terms with my broken nib now. I will let the studious ants preen the strands of my peacock feather into shape. I feel the weight of the faded once-brilliant blues and greens and gold that spoke of ages past. I still ride the synergies created then. I have kept the promise of a biographer’s quest faithfully and now I will take the last wind home.

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