
Birth in fire
I came out of the
ashes that were offerings.
I was born with a pledge
to atone my father’s pride,
to assuage his grief,
his sense of shame and defeat.
Yagyaseni! Yagya seni!
The rishis chanted in delight
as I stood in full bloom.
Black and beautiful,
my father named me Krishnaa,
and promised me as an offering
to Krishna who would later
become my only saviour.
Fate willed it otherwise.
I was married to Arjuna,
but dharma proclaimed me
as a property of the five pandavas
and I accepted my lot as my
single dharma. Panchali was born
of the five elements.
A woman with five husbands.
Life became a trial
at every turn and I
found myself alone
even in the midst of five
brave and strong men.
One day I met with a fate
of shame, of derision,
and I a cross board in
whose tribute no demands
or defense would stand.
Neither generations nor I
would ever be able to
understand how it all began.
Was it my laughter
that ripped me apart?
Mother they never told me
what it was? Desire or design?
A Hysteric. A Sorceress.
A Rebel. A Body.
History alone could answer.
Where do I write my story
on leaves, stones or the sari?
How do I soak my elegy
in wax, milk or in blood?
Mother
I stand today
as one defeated
and responsible for
the battle in which I
held neither arms nor alms.
Unaccustomed to laughter
indifferent to desire
is he?
I am a woman
annihilated,
circulated,
confiscated.
Nothing remains of me,
but my unkempt hair,
hungry and parched,
glistening with poison.
If he asks you where have all the snakes gone?
The forests are empty.
The palace is burnt.
The cities are dead.
The kurukshetra is barren.
Be brave and lead him to my scalp.
Ref - Museindia
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