You have witnessed many battles in you. Seen some win. Some lose.
See this skin I pampered. In childhood, generations of grandmothers and grandaunts massaged me with the purest of coconut oils with secret ingredients they concocted with the help of the vaidyans in the land. They came in glass bottles or mud vessels. Deep dark green like the melted hearts of thick forests, where even sunlight is a timourous entrant in the afternoons. Maroon as the blood of mothers menstruating after delivery. Silver as moonbeams dissolved in the semen of frolicking Gods.
All these were rubbed into my body, my hair with such firmness, gentleness and love. Warm water sloshed all over me with songs sung in harmony. There was tender exfoliation. My infant dead skin was pushed away, blood circulation heightened and there was such a sensation of well being that I could barely feed and slip into the most wondrous of naps. Bliss!
Death was likewise. A huge gamut of experiences thrown at you, when you are fully unprepared and unaware of this bomb cornucopia. Love. Betrayal. Senseless hate. Gratitude. Trust. Laughter. Peace. Unease. Contentment. Ego. Stubbornness. Lightness. Understanding. Empathy. The tenderness of a grandmother’s lullaby. The security of an elder brother’s embrace, your comrade in arms for all the naughtiness other adults may disapprove of totally. The steadfast foundation of a friendship made of that material which makes diamonds look soft. The kiss of a beloved which is a seal of approval of all I stood for.
The jealousy of relatives you expect a modicum of tolerance if not support from.
The greed of a teacher, purloining ideas from students and passing it off as their own. The lies he said to seduce you, make what you thought was ardent love to you, just to leave you, quoting you to be a nymphomaniac, when your only madness was your love for him. The realization that your wealth and your so-called power meant much more than you ever would.
This walk on the beach of your soul. Beautiful long waves, blue with sunlight dancing gently on the foam tips, extended to caress the sand. Gentle winds fanning gentle waves which tickle your feet and recede shyly into the unplumbed depths where kingdoms of mer-people live in harmony. The soft hiss of the water carrying tales from far about brave sailors and warrior princesses taking care of the ocean and the land and the sky and all the people there.
Suddenly the sky turns grey. The sea reflects it. The sound of the ocean becomes a roar. How dare people mimic the dolphins and the whales and try and make paths through the waters? The waves are marauders. They will snatch and swallow as much of the land they can. Let it lie like a silt shroud over all the sleeping treasures in the womb of the sea, the treasure inaccessible to the greedy paws of humanoids passing off as human beings.
You have witnessed many battles in you. Seen some win. Some lose.
You have seen such tenderness that the very Gods will themselves to take a human form and be born on this beautiful old Earth just to partake of that joy.
Hold steady dear Self. This is the time for Pralaya.
There shall be no more land or sea. There will only be a vast network of oxygen and hydrogen, hugging each other, dancing a prelude to the gaping fire maw that will grind me into a fine vibhuti for Mahadeva.
*Thiruvathira Tirunal Lakshmi Bayi was born XII Princess of the erstwhile state of Travancore.
