2021 Writing

the child loved by the gods | january 7

Elder Sang looked upon the newborn, and an immeasurable warmth swept over her spirit. That was when she knew. This was the child loved by the gods. 

The village elders gathered in prayer around the birth bed, their hands a steady current, rotating the japamala. The mother of the child laid still, face twisted in such pain and love, that it was worthy of art. She tried to reach for her son, but he had long been taken. 

"May the gods watch over my son," she prayed. Blood from between her legs flowed onto the grass beneath, and she listened to the howling of the winter winds. Then, her flame extinguished. 

The god of the snow coated the child's hair in striking white. The god of the sun breathed fire into his eyes, turning them a burning amber. The god of the moon had granted the child his wise and graceful disposition. 

Such was the destiny that young Arun was born into, the destiny of a deity. A mover of the mountains, catcher of the clouds, conqueror of the sun. Yet despite this light that had touched his life, there was a shadow which loomed over his childhood, and his adolescence. 

Although he was beloved and revered by the people of his village, he did not believe in his own prophecy. He felt no more divine, nor godlike, than the other children of his village. He felt compelled to anger and sadness as much as they, and he was terrified of being a disappointment. But most honestly, he yearned for a mother's love. 

Today was the end of his adolescence. The anniversary of his birth, and the day when he would become a man. The village was restless, immersed in preparation for the ceremony and feast. Bells were hung on every doorframe, and the walls were plastered in red and gold paper. Maidens wore their silk robes for this special occasion, musicians played traditional hymns, and children roamed the streets in search of candied hawthorns. 

But Arun found himself alone in the mountains, gazing below into the expanse of white. When sunrays would kiss the snow, light would burst forth. It was bright and strikingly beautiful. If any place resembled heaven on this earth, it was the summit of these snowcapped mountains. 

Arun gently brought his hands together in prayer. He prayed for a prosperous harvest, for the health of his elders, and expressed gratitude for his life. 

As he opened his eyes, he saw the path clearly. The duty, honour, and suffering that was his destiny, as the child beloved by the gods. So before embarking on this journey, he brought his hands together again, and prayed to his mother.

"Mother," he began. "Your son is a man from this day forward..."