Book 4 in the Proposal Series.
YUGANTIKA IYENGAR
"You cannot fight your doom. It will fucking destroy you, Pookie."
She laughed, wrecking it deep within her guts. A voice that could slice through all the weak hearts. "No one can bring doom on me."...
Eleos (Eleos, is the personification of mercy in Greek mythology.)
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The ambient lights dimmed, casting a soft halo around the solitary figure at center stage—a girl in her twenties. Siya Gandhi stood there, a contradiction to her roots: modernity woven into her braided hair, while a small black bindi on her forehead whispered of tradition. The black beaded threads encircling her wrist clinked with silent secrets as she adjusted the microphone and settled into the cold metal chair. She exuded a familiarity that was unknown to one's being.
"Good evening, Mumbai," Siya addressed the expectant crowd, her voice a gentle invitation. The audience responded with enthusiastic hollers and cheers. Yugantika recognized that smile; it never reached the beholder's eyes, yet it connected them to their audience.
"My name is Siya Gandhi," she continued, her head bowed in genuine gratitude. "And I am deeply grateful to be here tonight." The warmth of their reception enveloped her. "This tour, your love—it's been nothing short of phenomenal. You've left me speechless, which, for a poet, is both ironic and fitting."
Laughter rippled through the room, and Siya leaned closer to the mic. "Honestly, I've been pondering how to express my gratitude. But words—my currency—are inadequate. So, let's just say this: your presence fills my heart more than any syllable ever could."
While the audience leaned forward with interest, some sipped their drinks and waited for the planet to keep revolving.
"The title for today is 'The Broken Lullaby,'" she paused to clear her throat. "It is a memory I wouldn't wish to recollect if not for these verses." Blinking through her words, she inhaled and smiled, her gestures perfect to draw sympathy, pity, or ensure her next houseful. It would be decided in a few minutes.
"In the quiet of shadows, where whispers hide, I tiptoed into Mama's room, my heart wide.
The moon peeked through curtains, a silver thread, and there, in the stillness, I found her—my Mama.
Her feet didn't touch the floor; they dangled like dreams, her eyes, once so bright, now empty moonbeams. The rope, like a secret, clung to her throat, and I wondered why Mama wore it like a coat."
The air thickened, as did Yugantika's breathing. The words reverberated, yet her throat choked. Not that this poet was done already.
"Mama? I called her, but my voice was a butterfly trapped in glass. Her skin, pale as snow, held no warmth anymore, and I wished I could hug her like before. My little arms never reached her, and so my voice.
My teddy bear watched from the corner, button eyes wide, as if he knew secrets, the ones Mama tried to hide. He'd seen her tears, heard her silent cries, and now, he witnessed me sitting there. Hungry, ready to sleep but no one to hear.
Mama's feet swayed gently, like a swing in the breeze, and I wondered if she'd found peace among the trees. Did the stars whisper secrets as she climbed so high? Did they tell her it was time to say goodbye?
