संगर्ष (Saṅgharṣa)

सत्यवती: Satyavati - Ambition

It was the typical rags to riches story.

Fisherwoman marries king.

What she wanted, she would get. That was her motto.

Many men flocked to the shore of the Ganges to capture large fish but they were all reduced to nothing when she walked in, head held high, with her boat and her ropes.

It was her element.

She was undeniably proud of her skills- raking in the ropes till her hands bled and her chest heaved, managing to pull in the wicked fish anyway.

She couldn't help it that this little show impressed the king- he was willing to do anything for her hand.

Did she feel bad for his oldest son, who forsook his right to the throne by giving it to the child she hadn't even had yet?

And how did it feel when both her sons dropped dead like flies in front of her very eyes, none living long enough to ascend the throne?

It was her responsibility to produce heirs. That was the point.

What would she do with Vichitraveerya's wives, childless and widowed within a span of a week?

How did it feel to see the kingdom, once thriving, teeter on the brink of collapse? She had secured the throne for her lineage, yet it seemed destiny had other plans.

Vyasa, her son by Parashara, came to her aid. But did it ease the pain to see her grandsons born under such circumstances? Dhritarashtra, blind from birth—could he ever truly lead? Pandu, cursed to die if he so much as embraced his wives—could he ever know true joy? And Vidura, wise but illegitimate—would he ever be more than a counsellor?

Could she rest easy knowing her actions set the stage for a generation of strife? Her ambitions fulfilled, but at what cost?

Her father had wanted her to become Queen. It had sounded nice then- "Your son will be king."

Did the weight of her choices keep her awake at night, questioning if the price of power was too high?

"Oh, if you had not come to my father's hut that day, Devratha," she told her oldest stepson. "You needn't have taken that awful vow."

"I could not bear to see my father's condition," he had replied. "You were the only person who could make him happy."

Shantanu had left her anyway though, hadn't he? Gone off to heaven, leaving her in the mess.

As she walked along the familiar shores of the Ganges, she was met with the curious eyes of her former community. The fisher people, who once worked alongside her, gathered around, eager to hear about her life as a queen.

"How does it feel to be a queen?" they asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

How did it feel, indeed? To trade the simplicity of the river for the complexities of the palace? To swap her boat and ropes for a crown and sceptre?

"Do you miss the river?" one of them questioned, glancing at the water.

Did she miss it? The cool embrace of the Ganges, the satisfaction of a successful catch, the camaraderie of her fellow fishermen? Or was it the simplicity she yearned for, the days when her biggest worry was the size of the day's haul?

"You must be so happy," another said, admiration in their voice. "Marrying a king, living in a palace."

Was she happy?

She didn't know.

Did she regret it? Leaving behind the life she knew, the people she understood, for a world where her every move was scrutinized, her every decision questioned?

How could she not? The choices that led to Devratha's terrible vow, the death of her sons, the birth of her grandsons under a cloud of misfortune. Did she ever stop to think about the consequences of her ambition, the ripple effects of her desires?

As she looked at the faces around her, she couldn't help but wonder if the crown was worth the weight it brought. Did power and prestige truly matter when the cost was so high?

Introspection led her to ask the question-was it really her that had to be queen? Or was it just her father's decision for her?

She hadn't questioned it. Perhaps it was her fault.

She glanced at the fish scales shimmering under the water. The river's surface reflected a thousand tiny fragments of light, each scale a reminder of her past.

It was then she realised she was one of them.

Matsyagandha.

She wondered if she still had it in her to dip those oars in the water, hear the splash, leave the mainland behind, drift away, away, away.

The river echoed her symphony.

She too, was Shantanu's widow. She too, was a mother.

"Oh, Ganga," she whispered softly, dipping her fingers in the fresh water. "Will we ever escape this feeling?"

The water gurgled in response, splashing against her feet, soaking the end of her saree.

It seemed to tell her that was her identity now. Satyavati, the unlucky Queen-mother. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Comments would be highly appreciated :)

Thank you for reading!

Love, A.