Dreams are fickle, easily snatched away. What must it have been like to love so deeply?
To have an idyllic marriage within your grasp, and have it ripped away?
To live in a loving, caring home, in which suddenly you could not stay?
Kidnapped by a forbidding soul, famed for strength and skill
As if you were a possession, a belonging of a man.
Unable to speak, choked by protests, muffled by the thrill,
Trapped within your own mind, forming the beginnings of a plan.
With sisters who were silent, quiet, demure as dolls,
Willing to marry a king unfit to fight for himself,
Yet you would not, would never, obey society's calls,
Choosing to commandeer a life for yourself
Free from power, free from chains,
With a spark of hope, deep down in your heart.
Only to be brutally crushed, scorned and in pain,
Tainted by society's manipulative arts.
With no-one to marry, no-one to love,
Refused by everyone, forlorn and used,
But you'd get revenge, by push or by shove,
For you were not broken, however beaten or bruised.
To plead with a sage, to champion your cause,
Who would fight for your honor, salvage your life,
Yet, he, in turn, fell to the "man without flaws"
Bhishma, you shall die, or I shall be your wife.
You beseech him, the son of Shiva,
For vengeance against your torturer,
He gives you a garland, to make anyone shiver,
Yet no-one could face that peerless archer.
You plead, you cry, you are willing to die.
You burn in the flames, with one final thought.
No more will you stand, no more will you sigh.
You will kill him yourself to achieve what you sought.
Bhishma. I am coming for you. Beware.
Credits: Vyasa Mahabharatha (Translation by Ganguli)
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The Women Who Rolled The Dice
Historical FictionThe Mahabharata is a tale as old as time. One that has been retold over and over, through families, generations, and dynasties. Countless retellings have described the heroics of the Pandavas, the cruelty of the Kauravas, the dastardly deeds of Shak...
