With one quick thrust
he rolled off her
grunting with satisfaction
and soon snoring away blissfully
as his potent seed is deposited
deep inside her.
The mother of two twists and turns
sick with worry,
ordering morning after pills
from the nearest pharmacy
to avoid turning her womb
into yet another grave.
- Neha Bansal
The air stilled
And above the horizon
toppled an urn of deep crimson.
The sun blushed and hid
Behind the billowing clouds.
The larks stopped midflight
Or, so they seemed
no more eager to return to their nests.
Little periwinkles recoiled in horror
and the garden lizards turned grey
Matching the colour of the ancient stone,
as he severed my head.
My brave last born,
the famous wielder of the axe,
the avatar of Vishnu
To appease his infallible father,
Brimming with a righteous anger
Against a wife, who in a fleeting
thought, desecrated his hearth.
Born to a king, but wedded to a seer
my heart never yearned for those royal things.
I proudly birthed five sons
And glowed forever in blissful domesticity.
I cooked our meals,
drew rangoli by the door
Rubbed stove ashes on pots
and scrubbed floor.
Doing a thousand little chores
And seeing them grow
Fanning everyone to sleep
Was the sweetest thing.
I woke up before the sun
And saw it rise
everyday by the bank of Malaprabha.
The river of life energized me
and the primeval Ramshrunga hills
bore witness to the daily miracle.
When Renuka, the daughter of a king
And the chaste wife of Jamdagni
Pulled the feat like no other.
Through the power of devotion to him alone
And a burning steadfast concentration,
I could cajole the grains of sand
into a remarkable unbaked vessel.
In this worthy pot, I carried the water
For the man worthier then any other.
Those hard days of labour
have always been the dearest
As I absorbed the warmth
of the taap he radiated.
The lambent glow of love for him
warmed me to the core.
And I happily went about my days
Till fireflies came home.
But one fateful day it was,
When my pride was pulverized,
And a glimpse of the gandharva pair
pushed my chaste thoughts aside.
The abandon of sheer love making
unhinged the bolt of my upright mind.
It took me a few seconds to recover
And I banished away the filth
and as I chastised myself
My eyes welled up in guilt.
A good woman doesn't ever desire
No! no! no! I have grossly erred.
And no matter how I tried
My my hands couldn't conjure an urn.
The river failed to help me
And the Sun seemed to mock
as I desperately clutched the grains
And repeatedly cursed myself.
I knew he was omniscient
And could see my walk of shame.
He ordered his five sons
To drag the harlot by her mane.
"Kill her! Decapitate her!!
She deserves to die!!!
No good woman does ever dare
To think what she thought by riverside.
Women are but passive vessels
To hold the brave seeds
She will corrupt your wives' minds
And soon they will talk about their needs."
The sons hung their heads in shame
Oh yes, the father was so right,
But matricide is surely excessive
they trembled at the father's side.
One by one, they dared to speak
Only to be petrified.
As the wrath of my husband burgeoned
at this disobedient slight,
My last born, then came forward
Supplicated to the seething rishi
Who couldn't now be mollified.
With one swift movement, he did it
and didn't spare me even a glance
And then shed copious tears
as his heart broke into pieces.
The rishi placated now,
granted him a wish.
And the great warrior definitely
asked for what was obvious.
The four brothers and I
Came back to life
And then I was forgiven by each great man
But a piece inside me died.
- Neha Bansal
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