Sita's test by fire

Sitting in Asoka vatika, 

as the feral war had ended,

she waited for Rama 

to free her from her year long captivity. 

She dreamt of the day she first saw him 

as she walked demurely 

through the palace gardens  

that surrounded the shrine of goddess Parvati.

Her body fragrant with 

nagakesar and jasmine 

and wrapped elegantly in the 

ivory and gold saree that 

reflected the morning sunlight  

as the white lotus filled pools 

radiate the lambent glow of the golden Sun. 

There she saw him walking slowly 

but self-assuredly with eyes of 

the gentlest doe that contrasted those 

fierce ones of the younger and fairer youth 

and also of the Rishi she had known 

since her childhood, accompanying him.

Enthralled she walked to the shrine 

trying to calm her pounding heart, 

ignoring that smile that got etched 

in her thoughts, a smile that bloomed 

a thousand sweet-scented tuberoses 

and made her ache for the dark-skinned 

unknown man in the strangest ways. 

She tried to pray to the goddess 

for marital bliss and a Siva like husband 

But, could only visualise this man. 

As the victory trumpets blew, 

her reverie broke 

and she found herself 

still waiting under Asoka tree 

When would Raghuvar come? 

now her heart was beating wildly 

why doesn't he come and get me? 

As she felt a chill in her bones. 

There, she saw Laxmana, 

her heart filled with remorse 

as she remembered her taunting 

in Panchvati, when he refused to follow 

the cry that was obviously a hoax. 

He came to her with downcast eyes 

and folded hands and before she 

could convey her apologies, 

spoke in an emotion-filled hoarse voice. 

He told her how she had to pass

the test of fire as desired by her Lord 

and prove her chastity to the people 

Of Ayodhya and the entire world. 

She had to prove that Ravan 

didn't desecrate her and still 

She was the flower worthy of 

adorning an exalted altar. 

Her heart cried in agony 

but her eyes turned to stones

as she walked calmly 

through the forest of leaping flames. 

She emerged out unharmed 

to the loud chants of devotees

who having witnessed a miracle

now sang paeans to her fidelity. 

As she saw Rama, now openly crying 

welcoming her with arms wide open

Her mind couldn't get rid of the image 

of Siva carrying the charred corpse of Sati 

and dancing his angry Tandava 

as nothing soothed his excruciating pain. 

- Neha Bansal

 

(published in "Vibrant Voices : an anthology of 21st century women poets" edited by Seema Jain and published by Sahitya Akademi)

Body shaming

The first time was in Grade five,

When the scheduled medical examination

in her very progressive school

led to the fateful discovery of her 

Forty kilograms of body weight 

by her merciless classmates 

who talked about nothing but this for days. 

But, it was the blowing of the cheeks 

and rounding of arms to probably imitate 

her corpulence by her secret crush, 

as her favourite teacher chose to look away, 

broke her heart in a myriad pieces. 

Then it was her own mother who 

in the fanatic zealousness often

shamed her into accepting much 

smaller meals to be like the dainty cousin, 

who fitted beautifully in the crimson skirts 

and embroidered blouse so expertly 

stitched by the best tailor in the town. 

After a thousand such shamings, 

by different people under different circumstances,

she may have learnt to keep her wits about 

And bear it poker-faced 

when the most beautiful bangles,

clothes and designer shoes meant for

average sized people won't fit her 

and she can see from the corner 

of her eye, the mocking gesture 

by the cheeky saleswoman, trying 

to gag her indiscreet laughter. 

- Neha Bansal

 

Ahalya

Ahalya

 Why does her husband feel different, tonight

with passions galore?

The stony gaze has given way

to the roving admiration.

The embrace is warm and comforting

as sitting by a bonfire.

The silken eager touch so different

from the ennui of a bored lover.

The sweet nothings he whispers tonight

are nothing like the hitherto silent rituals.

Who, then stands at the door, with ashen face,

When he loves her so??

The fury of the Rishi knew no bounds

as he eyed both.

While the defiled wife cringed with horror,

Her beguiler tried to flee.

Covering her nakedness,

Ahalya stammered to explain.

Silenced as she turned to stone

and cursed to remain so.

Summers baked, winters froze

And rains washed her rigid self

as she stood rooted

to the very same spot.

Who did her greater harm

Her stony self wondered.

Was it the shape shifter

Who gave her the night of bliss

Or her lord of many wedded years

Whose rage made her Still.
                                        - Neha Bansal

(The poem is a voice of Ahalya, the beautiful wife cursed to be a stone, by her "saint-husband", Gautama Rishi as he found in her bed with Indra, disguised as Rishi himself. While lord Indra was punished in a very humiliating manner, Ahalya was given no chances to explain. She was just shut up!! muted!! Her original form could only be revived by the touch of Lotus feet of Lord Rama. )

Arranged Marriage: the old fashioned way

He went there with his five aunts

and three brothers-in-law.

The banarasi-clad aunts spoke a lot,

the co-brothers a little

and the groom not at all.

He sat almost broodingly,

the branch manager of a sarkari bank,

with your average Indian moustaches.

Kachoris  with tangy tamarind chutney

from back-street Natthu halwai served,

whose laurels  along  with bhua’s 

cross-stitched table cloth 

shamelessly ascribed to the bride.

The aunts nodded approval when she

brought forth the tea tray,

with bowed head and bashful eyes,

 tutored by her omniscient mausi.

Gulping down the elaichi tea

and eyeing her surreptitiously,

the groom quickly noticed her

besan-cured complexion;

her long snaky braid, pliant

 yet promisingly passionate.

No questions were ever asked

about bride’s aspirations.

Topic of dowry hushed up but

Traditions were to be respected.

Leave taking now, the groom afforded

a lingering glance on his bride-to-be,

definitely not lost on chuckling aunts

and the beaming parents of the bride.

devi

It was Chaitra Ashtami..

and he called the little goddesses home,

washed their feet, served them meals

and considered himself lucky

on accomplishing yet again the biannual feat.

He praised Durga and on sandal rosary beads

chanted her hundred and eight names.

While she dreaded the coming days,

singing lullaby to her never-to-be-born 'Devi'
- Neha Bansal