The Serpent Dancer
They loved the garden, Truth and Love,
The idyllic sylvan of tulasi —
The Brindaranyam.
It was here that they danced to their love songs,
Played catch with friends,
Giggled to sweet nothings, in the garden they so loved,
The idyllic sylvan of tulasi —
The Brindaranyam.
Kaliya1 lived in the waters by the garden.
Truth and Love respected him, were polite to his angry
snarls,
Often giving up on their own Happiness
In consideration of his space.
Yet Kaliya felt threatened.
Kaliya the snake required not their respect, nor their
politeness
Or their consideration.
The sounds of frolic made him feel
Insecure, ignored, displaced by youthful exuberance.
Should he not be feared?
He had to show that power lay only with him,
That only his voice was heard and only his space mattered.
So he hissed and snorted, his disapproval and indignation
Emitting spurts of poison.
Fear spread.
Kaliya, a loving parent, a considerate soul,
Hurt by Garuda2, terrorised by the large bird,
Believed that the unfairness of that treatment
Could only be righted by this meanness.
So he persecuted Truth and Love, kicked them about,
Made them an outcast in the very garden they so loved,
The once idyllic sylvan of tulasi —
The Brindaranyam.
The flowers were shocked, Truth and Love devastated.
They cared not for the power, for they were strong
With the strength of their Inner Self.
But poisonous Fear held them captive
And they had nothing but Hope to hold on to.
"We will triumph, Truth will be reinstated,"
maintained Love.
"Love, you will resurrect our life for us," Truth
asserted.
The more they believed in themselves, the more hurt they
were,
Till, bruised and bleeding, they cried —
We believed in You, Oh Lord!
We believed in You who is in Us, in Ourselves;
Yet here we lie,
In the once idyllic sylvan of tulasi —
The Brindaranyam,
Defeated, helpless, scared to believe again.
Their cry was heard; Krishna picked up his flute.
The charmer that He was, he slithered on to Kaliya's crown,
Set the rhythm, swayed and skipped,
Till one by one of Kaliya's heads, drained of ego,
Fell in surrender.
Kaliya was liberated; Truth and Love, their life reclaimed,
Rose to live again. In rising, they faltered from weakness,
But the hands that held the flute now took theirs in His,
Led them on to the garden they so loved,
Where he tended to them with care. They bloomed
With the flowers, joyously adorning His Being,
Engrossed in the calm,
As He played Divine music on His flute
to the dance of the peacocks, the mooing of the calves,
The swaying of the lilies and the smiling ripples of the
waters
In the idyllic sylvan of tulasi —
The Brindaranyam.
Footnote:
1Kaliya: The several-hooded poisonous snake that lived in the river Yamuna
2Garuda: The mount of Vishnu, a mythological bird, probably an eagle, with
human features, believed to be an enemy of the Nagas (serpent-tribe)
Lessons Learnt At
A Riverside Resort
‘Twas a rickety, narrow, dusty road we had to take
From the station to the resort we were to stay.
The path didn’t frighten me, for, that was how my life had
been —
Ruinous — during the darkness that had held me sway.
A head bursting with turmoil, I got off the autorickshaw,
The only vehicle that could have brought us to this
seclusion
Save a bullock cart. I didn’t think a resort upon a
riverside
Would assuage me my emotions tormented with delusion.
Yet I walked in, having made the trip so far
And following the guiding finger of the friendly staff
Who had welcomed me with a string of jasmine and kumkum
tilak,
I walked out on to the courtyard beyond, a few steps and a
half.
‘Twas but a moment in time when everything came to a
standstill,
Everything except what had caught my eye, and my soul
For, right there was she, the promised river, just on the
other side
Flowing without a care in the world, in total control.
Cauvery1, for that was her name, looked voluminous
in shades of blue-green-grey, and so was the calm
That hung in the air, an emotionless state
So powerful, it penetrated into my mind, a welcome balm.
Over the next few days, Cauvery was my world,
So much present was I in her profound presence,
The voices that had haunted my head that past year
Relented in meek surrender to her overwhelming silence.
I luxuriated in the shower knowing it was her waters
Cleansed my tired skin to sweet freshness,
Ate with relish every morsel of food grown in soils
Nourished by her delicious love to healthy richness.
I gulped in great breaths of natural purity
That every atom of the air around was suffused with
And when this life-giving oxygen filled my lungs
The life-blood that ran my veins purified its course
forthwith.
A week thus gone by, it was time for us to leave
And as I stood by, for a final time, watching her flow,
I realised it was a goodbye accentuated with peace,
A composure that had no room for anymore tears of woe.
Cauvery, the river over which battles have been fought,
Taught me, in a manner I had never before experienced,
Profound lessons of equanimity, not instructed through
Didactic, pretentious speeches but through example
evidenced.
She had her mood swings, phases when she vibrated gaily
In blue and silver, and sometimes was downcast in gloomy
grey,
A friendly green she was during the long summer day,
And when night fell she was deep indigo, a state of rest to
convey.
Yet, through it all, she flowed, from moment to moment,
A stately composure of determined movement,
Never unflinching, never upset, unburdened by her past,
Always undisturbed, always serene, but never quiescent.
Her passion-less state, so compelling,
Inspired me because it was not imposed upon,
And much as I wished to stay on in her peaceful presence,
I knew the goodbye had to be said anon.
So I asked her, in the language of silence
That had been ours over the week bygone,
“Any last words before I go?”
Her unruffled waters rippled, “Move on!”
An hour later, I was upon the rickety road,
Homeward bound, but this time, unafraid,
The weakened path was but in passing, for, in moving on,
A confluence of joy and peace was mine to pervade.
Footnote:
1 Cauvery: a river in South India
The Recuperating Fields
A trip down south, to places along the banks
Of the river Cauvery, was most inviting,
For that was where Nature flaunted her wild spirits.
Far far away from the toxicity of monstrous cityscapes,
The south was where agriculture flourished.
I seated myself in the Innova, by a window,
Excitement rising as the sun did, that pre-dawn,
Yet, a few miles of drive later, the excitement, it dimmed
As I tried to fight the sleep aggressing upon my eyelids —
For, it had been a hard week at work
And sleep was all but forgotten,
Like it usually was.
But wasn’t that an unsigned agreement
Of the modern day work environment
That equated relentless working
With lucrativeness?
Very soon, ‘twas not just the eyelids that drooped,
My whole body fought against the tiredness
And wanted to just rest.
But I did not wish to lose out on pleasing sights
Of lush dreamy fields, the green of freshness
Sweeping across the hectares, the pigmentation,
Full and even, a merry dance in unison
With the gentle flow of the breeze
Blowing from across the river, gaily in love.
Imagine my consternation when,
for much along the drive, I saw
Not green paddy fields
But barren brownness.
It didn’t seem like drought, the brownness looked well
nurtured.
Curious, I queried our friendly native.
“Well nurtured they are, my dear lady, for sure,” said he,
Which is why they are brown now, not green,
At least not yet the lush colour,
For, these are fallow fields, a state of idle,
When the ploughing and tilling is done
But unseeded left.
Barren they are not, but recuperating fields
that go through a cleanse of weeds unwanted,
And replenish their nutrients lost in previous harvests,
so tired soil becomes rejuvenated and healthy again
for another crop, another bountiful yield.”
“Barren and brown, it may seem, my dear lady,
But it pays to remember
That while work is what pays, rest is also remunerating,
This is the law of nature, be it the rice field or body
field.
As night gives a new day a new opportunity,
As simple fasting balances a lavish feasting,
And pratyahara1 completes yogasana practices,
So too, my dear lady, it is a fallow period
That makes a fertile land,
And it is rest that brings rewarding profits.
So, sleep, my dear lady, sleep a while,
Withdraw your senses, so in sleep you may grow.”
Footnote:
1pratyahara: withdrawing of the senses
Vidya Shankar
Ms Vidya Shankar, Indian
poet, writer, blogger, motivational speaker, mindfulness practitioner, and yoga
enthusiast, has been into English language teaching, instructional designing,
and content development for more than two decades. An active member of poetry
circles, her poetry has appeared in literary magazines and platforms such as
GloMag, Setu, Storizen, StoryMirror, Spillwords and WRITE (Sri Lanka). She had
been a regular contributor for the column 'Short Take' published in 'The Gulf Today', a
Sharjah-based newspaper, an engagement that lasted for more than five years.
Her first book, 'The Flautist of Brindaranyam', an anthology of 12 poems
published in December 2017, was a collaborative effort with her photographer
husband, Shankar Ramakrishnan. She also maintains a blog 'The Quintessential
Word'.