DRAUPADI - XXX

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty's 

DRAUPADI - XXX

Who are these sages

wise men and royal advisors

deciding my fate as if I am

a room to accommodate visitors

without ever owning the house!

If I was Nalayani in my last Birth

before fire disgorged me on earth

in this life I have no memory, I know

only this life this fire and air

this earth and water

this void of sound

this sky stars sun and moon

men women crowns turbans

bare heads home to lice

why should Vyasa weave a myth

to justify my predicament

and how could my Sakha

believe in some prophecy

ignoring my dreams and desires?

If I am a plaything of destiny

why do I breathe my frustrations

in unmitigated  impositions

overpowering my being's identity

Or I am none just a breathing doll

to be handled by other slaves

of prehistoric mythic powers

which know only how to curse

prolonging the agony of humans

by repeating birth growth and decay?

 

I have to walk on the lines drawn

fall in the ditches gorges and climb

mountains of prickly pear to fall

again on some bloody bones

before foaming my breath on ice:

Then why do I get dreams of love

wishes desires for my tomorrow!

I have heard of kings and their

harems, polygamous men visiting

their wives whenever it rains.

 

Their adventures are lulled by

untimely snow storms in forest,

but I never heard of a woman

in five beds on five chests.

Squeaking love like the eternal

virgins of some Indra palace

somewhere above the burning stars!

O cursed fate wipe off

the written scripts and let me

speak my dialogue without inhibitions

or promptings, let me be myself.

 

Life is like a bud at dawn

the petals open up in  rhythm

the bloom spreads aromatic truth

of her own existence and at sunset

the petals blacken the flower droops

and falls soundless sometime

in the dark hours without disturbing

other flowers to play out their charm,

I always imagine my life

to bloom to my own melody

which naturally comes to me,

I thought the person I would marry

a noble prince or a man of valour

would be mine alone and I his.

 

What is this quirk of fate

amI a toy to be fondled by five

all different in heart and mind

how can I match them playing roles,

How can my  emotions and Imagination

make adjustments with five tempers

all different in tone and intensity?

And this body of mine so delicate

rise to meet passions mild and wild

so soft and sulky raw and rough?

O Fire my Maker am I sireless

left to my own devices to live

a polyandrous life only in body

dividing it nightly between tempers

like the five elements in strife?