Hi Friends! This is an unnecessarily confrontational start of a "mythoscopical" exploration of the major Indian Epic. The M-Story. With none of the apologetic meandering that has been my signature. There is more than enough meandering. Not enough apologies. Even the names haven't been disguised. Read. Comment. Share. Beware!
They will praise what can be carried. A verse is shaped, remembered, and repeated. A queen is named for what holds, not for what was seen. She does not refuse it. She does not correct it. What remains beneath does not leave, though it is no longer spoken.
After the summons, she stands in the inner chamber. Outside, the game has ended. Inside, its words have not yet arrived. What has been taken is not yet named. When it is, it will not describe. It will decide. And everything after will follow it.
Before anything was taken, she did not rise. She sat by the small fire as they came close enough to ask. One asked carefully. One did not. What they sought had already been seen. It would not be given shape. Not here. Not by her.
After one son was given, she did not sit. She stood where the water met stone. The other was not here. This was not his ground. The man stood apart. No one spoke of what had been chosen. What remained was not equal. She would not let it be made so.
A queen who does not resist, does not break, does not protest. She agrees, precisely. A son is placed. A name is corrected. The story takes shape without friction. What fits too well is not questioned. What is absorbed completely leaves no mark, except in what is no longer needed.
After the war, a mother does not weep. She listens. A father explains. A sage arranges. A bard hesitates. A presence answers without claiming. What was meant to end has not yet ended. Stories begin to gather. She does not refuse them. But not everything is allowed to pass.
A queen who does not resist, does not break, does not protest. She agrees, precisely. A son is placed. A name is corrected. The story takes shape without friction. What fits too well is rarely questioned. What is absorbed completely leaves no mark, except in what is no longer needed.
A woman sits by a dead hearth and refuses the terms on which epics remember. The bard asks gently. The sage asks sharply. The old forest-mother watches. Men seek grief that can be shaped into meaning. She gives them only a wound, a silence, and a scar in the story.
An apology, several digressions, and a proposal for Mythoscopy Let me start with an apology. This one is mine. For being long-winded.For sometimes being opaque when clarity was within reach.For circling ideas instead of charging straight at them. But I have learnt, slowly, that some ideas don’t survive being charged at. They need to be … Continue reading From Facts to Myths
Random Mythoscopy 