Others Speak

It was an internal matter, a family situation
We gave our views, we weighed the options
One cannot fall back on fleeting emotion
After all, it is the family's name, its fortunes

He was elder, the male, the one who must bear
What is wrong if the younger one shares
For the family's benefit, he must forbear
He is young, this burden is for the elders to bear

His failure lay in that he did not tell
Carried away by her cares and baby coos
Women are like that, great feelings they show
It was his place to demand and her place to know

One may force the hand of fate
But fate's decree will win
If it is time for the name to end
We have to wait, maybe it will re-surge

Death appears (The voice of the Weak)

Do you judge me as weak as my uncle had done
I have lost my wife and my only son
They sneer me down now
But they had agreed with me then

You see, I believed we were one family,
A unit that would always be
Our own uncle, my brother and a few elders
Including our priest and the trusted astrologer
Had sat me down to explain quite plainly
That the baby, my son, was not solely mine
He was the son of a larger group
Nothing would change, nothing at all
This eldest, my first born would benefit
From my elder brother's largesse

They reminded me that I was but
A younger dependent though male
Obedience, adherence was in my blood
I understood, I obeyed
I felt complete, when an elder was there
Always quick to nod, to appease, to agree
The voices of power, I did well to please
It had worked well, I can vouch for that
Until,... until my time turned bad

How could the astrologer not have known
That the deed of my brother was wrong
How could the priest and my uncle stay quiet
When they knew I would not know to fight
The ceremony will cement the child's rights
They smiled approval while I gave my life

I should have told her, my mouth knew no words
She's your wife, they told me, she has to obey
Besides, she will have the baby with her every day
Why did he take the child forcefully, why didn't I stop him
In that fog, I did not understand the game being played
My wife, I hate that word, wife,
She let me down, offering herself openly

Little did I know what happens in women's quarters
Later, that accursed maid, spoke to me with reddened eyes
And told me the truth of my wife's state without child
I had sold my own in the hope of gain, she said accusingly
I had abandoned the one life that depended on me
Why do you cry now, you caused this to happen
You call yourself weak, the world knows you're the villain

I did not know! I had been sheltered under my elder's care
The world looks different when viewed from the shade
But I have learned that when the rock caves in
It drags down all those sheltering within
It may have taken joy out of your life but in its eyes
It owes you nothing at all, you are but a parasite

Was I weak as they called me, do you judge me that way?
I did not know better, that is all I can say

I have had my say after all these years
She appears before me, I feel no fear
She seems to understand my quiet turmoil
There, I see her, I grab out a hand
Only to be caught and held back
I am falling, yes, she is there for me
I hold no regret, no sadness
I am free

A breather

We reached the point of death of the main players. Only the weak younger brother who failed his wife is left.

He depended on his big brother. Joint families did and to this day, continue to place the responsibility of leading the family on the eldest.

In the family, is anybody bad? Evil?

Not really, each one had reason, a belief that justified an action.

Death appears (THE CRY OF THE POWERFUL)

The Powerful One cried out its frustration and rage

Why am I alone after all that I have done

I never willingly sinned or knowingly hurt anyone

All that I did, I had to, it was mine to do

If I had not taken the reins and dirtied my hands

Where would we have been, our family our name

I'm the one who did everything yet I was cursed

who cared about my suffering or understood me?

Or wasn’t I important in the rumble of responsibility

Was I evil, cunning or bad? 

I tried my hand, 

Fate felled my plan

What was my fault in that?

Those who depended on me
Willingly took what I gave
Though, they were also the first to blame
I could see their curses flashing in their eyes
Yet, shamelessly eating from the hand that fed
As though depending on my by right
Not a moment's help
Not a single pleasure
Life passes by
Leaving me but a shell
While they gorge upon my body in glee

And he raged on blindly, cursing, hating all the while, 

hurting all the time

The blow of death came as a surprise, 

Why yesterday he was just fine

His brother, the weak one sorely wept

Wise priest, kind uncle were quite bereft

And they bathed his body off his  earthly pains

As they could never have in his lifetime

Pains that only men could understand

All the while viewing the weak brother in contempt

And to that face of power, peace came too

Stilling in him the fight to live

Stalling his every call

The light of peace soothed him

Helped him overcome the tiredness of earthly toil

Death appears (The Voice of Duty)

When duty dies does it go with the satisfaction of tasks well done?

Of praise for adherence and the chance of pleasing someone?

Does it go with the assurance of a life well-lived?

Or does it wish to have been freed of the shackles it had worn?

I died grieving at all my life had been

I had no wish for kindness or understanding

I had no place for them, they were not mine to have

I had no place for hope, it was not mine to have

I sought favour from the only one who mattered
He scorned me mercilessly, hurt me till I could feel no more

I saw oncoming death in the eyes of those around me

Exaggerated kindnesses and the names of gods repeated

He sat by my side, tears brimming, why

Why now, I wanted to ask, but the words did not appear
Shimmer of tears quickly wiped away, shoulders slumped
He got up like a man defeated and walked away

Did my life live up to its promise?

I yearned for love, I feared rejection and loss

I feared scorn but earned little else

I wished for understanding, that, I regret

I neither received nor was I able to give

I do not wish for more life

Unlike those who grip tight unto last breath

I shall slip away peacefully

Into the certainty of death

In Grief (The voice of the weak)

First my brother, then this uncle, 
I am hated, it seems
It is time that I stopped 
Holding back my thoughts

And the weak one snapped as a bow held taut

The stinging insults he had borne, he ill-forgot

And he wondered aloud
As his brother wept

Was it power? 

That fought and raised its voice at those it knew to be weaker

That grabbed salaciously with force

That sought to contain outpourings of grief
With little more than raised hand

How can power crumble to nothing 
In the face of loss

Does that signify power
or the absence of it

Late that night, when the house was deathly calm

He saw her, she stood there, as though waiting
Was she checking how he felt? 
Why did she fill his mind so?

Is that you? he asked, I don't fear you

Did you come here to accompany his soul?

Was it you, whose presence I felt
Near his body, I thought it was

Your love for him remains unabated

You cared only for him

What of me, why didn't I matter
I was the weak, you were the fighter
But even you gave in
When forced from all sides

If you had only stayed by me
I would have fought for what was mine
Instead of staying and clearing my confusion
You left me helpless, abandoned

His eyes stung:

You died, I did not miss you

I was relieved of the embarrassment

You wrought on me so openly
Offering yourself shamelessly

Replacement was easy and quick

I have daughters now
And a smiling wife
I kept her away from my family
And from my brother's wife

The Voice of the Gentle

Beauty and misfortune in one package, they said.

She had been abandoned by her husband who preferred to live with another woman. He was a sinner, she was assured of that. But why would a man leave a beauty like her for another? Obviously, it meant her stars were not good. Something was wrong with her.

Visitors asked her in-laws, 'Will you keep her here to serve you?' and stretched to catch a glimpse of her. Yes, she would serve them, they said, as she hid behind the door. But can beauty be locked away? They sent her to her parents. Who could bear this burden?

Her parents worried about their lot. She asked them in a fit of rage, ‘If he can leave me and stay with another woman, why can’t I find another man?’ Her audacity was shocking, her attitude worrisome. Who would have her?

When someone asked if she would work in a bungalow where she would be fed and sheltered, her parents were relieved. This had to be a blessing.

There were so many people in the house. The daughter-in-law ran the house with a flourish. Ordering the women about food, organizing prayers and food for the poor, gardening, cleaning, she was a busy woman. But she had no child. She was ably aided by a battery of five widowed aunts and feebly by the young mother. The young mother seemed kind and welcoming but was usually distracted by her 'little pearl'.

Others were not so kind, one of them looked at her pointedly, 'What work will you do?' in full gaze of the group.

And she replied in all innocence, 'Whatever you tell me to.'

'M-hm,' a sarcastic murmur. Unclean, unchaste they called her and wished her away. They spat in disgust at her sight. They saddled her with the most strenuous work, she obeyed quietly. They fed her as little as they could. Taunts about her status, the ill-omen she was were hers to bear. She bore the brunt, crying silently.

When he called her to an isolated quarter she had not known this was her duty too. At first, she railed. How could he touch her as she stood like stone? She wanted to scream and bare his shame to the whole family. But it dawned on her, this was what the taunts were for. She recalled her mother's hesitation before reconciling the situation mentally. Everybody had known. The shame was hers.

Had her father accepted her fate? She would never know. Nobody asked after her welfare. Abandoned, one more time.

When the young mother's heart was being rent to pieces, hers had been the voice that pleaded for understanding. She had smuggled food and water to her, cajoled her to eat as she lay weak and febrile.  Hers had been the voice that called to the gods as that shriveled body lay dying.

She understood abandonment. She understood isolation.

But what of the other women in this household, hadn't fate abandoned them as well? Each one had little to fall back on, yet they appeased the one man who would never do a thing in their favour.

And she saw – abandonment can represent two faces, one that understands and one that furthers it. But none to alleviate it. That when the abandoned fell back on each other to leave you alone, they do so on the assumption of being better. That somehow, they do not share your fate. That somehow, they are not like you.

If you scream you deserve your lot, we who stand by are purified by our very separateness from you, We will show sorrow at your state, that is our goodness. We will taunt you at will, that is your fate.

She became devout, placing faith in the idols on her wall. At least these idols could faithfully recount her days.

When she became sick, they cursed her. The least she could do was to die quietly. But no, she kept muttering, recalling, cursing all those who had hurt her and let her down when she knew nothing. Family secrets came tumbling out and it became difficult to face each other.

Peace, well-earned peace. The golden glow was a familiar state. One that seemed to stay away from life.

When the one who carries your tales moves on, you become free. Her passing gave those who lived some relief