I would like to say 'Coming soon...', but not sure if it would appeal to my dearies.
Hence checking in with you girls. Let me know through your likes on the post, based on which, I will continue this as my next SS.
Paheli
- An Indian fairy tale
And the boy survived...breaking the tradition of a legend that existed in their family for so many generations, that no one knew, when it had first begun.
The first born male in the family had never lived past the third birthday and Maan was still walking around dragging his wooden toy horse by his side. It made his parents want to hug him, smother him with kisses, but the strange curse wouldn't let them do so. No one knew if it was indeed a curse, matter-of-factly, for only stories survived in that part of the desert. And his parents did, just what any other haveli was expected to do at such agonizingly hopeless times, which was to summon on Tararam back from his reprieve at Kashi.
***
The wide red bandini turban, or the dirty white robe-shirt with pleated dhoti for bottoms did not give away he had travelled from a faraway land; neither did the half torn soles of his kohlapuri chappals, which he had left at the entrance of the haveli, for every other footwear outside to get a glimpse of their mighty and exotic adventures. His squeaky, one-eyed parrot, Tottaram, did not sing a telltale song of the sand dunes that had half killed it, while getting to this side of the country. The place was as barren and parched as if the village was the gates to the hell hole on earth.
Tararam sat in the middle of the courtyard, holding a fist of white shells to his forehead and chanted a series of incantations as if he was under a trance, speaking to someone from another plane of life. Swiftly curving his wrist on his way down to release the shells on the floor, he breathed in awaiting the prediction that was about to show itself to him.
He counted the upturned ones and the formation in which the small porcelain shells had scattered, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Hmm" He rubbed his chin as he spoke "The Lord Shani's number eight will come to claim your son, when its time...I won't keep my hopes high for him" He announced and Maan's mother shrieked, falling to the floor. It seemed mothers couldn't stop hoping, even after she'd spent three dreading years, waking to fitful mornings, more certain to find him lifeless, than alive. Gasping for breath, she buried her head in her hands, vowing to their kuldevata, she would never let another woman touch him, nor would she show him the underrated maternal tenderness...if that is what the curse claimed and if that is what would pour life into her son.
Edited by 6thElement - 13 years ago
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