Draupadi
Majestic pride enhanced
The beauty in her face
Strength lay in her tresses
By which she swore revenge.
Victim of a Lear pride
The downfall was too heavy
Even for one such as her.
For Draupadi was too modern
To connive her husband’s act
Of putting her on stake
Too strong to pardon
The humiliation of the Court Disrobing.
The Kauravas’ raucous laughter
Broke the passive silence of the Elders
Pitamaha hung his head in shame
Yudhishthira, Partha, strongman Bheema
Looked on helplessly…later
Thanked the Saviour Krishna.
Disgraced, furious, half-ashamed
Panchali cried Vendetta.
And so the tale continued
The war, death and the doctrine of Karma.
A happy end.
But too late for Draupadi.
For the scars of shame had maimed
Forever a spotless name
History had recorded with relish
That one act of molestation.
Panchali was censured
For she had dared to defy
Manifest the fiery strength
Of a woman wronged.
Once…she had aspired for the best
For she was incomparable
A Benazir par excellence.
Now
A dancer’s delight
Historian’s favourite
Mythology’s black sheep
Poetry preserves her charisma
Celebrates her angry pride
Gives her a new dimension.
Beautiful, brave and enigmatic
Draupadi
A force to always remember
But never eulogize
For she must forever remain tried.
Soul
To touch the sky
With the torch of sunshine and rain
Was I born on earth again.
To sail the seven seas of mortality
Into the ocean of immortality
To rise from the ashes of my forefathers
Into the realm of sorrow and serenity
Was I born again.
To give shape to buried desires
And life to evanescent hopes
Fruition to unfulfilled dreams
And completion of unmet goals
Was I born again.
And am reborn now
Free to traverse the universe
In yet another form
Bound by the rules of this earth
Missing those seamless shores
That gave me freedom for a blessed while
Alongside souls that came to rest
A Sabbatical from an earthly quest
Now...all born again.
Manna From The Skies
And in the end
A ray of hope
A semblance of calm
A vestige of peace
Nerve, fortitude and succor
Along the arduous path to a Mecca
Not yours, not mine
But one universal shrine
Lying under an open, seamless sky
I walk alone…I walk with you
Palm turned upwards, fists opening up
Smiling, a prayer on my lips
I wait for my spirit to lift
My heart to sing in bliss
My mind forever stilled
I wait
For Your countless blessings
I wait
With love and faith
I wait
But not for long.
For Manna from the Skies.
(Sanjula Sharma is a journalist-writer based in Delhi, who has written six books of fiction and poetry. She is also the founder of ‘Happy Minds’, a creative platform that conducts writing workshops for children.)
