Mauri, page 16
Another Rakshasa advanced at her from behind, now that her loyalties were out in the open. Mauri shoved him back with the blunt edge of her sword but she could not leave Dhatri’s side for long. Mauri hardly had the time to rise to her feet when two more Rakshasas approached her from behind. She held back the first with her sword and kicked at the second. Her limbs had begun to tire and the enemy only seemed to grow in numbers. She managed to stab the first Rakshasa and send him down the stairs. The second Rakshasa leapt at her. Suddenly, at a crucial moment in the skirmish, Mauri heard Dhatri gasp for breath and her momentary distraction gave the Rakshasa the vantage to disarm her. She saw his weapon poised to descend upon her body but another weapon came in the way. The young Rakshasa saviour nodded at her and pointed at Ghatotkacha. Relieved, Mauri turned in the direction of the gates, finding Ghatotkacha’s battalion of young Rakshasas rush in. Their enthusiastic war cries filled the air, demanding the blood of those who had deserted their beloved queen. Atop the inner wall, she found the familiar dark-hued figure gaze at her. Vaasudeva! Her eyes misted.
“Dhatri!” Mauri heard Abhaya’s frantic voice behind her. Mauri rushed back to Dhatri’s side and raised the high priestess from the ground with Abhaya’s help. It was only after a while that they could revive Dhatri. Mauri’s anxiety mounted each moment and she was far from relaxing even after Dhatri opened her eyes.
“Say you forgive me, Mahadevi! Mahadevi!”
Abhaya tried to calm her while tending to Dhatri.
“I’ll be orphaned! Not again, Dhatri!”
“She will live, Mauri!” Abhaya caught Mauri’s arm before the girl broke into hysteric sobs. “I shall tend to her. Go help Ghatotkacha! Go, Mauri.”
Mauri fell quiet and saw the colour return to Dhatri’s face under Abhaya’s deft tending. Her presence was only a burden. She saw Abhaya look at her once more, assuring her of Dhatri’s survival and signalling her to leave. The weight of all that she had done threatened to crush her from within. Staggering outside, she saw Ghatotkacha battle Alambusha in a one-on-one duel. The son of Hidimba had indeed earned his kingship. She was sure he would overpower Alambusha. Wordlessly, she watched them duel, making their way towards the outer ring and then the gates. Alambusha’s bulk assisted him and he showed no signs of going down. But Ghatotkacha seemed far from giving up. At an inopportune moment, she saw Alambusha’s weapon slash Ghatotkacha’s arm and part of his unguarded chest too. The pain seemed to sear through her own body. All because of me?
Feeling a hand squeeze her shoulder, she turned and found Krishna’s compassionate gaze on her. Giving into tears, Mauri collapsed onto her knees.
“You did well, daughter of Mura.” Krishna patted her cheeks. “Who among us doesn’t falter?”
Mauri could only shake her head even as he continued to speak to her soothingly. A furore from the cheering Rakshasa factions drew their attention.
“Weeping when it is time to cheer? Doesn’t suit you, Mauri.” He pointed towards where Ghatotkacha was still fighting Alambusha. Another cheer followed. By this time, the warring duo had moved out of the walls.
Curiosity drove Mauri to go and check on Ghatotkacha’s progress. Krishna’s encouraging pat raised her hopes and she sprinted towards the outer walls of Kamarupa. Scaling the top of the walls, she saw Alambusha starting to retreat, like he wanted to flee. She badly wanted to see Ghatotkacha kill him. That would release her of the burden she held. High hopes! Why would that wash away my sins? They will remain mine. A reminder of my naivete, recklessness … and heartlessness. Of what use would the rest of her life be? Her body had dangerously leaned forward from the edge of the fort wall. She steadied herself and Ghatotkacha’s glance shot upwards the very moment. She saw him stop pursuing Alambusha and call out to her. He let his sworn enemy flee and sprinted uphill towards where she stood.
Really?
Ghatotkacha could hear his breathing when he halted by the entrance of the temple town. The fatigue of the fighting and the run uphill finally began to show. His racing heart eased only at the sight of the stationary figure who he had feared was up to the worst. Pausing for a moment to even his breath, he approached her.
“You let him go!”
How could she be this unmoved? Ghatotkacha shook his head, trying to suppress that stubborn hope in his heart. It rose only to disappoint him each time. Pulling at Mauri’s arm in a bid to lead her away from the precarious edge, he glared at her. “You gave me a scare!”
She did nothing to resist his grip. Nor did she step even an inch closer. But looking into her eyes, Ghatotkacha could swear that they no longer had the characteristic coldness he dreaded. He saw her mutely point towards a stone seat towards the wall. Softening, he led her towards the seat. The silence, an invisible barrier between them, seemed impregnable.
“I distracted you from your duty,” Mauri said after a long time. “You should have known that I don’t let go of who I am angry with that easily. Suicide was the easiest of my exits and I am too angry with myself to die and escape, Ghatotkacha.”
Speechless again. As usual. How does a man deal with a woman who constantly leaves him fumbling for words? Ghatotkacha stared at her, following her wandering gaze. No, words weren’t what deserted him. It was his complete cluelessness about what was in her heart that frustrated him.
“Why don’t you hate me yet?” Mauri asked and smiled. For the first time that he remembered, Ghatotkacha saw the smile that he had always yearned to see.
He grinned back, something within him driving his gaze away from hers. By Pashupati! Am I blushing?
“You are not capable of hatred. Love, anger, passion, yes. But not hatred.” she answered for him. Like she knows my heart inside out when I struggle to know an ounce of hers!
“Which is why my heart asks to be broken each time, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“No, Ghatotkacha.” Mauri placed her palm upon his chest. “It is much stronger than you think it is!” A lone tear fell out of her right eye while the lashes of her left eye glistened against the moonlight. He expected her to turn away but she was far from being ashamed of tears. When his finger rose to wipe the moisture off her cheek, a fresh stream followed. She beamed through her tears. Her gaze stayed on the tip of his moist finger that shone against the moonlight. Then she pulled his warm large palm over her cheek and closed her eyes. She felt his other hand advance as if to encircle her waist and then withdraw abruptly. His eyes were more than a reflection of the struggle in his heart—the struggle that she had caused. If something was dominating that struggle, it was restraint. Restraint that still told him her consent mattered the most, battling with fear that told him he would lose her again. She had caused enough hurt to herself and him. “What was your first thought at Jwalamukhi when you realised that I betrayed you?”
“Don’t remind me,” Ghatotkacha hissed.
Mauri shook her head. “I want to know.” She saw his eyes turn stern. Not angry, not spiteful but stern with a tinge of fear.
“It was my mother’s life and honour you put at risk apart from mine!” He sighed, his limbs trembled, betraying a sudden rage, imagining the possibility. He felt her squeezing both his wrists before anger overtook him. “Do you want to know what went on in my mind then?”
Mauri nodded. “Stop wiping my tears and do that! Do what you wanted to do to me at that moment.”
The answer she sought remained behind his tight lips. “Momentary bursts of emotions often make us do things that can only bring us shame, Mauri.”
“You are such a disappointment!” Mauri muttered, wrinkling her nose. “I spent nights fantasising you doing things to me to wreak your rightful vengeance.”
“Vengeance again? Even in fantasies? Are you just incapable of fantasising about things like forgiveness, healing and rekindling love?”
“Teach me how to!” Mauri chuckled, leaning closer to him.
“Finally!” Abhaya exclaimed, throwing her head against Krishna’s shoulder. “I had given up all hopes on that generation!” She gazed at the young couple until Krishna pressed his palm over her eyes.
“Any more peering and we shall be degrading to voyeurism!” Krishna laughed, trying to lead her away, unsuccessfully.
“Cut me some slack. I have endured the most atrociously boring conversation that can happen between two lovers. Aren’t you ashamed to call him your nephew?”
“I thought you were after telling the boys not to be like me?”
Abhaya stared at him. He never ceased to surprise her. His wink and smile were the same despite the passing years. “I am such a fool, Krishna!”
“With no hope of wisdom dawning upon you for ages.” He slid his hand around her waist, finally leading her away into the inner circle. “Else, you would stop believing and participating in all my delusional attempts.”
“That, Krishna,” Abhaya pointed in the direction where the young lovers were still locked in what seemed to be a never-ending embrace, “was not a delusion.”
Her grin vanished, seeing the playfulness in his eyes, the characteristic look that generally accompanied a sobering prophecy. It had existed in its buoyant form before the Rajasuya. Now, she sadly realised, it had morphed from undying assurance to a cold resolve. The god of sustenance, Narayana, had surrendered the universe to the great destroyer Rudra. But won’t it be Narayana’s turn again soon? She tenderly laid her palm upon his cheek, momentarily bringing him out of what looked like a cosmic reverie. “Pray, stop testing me, Krishna. Or tell me to my face that you find me incapable of being your partner. I shall learn, improve and try to stand by you. I shall not tire until death.”
The declaration only made him chuckle. He looked at her with tender eyes. “Improve and learn to be more delusional than ever, you mean!”
“Call it delusion or faith. At times like this, we can only survive if we are strong-willed enough to turn a mirage into reality. We owe it to the children, Krishna, and their children!”
GLOSSARY OF SANSKRIT AND INDIC TERMS
Relationships and Addresses
ACHARYA Teacher
SENAPATI Commander of the armies
Other Terms
ARGHYA POOJA An honour conferred upon the champion of a family which is conducting a yajna (in this case, someone the Pandavas—who were conducting the Rajasuya—deemed worthy of the highest honour)
MAHADEVA Great God (used particularly when referring to Shiva)
PASHUPATI Another name of Lord Shiva
PAYASAANNA A sweetened dish of milk and rice, popularly known as kheer
PRASAD Food distributed to worshippers/devotees/visitors after being offered to a god in worship
RAJASUYA A grand yajna performed by a king following a military campaign he conducts in all four directions beyond his kingdom; the host of the yajna is considered the emperor of the land
RAKSHASA An ancient clan that was largely feared for its cannibalistic and violent ways of life
SHAKTA Practitioner of a religion worshipping Shakti
SHAKTI/ADI SHAKTI Primeval energy regarded as the female aspect of the Supreme Being
SIDDHI Super powers
VAMACHARA The “left” path of worship, usually considered unorthodox, as against the Dakshinachara or the “right” path, which encompasses the orthodox ways
REFERENCES AND WORKS THAT INSPIRED MAURI
2003. Barbarika Akhyana from Skanda Purana (trans. by Satya Chaitanya). Varanasi: Chaukhambha Sanskrit Series Office.
2003. Sri Lalita Sahasranama (commentary by Swami Tapasyananda). Chennai: Sri Ramakrishna Math.
Barua, B.K. and H.V. Sreenivasa Murthy. 1965. Legends and Temples of Assam. Mumbai: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan.
Chatterjee, Bankim Chandra. 2008. Krishna Charitra (trans. by Alo Shome). New Delhi: V&S Publishers.
Debroy, Bibek. 2015. The Mahabharata: Volume 1. New Delhi: Penguin Books.
Munshi, K.M. 1963. Krishnavatara II: The Wrath of the Emperor. Mumbai: Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan.
Vartak, P.V. ‘Brahmaputra Culture Is At Least 15,000 Years Old’. Available at https://www.scribd.com/document/206418233/ARTICLE-Narakasura-Brahmaputra-Culture-is-at-Least-15000-Years-Old (Accessed on 15 July 2021).
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing Mauri: The Woman Who Challenged Krishna happened as a part of a challenge I undertook in May 2017 when I attempted a “novel-writing month” along with some popular women authors. The story was inspired by a lesser-known episode about Ghatotkacha mentioned in the Skanda Purana. Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa’s Mahabharata and the Srimad Bhagavatam remained prime sources of reference in reconstructing the world of Abhaya.
Praveen Tiwari, Nitin Valecha, Shreya Chakraborti from Bloomsbury India and the freelance editor, Gauri Kelkar, proved to be rock-solid support. We worked together on the book while the second wave of the dreaded Covid-19 pandemic raged around us and their constant support was just the ray of positivity I needed. With such a strong editing team watching my back, I could stay truly reassured.
Rewriting and editing the first draft took place during a tough phase of early motherhood and I could not have done it if not for the constant encouragement from my Amma, Usha Krishna Swamy. While I owe all of my Puranic knowledge and learning and love for Indic literature to the strong foundation laid by my parents, their encouragement in bringing out this specific book went a long way in strengthening my self-belief, focus and empathy. Words fall short trying to describe my father Krishna Swamy Kumar’s unstinting support, be it giving me inputs right from scriptures or making me late-night tea! My husband Arvind Iyer’s strong belief in me, something that sustains at times even when I lose belief in myself, is something I have because of the merits of my past lives.
I could not have done it without author and friend Vrinda Baliga and Suhail Mathur of literary services company The Book Bakers who supported me with early edits and design for the self-published version.
My earlier books, Abhaya and Avishi, owe a huge chunk of their popularity to the Indic Book Club and Indic Academy, both initiatives taken up by Hari Kiran Vadlamani. I am also thankful to the teams behind Swarajya magazine and online portals such as MyIndmakers, OpIndia, Indic Today and Indiafacts for publishing reviews, cover reveals and guest posts that furthered my reach. I especially need to mention Yogini S., Dimple Kaul, Nupur Sharma, Sumati Mehrishi and Shefali Vaidya for the on-the-fly discussions, debates, insights and all the love.
I had already mentioned that the initial draft of Mauri was written in a month-long sprint. The journey was undertaken in the company of wonderful writers—Adite Banerjie, Devika Fernando, Paromita Goswami, Preethi Venugopala, Ruchi Singh, Reet Singh, Sudesna Ghosh and Vandana Saxena. The lively discussions with them regarding the craft of writing to the business of writing would stay with me.
Which author can stand this long and mostly lonely journey without the much-needed pat on the back and a word of support from dear friends? Pankaj Goyal, Debdatta D. Sahay, Anusuya Ranganath, Sahil Pradhan, K.V. Subramaniam, Chitra Iyer Jyothi G., Nandhitha V.M., Shashank Davanagere, Chandrashekhar K., Shanti Pasumarthi, Reddy G.V.S.B., Arun Vemuri (Vakkeli), Mayur Didolkar, Ritesh Kala, Sukhi Jutla and whomever I can’t remember by name but think of in spirit, I am fortunate to have someone like you in life!
Finally, to all my readers and friends on social media who keep furthering the much-needed word of mouth for my books, I can never thank you enough.
Praying to my Lord Krishna to bring joy to you all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An alumnus of IIT Kharagpur and an investment professional turned satisfied writer, Saiswaroopa Iyer is the bestselling author of five novels, all based on legendary female protagonists from ancient Indian literature. Her second novel, Avishi, based on a Rig Vedic hymn, has been acquired for screen adaptation by a major studio. She also curated an anthology of short stories based on the Kurukshetra battle of the Mahabharata, published by Bloomsbury India. Saiswaroopa is passionate about ancient Indian history, philosophy and literature. She is a curator at Indic Academy and holds a certificate in the Puranas from Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies.
As a trained Carnatic classical singer, she has also been awarded a gold medal by Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD), a trust that provides comprehensive information about temples in Tirumala and Tirupati. In her spare time, she likes to search for her next inspiration in books, pravachanas and historical temples. She lives in Bengaluru.
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Avishi
Long before the times of Draupadi and Sita
Immortalised in the hymns of Rig Veda
But forgotten to the memory of India
Was the warrior queen with an iron leg, Vishpala.
Brought up in the pristine forest school of Naimisha, Avishi reaches the republic of Ashtagani in search of her destiny. When Khela, the oppressive king of the neighbouring Vrishabhavati, begins to overwhelm and invade Ashtagani, Avishi rises to protect her settlement but at a high cost.
Separated from her love, her settlement broken, with a brutal injury needing an amputation of her leg, what can Avishi do to save herself?
Will her disability let her continue to be the warrior that she was?
Can she fight Khela and save everything dear to her?
Abhaya
Ever wondered what made Lord Krishna marry the 16,100 women held captive by a demon? Of these prisoners, one was Princess Abhaya Dhaarmaseni, and this is the story of her adventures through the Mahabharata.
The princess of a little-known kingdom in western Bharatavarsha, Abhaya’s idyllic life is thrown into disarray owing to the run-up to the Rajasuya announced by King Yudhishtira of Indraprastha. The only hope is her friend Krishna Vaasudeva of Dwaraka. But there is a greater danger lurking in eastern Bharatavarsha. Lord Bhauma of Kamarupa (who later is infamously known as Narakasura) plots to use religion to extend his dominion that wrecks Abhaya’s kingdom and kills her father.
