The Right Time to Die

When you are old,

But not so old that your memories begin to scatter,

You are just old,

Old enough so that the bucket lists don’t matter.

 

When your duties are done,

Not so well that people can’t go on.

You have done your work,

Just well enough that people aren’t glad you are gone.

 

When you have loved someone,

Not so hard that death enforces a cycle of rebirths,

You have been loved,

Just enough that there was some sanity, some mirth.

 

Most importantly, you are tired…too tired,

And numb, and deep within you feel no fire,

That is the right time to leave your body,

And have someone add the flames to your pyre.

Reunion with the Cousins

 Incident 1

A girl and a boy, both in their mid-twenties and presumably in love, are walking leisurely across the moor. They seem to be completely unaware of the fact they are getting dangerously close to the prohibited grounds. Not their fault though. There being no cautionary fencing or signboard, it is easy for anyone to trespass inadvertently.

After crossing the moor, the couple waits for a while at the edge of the forest, perhaps taking some time to make up their minds. At this point a strange call is sounded from behind the brooding trees, cutting sharp through the stillness of the day. The boy stiffens while the girl takes a few steps back in alarm.

“Let’s go back, Ron,” the girl urges. “We heard the banshee, are you happy now?”

“Yvonne, you’re too old to believe in banshees” the boy mutters, taking a knife out of his pocket. “Gotta check for ourselves what that was.”

“Please Ron,” Yvonne begs. “Don’t invite the banshee’s curse upon us. We have a whole life to live. Why-”

But Ron is taking determined steps into the forest. Yvonne, now in tears, follows him reluctantly. There is a hasty rustle and someone climbs up a tree to perk themself behind the safety of the bushy branches.

Looking up Yvonne almost faints. “A banshee!”

“It’s not a banshee,” Ron asserts.

And then Ron makes a great show of setting the knife several feet away from himself. He looks up at the tree. The hazy form of the creature is partially visible through the leaves. Ron displays his disarmed hands to it. The invitation is luring enough. It begins to climb down. Yvonne probably would have fainted at the next instant but successive gunshots are heard. Two lethal bullets enter Ron and Yvonne from the back and pierce right through their vital organs, killing them instantly.

Conclusion

Leak averted.

 

Incident 2

A lone adventurer, who clearly harbours a way too high opinion of himself, is strolling right into the forest. No waiting, no checking, no glancing around guiltily…just sauntering in like it is some kind of amusement park.

Wait! He cannot be doing that. But he is! He is setting out a picnic lunch right on the forest floor. Meat, bread, fruits…quite a sumptuous feast. One by one the strange folks crawl out from behind the foliage and begin to stare at the food with unabashed curiosity. There is no hint of fear on the adventurer’s face though, only wonder. He observes the group keenly for a minute and then grinning as broadly as he could, he begins to peel all the clothes off himself. I suppose he felt overdressed in front of the naked bunch.

This piques the curiosity of the folks and they come closer to scrutinise the adventurer. He sits down and takes a bite off a corn-beef sandwich. Closing his eyes, he takes a moment to chew the mouthful and lick his lips. Then he gestures at everyone to help themselves from the spread. At this Pango, the boldest of the lot steps ahead and lifts a banana. Then he turns back to face the rest.

Perhaps Pango wants to tell others that the food is safe or perhaps it is something else. But this is where the rendezvous is cut short.

The invisible gun fires. Two shots in a row. It had to be two…the adventurer had ducked to skirt the first one. The second bullet gets him dead alright. As always it scares the naked bunch and they run off deep into the forest.

Conclusion

Leak averted.

 

Incident 3

A family of four finds their way into the forest. A middle-aged couple with their son and daughter. They have probably lost their way for the parents have scholarly looks and such people do not usually have a taste for reckless adventures in the wilderness.

“See Susie, flint stones,” the boy tells his four-year-old sister pointing to a pair of dull-looking stones.

“Wilma? Fred?” little Susie says as she looks around. “Where are they, Ned?”

“Not them, silly,” Ned laughs. “Look here.”

Ned picks up the stubby stones and rubs them vigorously. But nothing happens.

“Mom, why can’t I create a fire?” Ned asks, turning to his mother.

Suddenly a warm touch on his hands makes Ned recoil.

A short and stout person having simian features has appeared out of nowhere. He is now trying to wrench the flint stones out of Ned’s grip. Ned lets go with a small scream and runs to his parents. All four members of the family stand together in a shocked huddle watching the strange thing in front of them. The forest fellow now strikes the flint stones together and lights a bundle of jute sticks with a flash of fire. He holds out the torch gently towards the family as if to demonstrate the correct process.

“Early human!”  Ned gasps.

“The Flintstones?” Susie exclaims. “But why is he naked? Where are his clothes?”

“Shut up,” Ned scolds. “That’s a show, this is reality. But how, dad? How?”

“I…I don’t know,” their dad stammers. “I think the forest boundary acts as a time portal. Liz dear, it looks like we somehow travelled back in time.”

“Nien, nien!” Liz fumbles with her words.

That is when the bullets find them. Four bullets, neatly aimed. All four of them dead on spot.

The forest fellow, who is none other than Pango, rushes ahead tossing his torch aside. He tries to bring the four people back to life but his efforts go in vain. He looks around helplessly. Or, is it the gun that he is looking for?

Conclusion

Leak averted.

Note: What was Liz trying to say? Was she a foreigner? Or…

 

Patrick had written up to this when Jelena entered the laboratory noisily. Patrick stopped writing and snapped his book shut.

“What were you doing?” Jelena asked, eyeing the book in front of Patrick suspiciously.

“Er writing,” Patrick said.

“Writing what?” Jelena probed, taking a step closer.

“A logbook,” Patrick answered. “Recording the details of our project.”

“Our project?” Jelena laughs her lungs out. “You’re so stupid that you can’t even create an excuse properly! And you are staking claim to my project?”

“Ah…well,” Patrick stumbled with the words.

“I know what you were doing,” Jelena said. “You were writing stories. Dull, boring stories that nobody would ever read.”

With this, she huffed out of the lab. Patrick let out a sigh of relief as he quickly placed the book in his cabinet.

###

A week later Jelena found herself waking up in an unknown setting. She was in an air-conditioned room, comfortably ensconced in a leather armchair. The room was done in stark white but the muted lighting made sure that the ambiance was soothing to the eyes. Despite the sophistication and comfort, Jelena did not feel secure. After the initial fuzziness of sleep cleared away, she remembered how she had ended up there. Jelena silently yelled at herself as she replayed the event in her mind.

She had been discussing the security arrangements with her husband, Patrick in the laboratory when Hugo, the brawny guard burst in without even bothering to knock.

“Ma’am,” he addressed Jelena. “I just took a headcount. One of them is missing.”

“What?” Jelena and Patrick cried in unison. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, counted twice,” Hugo confirmed. “And…”

“And?” Jelena pressed.

“It’s Pango,” Hugo said.

Jelena and Patrick had rushed out immediately in the direction of the woods, looking frantically for Pango. Hugo was trailing them, offering myriad suggestions.

“Hugo, please ask all the guards to track the movements of each of the forest folk,” Jelena commanded. “We can’t lose any more of them.”

Hugo nodded and vanished in the opposite direction. That is when two pairs of hands appeared from behind to press chloroform-soaked cloth pads on Patrick and Jelena’s faces. When she regained her senses, she found herself in the pristine-looking room.

The door of the room opened soundlessly and Derek, the investigator walked in.

“Good morning, Jelena,” he smiled with fake warmth. “How’re you feeling now? Not too tired, I hope?”

“Oh, cut the nonsense,” Jelena snapped. “If you want to torture me for information, just get started with it.”

“Torture?” Derek raised his eyebrows cynically. “For what? We already found out every detail about your project Old World from your husband’s logbooks.”

“You’re bluffing,” Jelena smirked. “Patrick didn’t keep any logbook for me. He sometimes made up inane stories in his free time. That’s all.”

“Stories?” Derek laughed. “Well, you seem to know nothing about your husband of thirty-five years. Patrick has maintained several books over the years, capturing the tiniest details of your work and methods. He didn’t store them in the laboratory though. Maybe he kept some silly books with stories in them to mislead you.”

Jelena stared at him, her eyes going round and wild with rage.

“How about I tell you what I know about Old World and you fill me up when I go wrong?” Derek offered.

“I should’ve known,” she muttered. “That idiot had to bring upon the ruin of me.”

“Come on, lady,” Derek laughed. “No need to be so rude about your husband!”

“Tell me all that you found out,” Jelena commanded tersely. “What do you know about Old World?”

“Well, it is an ambitious project panning decades,” Derek began. “You successfully sequenced the exact genetic material of the Neanderthals. Then you convinced a whole lot of broke women to lend their wombs in exchange of money. That’s how you made the first batch of Neanderthal babies.

You released them in your forest estate, watching them closely yet interfering minimally. In three decades’ time, you’ve raised an entire tribe of Neanderthals, living in the pretty little sanctuary that you created for them. Brilliant! I don’t know what others would say but I say you are God!”

Derek clapped his hands dramatically, jumping off the table and settling on a chair to sit on the same level as Jelena.

“What I did was completely fair,” Jelena insisted, her voice gone softer. “The Neanderthals went extinct due to the brutalities of the Homo sapiens in the primitive eras. I just revived our cousins to give them what was long overdue. A fair chance.”

“Oh, my entirely altruistic lady,” Derek blinked his eyes in sarcasm. “How nicely you try to defend your unethical actions.”

“We needed alternative humans for the planet,” Jelena shouted. “Can’t you see how horrible we are? Global warming, water scarcity, plastic crisis…the issues are endless! We are choking the life out of this planet. Perhaps a stupider lot of humans would give more respect to the earth. If we bring upon our own extinction, the Neanderthals from my sanctuary can take charge of the world.”

“And that’s why you left them in the forest with no education, no basic equipment, not even proper food?” Derek observed. “I’m sorry, I see no effort on your part to prepare your people to shoulder the responsibility of running the world.”

“Tsk tsk,” Jelena clicked her tongue. “I left them on their own, to allow them to evolve naturally. I hope you know how that works? Or, you skipped the chapter of Evolution in school?”

“Oh please,” Derek waved his hand. “They are your lab rats. Don’t try to put a positive spin on this. There’s not a single thing that you can say to change my opinion-”

“Pango is my son,” Jelena said, her eyes looking defiant. “I volunteered to give birth to the first Neanderthal. It wasn’t easy, it still isn’t. But this is necessary for our own good. If you had some brains, you’d see it too.”

Derek gulped and took a moment to digest the newest piece of information.

“You seem to be looking forward to the extinction of human beings,” Derek remarked.

“No, I’m just keeping plan B ready,” Jelena corrected him.

“What if the Homo sapiens mend their ways?” Derek probed.

“Then they will share the world with the Neanderthals,” Jelena shrugged her shoulders.

“You have an answer ready for everything, don’t you,” Derek said, his face suddenly growing grim and his eyes narrowing to mere slits. “You know what I see when I see you? Unscrupulous ambition! Hunger to wield power!”

“Unscrupulous ambition…hunger to wield power,” Jelena mimicked Derek’s voice and gestured with her hands in a fit of rage. “You dimwit can think whatever you want to. It doesn’t alter the facts.”

“Verbally abusing me would change nothing as well,” Derek said, getting up. “We’ve already made up our decision. I’ll send your husband in to talk to you for one last time before you face the trial.”

Derek was walking to the door when Jelena called out.

“Wait,” she said. “Who’re you? I mean whom do you represent?”

Derek raised his eyebrows as he replied, “Isn’t that obvious? The government.”

###

Patrick walked in. He looked surprisingly strong as he rushed to Jelena and sat opposite to her.

“Jelena, darling,” he started, placing his hand on her head.

She shoved the hand away.

“You wrote down every detail of my project over the years?” Jelena asked. Her eyes seemed to be blazing with fire.

“Yes,” Patrick confessed.

“Even with the kind of idiocy you display regularly,” Jelena spitted out the words. “I fail to understand why you’d make notes of my work.”

“The world needed to know, dear,” Patrick said. “The utter seclusion of the Neanderthals, the ruthless killings of the innocent intruders, the gross abuse of your husband’s brains- “

“What?” Jelena looked surprised. “What are you babbling about?”

“How you controlled and manipulated me for so long,” Patrick carried on. “It’s all out in the open now. I’ll finally get my dues while you will be silently eliminated just like the ones you ordered to killed.”

“What are you talking about?” Jelena was surprised. “When did I order a killing?”

Patrick reclined on the armchair. There was a tiny hint of smile on his lips.

“I am the mastermind of the project, Old World,” Patrick said. “And you’re the one in charge of security. At least that’s what it says in the logbooks.”

“It’s the exact opposite of reality,” Jelena said, her voice raspy with strain. “You think nobody will figure that out?”

“Nobody will,” Patrick nodded confidently. “Don’t worry so much. You’ve done your bit, now let me do my bit.”

“You horrid animal,” Jelena got up and clamped her hands around Patrick’s neck.

“At least now you know I’m not so stupid as you’ve taken me to be,” Patrick mocked as he easily fended off the attack by scrunching Jelena’s fingers outwards. She screamed as she fell back. “Wait for your death. Derek said his team has injected you with poison already. You’ve an hour or maybe, two more. So, keep your temper and enjoy your remaining time. Goodbye.”

Patrick meant to storm out after this but the minute he yanked the door open, he saw Derek and Pango waiting outside.

Derek pressed a small button by the door and Patrick’s voice recording from the last few minutes began to boom through the room, explaining how he had falsified the logbooks to frame his wife and steal her work.

“Your wife was right,” Derek said, turning the button off when the playback stopped. “You’re indeed an incredibly dull man.”

A team of armed guards appeared and began to lead Patrick away. He started to flay his arms and shout all sorts of excuses as they dragged him away.

“Save your energy for the trial,” Derek advised before entering the room with Pango in tow.

Pango bared all his teeth and followed it with a jubilant grunt at the sight of Jelena.

“So, you taught him some skills, didn’t you?” Derek told Jelena. “Pango isn’t quite the clueless Neanderthal that history books taught us about.”

“He has my blood,” Jelena said, looking away. “I…I thought I’d give him a hand. Some basic skills like farming, puzzle-solving, and self-defence are known to him.”

“What you have achieved is a revolutionary project,” Derek said. “Just that your security team failed you and did a lot of unethical activities behind your back. Like murdering any human who happened to get close to the forest boundaries.”

Jelena looked down and sighed.

“How about getting a new team to work with you?” Derek suggested. “Yes, some of your ideas will be rebuffed. But most will be accepted and lauded.”

“The government?” Jelena looked up; her eyes wide.

“You’re smart Jelena,” Derek smiled. “Yes. The government wants to work with you. You will be given a team of scientists. Don’t worry, you can select them yourself. Old World is a pathbreaking project and with proper planning and execution, it can steer the future of the world in the right direction.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Jelena said, her voice cracking a little with emotions. “I accept.”

Pango made a sudden sound and threw up his arms in the air. It startled Derek for a second but then he smiled back and thumped Pango on his back, at first with hesitation and then with abandon.

“Come with us, Jelena,” Derek said, as he and Pango stood up. “Top government officers are waiting to see the face of the creator!”

Jelena smiled shyly at the joke as she got up.

“I’ve one question,” Jelena asked.

“Yes?” Derek turned around.

“How did you break into the forest and abduct Pango?” Jelena questioned.

“Well, you are not the only one who can go primitive,” Derek joked. “We started burrowing the ground from outside and came out right in the middle of the forest! Just like dated thieves! As for abducting Pango, he was looking for a way to escape anyway.”

Jelena smiled as she walked alongside Derek and Pango. Finally, her dreams of a reunion were about to come true.

 

Kyunki Saas bhi Kabhi...

 

When someone gets married and forms new relations, the most obvious thing to do would be to use new names to address the members of the new family. But can anyone address the mother-in-law as “saas” and the father-in-law as “sasur”? That sounds so disrespectful, you would say, isn’t it? And I would agree as well. After all, we have relegated all the in-law words to the back benches of our vocabulary. “Saala” and “Saali” are now official expletives that have fallen well below the redemption point. “Saas” comes with the baggage of being the conniving evil in any family. And poor “sasur” often gets dragged into routine conversations as a half-expletive. So, you see, despite all the pretence of treating the in-laws as their own, the Indian society secretly indulges an alternate mindset that stokes the exact opposite viewpoint.

So, what do people do instead? Society prescribes that one must address the in-laws in the same way as they address their own family. This is never easy for anyone to implement. So, how do urban Indians arm-twist their way out of the situation? Simple. They put all the synonyms that they had learnt in grade two to good use. For example, if they call their own parents “ma” and “baba”, the parents-in-law can be “mom” and “dad”. This is a perfectly acceptable solution and I have seen this system work well in many families. Some people do address their in-laws by the same name as their parents. If their parents are “mummy” and “daddy”, so will be the parents-in-law. Yet, when they mouth the word “mummy” they actually mean “wife’s mummy” or “husband’s mummy”. “Spouse apostrophe s” remains silent! But everybody can sense that. Even the saas, kyunki saas bhi…

Perhaps we can destigmatize the words- saas, sasur, saala and saali and start to use them to address the in-laws? This would serve two purposes, firstly, the words would regain respectful places in our vocabulary and secondly, nobody would have to start a marriage under the pressure of unrealistic expectations. Can we accept that the in-laws are not a replacement of one’s family but an addition, a welcome addition?

I think it is high time that we Indians let go of our timeless love for hypocrisy. If you are single you can try this out in the future. (And let me know if it works!) For some of us, the ship has already sailed. So, what do we do? Simple. We will pass the burden of what we couldn’t do to our children. Winks!

Enid Blyton was a Sanghi

 

What do you think of the headline? Preposterous! Isn’t it? Yet, I can dig out a story where she has been praising the holy cow in all her earnestness.  It is titled “The Red and White Cow”. You can take a look at it if you want. The story is about a little boy Peter who used to hate cows as they seemed to be like enemies to him. Until the boy’s mother explains that milk, cream, cheese, and other dairy products that the family enjoys are actually gifts from the cow. The story ends with Peter deciding to be friends with the kind cows. The simple plot that has delighted hordes of children from around the world can now seem pleasant to some groups while being quite offensive to others! Some loonies may even be prompted to put a label on Enid Blyton for writing such a story. And that is what this article is about. Why are we trying to cancel the greatness of Enid Blyton? I know...the cow story is not the reason. But is there any solid ground that justifies the current outrage?

Another story that I would love to highlight is “The Book of Brownies”. Here Blyton has described bald-headed bespectacled people from a mythical Land of Clever People who insist on talking in rhyme all the time. When I read the story back in my childhood, the characters reminded me of Indian sages chanting shlokas. The little me was pleased to think of India as the land of clever people. I guess if a child is made to feel secure of their gender, ethnicity, and nationality, they are likely to see more of positive parallels in the stories they read. When I made this point to some haters, I was told that Enid Blyton was not likely to have held such a generous opinion of Indians. And a lot of examples of racism, xenophobia, and misogyny from her books were cited. Agreed, some of the content was quite shocking and needs moderation. But how can we suddenly go to hating her after having worshipped her for so many years?

The author was a product of her time and wrote certain things that do not sit well with us in the current context. But should that prompt us to dissect her books and make unsavoury remarks about what kind of a person she must have been? We do not talk ill of the dead for a reason. They are not here to defend themselves. Why not apply the same rule to Enid Blyton and respect her memories? She is after all the unofficial English teacher for millions of Indian children.

Funnily enough, I found recently that Dick from the Faraway Tree series has been rechristened as Rick (for obvious reasons) and Dame Slap is now Dame Snap. She only snaps at errant children now instead of slapping them. While a bit of editing may be necessary at certain points, too much censoring will alter the past irreparably. And the children will never find out what social evils were prevalent in the past and how people fought to reform the society. This is extremely important as such examples from the past can motivate them to cleanse the society of the prevalent evils in the future.

And if we still are hell-bent on eradicating Enid Blyton’s books, the best approach would be to write better books, books that are captivating enough to inspire the imagination of an entire generation of children. Because, we, the fans of Enid Blyton will settle for nothing less.

 

 

 

Night ’N Shining Armour

 

She had oiled out the last trace of frizz from her hair and smeared a splash of red on her lips. And now she was examining her face in the mirror from various angles. The face that stared back looked so much prettier than her real visage. Pleased, Hidimbi stood up. It was now time to select a fabric that would complement her voluptuous frame. If anyone found out that she was investing so much time on her appearance under the present circumstances, they would have doubted her sanity. But Hidimbi did not care. When it came to him, she did not pay any heed to the rules. She had always been unabashedly crazy about Bheem. It had all started a long time ago when she and Bheem were rather young.

###

Back then Hidimbi used to live under the care of her elder brother Hidimba. They had been orphaned at a very early age but being heirs to the richest family in the forest district, the siblings were not exactly helpless. In fact, it made Hidimba much fiercer than his ancestors.

He knew that he and Hidimbi would have to rule the forest district one day. And, he did all that he could to train her to be a capable leader.

When Hidimbi was in her late teens, she was assigned to work with the security team of the district. Hidimba used to oversee the bigger duties and ensure that each one in the tribe was happy and well-fed.

At the end of one scorching day, Hidimba was bathing himself in a stream, when two of his trusted men came running and informed him about the vicious Pandavas being sighted in the outskirts of their territories.

“The Pandavas from Hastinapur?” a shocked Hidimba sprang out of the water and began to dry himself. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” confirmed his men. “They are in disguise. But we’re sure it’s them. Their mother Kunti is accompanying them too.”

“Then they must be here to survey the situation,” said Hidimba, grinding his teeth. “And soon they will be back with an army to encroach upon our land. Run off and warn others to stay indoors. I’ll deal with the scoundrels.”

Hidimba started looking for Hidimbi. She was supposed to be the one in charge of security. At length he found her gazing into the stillness of a pond, trying to line her eyes with the thick, dark sap of a crushed flower.

“Hidimbi!” he roared.

Startled, Hidimbi dropped the berry and stood up in fear.

“I can’t believe you are sitting here doing nothing,” he yelled. “Come with me and help me to stave off the frail princes while we can.”

With this, Hidimba strode ahead through the forest while his sister followed him, grudgingly. Any other brother would have shortlisted a few potential suitors for his sister but Hidimba just did not seem to notice that his sister was all grown up. Hidimbi thought of their dead mother and sighed. Had she been alive, Hidimbi would not have to tolerate such poor treatment.

“Our mother was a valiant warrior who throttled and devoured the frail kings and princes,” Hidimba commented aloud as if reading his sister’s mind. “She’d be so ashamed of you.”

“Mum wasn’t a cannibal,” shot back Hidimbi. “Nor would I ever eat human flesh.”

“You don’t have to actually eat them, you idiot,” said Hidimba. “It’s a figure of speech. Just kill them and throw them to the wolves. That’d get the signal across and they’d fear us as cannibals. Fear…that’s the only thing that would keep those greedy people from imposing their ways on us.”

“Ok, I understand,” said Hidimbi. “But let’s just shoo them away. No need to kill them.”

“Yeah, you shoo them, I’ll kill them,” said Hidimba making a face at his sister.

The siblings stepped fast through the thick trees, dry leaves crunching under their feet. As they were about to reach a clearing, Hidimba hushed his steps and came to an abrupt halt. He parted the leaves of a bush and peered. The hut of the Pandavas was visible at a short distance. He pulled Hidimbi and gestured at her to observe carefully.

A tall and broad fellow was guarding the hut. He looked very different from the usual lot of frail princes. Unlike them, he was huge in build, much akin to the men of the tribal clans and his pale complexion was tanned to an alluring shade of brown. Hidimbi kept staring at him with an open mouth.

“Can do you do it?” asked Hidimba, after a long moment.

“Oh, sure, him I can eat up,” muttered Hidimbi cheekily and followed her words with an audible gulp.

“So, can you bring him here for a fight?” Hidimba repeated his question firmly.

“Yes, let me try,” answered Hidimbi and she proceeded towards the hut.

Bheem, the fellow guarding the hut, was looking at the setting sun when Hidimbi approached him in small, silent steps. All of a sudden Bheem turned around and saw her. The fading rays of the sun cast an orange halo on Hidimbi’s face and for a second Bheem was charmed.

“Who are you, young lady?” asked Bheem. “You shouldn’t be alone in this strange, evil forest.”

That one line of apparent concern pushed a besotted Hidimbi off the edge. She fell in love.

“Erm, I came here to warn you,” began Hidimbi. “My brother Hidimba does not like you or your type. You have to leave soon.”

“We’re no ordinary people,” disclosed Bheem. “I’m Bheem, the second son of Kunti. Your brother can’t tell us to go away.”

“My brother knows who you are,” elaborated Hidimbi. “Maybe you should come with me and talk to him.”

“Yes, I will,” Bheem got up. “Your brother seems to be a difficult person. I think I should rescue you from him.”

At this Hidimbi’s heart danced in joy and she gave Bheem a spontaneous hug. Bheem was taken aback. But he liked the feel of Hidimbi’s warm, supple body against his skin. He was hesitantly placing his arms around her when they both heard a murderous roar in the background.

“Get off my sister,” cried Hidimba as he jumped ahead and separated Bheem from Hidimbi. Then he rained a slew of punches on Bheem’s face.

“Brother, I like him,” begged Hidimbi. “Please don’t strangle him, I want to marry him.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” said Hidimba as he challenged Bheem to get up and fight.

Bheem was not someone to cower away in fright. He got up and promptly engaged in a duel. For several minutes they fought, ignoring Hidimbi who cried in the background.

Finally, Bheem pinned Hidimba down in the ground with his arms behind his back, and with one sharp dig of the elbow, he broke Hidimba’s spine. He died on the spot, letting out a terrible scream.

Bheem turned towards Hidimbi with a jubilant smile on his face, expecting another hug from her. What he saw instead gave him a big shock. Hidimbi was weeping with her face hidden by her hands. Right behind her, Bheem’s four brothers and mother Kunti were standing, watching the spectacle.

After a while, Hidimbi looked up and said with a broken voice, “You didn’t have to kill him, he was my brother after all.”

The hurt in her voice pained Bheem and he folded his hands to apologise for this action. But Kunti spoke up first.

“Bheem, you have to marry this girl,” she ordered.

The idea of marrying an unknown woman whose brother he had just killed seemed to be preposterous to Bheem. He walked quickly to Kunti and whispered into her ears, “Are you sure, mother? She is nice but I am not ready to marry her.”

“You killed her brother who was the de facto king of this forest district,” whispered back Kunti. “The only way to save the situation from here is by marrying his sister and becoming a part of their family. Do you get it, you airheaded son of Vayu?”

And then Kunti marched ahead, knelt down beside Hidimbi and took her in her arms.

“Don’t cry dear,” she said. “My son will marry you and give you all the happiness that you deserve.”

Never having received any form of maternal love, Hidimbi’s heart was moved by the tender touch and she began to sob heavily.

The very next day, right after the funeral of Hidimba, Bheem and Hidimbi got married in a small ceremony conducted as per the tribal rituals. The people of the forest district were utterly confused in their feelings about Bheem. They could never love the killer of their leader Hidimba. Yet, they could not hate the man who married their other leader, Hidimbi. They decided eventually that the past had to be laid to rest, and welcomed the new son-in-law with some uneasiness.

For a year Bheem and Hidimbi lived together in maddening joy. Once married, Bheem realized that it was the best decision that he had ever made. His wife was very different from all the other princesses he had ever met. Unlike them she never made fun of his unusually large appetite, nor did she ever chide him about his weight. In fact, Hidimbi was the only one who ever cherished Bheem for who he was and it did not take him long to reciprocate her love. In due course of time, Hidimbi gave birth to a baby boy. The baby was huge at birth and he squabbled loudly, flailing his chubby limbs in air. Bheem was the happiest man that day. He went to call his mother and brothers to come and bless his baby, Ghatotkach.

“Sit down, son,” said Kunti, handing Bheem a golden chain. “This is for your son.”

“Won’t you come-” started Bheem.

“And, these are for Hidimbi,” continued Kunti, handing out a pair of gold bangles.

“But mother, will you not-” tried Bheem again.

“No, I have to stay here and pack,” said Kunti firmly. “You will give the gifts to your wife and son and tell her that we are all very proud and happy.”

Bheem turned to his brothers for some support but they were looking at Kunti, nodding their heads in agreement. He accepted the gifts and stood up uncomfortably.

“And, then, you will come back,” said Kunti. “Tomorrow, we are leaving this place.”

“Hidimbi has just given birth,” said Bheem. “Plus, the baby is too small. They can’t travel now.”

“They are not coming,” clarified Kunti. “Only you are. A simple tribal girl won’t fit in our royal lifestyle.”

“But she is my wife,” Bheem was shocked. “And she is so much better than the typical girls of royal lineage.”

“Oh, please Bheem,” said his elder brother. “Even you didn’t like her in the beginning.”

The reasoning went on for an hour. In the end, they had convinced Bheem to leave his wife and infant son behind before they left the forest.

For months Hidimbi could not believe that her beloved Bheem was really gone. If it was not her little boy Ghatotkach, she would have probably killed herself.

###

Even decades later, the memories made Hidimbi flinch. She got up and wiped her eyes.

Picking up the recently received scroll from her desk, she read the lines again.

“My dearest Hidimbi,

I write to you to find out how you have been. In all these years that we have been apart, there never has been a day when I have not thought of you.

You might be aware that a terrible battle is ongoing at Kurukshetra between us and the evil Kauravas. The day has come when I present to our son the most blessed opportunity that one can imagine. I call upon him, on behalf of emperor Yudhishthir, to report to Kurukshetra immediately and to take part in this battle of honour and truth.

Love,

Bheem.”

Hidimbi crumpled the scroll within her fist as she went out of her room. The handwriting was Bheem’s but the words were not. It was either Kunti or Vasudev who had been dictating the letter to Bheem, she knew. Hidimbi went down the winding stairs and ran across the garden to reach the west wing of the palace where Ghatotkach lived with his wife and children. She had to discuss this before she could make a decision.

Hidimbi went inside the hall and called out for her daughter-in-law, Ahilawati. But no one answered. She sat down on a cushioned seat and decided to wait. As she glanced around, she felt very pleased. Her son had built this palace on his own. It was a well-decorated and comfortable home. And, unlike the frail kings and princes, Ghatotkach and Ahilawati did not employ slaves to clean or cook for their family. Hidimbi wished Bheem could take a look at what a fine man his son had turned out to be. A faint cackle of laughter broke Hidimbi’s chain of thoughts. She walked towards the big open window and looked out.

Ghatotkach and Ahilawati were seen playing with their children in a field. As she watched them happy in the company of each other, Hidimbi felt a deep sense of contentment. Despite the absence of his father, Ghatotkach had succeeded in being a good husband and father.

She wondered what she should do about the call from Hastinapur. If she did send Ghatotkach to the war, they would use him as a pawn for sure. His role would be to protect a cousin, or a step-brother, or an uncle of higher value.

And, if she did not send her son to the war then it would be Bheem who would have to step up and take the hit to save the more precious ones in his family. Bheem has always been expendable to Kunti.

Hidimbi felt immensely enraged at the awful situation and thumped hers fists down on the panes. Through the window, she could see Ghatotkach starting to walk back towards the palace with his wife and children. In a split second, Hidimbi made her decision.

She took out a sheet of parchment and wrote a note to Ghatotkach telling him that she was going to the south for pilgrimage and would be back within two weeks. Placing the note on the writing-desk, she left. Hidimbi went to the stable and took out her horse. She was going to go to Kurukshetra, alone.

The journey was long and tiring. It dishevelled Hidimbi’s clothes, melted her facial make-up and blew up her hair into a mess. But she no longer cared about how she looked. She would see Bheem for one last time and then face the deadly weapons at war.

It was night time when she finally reached the battlefield. It was not hard for Hidimbi to recognize Bheem’s tent. The emblem of Vayu was inscribed on it. Hidimbi sneaked past the sleeping guards into the tent and sat on the floor beside Bheem’s bed. She stared at his sleeping face and gently placed her hand on his forehead.

“Hidimbi?” said Bheem, rubbing his eyes as he woke up.

Hidimbi nodded her head. Bheem sat up and looked around.

“Where’s my son?” he asked.

“I decided to keep Ghatotkach out of this,” Hidimbi said. “I will fight in his place.”

Bheem placed his hand on Hidimbi’s head. He lovingly stuck the loose strands of hair behind her ears before tilting her face upwards towards himself by the chin.

“You’re still the same brave girl I fell in love with,” said Bheem. “You did the right thing by not letting Ghatotkach come. But I can’t let you fight, dear. Your husband is still a strong man.”

Bheem held up his arms and flexed his muscles for display. Hidimbi smiled shyly.

“I am so glad you came,” said Bheem. “I can die in peace if my time comes tomorrow.”

“Don’t say that, please” Hidimbi urged. “Let me help you.”

Bheem pulled her closer in an embrace and caressed her back.

“I will not die,” he said. “We will win this war. But you must go back to safety, my love.”

“And after you win the war, what will you do?” asked Hidimbi, as she rested her head against Bheem’s chest, listening to his heartbeats.

“I’d serve my brother, the emperor happily,” Bheem replied.

Hidimbi looked at Bheem. His face, lined with age, reflected pain for a moment. And then it was gone.

“You’d never be happy here,” protested Hidimbi, pulling herself away.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But this is my duty.”

That is when Hidimbi realized what her duty was.

“You are coming with me,” Hidimbi said, decisively.

In the next few moments, a dumbstruck Bheem saw Hidimbi drag in a dead solider and drape him with Bheem’s clothes. She arranged the body on the bed and pulled Bheem out of the tent with herself. She doused the tent with inflammable oil and attached the end of a long, burning coil to it. Then she and Bheem stepped through the shadows to leave the battlegrounds quietly.

Just as they reached the waiting horse, they saw Bheem’s tent explode in flames. Confused guards began to shout and several men started to run towards the big fire.

Hidimbi mounted her horse first and pulled Bheem up quickly. Then she patted her horse and it gathered speed.

“Hidimbi,” whispered Bheem, holding on to his wife, as the horse sped through the darkness of night.

“Yes?” she asked.

“I’m finally going home,” said Bheem. “Perhaps I have always wanted this…thank you...”

“I had to do this for you,” replied Hidimbi. “It was my turn to save you from your evil brother.”