An Open Door

2 years ago

proteeti

@sambhavami

If you sat atop a branch of the ancient banyan tree hugging the edge of Subala's rice field you could see in the distance the narrow unpaved road coiling around the grasslands, flowing into a quiet village just outside the city of Mathura. However, there was something different about this sleepy little village. Here, the men laughed mechanically, and the women merely sighed. There was something in the air that made visitors uneasy. An unheard plea. A sharp, drawn breath. A sob stifled at the back of the throat. It was as if time itself had stopped in shock. As though suddenly, the heart of the village had stopped beating. Here, the silence was deafening.

Anyway, back to the road. This long winding stretch of road had seen a lot in its time. At one point it used to be the main road for the transport of royal tributes, from the village to the city of Mathura. Carts and carts of fresh milk, butter and yoghurt would be transported each month. The road would be bristling with travellers, businessmen and soldiers. The laughter of the young women who went along to mind the shops in the city. Then one day, a chariot had rolled on and away from the village. Scores of villagers had run behind it, calling out, but it had never stopped. Soon after, a royal messenger had come to the village square and announced that the village no longer needed to pay tribute to the crown, and that had been that. Soon after, the war had come. The Seventeen Years' War. It had burned everything in its path, eventually forcing the royal family to shift to the other end of the known land. And the road had never been repaired.

The story of the village had started a long, long time ago. Back when it used to keep its head down, silent in compliance, staying out of trouble. 

Then one day a man had come knocking, an infant in his arms. The baby had stayed, growing up into a flute-bearing menace, beloved nevertheless. Passionate in his pursuits, the little boy had turned the little village on its head, challenging demons and humans alike. He had lit in them such a fire that even when the war came, not a single villager left their post, choosing to take on the oncoming army by themselves. They succeeded somewhat. Stalling the army at the borders of the village, they stole away precious time, allowing citizens to leave the city before the wrath of the emperor fell upon them. Of course, they were burnt in the process. Even though the boy had gone on to become the commander of the kingdom's army, in their eyes he was still the precious little boy who needed help balancing the mountain that he had already held upon a single finger. Hence, they burnt, happily.

---

Balarama's chariot kicked up the dust on the rustic road as it rustled past the sun-soaked fields and bristling bushes of Mathura's countryside. The fields flew behind, as the vehicle rumbled down the ill-kept turns in its way. The sun was already set to kiss the horizon. Balarama's arms were wrapped around the half-asleep young girl beside him. She had covered her mouth with the end of her dress, her head resting on his shoulders. This journey had been long overdue, but it was finally drawing to a close.

"Can I ask you a question, Rama?" The girl asked quietly, nudging at her brother.

"You know you don't need my permission, Subhadre." Balarama smiled down at her. Subhadra was his younger sister, born almost two decades after him and his step-brother. Balarama had practically raised his sister himself and it was no surprise that she held a very special place in his heart.

Subhadra smiled briefly, "Rama, I've always heard how great of a flautist Kanha is, but I've never seen him play. He always makes excuses when I ask. Did he not enjoy playing the flute?" She looked up at her brother, the burning sunlight glistening in her dark eyes. Balarama looked down at her. Even though she was his sister, she had inherited the charm and the thoughtful nature of their step-brother.

Balarama shifted slightly in his seat, "Who told you that?" He hesitated for a moment but continued, "He and that flute used to be inseparable. We wouldn't be able to pry it from his sleeping hands!" He chuckled at the distant memory of his baby brother wrestling him for that darned flute. He would win too!

"Why doesn't he play now?" Subhadra asked.

Balarama sighed. Nothing got past this girl! He shook his head, "I don't know Bhadre, maybe he's just too busy to be indulging in a hobby right now."

"Is that why he didn't come with us today?"

"Probably." Balarama sighed.

Suddenly, he sat up in his seat, "Look, there's our Vrindavan! Do you see those stone houses across the horizon? That's the village! And to the west, those are the pastures. From sunrise to sunset, that is where we lived! Nanda-baba used to teach us every day- in the morning follow the sun but when he sets, you turn and run! I must tell you the stories about all the times we got lost in the forests and nearly forgot that little poem!"

Balarama stood up from the cushioned seat of the chariot and started waving frantically at a man across the field, "Hey Madhu. Madhu!" He jumped down from the slowing chariot and ran towards the man, who at once dropped his axe and ran towards Balarama. No sooner had Balarama pulled the man into a tight embrace than a crowd gathered around them. A few boys ran back to the village to announce their arrival. The farmers and the gopas stood with folded hands as Balarama inquired about their lives. 

Lost in this long-anticipated stream of conversation, none of them had noticed the sun disappearing from the horizon. Only as some villagers approached them carrying torches, Balarama turned to Subhadra with a broad smile, "Come on then! We can walk the rest of the way!"

Balarama stopped in his path and turned as the torchbearers had fallen a few steps behind. Subhadra was approaching him with her bejewelled skirt held high as she trod carefully on the muddy, uneven road even as five villagers attempted to light the way as best they could. He laughed at his sister, "I probably should have told you to wear a simpler dress!"

"Well," Subhadra raised an eyebrow, "You did say I was going to meet two of the most important people of your life. You can't fault me for trying to impress!" Though her tone was soaked in sarcasm, she smiled warmly.

Balarama laughed heartily back as he took a torch from one of the villagers, "Come on, walk with me!" He said as he put an arm around her, leading her through the smoother corners of the road. In the distance, little beads of light appeared one by one as the village braced for the oncoming frigid night.

---

Standing at the gates of the stone villa, Balarama looked around befuddled. There was no one standing to welcome them. The villa stood coldly against the mud outhouses surrounding it. Many corners had fallen into disrepair. The walls bore marks from arrows that had been pulled out of them and holes which were never patched up. There were no extra lights lit or flower garlands hung. Balarama ran his fingers delicately across the wall. Shuddering, almost as if he were touching the wounds of an injured soldier. "That's strange," he said, almost to himself, "Are they not home? But the others would've told us if they weren't!"

He walked up the stairs leading up to the heavy, wooden gate. The door was unlocked. As usual, he thought. He walked into the sprawling courtyard, Subhadra trailing along awkwardly. In the inner sanctum under the archway, stood a dark figure. Balrama smiled as he saw the man. He leaned on a pillar, a long scroll sprawled in front of him.

"Grand gestures are for strangers, my son can walk right in." The man's booming voice travelled down the open space, reverberating on the walls.

Balarama dashed to embrace the man, both of them tearing up slightly. Balarama turned and beckoned his sister, still gripping the man's arm like his life depended on it, "Subhadra, meet him. He is our Nanda-baba and Baba, this is my Bhadra, our little sister!"

Subhadra smiled politely and went to touch his feet, apparently unaware of the fact that Nanda had gone white as a sheet. Balarama, noticing this, quickly ushered his sister to the guestroom.  As he walked through the halls, Balarama felt a strange sense of melancholy enveloping him. Subconsciously, he still ran his fingers along the wall, tracing the half-eroded carvings, as he blabbed on about pointless topics to his sister. As he settled Subhadra in the guest room, she asked, "Is this the room you lived in?"

Balarama laughed and shook his head, "Krishna and I shared a room upstairs. maybe maiya Yashoda can show you in the morning. I wouldn't want to you know..." His voice trailed off as he sighed, "Not my house anymore."

"It's okay," Subhadra whispered as she gave his hand a discreet squeeze. Reflecting the light of a burning lamp, her wide eyes were laden with tenderness. Even as a child, she had been exceptionally perceptive, "I wouldn't want to hurt her." She smiled at her brother, the softness in her eyes disappearing as soon as it had come. She playfully pushed her brother out of the room, "Now leave, I need to freshen up!" Balarama laughed. It simultaneously elated and terrified him, how alike his younger brother and sister were.

---

Balarama walked out to the courtyard to find Nanda pouring some soma juice into two large chalices. He sat down beside the old man, "I probably should have told you I was bringing her." He whispered. 

The secret of what had happened on the night had been kept between them for a long time. Balarama had been told of the fateful exchange as soon as he had become old enough to keep his mouth shut. Balarama had put off telling Krishna for a long time. When he had finally divulged this secret, he had held himself responsible for how his little brother had never seen Nanda in the same way again.

"Yes, you should have." Nanda turned away. He still appeared pale, his fingers taut, almost white against the copper chalice.

"Come on, Baba, you can't do this to yourself," Balarama took a sip from one of the cups, "It was a tough call you made. There was always going to be only one survivor: Kanha or her. I myself have lain awake several nights pondering what I would have done in your position. Before it was so simple- save the saviour, but ever since our Shashi came to us, I simply cannot bring myself to make a decision! I love Kanha more than my life, but I do not think I would have been able to give up my Shashi, even if it was his life on the line!"

Nanda shuddered, "I do not care how brave people say I was. Do not tell me how Kamsa was the one who killed her. I sent her to him! I made that decision, to end one life for another. There is blood on my hands that will never be washed away."

"Subhadra is innocent in this. How is it fair to punish her?" Balarama pressed further, "You don't know her. That girl understands everything! I don't like to see her unhappy."

"I am not punishing her. Haven't you heard the rumours? They say she is her. Reborn! How can I look in those eyes after what I've done?"

Balarama refilled Nanda's chalice, "I get it, Baba, but the rumours are baseless. She is her own person. She doesn't deserve to be seen as someone she is not. Also, is it fair to replace her? She who gave herself to give us victory, in more ways than one! She gave us Kanha! Is it so easy to replace her sacrifice with another child? Subhadra deserves a chance to have you in her life in the same way as we have!" Balarama took a large swig out of his glass, "Besides, where's Yashoda-maa, does she not want to see us?"

Yashoda had locked herself in her chambers when the village boys had brought news of their arrival.

Krishna had not come with them.

An overwhelming emptiness had suddenly engulfed her. She had watched Balarama walk in from behind the curtains of her bedroom window. He had come up to talk to her after dinner but she had locked the door. After knocking for a few minutes, he had left thinking she was asleep. However, she had stayed awake all night, pacing up and down the room. Up until then, everything had seemed surreal. There had been this faint hope that Krishna would return and that everything would go back to normal. Seeing Balarama walk in with their new sister, without Krishna, had suddenly made everything so very real. It felt to Yashoda like the invisible wall between her and Krishna had finally cemented.

---

As the sun rose, Yashoda straightened her mostly undisturbed bed and went out to face her bland, ordinary day. Outside, she found the young princess standing in the centre of the corridor, her curious eyes darting to and fro across the scenery of walls and pillars in front of her. The eyes that seemed to, at once, know everything and nothing of the world. Her hair was tied back neatly in a tight braid, and she wore bright yellow apparel. In the darkness of the night, Yashoda had not realized how much she resembled Balarama. However, her mannerisms reminded Yashoda of her Kanha. As she caught a glimpse of the older woman, Subhadra adjusted her posture to a regal fashion, but her eyes remained lowered in deference.

"May I know who you are?" Yashoda asked, forcing a smile, although in her mind she had no doubt.

The girl looked up, her eyes smiling already, "I am Princess Subhadra, daughter of the great Prince Vasudeva and the pious Princess Rohini of Mathura, granddaughter of the illustrious King Ugrasena of the renowned family of Yadavas, ruler of the kingdoms of Mathura and Dwarika, niece of the distinguished Lord Nanda, ruler of Gokula and Vrindavana, and sister to the unparalleled warriors- Prince Balarama, viceroy of Mathura and Prince Krishna, viceroy of Dwarika."

Subhadra's words seemed like a twisting knife lodged in Yashoda's heart. The one this girl spoke of, was Devaki's Krishna, not Yashoda's! Still, the girl was innocent, she thought and forced herself to smile once more. Clearly, the girl had been taught to parrot off her titles from a young age.

She smiled at the girl, "Well, I am Lady Yashoda, Consort to the Lord of the realms of Gokula and Vrindavana, Mistress of the household you currently grace, and maiya to anyone who's interested."

Subhadra's eyes lit up. Dropping the regal demeanour, she sighed with relief, "I hate having to do that, maiya! Rama makes me practice that all the time! He says how we conduct ourselves should always reflect the standing of our illustrious family!" She laughed, twirling her skirt and jingling her bangles.

Yasoda laughed, her mind easing despite itself, "Yes, he does find happiness in perfection. I see no reason why he shouldn't inculcate the same values in his sister!"