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But does history repeat itself? No. Not today. Today, she wages the war herself. She alters an erred history all by herself.
The woman clad in red saree
Stood in the middle of the court
Ripples of blood run along her thighs
Shadows of tyrannical pillars
And the gaze of vile men
Befall her like arrows
Fires rage in her eyes
Her clothes half torn
Stained of dishonour
Stenches of barbaric men
Who dragged her mercilessly.
But does history repeat?
No. Not today.
Today, she wages the war herself.
She dethrones the draconian king
Spits upon her impotent husbands
Burns the feeble sages
Seduces the rest shamelessly
Lures them onto her bed
Slits their throats
Drinks their blood
Screams like a savage
Runs out the palace
Climbs up the trees
Dances with eunuchs
Sings tales of witchery
Rips the muddy earth
Swallows the oceans
And eats the sapphire skies.
And for once,
An erred history was altered.
Picture credits: Still from the 2013 adaptation of the Mahabharata
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Story - Beauty: Shreya wondered, ‘Are they talking about me?’ ‘But what is the use of inner beauty if the exterior is unattractive?’ Ravi asked. Her heart skipped a beat, and now she listened with the utmost alacrity.
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Shreya had paused for a moment on the open door of Ravi’s flat when she overheard him. It was the morning of 27th March, and she had come to give Ravi his surprise birthday present. She didn’t want to eavesdrop, but the conversation had caught her curiosity.
She wondered, ‘Are they talking about me?’
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It was a cold, foggy night, and a stunned silence stretched across the deserted railway station. The only working yellow light seemed like a blotch in the air. There was no hint of life except a black dog that just lumbered past as though it sniffed some danger.
No, wait! There was a dainty figure sitting on a bench. A girl bundled in a black shawl. And then a shadow emerged from the darkness. He stopped, as he spotted the girl. He approached her, hovered around her.
‘Hey!’ The man said and settled beside her.