In a land far away. Or maybe not.
A devotee by the name of X lives in a hut on the edge of a wheat field. Sitting out there in the countryside, on the outskirts of Agra city. Keeping aside his larger issues with life, he is quite a commoner. Working hard to meet ends.
Silently bearing the burdens of life, his lips often hum the tunes of Chris Martin and his composition Atlas. Like the very words piercing his ways with time. Manifesting into his multiple inabilities and cowardice to take anything and everything that comes his way.
They did say ‘carry your world‘. He repeats.
With seemingly nothing unusual about the lesser mortal that X is, he is suddenly confronted by an unusual event one day. A knock out there and an innocuous urge to sit up and open the door in that instant.
He suddenly finds himself taking lead in a daily chore for the first time. He opens the door and further to his dismay finds a beautiful young girl standing there, the kinds every X would want to keep looking at.
Before you know there’s a thought presented which is as happily amusing as it is uncannily unethical. The damsel says : Marry me X, I’ve been guided by the voice of my mentor and this is my destiny it seems.
Unearthly as she may seem, her words found a ring of authenticity. And X being the householder that we was, bound by the laws of head said a no outright but agreed to have the ‘sent one’ stay at his place.
Guided by her faith she settled fast, with time her thoughts flew through many transitions but found an unshakable faith in due course. Time grows on both and evolves despite the auto mode on X’s own sense of anthropometrics.
What follows is an avalanche of feelings that results into indulging, indulging that is divine for her but only feeling driven for him. All this while X lets his emotions flow and takes the liberty to express his frustrations to her.
She doesn’t react, guided in spirit as she is. But poor X believing it his birthright to have her by his side, attributes it all to the magnanimity of his charm. His ways with life and persona. And this emotion in him goes unbridled, unchecked from the girl’s side. Since her end goal is not the way. But only him.
Spiraling down a world of ego, guilt, passion and yes excitement, X finds parallels in modern day Vishwamitra. And in same stead continuing to draw further analogies, this modern day self styled Vishawamitra remained unaware as to how his own faith may have come this far on its own. And now at the brink of being taken overtly for granted, it may not sustain.
Maneka was working her ways up this time.
And then one day a conversation befell him. A conversation void of emotions. Of simple ideas. Of faith, of belief. Not emotions. He threw his hands and cried, ‘but I never thought’. Clarity came with a price.
His reasons looked pale. His ideas slaughtered at the hands of someone else’s story.
Who was leading who? He decidedly asked.
Was narcissism the fault of X? Had intellect played havoc with his emotions? Had the high of feeling loved replacing the inner peace? Had his world been re-defined by someone else’s love?
And did he now no longer liken himself to the modern day Vishwamitra? Afraid his sins would out balance the penance ahead.
X realised he was lesser to begin with. A mortal thereafter. And has he out run the magnanimity of his benefactor? His overseer?
Vishwamitra met his fate through his resolve. Will the challenge for X lie beyond his resolve today? Is there a Maneka who is far more strong to play this?
On whom does the onus today lie?
And in not being shaken but shaking still, has this Maneka played a better role of Vishwamitra than X himself?
Connecting this impromptu fiction with WriteTribe’s #MondayMusings