Fragments of a Shattered Image: Fragment Thirteen

The palace of Panchala was too big. Drona had to crane his neck to see the standard of the King that flew from the ramparts of the surrounding fortress. The palace was nestled inside, a building that seemed to occupy as much space as his entire village.

The palace was built almost entirely of stone that had been polished so much that it shone like gems. Beautiful gardens surrounded it. The path leading to the palace was flanked with shady trees. The path was crowded just then, full of people going to meet the King's ministers or the council and to submit their grievances. Drona felt superior to them.

The guards looked at him with contemptuous sneers, but he did not mind that. He was above all that. He was the King's own friend. He chuckled inwardly as he thought of the expression on these guards' faces when Drupada would embrace him as a friend. Of course, he would tell Drupada he did not need half the kingdom. Revenue from one or two villages would be enough. And with the knowledge acquired from Parasurama, he could start a Gurukula where he could train Kshatriya princes. He would become famous all over the world as a teacher par excellence.

He was asked to wait a while when he said his business was with the King. He did not mind waiting. He refused to give his name to the heralds. He would go in unannounced, like an unknown Brahmana. How surprised his friend would be! He would probably jump up from the throne and come to embrace him!

He smiled to himself as a courtier beckoned him forward. The hall was very long and he paid no heed to the condescending, pitying or sneering glances by those who were seated there. He felt no shame about his patched clothes or beggarly appearance. He was in his friend's presence!

Drupada gave him a disinterested glance.

"Speak, Brahmana," said he, politely. "What do you wish from me?"

Drona smiled widely. "My friend," said he, "I am Drona. Do you not recognize me?"

Drupada's gaze turned cold. "Friend?" His voice was like a whiplash. "How is it possible for there to be friendship between one such as you and one such as me? Friendship is possible only between equals. Do you not know this yet, Brahmana? Now tell what it is you desire! I have weightier matters to attend to!"

Drona stared at his friend, stunned. Was Drupada serious? Was he testing him, perhaps? How could he speak so to him?

"But," he stammered, confused now. "We were in the Gurukula together! You said you would give me half the kingdom when you become King..." His voice trailed off as he saw Drupada's gaze becoming fiery.

"For uttering such words," spoke the King, "I ought to throw you in prison! Had you been of any caste but a Brahmana, I would have you beheaded for that!" Drupada controlled himself with an effort. "However, I am generous. I forgive you. If you require alms, state it. I shall be happy to provide such!"

Drona felt his face burning. Blood was pounding in his ears. Unbidden, came to his mind the mantra to invoke the most destructive weapon he knew, but he thrust it away. He could destroy this entire kingdom if he so wished, but that was no fitting punishment for the arrogance of Drupada.

"I do not come as a beggar!" Said he. "I come as a friend and you have seen fit to insult me! So be it, Drupada! But a day shall surely come when you shall be too glad to accept my hand in friendship!"

He turned around and walked away, trying to ignore the guffaws by the courtiers. He would show them! The outline of a plan began to form in his mind. But he needed a powerful patron. And students. And not just any students. Kshatriya students.

The solution came to him just as he was crossing the threshold of Drupada's palace. Hastinapura! His brother-in-law, Kripa was the teacher of the princes of that kingdom.

His eyes were blazing with joy as he left Panchala.

Fragments from a Shattered Image: Fragment Twelve

Drona was panting by the time he reached the abode of Parasurama. It was the rumours that sped him hence. He had heard that the warrior sage was giving away the wealth he had amassed over his life time to Brahmanas. And he had come there in the hopes of getting something, at least a cow or two. His face twisted as he thought of his abortive attempts to gain a cow till then. No one in their part of Bhatatavarsha seemed able to gift a poor Brahmana with a cow. All were too poor! His lips curled in contempt. The advent of Kali was too near if this was how Brahmanas were treated!

He wiped the sweat of his brow, catching his breath. The area was quite deserted. He wondered if he'd been hoaxed. Surely, if the sage was giving away his possessions, there ought to be a crowd of Brahmanas there? Had he been made a fool of?

Just then, a man came out of the hut. Even though Drona had only heard tales of the great sage, he could recognize him. The warrior-like stance, the scars on his arm, the fierce gaze, all told him that he was in the presence of the great Parasurama himself. He hurried to the sage and greeted him with folded palms.

"I am a poor Brahmana," said he. "Drona, the son of Bharadwaja. I have come on hearing that you are giving away your possessions. Please do not send me away empty-handed!"

A shadow crossed the serene face of the sage. The fierce eyes became sad.

"You have heard right, O Drona. But you have come too late. I have no possessions left in the world now."

Disappointment, starker than anything he'd known before filled Drona's heart. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.

"However," the sage continued. "I cannot send you away empty handed. Therefore I offer you to choose between the only two possessions I have left in this world: my life or my knowledge of weapons. I have nothing else to give you."

Knowledge of weapons? Drona had never aspired to that. He knew enough of warfare to impart basic training to any student who might come to him. But what Parasurama offered went beyond that. It was knowledge, the likes of which, he had never even dreamed of. The sage was the student of Lord Siva himself. The knowledge he could give was going to ensure that Drona would be unique. His skills and knowledge would be coveted. He would be sought after by all.

He bowed low, "Accept me as your pupil, O great one, and impart to me your knowledge of weapons."

Fragments of a Shattered Image: Fragment Eleven

The Brahmana was young, but not youthful. He was of medium height, and in spite of his young age, his hair and beard were shot with grey. He was thin, though not emaciated. His clothes were simple and patched in many places. The bundle he was carrying was also in a similar condition. He clutched it in one hand, the other held a begging bowl, which was half full of rice. The bundle held the vegetables and fruits he received in alms.

As he turned the corner, he could hear the loud laughter of the children. He smiled to himself as his steps quickened almost automatically. He could distinguish the laughter of his own son, Aswathama. Soon, the children came into sight. Aswathama came running to him.

"Father!" He cried in delight. "Father, I drank milk today! I drank milk!"

The suppressed giggles of the older children were not lost on the Brahmana. He looked at his young son with affection as he transferred the bundle to his shoulder and the bowl to the hand holding the bundle. Then he stooped down and picked up his son, carrying him in the other arm.

"Tell me all about it," said he, forcing a smile and feigning an enthusiasm he did not feel. He could hear the loud snickers of the older children, but he ignored them. The mocking glances sent his way confirmed his suspicion that his son had been made the butt of a practical joke, but he did not want to dampen his child's joy or his enthusiasm.

As he entered his small one room hut, his sharp ears caught a whisper one of the children, "The learned Drona's son can't even tell the difference between milk and water mixed with powdered rice!"

He felt his face burning and his hand clenched tightly on his bowl. Aswathama who was chattering away about how tasty the 'milk' he drank, was oblivious of his father's turmoil till then.

"Father," said he, "it pains,"

Drona noticed then that he was holding his son in a vice like grip too. He relaxed his grip, and put down the child.

"I didn't want you to fall," said he, putting the bowl and the bundle down and rubbing the boy's midriff gently.

Kripi came in just then, bringing water for him to wash his hands and feet.

That night, after Aswathama had slept, Drona told his wife that he was leaving.

"I see no benefit in the life we are leading now," he told her. "I shall go out into the world and make my fortune. My friend Drupada will surely help me."

Kripi kept her eyes lowered and Drona failed to see the anguish in them. He was too lost in what had happened that day to pay attention to her.

Fragments of a Shattered Image: Fragment 10

He came to, slowly, opening his eyes with difficulty. Everything appeared blurred. He was feeling disoriented and groggy, not feeling as he normally did. He also felt weak. There was a roaring in his ears. He tried to move and found something was restraining him. He was cold too and he shivered.

Slowly his vision cleared. He found he was lying on a grassy bank by a river. Some wild looking men with snake symbols tattooed on their bodies were standing around him. He was bound by cords.

He strained and the cords snapped. He tried to get up. One of the men pointed a spear at him and he swatted it aside. The man laughed and extended it again. He realized the man was trying to help him up. He caught hold of it and the man pulled him up.

He stood there looking around in confusion.

“Where am I?" He asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

He was a boy and yet he was taller than most men. His face was beautiful, not unlike most children of his age, but now his face reflected bewilderment as he looked at the strangers.

The men too looked at each other in confusion. Then there was a commotion. The men bowed low as they parted way for an old man to come through. He was wrinkled and old. The image of a snake with raised hood was tattooed across his entire body giving him the appearance of a snake.

The man stood before him. "Who are you child, to venture into the land of the Nagas?"

He swallowed, hiding his fear and confusion behind bravado as he stood straight and answered, looking the man in the eye. "I am Bheemasena, son of Pandu and Kunti, the Prince of Hastinapura."

"Son of Kunti," murmured the old man. "Your mother is related to the Nagas by blood, though the relation has been forgotten by both our families. Vasuki, the King of the Naga people welcomes you to this land."

He turned to the others and said something in another language. The men broke into words in the same language. Vasuki's next words were sharp and the men said something in an emphatic tone. Vasuki turned back to Bheema, his face grim.

"You had been drugged and thrown to the river according to my men. You had also been bound with cords." He paused. "My men rescued you, not without difficulty, as you were fighting them in your unconscious state."

He sounded pleased and proud though Bheema felt abashed. But he was also angry. It did not take him much reflection to piece together what must have happened. It was obvious that his cousin had attempted to kill him.

Watch out Suyodhana! He thought. I am coming for you!

His hands had clenched into fists and his face was grim.

Vasuki looked at him with a smile. "Come, my child." He said. "You rest for today. I shall arrange for your return to Hastinapura soon."

Bheema lived with the tribe of Nagas for some time. He was too weak to return yet, Vasuki told him. Though he felt fine, he accepted the old man's argument. It was better to let Suyodhana think that he had succeeded. Bheema chuckled to himself thinking of the expression on his cousin's face when he would walk in.

Of course, thought he, Suyodhana won't have too much opportunity to be surprised. For Bheema was going to pound him to the floor as soon as he reached. He would break every limb of that loser.

The food was one added reason that tempted him to remain. It was the best he had ever tasted. The spices and condiments and herbs that the Nagas used were completely unknown to the cooks at Hastinapura. And the drink that they gave him every night after the meal tasted like nectar.

"It is a Naga medicine for restoring health," Vasuki told him. All Bheema could think was if all medicines tasted so good, he for one, would not mind being sick.

The Nagas also taught him how to row a boat and to make loops from rope. In the little time he had, he mastered the basics of whatever they taught him. He also haunted the kitchens often enough that the cooks too took to teaching them their way of cooking.

One day, Vasuki came to him and told him that one of his men will take him to Hastinapura.

"He will take you to the palace where your mother and brothers are," he said. "Do not confront anyone till you have met with them. I have informed your mother that you are safe in my care. But it is for you to apprise her of how you came here."

Bheema nodded. Pounding Suyodhana could wait after meeting with his mother. He could wait. He had time.

Fragments of a Shattered Image: Fragment 9

Satya sat down on a couch. Her limbs ached.

'I'm growing old,' she thought. But that was only to be expected. She grew more tired but less sleepy. She also felt less hungry these days, though her memory was still sharp.

Small mercies, thought Satya. Small mercies.

She sighed. Her tiredness and physical aches were less than the grief of her heart. The last rites of her grandson was over. His five sons were so small. She wondered if her step son and grandson would care for those.

She had no energy left to worry for them now.

She looked up as her son was announced.

"Krishna," she smiled at him. He was called Vyasa by all these days, Veda Vyasa. But to her he would always be Krishna.

"Mother," he bent down to touch her feet.

"Ayushman bhavah" she blessed him.

"Mother," he said as he sat down next to her on her invitation. "It is time you left the palace. It is time for you to leave the world behind."

She gazed at him. He was right of course. She should leave for the forest. It was the way of things, of life.

She sighed again. She had buried her husband, two sons and now a grandson. She did not want to watch more deaths. Her son was right. She should leave.

She gave him a faint smile and nodded.

"It is time," she echoed.

Movie Review: Evening Shadows

Sridhar Rangyan is known for his championing of LGBT+ rights and his movies depicting the challenges faced by the community in India where, till recently, homosexuality was a crime. His latest offering, Evening Shadows is a coming out story. But more than that, it is the story of a bond between a mother and her son and how she struggles to come to terms with the revelation that her only son is gay.

The film is set in a conservative small town family in South India with Damodar (Ananth Mahadevan), a tyrannical father who believes that homosexuality is against Indian culture, values and ethics,;Vasudha (Mona Ambegaonkar), the mother who is the typical Indian housewife, one who obeys her husband, and whose life revolves around taking care of her family and their gay son Kartik (Devansh Doshi) who is a photographer in Mumbai and is in a committed relationship with another man, but hasn’t told his parents yet. They think Aman is his roommate.

In the backdrop is the aunt, Sarita (Yamini Singh) who has left her abusive husband and is crticised by Kartik’s father for her inability to manage her own life and marriage when she attempts to advise him not to force Kartik into marriage; the uncle Ramesh (Abhay Kulkarni), a closeted homosexual who has married to satisfy his family, and who had sexually abused Kartik in childhood, and who still seems to have a thing for his handsome nephew; Aman (Arpit Chaudhary) whose mother has not talked to him since the day he came out to her; and there is the 2013 SC judgement which reinstated section 377 overturning the Delhi HC verdict. In view of the recent SC judgement declaring section 377 as unconstitutional, the 2013 verdict is now moot, but the reactions of Kartik and Aman to the judgement and Kartk’s fears on how it will make it even more difficult for his mother to accept his reality are all brought out well.

The film does seem to border on propaganda at times, but considering its theme, that’s only natural. The propaganda part is not “the-in-your-face” kind, but subtle and is incorporated naturally into the dialogues. The bond between Kartik and his mother is natural and easy and both actors have done an amazing job in their roles. Though some of the changes in Vasudha does seem based on the ideal rather than the real, her acceptance and support of Kartik in the end leaves no one unsurprised. As she tells her husband, whatever or whoever Kartik is, he is hers. If only more mothers had as much strength to stand up for their children!

Kartik’s relation with Aman is mostly phone calls to and from, but the audience is left in no doubt about the depth of their feelings for each other or of how committed they are to each other. They support each other, and have plans to grow old together. They are a cute couple in the only scene we get to see them together. Both Devansh Doshi and Arpit Chaudhary are excellent in their roles.

Ananth Mahadevan as the ultra conservative Damodar who kicks out Kartik and performs his funeral rites has also rendered a noteworthy performance and the supporting cast are also good, but the star of the movie is undoubtedly Mona Ambegaonkar who is simply stellar as Vasudha.

Evening Shadows is heartwarming and beautiful. It is more than a film about homosexuality – it is about the bond between a mother and a child, and how that bond is capable of withstanding even things beyond the mother’s comprehension. As Vasudha tells Kartik towards the end, she may never comprehend homosexuality, but she will always accept and support him. And ultimately, what more can anyone ask for? This is a movie that’s definitely worth watching whether you are gay or not, whether you support LGBT+ rights or not, because the themes depicted are universal, the struggle for acceptance in a world that’s too eager to tell people who they should be and is too quick to judge them for being different.

Fragments from a Shattered Image

Fragment 8

Pandu found the burden of his heart only increasing. The days passed in affairs of the state but the nights were nightmares. His wives were patient and understanding, neither uttering even a sound of reproach. He wished they would at least shed a few tears. But they kept smiling as if his impotence did not cause them any heartburn.

Their attitude only made him feel worse, not better. No one spoke a word, but he felt the crushing weight of their expectations. The bards sang his praises, the citizens extolled his greatness and all it served was to remind him of what an utter failure he was. His whole life seemed meaningless and futile.

He left on a Dig Vijaya. It was an escape, he knew, but he did not want to be in the palace anymore. He did not want to be in the proximity of the two women who had chosen to share their lives with him and to whom he had been unable to give anything. He did not want to wait for the inevitable question of when he was going to give an heir to his Kingdom. He did not want anyone to know that he was unable to do what even a mindless beast was able to.

So he went to war. And he vented all his anger, all his frustration in the battlefield. He had been ruthless, trampling his enemies to dust. He was not satisfied with defeating; he had to destroy.

For, in the battlefield, he could fool the world that he was a man.

He enjoyed the battlefields; he reveled in the trumpet of elephants, the neighing of horses, the clanging of swords, the twanging of bowstrings, the whoosh of the arrows and spears. He rejoiced at the smell of blood intermingled with that of sweat, metal and the excrements of men and beasts. He laughed at the carrion birds circling high above, waiting for the day’s battle to end.

At the end of one day’s battle, he came upon one of his soldiers, retching by the side of a tent. He was a young man and it was evident that it was his first campaign.

The young man was embarrassed by his weakness and had mumbled an apology. But Pandu was staring at where the soldier had emptied the contents of his stomach on to the grass.

He had done the same on his first campaign. He had never imagined that a battlefield could be a place of such brutality, where men turned into killing machines, where life had no sanctity, no value. His uncle had placed a hand on his shoulder and had told him. “Do not be ashamed of the horror you feel. It is not your weakness, but your strength. We are Kshatriyas and we cannot shun warfare. But the day we lose our compassion for those we kill, the day we stop being horrified at the brutality of our acts, that day we lose our humanity and Dharma as well.”

Pandu looked around him with sightless eyes. What had he been reduced to! What monster it was he had become!

He had come to escape, to prove himself a man by ruthlessly destroying his enemies. But all he had proved was that he had become a monster.

And he returned, smiling outwards, but chagrined inside. All the wealth he had conquered, he had placed at his brother’s feet. His brother who should have been King if he had not been born blind; his brother who would have been a better ruler, who would not have reveled in the fearful screams of his enemies. His brother who wanted to be King, who resented him for stealing his birthright.

The decision to leave the palace for the forest had been taken on that day. The day of his return. He told everyone he was going on a hunting trip to the forest with his wives. No one objected. After all, they had had so little time together.

His wives suspected something. Kunti it was who asked him, “Swami, why are we here?”

He drew a deep breath. “I am abdicating the throne Kunti,” he said calmly. “I am not worthy to be King. I am not going back,”

“And what reason would you give your people? Your elders?”

“I killed a couple of deer today,” he said. “I’m going to tell everyone that it was a sage and his wife sporting in the form of deers, and that they cursed me to fall dead if I ever touch a woman in desire again!”

“Convenient,” Kunti observed. “It resolves all your difficulties. But have you spared a thought to us? Your presence in our lives is all we demand. Is that too much to ask for?”

He looked at her. He had never loved her more than he did at that moment.

“If my presence is all you require,” he said. “Then you must accompany me. God knows there isn’t much else I can give you!”

“Don’t speak like that!” Madri’s hand was over his mouth. “We do not require anything more for our happiness!”

He nodded. He was powerless to resist their demand.