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sambhavami · 4 months

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The Lost Flute - Part 12 (Backwards and Forwards)

Almost a year had passed since sage Durvasa's fateful visit to Dwarika. The news of Rukmini's pregnancy had spread through the palace overnight like Satyabhama's passion project- the unruly vines enveloping nearly every royal palace wall that burst into blossoms at the turn of every season. Yashoda had once again delayed her departure, albeit with lighthearted complaints about having to unpack her bags every time she tried to leave. Rukmini's sister-in-law had come over to stay for the duration of the pregnancy, with her husband tagging along sourly. Even though Rukmi had glared at Krishna the entire time, he had still cried upon meeting his sister and kissed Manmatha's forehead while exclaiming how much the young boy resembled his 'uncle'. Rukmini hadn't bothered to tell him about the adoption, and neither had Rukmavati.

Additionally, Krishna had successfully gotten a proposal banning alcohol on the island of Dwarika to pass in the parliament, and Balarama had left on an angry pilgrimage, after a blowout row with Krishna regarding the same. Subhadra, inspired by Yashoda, had taken to churning out colourful sweaters at an alarming rate, despite the marked absence of a winter season in the seaside mansions. While no one had batted an eye when the entire royal family had received matching sweaters from her quarters, Krishna had finally deemed it necessary to have a talk with her when all the ministers had turned up panting, to a parliamentary session, wearing matching blue and yellow sweaters in the sultry summer heat. Vasudeva had taken up primary residence in Prabhasa where liquor was still aplenty, and Krishna had attempted to have a productive conversation with his mother after having given up on the prospect for almost a decade.

---

When Krishna had entered Devaki's darkened chambers in the beginning, he had been taken aback anew by the apparent neglect of the rooms. However, he had known, even then, better than to override the wishes of his mother, who preferred the rooms just as they were. Inside this coven, he had found his mother seated on her bed, playing with her 'children'. Having been imprisoned for the better part of her life, Devaki had gotten used to further enclosing herself within an imaginary world- one where she had never lost control of her own life. As Devaki had grown more and more terrified of the real world, she had wrapped herself in the imaginary one. In Devaki's mind, her six older children remained alive and thriving, and Devaki spent most of her time immersed in this perfect world she had constructed for herself. Here, even though decades had passed, her children never aged, and never died.

Krishna liked to come to her at least once a week, spending hours playing with her pretend children, for he couldn't bring himself to break her illusion. Not that he hadn't tried. When he was younger, he had often appealed to his mother's common sense, in an attempt to drag her back to reality, but over time had made peace with their peculiar arrangement that allowed them to have some semblance of a civil relationship.

When he was younger, Krishna would return from these visits almost in tears. Most of the time, Devaki would be so engrossed in her own world, that she would fail to even recognize her living son. Those days, Krishna would run to seek refuge in Rohini's arms, only to be thrown back into the unforgiving field of battle. Now, Krishna just went along with whatever Devaki wished on a particular day, only gently nudging her with the latest news of their family now and then.

"You're not my son, Krishna. I don't know why everyone keeps saying that! You're God, right?" Devaki would implore, in between her plays, "You saved me, and my boys!"

"Yeah," Krishna would nod, forcing a smile through profound sadness, "But that's a secret, remember? To the rest of the world, I am your son, and the only one, mind you!"

One day, Devaki had asked him, "Why wouldn't you let me take the boys out for a walk? You said there was a beach!" Devaki had been brought to Dwarika in a closed palanquin. She had insisted upon never opening the shutters 'lest the enemy take her sons away'. Hence, while she had heard the waves from her room, she had never actually felt the ocean at her feet.

"Yes," Krishna had said as his eyes had lit up, "You and I should definitely take a walk on the beach. I'd love to show you all the nice spots, and the boats, and the shops!"

"But what about the children? You said children aren't allowed on the beach!" Devaki had asked innocently.

"Yes! There are strong winds, that might blow them away!" Krishna had nodded, "They'll be fine alone for an hour. I can call a nanny, and then you and I could go!"

Devaki had shook her head sadly, "I cannot leave them even for a second! No matter what you tell me."

"Okay!" Krishna had backed off. He always steered clear of actually upsetting her.

"Let's not, then." He had said instead, "How about instead, I open that window? Your rooms are all sea-facing, you know! You could see the ocean from right here!"

Devaki had shook her head, "I don't know! What about the wind?"

Krishna had held her palms in his, " You and I will hold the boys' hands very tightly! How about then?"

Devaki had nodded. Although she hadn't been fully convinced, dread always creeping up at the back of her neck, she also hadn't been able to bring herself to completely disregard this young man's suggestions. Even though she wasn't quite sure why, she always intrinsically trusted him. Krishna, on the other hand, had been glad for every little victory he had gotten. Throwing open the wide window, he had invited the frail woman to come closer to him. Devaki had stood transfixed, taking in the petrichor of the waves that crashed on the rocks, her palms still curled around her imaginary children. Krishna too had stood by the window, feeling the fresh breeze wash over his face, looking over occasionally at his mother's face, who still remained six children away.

As Krishna had watched, Devaki's palms had fallen to her side, lax against her plain dress. Her gaze had been fixed upon the sky, now bursting with colour, as the sun neared the horizon against the sparkling, dancing ocean. It had seemed as though, just for a second, she had forgotten about the children. Krishna had inched closer, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder, "You know, mother, I just wanted you to know this: I understand what happened now. What truly happened. With you. With father."

Devaki had looked up at him quizzically, "How would you know? You're God. You know nothing!" She finished, almost on the brink of anger. It seemed as though, for a split second, she had remembered her reality, and Krishna had turned away, leaving the subject at that.

---

Krishna stood by the gate leading up to Devaki's bedroom, leaning on the door frame as he watched his mother shuffle from cupboard to cupboard in her room, muttering quietly to herself.

Ever since he had gotten her to trust the open window, Devaki had added more colour to her quarters and wardrobe. She had even asked to be sent some more clothes and had finally begun taking an interest in the colours and fabrics. Krishna, overjoyed, had sent over Jambavati and Satyabhama along with an entire entourage of tailors and jewellers the very moment he had received her request.

Drawing up courage, Krishna finally walked in, a bright smile on his lips. Devaki laughed as she greeted him, dragging him to the open window. "I'm matching your ocean today!" She exclaimed as she twirled around, showing off her turquoise dress.

Krishna laughed at his mother's lighthearted display. He lightly ran his fingers over different sapphire-based jewellery sets Devaki had spread out on her dressing table as she looked at him expectantly. Krishna's smile turned playful as he pulled out an ethereal necklace with sparkling pearls enclosed in bright, pale shells. Devaki gasped in joy as she laid the necklace against her neck and turned to the mirror.

Krishna peered over her head. Good feet and a half taller than his mother, he whispered encouragements as Devaki tried on the necklace.

"Why'd you buy it though?" She asked, "Not that I don't love it, but any occasion?"

Krishna smiled, happy wrinkles forming around his sparkling eyes, "I- well, a beautiful little girl recently came into our lives. This," He pointed to the necklace, "Is in her honour." Krishna drew in a deep breath as he waited for his mother's reaction.

Devaki nodded as she stepped backwards, leaning back against her bedpost, eyes downcast. Krishna watched her intently as she processed the news. "Good for you," She whispered after a long silence. She "Good that she is born now. No one can snatch her away from you!"

Krishna smiled and nodded despite his eyes watering. He hadn't told her about his son. He had meant to, after a few days. After the tragedy, he hadn't found the courage to inform Devaki. Then, time had rolled and rolled, and the appropriate time to tell her had slipped farther and farther away.

"I do treat you very harshly, don't I?" said Devaki, seemingly out of nowhere, catching Krishna off-guard. He still shook his head, laughing charmingly.

"Be honest," she continued, "This old me: you hadn't bargained for this when you came to live with us!"

Krishna gingerly put an arm around her, "Maybe you were not exactly what I imagined you to be, but you've been fantastic. No regrets!" He added, laughing, in an attempt to steer from the conversation. "Allow me to apologize nevertheless." She whispered as she leaned into his embrace, while Krishna stared blankly at the rolling ocean outside the window. Any emotion slipping by, and he might have just broken down. And that display of weakness was probably the last thing his mother needed.

Krishna sighed. He didn't have much of a choice. He spoke after a minute of silence, "Did I ever tell you about Pradyumna?"

"No? Who is he?" Devaki asked.

"Was," Krishna whispered hoarsely. He recounted, painstakingly steering around the more gory details. By the end, Krishna found his palm enclosed in Devaki's. Her grip was painful, but it made Krishna more grateful than anything. Rising slowly, Devaki gently planted a kiss on his forehead, before wrapping him in a warm embrace, with her chin resting on his head.

"I thought Gods were above these human troubles?" Devaki asked after a while, gently stroking his hair.

"God. Human. Wretched life either way." Krishna tutted.

"Yes, it is." Devaki smiled sadly. Oddly, she felt much closer to the young man seated before her, "So, you said you have a daughter now." It seemed for a brief interval their roles had been reversed.

It was Devaki now, who attempted to lighten the mood, "What did you call her?"

"Charumati," Said Krishna, relishing every syllable of the name he had chosen himself, "Would you like to meet her?"

"Not today," Devaki smiled, "But yes." Even though she had managed to pull herself together for a brief moment, she did not feel she could hold herself much longer. She wanted to be happy, but it was tough to be happy when the ghosts of the past surrounded her at all times. How could she bring herself to be part of a celebration when she couldn't promise to be happy?

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