The bowls are not as plentiful now that winter has settled in, not for any lack of homage by the staff of the Chennai Hotel, but because some of the offerings were not taken when they returned the next morning. Not even the monkeys seem interested in moving much. It is the sleeping time for the serpents of the northern hemisphere. A time of hibernation for some, while others slither out of their holes deep into the earth to grab some momentary sunlight.
     Such things, like hope, are fleeting...
     He has softened his deep burrows with the last blossoms of this garden and soft mangrove leaves hand plucked, and soft soil. Such a labyrinth, so deep. He can feel the warmth of the world's heart there where he lies. But Suryesh the Punished, Suryesh the Wretched, Suryesh the Poisonous has other methods of keeping warm.
     Cinnamon oil wets his dusky fingers, turning his flesh ruddy with resin and with the burn upon the skin that it engenders. Arms, shoulders, torso are all covered slowly, methodically, as if it were a meditation for him to do so. A prayer...
     The body of the ancient mangrove tree creaks with the weight of his great coils, and scratches like ten-thousand whispers sound upon the garden as his scales scrape the body of the tree, his Beloved...

     Some things never truly slumber at this time of year. Though they may show some semblance of sleep, it is with one eye open, keeping an eye on things. Such is the case here. Some things just can't stay asleep when they sense movement about them.
     And so it is that eyes rest upon the great coils, upon the dark skin, upon the man in meditation... preparation... For now, these eyes cannot be seen as much as felt... does he feel them trained on him?
     What breeze there is dies down and nothing moves, save for the man. All is quiet and still... waiting... watching... holding a breath for whatever is next.

     The beauteous face, heart-shaped, is surrounded by sleek dark curls, ringlets oiled with clove oil to keep it dark and clean. His eyes are black, his skin is very dark, and his body is muscled, that of a warrior. A charioteer and archer of the gods he was once. He turns his face toward the dying of the wind, and the lips that crown the splendor of his face part to show the glinting edges of serpent's vipers.
     "Who comes to my garden," he breathes against the air, and the leaves move with his breath, echoing his words. Tightening, the dark, dark coils of a great serpent move against the wide body of the mangrove, around the circumference of its trunk and laying heavily upon the ancient boughs. Fingers cork the bottle of oil and set the container upon the nearest branch. The monkeys will not bother it.
     They know better...
     Shiva, is that you? Parvati, have you come to torment me? Shadows from nearby leaves move across his face as Suryesh peers out from the tree and onto his garden. Is it the poet from before, the philosopher?

     At first, there is no response but the growing silence. Then, the wind picks up a little and comes to rest, like a sigh. "I did not mean to disturb, Master of the Garden..." comes a female voice. It is husky and strong, not sweet and light. There is something very earthy to it... as though it comes from deep within.
     At first, there is no one there but the disembodied voice, which seems to come from all around you. Then, from behind one of the trees, a shadow rises from the very earth... but no, it is not a shadow... it is a figure. In a heartbeat, the shadow forms into something more solid and defined... it is a woman.
     Her skin is deeply tanned, but with more of a reddish hue -- like red clay, and looks smooth and supple. Hair the colour of the precious metal mankind has sought for years...gold. She wears a simple gown of green, hanging from her shoulders, but leaving her arms bare. As her eyes open, a flash of green can be seen, the green of emeralds.
     Fully formed, she says clearly, "Forgive my intrusion. You interested me, so I stopped in." Her manner seems honest, if not a little blunt.

     His expression is suddenly flat. Perhaps that is how he registers relief. An eyebrow lifts slightly in inquisition. "I do not know you," he quietly observes. "But for your respectfulness... you may stay." Black eyes fall downcast, as if in apology for being a rude host. "I have bowls of spiced milk and honey," a hand gestures to the three bowls left for him by the faithful, all three situated upon the exposed roots of the mangrove tree.
     For all intents and purposes, the naga -- this half-man, half-serpent creature goes back to what he was doing. Cinnamon wafts in the air as his hands begin to oil the scales closest to the human-like skin.
     He is beautiful and hideous. Hideous when vipers are shown, beautiful when the face is ... almost human. "There is also cinnamon rice," he mentions after a moment. Bound by Hospitality, he must offer everything he has to his Guest.

     She watches all of this with some interest, remaining where she stands. However, the strange woman holds up her right hand and politely response, "Thank you for your hospitality, but I do not eat or drink. As for not knowing me... you don't know me in the sense that we've never spoken... but you know me in other ways."
     Finally, she moves a little closer to the tree, continuing her cryptic explanation. "You know me as your lungs know air, as your eyes know colours. You may not have seen this manifestation, but you know the ground you move upon." She keeps moving ever closer, slowly, not wanting to startle or upset you.
     Tilting her head to the side, she murmurs now, "You know me, even if you know not my name, or my face. You know me." Those jeweled eyes watch you carefully, as though gauging your response.

     "I sleep with you," his words slither outward, and there is a sound in his throat. It is as close to laughter as Suryesh ever comes. "I wear you like my own skin. You are the earth. Yes. First consort of any god. You are my prison," Suryesh whispers, coils and skin glistening where the oil was placed. He lowers himself to look to you, great serpent towering everywhere. "I am bound to you..."
     He seems rather nonplussed about the milk. The Hospitality was extended -- duty was done. "Since we seem to be acquainted, I shall dispense with the introductions..." The smile is Terrible. Vipers glisten with the venom of his punishment.

     She comes very close to the tree, but stops about a foot away, looking up at you with sympathy. "Everything comes from me and returns to me in the end, yes. You recognize me now," she comments. "And yes, introductions are moot. I know you, Master of the Garden." There is respect held in her voice, in her words. She is not here to taunt or torment you.
     Her husky voice lowers as she says softly, "I may be your prison, but I did not put you here. Nor can I release you, as it is not my place." She is not a god, but must obey them. There are Laws that even the earth must abide by.
     Even as you smile, she does not recoil, does not look frightened. She just... is.

     Even when the God of the Heaven, Shiva the Creator and Destroyer, comes to see him, he does not mean to torment him. Yet, to see the first Beloved and not to be able to kiss him, to love him, to be damned for taking a mortal betrothed though Shiva himself had several wives...
     It is torment...
     "Then both the chain and the ankle are subject to the gods," comes this hissing whisper. It is backed by the whisper of coils against wood, scratching, sighing. "So must it be." He seems resigned. "What could you find of interest here? A terrible curiosity...do you often seek out the most wretched of all the beings in your domain for quiet conversation?"

     "My presence causes you pain." This is more a statement than a question and she is well aware that she is stating the obvious. "This is not what I meant, however, I am here. I am curious of all in this realm. I have seen you often, as I have seen others... all have something of interest about them -- even the one who thinks they are the most dull in the world. There is always that spark of something which I cannot put my finger on, which attracts me to go and have a closer look."
     There is a pause as she considers something. Then, an earth-hued hand touches the bark of your tree. As she considers your question, her fingers stroke the trunk of the tree almost absently, as a mother might stroke the hair of her child. Finally, she glances back at you and asks bluntly, "Are you always this bitter? Surely there is more to you than mere bitterness, otherwise I would not have stopped here on my wanderings."

     You may as well ask: is the sky always blue on a cloudless day?
     Your bluntness, your honesty. He can appreciate this. As you touch his Beloved, his eyes focus on you. But after a moment, Suryesh retreats slightly, no longer towering over you.
     Your hands near the glistening scales. When you touch the tree, they shift slightly, as if shivering. If he had a rattle at the end of his tail, it would be twitching. But he is like the black mamba of thick jungles...
     "Yes," his answer is as blunt and is as simple. "I have fallen farther than you can imagine. From the bed and grace and heart of the Creator-Destroyer himself to a hole in the earth. I was once a hero, mother earth, Krishna's friend. But see me as I am, cast here, for the jealousy of those who Made Us All..."

     What else can the earth be but honest and blunt? She has been here since the beginning, and will likely be here until the end. She has no use for deceits, lies or misconceptions. She is direct and to the point, but not necessarily cruel. She is not the spirit of the winter wind. She is the embodiment of the Mother, even if she is but a mere part of Her.
     So, perhaps it should come as no surprise when she asks, "Why?" Why are you this way? What did you do? What was done to you? It could be interpreted so many ways, but she allows you to interpret it as you will. It is a direct question, but open enough that it is still kind... and allows you only to answer what you wish.

     There is a faint twitch of his lips, a glance to the sky. His eyes go downcast again, and again he retreats, lifting to lay himself upon one of the great and ancient bows. His heart-shaped face rests lightly upon his crossed arms. "I betrayed my lover," he murmurs. "I became engaged to the daughter of the king of this land. Krishna asked it of me and what Krishna asked I was bound to do. This made my lover very angry. And his wife, who never cared for me... whispered in his ear that he should punish me for the.... wrongs I had done him." A pause. "But mostly her."
     His expression is still even, and the words leave his lips disembodied from his heart. As if the story were not his own. "He punished me very lightly, but she was not content. She said for every kiss I gave another, I should be unable to kiss. For every promise broken, a year upon the earth. I became this creature you see, whose kiss ...now... is Death..."

     Tears so pure well up in her eyes, but do not break. Her head bows down now, hiding her face behind a golden curtain of locks. That earthy voice filters upward, murmuring, "That is terrible... and Krishna will do nothing to help the one who did his bidding, though it pained him so?" She finds this hard to believe.
     Looking back up, the tears are gone but her sympathetic sorrow is not. Her hand remains resting upon your tree as she murmurs, "That is cruel. I know I need not say so, but I verify it is. You did the bidding of a god and now you are the one punished for it." Slowly, her head shakes, as though trying to make sense of it but without having any luck, leaving her perplexed.

     "Cruelty is the domain of the Gods, as is Justice. How They dispense it is up to Them. That which Creates also Destroys. For Life, there is Death. For Existence, Oblivion. What is cruelty? It does not have one face by which to know it," Suryesh whispers.
     "I will admit," comes the airy voice from on high, "...the punishment was very .... severe. But in a battle of Gods, what may one man do? What also against natural forces? Does Man not call such things cruel? But... are you ...cruel... Earth? Or are you... merely What You Are..."

     Her eyes fixate on you as you speak, watching you carefully, still standing at the tree, maintaining contact with it. "I never claimed I could tell Them how to do their jobs. It just seems you were wrongfully punished, to me. But I'm sure you know this already. Having me say it again only makes the knife cut deeper. I am sorry."
     Glancing away from you now, she looks intently at the tree before her, murmuring, "I am only what I Am, yes. I do what I must... because I, too, must do the bidding of the gods. But I sympathize with you... and I wanted you to know that, you who kisses Death."

     For a moment, those black eyes soften. For a moment, the features of his face may register some quality of human emotion. He looks to you, he lets you see it. "My name is Suryesh..."

Posted by rowan at February 17, 2004 07:23 PM