Mira's Krishna (Steal my flute)

Princess Mira watched her husband, the Crown Prince of Mewar, dress for battle.

"I'll be gone for a month, and I'll still miss Chittor. How do you not miss your hometown?" He looked at her. "What was it like?"

"Green as far as the eye can see. I'd take our cows to graze till sunset. Watch them play."

"You watched cows play?"

"Yes."

"Is that something Princesses do in Merta?"

"No," she admitted. She remembered living as a milkmaid, amidst lush green pastures surrounding the village. That wasn't Merta.

Why did she have memories of being a milkmaid? Memories of a whole another life?

***

Another old memory returned to haunt her. Her flailing body thrashed wings it never had. There was no up to fly to, no down to fall. There was no air. The last of her breath had ballooned before her, and she let it go. It rose, like a bubble in a prison of glass. Only then did she see the light.

***

The mourning women were paid by the day, but tipped by the decibel. The royalty of Mewar were gathered in the courtyard within the Fort of Chittor. The Crown Prince's corpse was the centerpiece, but all eyes were on Mira. She couldn't hear the campaign of murmurs the women waged against her, behind their many veils.

"Will she not volunteer? What life has a princess without her husband?" The Third Queen instigated.

Mira, wisely oblivious, had more musical, mystical concerns.

"This life's too short to hold too tight

This world, and these connections.

When we're born, our parents decide

The rest, our Lord's discretion.

Why waste this life accounting deeds,

Like hoarding good could save you?

I praise the Lord, live by his creed,

With holy men and sadhus,

He is the mountain mover

And only by his power

Can I ever cross over,

And reach the distant shore!"

The First Queen, the mother of the dead Prince, delivered her verdict. "Tell the Junior Queen. Lady Mira has decided to live on, and she has my approval."

***

That night, the princess dreamed.

"... what a rascal!"

"You should hide it better, Chitra. We hide ours in the barn."

"We did, Indu! He found them! Where do you hide yours Mira?"

The expectant pause brought Mira back to this world. Chitra's face was painted with deep concern.

"Father hides them in a hole under the bed," Mira heard herself say. The last of the girls had finished filling their pots from the river. It was time to return.

Something whizzed past Mira's ear, and Chitra's pot broke. Mira rushed to hide her pots behind her skirt, straining her neck to look for the miscreant. Two more pots broke in quick succession. The girls ran squealing from the invisible prankster, and Chitra let out a wail of absolute agony.

"That was my lucky pot! Rapscallion!"

Mira started laughing hysterically. She was wheezing, keeled over. The slinger marksman, hidden atop a tree, noticed her from afar.

***

Mira spent her days at a shrine for Krishna, God's avatar. She would have spent her nights there too, if not for the propriety binding the only living widow in the House of Sisodia. It didn't take her long to make her own dolls out of her wardrobe of drab whites, lamp soot, and things she picked up on the way to the shrine.

The girls waiting on her kept their distance. They had seen her cot-side shrine, but a widow still had the right to religion. Moons passed, and political tides ebbed and flowed within the women's quarters. Her dolls were "found out", and the Third Queen came herself to deliver the blow.

"Do the Rathores of Merta not teach daughters how to grieve? Who taught you to playact sinful fantasies with dolls? What ruin have you sought to bring to the Sisodia name! Is this why you did not follow your Prince, as any Rajputani would! Oh, the disgrace!"

The commotion brought in an audience of tut-tutting veiled women. Which was, after all, the point. Mira was unfazed. The First Queen arrived to interrogate Mira herself.

"It is Lord Krishna's image, my Queen."

"This doll with the skirt of leaves?"

"She is Radha, his milkmaid consort, my Queen."

"Are your trips to the temple insufficient, Lady Mira?"

"My Queen, all the time in all the lives would be insufficient for my devotion."

The murmurs stopped.

"Your devotion is commendable. You will have a shrine indoors. No more trips outside."

"You are ever-gracious, my Queen."

"Junior Queen, have your daughter see to Lady Mira's needs. May no one find reason to impugn her honor."

"As you say, Senior Queen." The Third Queen curtsied as her Senior left the room. She left soon after, leaving Mira with one last venomous glance.

***

She lazed in the shade, her washed clothes laid out to dry in the sun. By the river, Indu had found a rhythm to slapping her clothes on the stone. The waters whistled a forgotten tune. There was a melody to the moment, and Mira wished she could sing to it.

The flute melded so seamlessly into the air that it took the girls several seconds to hear it. Then, several seconds more to catch their breath. Mira let her spirit take over and hum to it.

"Down by the river, where Yamuna flows,

A flute plays a sliver of my broken soul.

What tune is it that my heart can't resist?

Krishna, dressed in black, by Yamuna black,

A single note has taken Mira aback!

Mountain mover, Mira begs you, save her!"

"Was that about me?" said the flautist, right beside her. "What a beautiful voice you've got there!"

Her eyes opened to an image of God she had seen in a hundred shrines. The image she prayed to in her days, and sang to in her dreams. Only, he was on his haunches, his hand to his chin in boyish amazement. His skin was the shade of shade itself, and she felt at home beneath his opalescent gaze.

"I'm dreaming," Mira reminded herself.

"No, you're not." He pinched her foot to prove the point. She jolted up, and dashed, hiding her flushed cheeks behind her stole, her sundried clothes abandoned.

She was halfway home pinching and slapping herself before she stopped. This had never been a dream. She was born a Princess of Merta, and was married to the Crown Prince of Mewar. She shouldn't know how to milk cows or churn butter. How did she pass through the curtain of time, and end up in Krishna's Vrindavan?

***

The Fort had lit up with festivities, and the voices made it into the lone widow's quarters. Lady Uda had sneaked in some dessert ghewar on account of the festival, but Mira offered it all to her Lord. He would have loved more cream.

The next morning, the bowl of ghewar was upturned. A trail of crumbs ended with the corpse of a peacock foaming at its beak, its majesty subdued by its comically dead eyes. The murmurs in Mewar had turned murderous again, and not for the last time.

***

"See? All good!" Krishna's arms were still stained in the blood of his kill, muscles taut with the strain, his massive frame still panting. "Ah! So you really were worried about me."

Mira looked at him, incredulous. He was unhurt. Happy, even. The memory of tusks and gore came unbidden, and she shuddered.

"How did you know?" he asked, shuffling his feet.

The gravity in his tone brought her back. "The calf… it had no mother. It's gait… The sniffing, the… it wasn't playing. It looked strange. Like it was tracking… hunting you."

He looked to his brother, who nodded back. "But, uh, how did you know it was a demon?" He was having trouble maintaining eye contact.

Mira choked on her tongue. She had seen Krishna lift a calf-sized demon all by himself, and kill it. Its corpse still oozed pus somewhere. The memory gave her chills.

"There… will be more. A crane… a bull, an ass, a… snake. He is coming after you!" Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her. She knew the legends, and the least she could do was warn him. "The Tyrant wants you dead!"

"Well, I say, bring 'em on!" He was smiling now, almost blushing. "I am always here, if any of these fabled monsters come to get you".

"Stop… stop acting like a child! It's not a game! He is after you! You hear me? After you! Not me, not Chitra, not anyone else! You saw what it did. Chitra, she almost… if not… if not for you, she would… she would…" Mira gathered herself, "If you had only believed me earlier!"

He was pouting now. She could see his tears welling up as he turned and stormed away, muttering angrily to the grass and his feet.

She stood there contemplating God and his choices. It was one thing to be born an avatar, ignorant of one's own might. But did he have to be so human?

***

The marriage of Princess Mira was what had once sealed the alliance of all the Rajput Houses beneath the King Sanga of Mewar. The alliance survived a hundred battles. But it could not survive gunpowder.

Wave after wave died to gunfire. The Rajput kings fought and died on the frontlines to hold the morale. So died the King of Merta, Princess Mira's father. The King Sanga of Mewar was injured, but he wouldn't surrender. Ultimately, he was poisoned by the Sisodias, his own House.

***

"Can I have my flute back now?" The pouting God barely looked up.

"You hid my laundry for a fortnight."

"Not my fault you forgot them."

"Did I not tell you about the crane? A massive whooping crane! You didn't believe me then."

"Haven't seen any demon donkeys yet."

She walked the last few steps between them, palming his cheek. Forcing him to look her in the eye. "You are meant for more than these childish games, Krishna. More than these pastures." She calculated her words. She wanted to be believed. "You are going to kill the Tyrant. You will become a King!"

He grabbed the flute in her hand, but she wouldn't let go. "Promise you'll believe me! Krishna, please!"

He kissed her forehead with an "I do." Her hands went limp, and the flute was gone. He was walking away. "Till we meet again, Radha!"

She was stunned. "It's Mira!" she shouted back.

***

The First Queen delivered the news herself. She was sobbing behind the veil.

"What says He of death, Lady Mira?"

Mira looked at her shrine. "He hasn't said much. But I think of it as a wedding." The Queen looked strangely like her own mother behind the veil. "It is okay to cry. Fathers do cry even when their daughters wed a King."

The Queen uncovered a large sack hidden in her bosom, handing it to her carefully, muffling the clinking metal within. She whispered, "Accept these alms, young saint. Hide them well. Sell them for passage, and flee to Merta. Mewar is not safe." Mira's arms nearly buckled under the weight of the 'alms'.

"I will follow King Sanga to a pyre tomorrow. The Second Queen will follow soon after. Her son Ratan is now King of Mewar," she said aloud, then returning to whispers. "He has no love for the Third Queen. She will flee to Bundi, but intends to return. Games are afoot Mira. Flee, while Ratan is King."

That was the last time Mira would see her.

***

Krishna was playing his flute for the river and the wind. Mira woke up, her head upon the white sack that was the Queen's parting gift.

"It was a long nap this afternoon, Radha. Is all well?"

She struggled to remember her father's laughter. "What say you of death, dear Krishna?"

"What's to say?" He paused. "The search has ended. The river has met the sea. The waters have a moment of reprieve, before they must rise to rain again."

The sack held a heavy necklace of gold encrusted with jewels she did not know the names for. He looked at it too, fascinated yet sombre.

"Who have you lost, Princess Mira?"

"My father." She rested there for long minutes, as he consoled her. She leaned into him, trying to share the weight of the day.

"You don't want the necklace?" he asked, sensing her mood.

"I don't."

"You miss him?"

"Not when I'm here." She paused. "Will you take it? Kings need jewelry"

Mira's head rose and fell, with his chest. She sensed him thinking.

"There is still time, I hope, before I must be King?"

"A few years, I think."

He made her a garland of lotus flowers, and they exchanged necklaces. She woke up the next day in Mewar, white lotuses around her neck.

***

Five years into his reign, King Ratan of Mewar and the King of Bundi killed each other on a "hunting trip". The Third Queen returned to Mewar as Regent, her son Vikram now the King.

Mira's chambers were her widow's prison, as before. Only the humiliations were new. She knew poisoned food by its taste, and learned to expect them when King Vikram was angry. There were more widows now in the Fort, mostly young mothers who had children to live for. They joined her in her prayer songs when the Regent's attention was directed elsewhere. Some favorite prayers had spread to the commonfolk.

Krishna had killed most of the assassin demons of lore back in her world of dreams. Mira did not fear death, strangely. Krishna could handle himself, and the Lord would save her from attempts on her own life.

She dreaded the day her dreams would cease.

***

Krishna held both her hands as they stood in silence, waiting for the other to find the words.

"What life have I, without my Prince?" The hours of ugly crying had concluded minutes ago, but her voice hadn't recovered.

Krishna shook his head. "I am to be King, remember?"

"What if I never told you that you would be King?"

"Maybe Chitra would be dead. Maybe I-"

Mira shushed him. The Tyrant's envoy stood at a distance with Krishna's brother. "The legends say he can be trusted," she said, unsure herself.

"Then what are you afraid of my dear?"

Mira shrugged. "They never say what happened to Radha after you leave."

"You could come with us."

She shook her head. "That would preclude the legends. Change destiny."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"No, but we can't afford to find out."

"What if I were not here, in your world of dreams?"

"I'd still be looking for you, in every world and every life."

He nodded. "Maybe we'll find each other again then."

Her soul tore away from her, and walked on two feet into the cart. The oxen drew them away over the hill. His face was buried in his brother's arms the last she saw him.

***

Mira woke up in Mewar, and walked out of the Fort in song. The commonfolk joined in. Not even the Queen Regent could stop her.

War came upon Mewar. The Queen Regent lost the Fort of Chittor to the Shah. But not before every man and boy marched to their deaths outside, and every woman and girl walked into a grand pyre.

Mira walked to Merta. The dreams did not find her on her childhood palace cot. She sang, and the masses sang along.

King Vikram, who was sheltered in Bundi, won back the ashes of Chittor from the Shah. But he lost his mind.

Mira walked to Vrindavan, her coterie of singers following in suit. The river had moved, the pastures were now farms. Her food was alms, her roof the stars. Her own life was a prison, her dreams devastatingly banal.

An ancient temple invited her in. The priest took her into the sanctum sanctorum. There, carved in stone centuries old, was her Krishna. He wore the necklace she had gifted him. Mira cried out. Centuries had softened the stone, but no. She wasn't mistaken.

King Vikram was assassinated the next year. The new King reigned for four years, and was killed in battle against the King after him.

Mira and her disciples marched into the lands of the barbarian Shah, to the fabled sunken city where her Lord had passed away. She spent her days singing in every town near the coast. Every tree was a temple, each day a festival.

She thought she had let go of the material world, but she had not. How could she, when she still chose to sleep? All life was a dream, and the dreams within were but shadows of a shadow.

She sang past sunset, till sunrise, and till it set again. Her singers gave company, the voices different by the hour. Night and day bled into one. Wakefulness and sleepiness blended into one sleepless daze. She sang on.

"O dearest Radha, return my flute back to me!

My flute is my life, and it's lost to thievery!

How do I now play, and sing, and herd all my cows?"

She heard voices that weren't there. Harmonies no human could sing.

"Why Krishna, sing with your mouth to call to your cows,

Drum with your fingers, and herd them with a pole!"

The paint of the world faded, the canvas came forth. It spread thin, threadbare.

"I beg at your feet, pity this poor soul!"

Between the threads, there was revelry. She could smell the ghewar and hear the ghungroo welcoming her home.

"So Mira begs her Krishna, the mountain mover,

Steal her flute, and save her!"

A familiar flute began to play.