Ramayana II
The loquacious man emerges from hiding, betel leaves mixed with gargled toddy. He resumes his seat in front of famished ears, and continues his discourse.
...And so it was, that the resister and his legions of beasts collide with the demon. Never was futility better manifested than in the victorious cries of karma, when the resister plunged his lance into the vile darkness of the demon's heart, every plunge and every twist bringing a morbid pleasure to justice's perverted physiognomy. Yet can the Kshatriya perform otherwise? Can the conchshell be traded for a humble plough? Surely you deign to mock the primordial purusha!
The just side of an ambivalent mirror of dharma dances to the hollow tune of a phyrric victory. Yet the resister succumbs to his deceit, nourishes his conceit, whereupon for kingly honor his love he prepares to forfeit. Echoed eons later by a fellow resister, whose soul was ravenously swallowed by the deux ex machina of flickering neon lights, whose empathy for her fellow sufferers predisposed her to utter the final monumental words, "Human talk is to be feared", our distinguished resister wallows in the venomous chastise of cronies and lackeys. Deeply afflicted by the venom of their lies, the resister dismisses his spouse, for his trust was too emaciated to cast off imaginations of his wife's fantasized plunge into temptation and unholy union with the vanquished demon. Such is the laughable irony of our epic resister, coming full circle in his mundane quest and his fruitless battle with destiny. Such are the hollow promises of the glories of kingship, the ingratiating stance towards the masses at the expense of one's most dearly cherished.
Yet as surely as Visnu reposes in the lotus pond of creation, justice roars its formidable head at all who beseeches its intervention. The spouse mourns in sackcloth and with all the might in her accursed soul, laments to the earth to ingest her entirety into its boundless plains. Can even the vilest of criminals deny the delicate wish of a destroyed damsel in deathly distress? The deed is done, and the spouse is devoured, still bleeding in derision, still clinging onto a shattered vision of peurile reconciliation.
Years later, as if the fervent echoes of karma finally traverse to our resister's hardened ears, he harkens his call to his own tragic and melancholic demise. Garnering his bewildering legions of devotees, he embarks on the long march towards the enchanted streams and rivers of his long departed youth, and it is there that he implores Visnu to enfold him eternally into the bosoms of divine infinitude.
-The End-
The just side of an ambivalent mirror of dharma dances to the hollow tune of a phyrric victory. Yet the resister succumbs to his deceit, nourishes his conceit, whereupon for kingly honor his love he prepares to forfeit. Echoed eons later by a fellow resister, whose soul was ravenously swallowed by the deux ex machina of flickering neon lights, whose empathy for her fellow sufferers predisposed her to utter the final monumental words, "Human talk is to be feared", our distinguished resister wallows in the venomous chastise of cronies and lackeys. Deeply afflicted by the venom of their lies, the resister dismisses his spouse, for his trust was too emaciated to cast off imaginations of his wife's fantasized plunge into temptation and unholy union with the vanquished demon. Such is the laughable irony of our epic resister, coming full circle in his mundane quest and his fruitless battle with destiny. Such are the hollow promises of the glories of kingship, the ingratiating stance towards the masses at the expense of one's most dearly cherished.
Yet as surely as Visnu reposes in the lotus pond of creation, justice roars its formidable head at all who beseeches its intervention. The spouse mourns in sackcloth and with all the might in her accursed soul, laments to the earth to ingest her entirety into its boundless plains. Can even the vilest of criminals deny the delicate wish of a destroyed damsel in deathly distress? The deed is done, and the spouse is devoured, still bleeding in derision, still clinging onto a shattered vision of peurile reconciliation.
Years later, as if the fervent echoes of karma finally traverse to our resister's hardened ears, he harkens his call to his own tragic and melancholic demise. Garnering his bewildering legions of devotees, he embarks on the long march towards the enchanted streams and rivers of his long departed youth, and it is there that he implores Visnu to enfold him eternally into the bosoms of divine infinitude.
-The End-
posted by dennis at 11:33 AM
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