By Prem Gongaju
“Please explain the meaning of ‘the apple of her eye’, Grandfather,” Kamala asked anxiously. For she imagined a rather grotesque picture of the Sky Goddess with the reddish green apples dangling from her eyes, just like the apples hanging from the apple tree in her Grandfather’s garden.
“It means the two full moons were very dear to her; they were her darling daughters in the sky.”
Relieved by her Grandfather’s lucid explanation, Kamala asked playfully, “Like me and my sister?”
“Yes, Kamala, like you and Timila,” Grandfather paused to draw on his hookah.
“Please continue, Grandfather.”
“The Sky Goddess searched here and searched there for her missing daughter. She searched everywhere, but couldn’t find her missing daughter. She went searching into the bags and bags of ballooning clouds floating in the spacious sky; she searched in all her hiding places used mostly during the siblings’ hide-and-seek game, but could not find her missing daughter. Leaving no clouds unexplored, the Queen of Heaven spent the whole night looking for her truant child, but to no avail. Naturally, she was frantic with worry. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep. The sad, sad tears, the pearls of pain, rolled down her cheeks. And her heart ached for her missing daughter.”
“The pearls of pain!” The metaphor echoed in the chamber of Kamala’s soul she had sealed shut a long time ago, but the seal was broken and it laid open like an oyster, its pearls painfully visible to the discerning eyes. But Grandfather seemed not to notice his granddaughter’s vulnerability brought on by the power of metaphor over her sensitive soul. So, after he had had the fill of hookah smoke, the seasoned raconteur continued with the story. And Kamala decided to wait for the right moment to ask her Grandfather about “the pearls of pain.”
“By and by, the dewy dawn coaxed the sun from his master bedroom out onto the adamantine balcony overlooking the Kailas palace of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvathi among the Himalayas. Perched on the bough of the ashvattha tree were the lyre birds and the birds of paradise among other colorful song birds. They fluffed up the sleepy feathers, preened their heavenly plumes and later shook the stardust off their winsome wings. After grooming the drowsy plumage to perfection, they arched their necks and serenaded the Bhairava Raga in obeisance to Surdeo, the bestower of effulgence of splendor and sunshine to all the lands and seas under the immense upside-down bowl of sapphire. Subsequently, Surdeo broke his fast on a few fabulous fruits and other choice morsels dipped in the manna from Indra’s orchard. And the Surdeo leaped off the palace parapet and landed on the rainbow cushion of the golden chariot harnessed to the team of four fiery, winged steeds, steadied and ready for the signal of the diamond encrusted rein. Then with the celestial charioteer Arundeva in command, Indra the Sun god ‘performs his journey mounting the wheel of time.’ (Sri Brahma Samhita 5.52)”
Kamala was enchanted by her Grandfather’s word-painting of the dawn ushering Surdeo over the drowsy world.
“The east was awash with the multi-chromatic sunbeams,” continued Grandfather. “The Surdeo swept the darkness away with his dazzling sunbeams far and wide over land and sea. The marine creatures sprang forth from under the undulating sea-green surface shimmering with dappled brilliance, each executed an acrobatic number exquisitely that was innate to their unchoreographed soul and afterward dove back into the deep blue sea. It was a part of their benedictory dance to the risen sun, the Indra of the heavenly realm. After the mesmerizing leap and twirl from the pod of dolphins, the most impressive routine came from the humpback whales at the end; their 3- step breaching was the most spectacular of them all. A splashing end, so to speak, to the morning ritual among the dwellers of the deep. In land, the verdant flora swayed and waved, waved and swayed gracefully at the sun. And the overjoyed fauna frolicked around with fun as the sun swept over them all, over the forest canopy and the verdant grassland, over the caramel brown thatch roofs of the humble folks as well as the ornate bronze and copper roofs with the embellishments of green patina of the potente. The Surdeo bestowed light and warmth for all the earthlings under his care. And all’s well with the world.”
While Grandfather paused to smoke the hookah, Kamala tried to conjure up the pearls of pain rolling down the canvas of emotions. She did not know till then that tears were called the pearls of pain, metaphorically. Now that she had time to dwell on some of the searing events in her village, she realized that she had witnessed on several occasions the pearls of pain coursing down her neighbors’ cheeks during the deaths and destructions caused by natural devastation and drowning in the Sea of Sambhala. And the metaphor—the pearls of pain—was her ticket to the existential theater of life. And death. Once again, the memory of her Grandmother’s passing away revived in Kamala’s heart. She recalled the tears rolling down her grandfather’s cheeks scarred by loss and grief. No longer bewildered by the death of her Grandmother, Kamala felt the sorrow to the core of her being, to the marrow of her existence, as the tears trickled down her cheeks, which she dabbed away surreptitiously.
…To Be Continued on Jan. 27
