From The Quill of Suranya

Her hand trembled on the white pearl string she held close to her bosom. It had tiny red spots on it, which she could not help but assume to be blood. Some of the war, its reminders of the sins of her kin, had rubbed off on her hand now. She shivered a little, trying not to lose composure. She had lost everything that was not hers to begin with. No amount of praying could now heal her broken heart. She was mourning her love in secret because he was gone, but she was still alive. To be scrutinised for lamenting such a forbidden loss. As long as she was breathing, she had to make sure she played her pawns well. She had to reconcile with her siblings. She had to make friends with the enemies. Anything that would make her relevant, even when deep in her heart, she wanted to slip away into oblivion. The most powerful woman in the world spent the night in the darkness of her room, wine glass in hand, helpless and defeated in the hands of fate. © Suranya Context: On 29th May, 1568, the armies...

Has this thought ever crossed your mind  How things would have been had you been mine? All the entangled feelings that bind Suffocate and slowly die  Would have disappeared just by  That look, when your eyes met mine. When you asked what I wanted from life  Why could I not say "For you to be mine"? You call me the bravest, yet I was not brave enough. How I wish there had been no ties,  No worldly attachments, no duties implied,  I wish I had broken the shackles  That kept me away from your shrine.  No wars would keep our love apart;  That was all I wanted for us.  But I was not brave enough.  I know you would not feel the same.  "Dreams are like the past", you once said,  "Always perfect, always happy, how easily  We unsee the unjust, unpleasant, unruly." Perhaps your divine intervention was true  For all I remember from the past  Is the day I met you. Not a war won, nor a throne, nor praises  But your ...

 Letters that were lost in transit  Taken for unanswered questions.  People who went missing in wars, Mourned as dead, yet with flickering hope. She wished to step into the arena  Sword out to defend her cause.  She wished that she were  Brave enough to shed blood. But all she heard time and again  Was a voice in her mind as a reminder  "You are only a woman. What can you do?" "But I am the richest in the world"  "They say it's because of your father" "But I am brave." "Not like your brothers." "But I love him." "You aren't brave enough to confess." The wine spilt over the carpet.  Soaking in blood red stains  The title over her head  Loomed like a death sentence.  The cost of her life was his death,  Whom she could not mourn in public. © Suranya

Sometimes in the darkest nights, under the bright veil of stars, a dim lamp shone in the room of the gem-studded marble palace. While the Palace slept in silence, no one noticed the gems on the walls, designed to be trees, flowers and shrubs, shine in the light of the lamp like the trees of heaven. It is then that the magic worked in her heart. She would stare at them and imagine how slowly, in the flickering light, they seemed to come alive one by one, swaying in the breeze gently around her. The flowers smelled of a mixture of jasmine, tuberose, and tulips. The shrubs whispered in the wind. In the palace of stones. The imagination made a garden of Eden for the Princess. She sat in a throne under the open sky, surrounded by flowers, forming a canopy over her head. The walls around her, the cold white marble, seemed to have fallen as the wind brought the freshness of the open gardens with it. Once again, the Captive Princess felt free of her chains. Her chains of reality. Somewhere far...

She watched his horse go till the dust settled back on the road. Her eyes shone, but no tear drop fell on her cheeks. There was no time to cry. It was time to prove that Love was the greatest strength. Days passed by, then a week. Many a messenger came and went telling about the progress at the battlefield, but each day her eyes were fixed at the gates, for a letter. A letter addressed to her, minus the seal and title. A letter that called her by the name she had otherwise forgotten. Every night as the stars twinkled, she sat sleepless and stared in the direction of the camp. That's where the sun set every day, almost as a metaphor of the darkness that engulfed her life after he departed. Somewhere in a tent in the camp, he stared at the flickering lamp with a feeling of longing. A will to return to her. Embrace her and feel at home. He could have written a letter, assured her he was fine, but what if she replied? Or worse, the letter reached her late? Long after he was gone? Could...

 Wreaths of rhododendrons in honour of the brave,  Smell of jasmine, rose petal sprinklers in the celebration;  But the sweetest smell that surpassed these was  That of your soft Heena-painted hands. Drums and horns of celebration across the land,  Singers and dancers at court till the wine poured late,  Yet the most beautiful of music was  Of your anklets' tinkle in the echoes of the palace.  A monument of marble, a fort conquered far beyond.  But home for my wandering heart  Remained your open courtyard.  A royal title, a guard of honour, a sword  Yet your letters were still my greatest reward:  A rule laid, fate separated,  Your heart remained the rebel, as did mine.  I painted your image in a corner of my room,  As you left an everlasting imprint on my heart. The gust of wind blew,  It travelled across the plains,  Over the hills of the Aravallis.  It brought me a tint of dust from your so...

 There is something about you I can't quite forget. Perhaps the sunshine reminds me  Of the way you talked,  The night reminds me of the way  We met in a tryst of sheer ecstasy;  The mountains remind me  There was a life waiting beyond it,  And the rain reminds me  Of my lovelorn heart  That has never found a way  To erase you from the mind. I sit here, amidst the storm, wondering  Was there more to our story?  More to love than we could ever know.  And my teardrops turn into pearls.  That now adorn the white marble dome. I wish to see you again, in dreams  Hold you near and sin,  But somehow with every ray of light,  You slip away like lost hope. ~ Suranya

 A Fakira,  Cursed to be a Princess,  Lived and Died in Oblivion,  Her sacrifices forgotten  By those who wrote history  And sang the glories of the kings. ~ Suranya

 In the darkest room of the brightest palace Sat a princess in turmoil,  Her mind in distress  Questions unanswered  She lets her thoughts float in the night sky. "I often wonder if you forgot me  Every time you go back home  Every time you see your kin. Little by little, you perhaps realise How different I am from you. How different our lives are  No matter how closely entwined. I cry myself to sleep  Ready to give up on our dreams,  I move an inch closer to God  A mile away from you  And light years nearer to Love." Far beyond the valleys and plains,  Miles away from her sight,  In a palace above a plain  Stood a man in sight. The walls around him shone bright blue,  Pictures painted on the walls,  Some of him, some of kins  Others of stories heard and seen. Could he ever forget her? The smiling eyes he had seen? His fingers lingered on the farthest pillar,  Upon a painting hidden on the beam. Th...

 The darkness danced in the flickering light,  The music played as the breeze swept by  Dancing around was the water in ripples  And the jasmine cast its aromatic spell. The moon shone through the clouds that night,  Upon the walls of the magnificent marble  Of the golden-roofed palace  And the red stone fort is in sight. The Anguri bagh in fresh sown grapes  The wine cups tinkling, poetry going on till late.  Somewhere in the distance, the bells rang  She dipped her quilt in the bottle of ink and began.  A night of longing and of love,  Of feelings bound and desires cursed. Her soul was restless in search of her heart,  She placed the quill on paper But didn't know where to start. The ink blotted the scented papers blue,  Her words were scattered across the sky  Like the veil of stars shimmering bright. Had her heart travelled far across the land,  Rode on a horseback into his desert homeland? Followed his ...

The evening sun was as red as vermilion, reflecting upon the white marble of the Taj. Janni sat in prayer, in silence and fear. He stared at her prayer with a faint smile. Today was probably the beginning of a journey to forever. From the moment she dared to lift her veil and stare him in the eyes, Chhatrasal knew something had changed. Hearts transformed. He was leaving for a war, both knew was a lost cause. Yet a hope in their heart refused to go. For as the moon made its way to wipe away the red hues over the white marble, making the Taj shine like a diamond drop, he had held her hand and promised to wait for her on the other side. She had smiled in her tears, promising him the same. The other side was uncertain. Unexplored. Yet, he was not scared. For he knew that there, they were just two souls, beyond name and identity, not a king, princess, religion, caste or creed. They were equal and one. The Almighty didn't judge his children. For their love for each other. It would perha...

 Jasmine and roses abloom,  Moonlight on the marble floor of the room,  Every night in the darkest hours  Under the veil of stars,  Her eyes shone with pearl drops  Cheeks like stars. Stardust made magic and moonbeam ripples,  On the water of the Yamuna below the fortress. It was then that the gust of wind  Brought with it a familiar touch  Someone whispered to her from afar,  As if she never belonged here.  Struggling between the cups of wine  She dared to remember him as divine,  One who embraced death for her fame,  Alas! She could never embrace his name. © Suranya

 Rhododendron and lilies in bloom,  Canopies in the grape garden,  The marble tomb shines in the morning sun. A boat sets sail across the Yamuna. Two souls in silent union. A king. A brave heart. A lover. A princess. A romantic. A beloved. Eyes locked in Desire,  Souls united through Time,  Identities separated by Fate,  Yet a hope, ignited, in the Heart,  To meet finally, on the Other Side. Why, O World, do you separate souls,  Through the most sacred journey of Love? © Suranya

The tourists had dispersed; the ASI officer checked every nook and corner of the premises and shut the door of the wonder in marble. It was another moonlit night. He smiled, swaying the large set of keys on his way out of the premises. One of those nights, when the Taj looked absolutely like heaven was imagined to be. The silence of the place was filled with the rustling of leaves, and the moon shone on the marble tomb like a radiant pearl. In the distance, on the opposite bank, stood the Agra Fort. The marble of the palanquin-shaped roof shone as well. And the moonlight entered through the jharokha, creating a design of flowers and leaves on the marble floor of the secluded fort. The breeze blew again. Cool and silent. Somewhere far away, the fading music of a mosque was heard. The Taj resonated with what were perhaps footsteps. She turned to see him arrive. White as the moon, his attire shone just like hers. Eyes met, and they smiled. It was a night of union, of two souls who were fo...

 Wreaths of Rhododendrons, smell of Jasmine, Rose petal sprinklers, Tube rose perfumes But the sweetest smell was still That of your painted hands in mine. A merriment in court, drums and dancers Yet the most beautiful music maker Is the anklets that twinkle in your feet. A palace of marbles, a fort conquered But the most beautiful home, Remains your open courtyard. A royal title, a guard of honour, Your letters are still my greatest rewards. A rule laid, fate intervened The heart remains a rebel at war, I paint your pictures on my walls. A gust of wind travels across the land Over the desert and into the plains, It brings a tint of dust from your garden to me. I know my heart is transformed, the soul bound to you Against the society and its norms For eternity and beyond. Wild and untamed, Love knows no bounds, No borders or faith, titles or decorum. It belongs to you, your smile, your touch. You made me a rebel for life In a rebellion for love. ~ Suranya

 They alone become immortal  Who chose the pen over the sword?  They alone are treated as humans  Of soul, flesh and blood.  Those who leave behind Memoirs of Emotions  Than Monuments of Dust. © Suranya

The battlefield was a mere ten miles away. Every evening, the news arrived. Of numbers. And names. Every evening, one or the other hut had the chilling wails of a widow or orphan live the nightmare. She would sometimes walk away from the pain. And sometimes sit in prayer. Every evening, her heart stopped just for a few seconds watching the messenger arrive. As if she were living a nightmare, she prayed to wake up every day. Then one day, the messenger hadn't arrived. Instead, a troop came in. In urgency, they were shifted. Uplifted from their huts with the minimum of belongings and taken deeper into the forest. Her eyes searched in vain. That night, she did what was perhaps not expected from her. The wife of the bravest feared death. She had cried. And wrote to him. The next morning, as he assigned his troops, a messenger made him frown with worry. The small letter and shaky handwriting. "Waiting for you. Your empty home." It was no miracle that the war was won that day i...

"Will I ever find love? Be brave enough to hold on to it?" Her tears gave way to heartache. She had lost her heart to someone she shouldn't have. "What will the picture of a Chauhan Prince do in a Mughal Princess's room?" The words from his letter resonated in her ears, in his voice. She never knew that he hadn't written that to her. Neither did her pleas reach him. She was tired. Tired of running from her feelings and emotions. Tired of being the perfect, composed, inspirational figure everyone looked up to. Tired of being only a princess. She wanted to be HIS princess.  But there he was, thousands of miles away in Bundi. Perhaps the news of her accident and recovery never reached him. Neither her pain nor her love. There he was, with his wife and children. Why would he remember her? The mere existence of her in his life was perhaps about the politics of the land. She didn't care about that. Her heart ached every time he was home. His home. His fami...