FOLKLORE
The Return of the Peacock
Here comes she!
I took a few steps gingerly — trying to soak in the familiar but now unfamiliar surroundings. I did not feel the part anymore — I had been away. I bent down to take my shoes off and continued my journey barefoot, on the sand. I was returning — returning to my roots. It had been seven long years since I was taken!
What must I do and what must I not
Do not tell me
You can’t force hena on my hand
Seven years ago, I had set my eyes for the first time on the Raja — or should I say, he had set his eyes on me. Beyond the oasis trees, the sun was almost setting in the desert. I was sitting beside the well, waiting for my turn to get some water.
I did not pay heed to the caravan that had stopped by our village. Our village was on the trade route to Kolachi, the famous port city. As the group of men approached the well, I could tell him apart instantly — he was royalty. The color and style of the turban that he was wearing, and the way he carried his sword — commoners were not allowed to wear turbans or carry swords like that.
His companion whispered something in his ear as he laid his gaze on me. I instantly froze as I felt his firm hand on my jaw. “What’s your name?”
“Marvi…”
I did not like the way he had touched my face, but I had no choice. He was the Raja (ruler) and I was the Parja (subject).
That night as the caravan left, I was placed on a paalki on one of the camels. I was heartbroken! As I departed, I saw Ballu standing by a tree. Our hopes had been dashed — our dreams of starting a life together in our village had been cut short.
That night I was brought into the Raja’s tent. It was my duty to serve him. I was to please him with my heart, soul, and body. I mustered all the courage I had and looked him in the eye.
“You own me for I am your slave, and you can do with me what you please. But my heart will never be yours!”
I could tell he was not used to hearing such words. Yet, there was no anger — just a deep stare. He sent me back to my tent. I was told that the Raja would not force himself on me. Instead, he will win my heart in due course. I knew his efforts would be futile. My heart is already someone else’s!
In the path of my happiness, why do you have thorns wrought?
When I sing in front of everyone
You don’t even applaud
What to say about your state and your question
When I am my own companion, then why should I bother about anyone
I was awestruck as I looked at the palace and my quarters. I had never set my eyes on something so magnificent. I had never slept in such a comfortable bed and had never eaten such delicious food. I had never worn such marvelous robes. But I felt no joy.
I missed home. I missed my Ballu, and most of all I missed the desert. I was a free spirit of the desert, I was not meant to dwell in the posh palace surrounded by dozens of servants. I longed to return to my village one day.
Other girls in the palace laughed at my foolishness. They told me that Lady Luck had smiled at me because I was the Raja’s favorite and that he loved me.
I had nothing in common with these girls — I felt like a stranger among them. I wanted to fly away but my wings had been taken away. A prison is a prison even if it is made of gold.
I have clasped my dreams in my fist.
I have drowned my tears in a twist
My tribe is standing, waiting for me
Holding candles in their hands, they’re sure where I’ll be
This world runs on dreams. From intent, I carved out my journey
Stuck in your dreams, will you soar
Days turned into months, and the months into years — I lost track of time. The Raja stayed true to his word. Often, I would see him watching me as I strolled in the palace garden or sat by the fountains. He would never miss any of the dances where I performed, but he never uttered a word. I think he was waiting for me to come around.
During all these years, I never stopped dreaming. I knew my folks were waiting for me. I often dreamed of Ballu standing by the village with his gaze set on the desert — on the lookout for any caravan that might reunite us.
In my dreams, I would run to Ballu, and embrace him by the trees. My soul was still by his side. At times, I could not discern between my reality and my dreams or maybe I did not want to. I felt more alive in my dreams than in reality — bound by the high palace walls and the iron gates.
My friends, the sun has risen
The dark days are over
My Victor has arrived from her prison
Her shyness is forsaken
In the caravan, she’s not alone
But still, this isn’t the end of your strife
I could not sleep after hearing the news. The dark days were over, and I was leaving my prison. The Raja had decided to let go of me. He had realized that one could not force someone to fall in love. There was no farewell meeting— he still chose not to speak to me. I didn’t care — I was overjoyed at the prospect of returning home.
The sight of my village in the distance sparked many a memory — I wanted to disembark and race ahead of the caravan. My people were waiting for me — my Ballu was waiting for me.
A strange thought occurred to me. They will welcome me with open arms. won’t they?
LIN wrote a thought-provoking piece on the dilemma faced by victims of domestic abuse.
I enjoyed reading Dr. Preeti Singh’s travels to the Valley of Flowers — Srinagar, Kashmir.
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