Tag: krishna

the grief of women: reflections on Strī Parva

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spent today absorbed in the père lachaise cemetery, and one of the things i was struck most by was seeing the many sculptures of female figures towering over tombs: almost all tearful or in distress. it made me think of Strī Parva, “The Book of Women” from the Mahābhārata, which exclusively focuses on portraying women’s grief and tears, who break upon seeing their men & sons slaughtered on the battlefield in the aftermath of the war. one of the distressed female characters, queen Gāndhārī, lashes out at Kṛṣṇa and accuses him of murder, declaring that he could have stopped the war as he is both omniscient & ever-powerful.

Kṛṣṇa rejects her blame and retorts that he cannot override the cosmic laws. he himself is subjected to them; the massacre was ordained, no one is exempt from death, and the cycle of life is definitive.

my understanding of this exchange is: he is not telling her that she should not grieve or that her grief is “wrong”; he merely offers her the opportunity to place it in a larger context and to use her distress to understand deeper herself as well as the web of nature / existence / cosmology. there is no one to blame or resent or victimise; life unfolds as is. and,

even what we understand as ‘negative’ feelings therefore can be utilised as a stimulus for self-reflection. i myself have spent a lot of time simmering in grief without considering what it could teach me, so this particular scene is very profound for me.

and, how beautiful is Kṛṣṇa’s revelation that he himself is subjected to the cosmic laws once incarnated! will elaborate on this in a future article or post 😊

*my retelling of this dialogue is not based exclusively on the critical edition but also on its variations, as this is one of the instances in which i find referring to multi-versions valuable.

photos: some of my favourite sculptures seen in the cemetery!

musings on the Mahābhārata series: introduction

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The Mahābhārata is a love of my life, and one of my main research interests – as well as the subject matter of my upcoming PhD thesis! for awhile now, i have been reflecting on how to meaningfully share about the Mbh on my social media platforms. generally, i would say that there are two main approaches to the Mbh in contemporary discourse: one is the academic and scholarly approach, which, although i both adore and adhere to, i find to be largely inaccessible and limited to the academic niche. the second, which seeps more into contemporary discourse, i find to be a moralistic, religious outlook. although i consider both approaches to be valid and needed in society, i believe that what is missing is more intimate, personal sharing about the Mbh. i, for one, am not in love with the Mbh purely out of intellectual curiosity. for me, The Mahābhārata is alive; it exists within me and within the collective consciousness as a mirror to our own thought processes and individual universes. i would therefore like to challenge myself past my usual scholarly approach and share earnestly about what it means for me to immerse myself in this marvellous epic. for instance, what does it mean for me as a modern woman to read about Draupadī’s disrobing; how can i understand myself better through her character?

to ground these discussions more, i will create infographics about the plot, the historical context & main characters (created more out of love for the Mbh than for these discussions, to be honest!).

very excited for this and am looking forward to establishing myself further in the epic’s framework through this interactive approach! 🖤

to begin with,

WHY THE MAHĀBHĀRATA?

a question any scholar should ask themselves, i would argue, is why? why is my research relevant, why should i conduct this research in the first place, and how can it answer to questions of the present?

today, i am going to answer to this question with regards to the Mahābhārata. why should we care about an ancient epic poem? first of all, because the Mbh is not a dead, lifeless piece of literature. i would argue, and this is one of the main claims i will construct in my phd thesis, that the Mbh is ever-fluid and ever-changing. throughout centuries, there have been countless of retellings of the epic, each bearing differences, interpolations. does this mean that they are invalid? i would maintain that they are very much valid, and the continuous changes shaping and re-shaping the epic come as a result of its aliveness: it is alive, pulsing in the collective consciousness. in this full aliveness, the Mbh is moulded by society and culture as they evolve, acting as a mirror.

on the other hand, the Mahābhārata in itself proudly states that what you can find in it, you can find anywhere else, but you cannot find anywhere what does not exist in the Mbh; there is nothing that it does not address. in this, it tells us that it contains all answers and questions we can have – albeit in a very abstract and cryptic manner. for instance, it contains futuristic themes (for its time of creation), such as IVF and AI, and it addresses themes which are very relevant to the present day: religious violence, women’s rights, ethics. it answers to all questions we can have about the human condition; as although times are ever-changing, the human experience always remains the same, or so i would maintain: the questions we ask ourselves at their core remain the same, although the experience will be manifested or expressed differently at surface level. the Mbh thus contains inexhaustive areas of self-exploration and opportunities to understand ourselves and the world. 🌌

101 on the Mbh – infographics below! (parts 1, 2, 3… of many!)

watch my videos here in which i speak in length about the topics mentioned above: https://www.instagram.com/musingsonthemahabharata/

your mouth is the fire | bhakti poem by téa nicolae

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your call is the cinder
your mouth is the fire
burning the tips of my fingers,
weaving my thoughts in gold wire.

my tears are the milk,
my oblations are the flowers
gliding onto the blest thāli,
pouring into fire that devours.

your curls are the waves,
your teeth are the moons
cooling the ārti of my heart ,
more precious than kingly boons.

my love is the oath,
my longing is the path
jostling me to you,
enough to endure the world’s wrath.

monsoon one, tell me
when my yearning reaches the skies
are you the sunlight
bathing my eyes?

Glossary
thāli – metal plate used in rituals of worship, on which offerings of fire and water are laid.
ārti – Sanskrit for ‘affliction’ or ‘distress’, as well as an alternative modern spelling for āratī, a ritual in which the light of a burning flame is offered to deities.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 my creative contribution to the Florilegium Anthology .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

🖤🥀🌼 FLORILEGIUM 🥀🌼🖤 is an anthology of fiction & non-fiction literature compiled by the 2022 cohort of the Warwick Writing Programme, birthed out of love for writing and out of commitment to expression and self-discovery through the art of writing. Florilegium features 21 emerging writers and it holds short stories, flash fiction & poetry. it was a pure delight to work on this collection with my very talented colleagues and it is a joy to see it out in print! the Florilegium launch was held in february in London 🖤 photos from the launch below!

lemon tree flare | bhakti poem by Téa Nicolae

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i had thought
that i was just a girl
who wanted to plant lemon trees
but my hot blood scorched
the vine trailing on the windowsill.


Keśava,
you are pulling me to you by my teeth
and i follow happily.

exploring the warm tones of warwickshire beauty 💛


i followed you into the seven seas
and i followed you into the circle of mountains
i have been calling you with folded hands
and now i will dance to you
with my mouth open
and with flowers woven into my skin tissue.


monsoon one,
did you know
that the crevices of my heart
can hold you whole?
did you know
that the fire in my belly
can swallow the three worlds?


i know you did,
Hari.
i know you did.

She dances me to her call | bhakti poem by Téa Nicolae

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in the depths of my being, She dances me to her call:

“come to me. I want all of you, my child. no part of you is too dark, too gritty, too cruel for me. I claim all of you.”

Māiyā! your waves carry your call and roll it against my chest. i seek you with my breath, eyes, hands, and knees. my lungs seek you like they seek air.

Ya Devī! soothing her tears,

Kṛṣṇa told Pāñcālī

that just as you, Śrī Gaṅgā, hold and wash all pollutions yet are ever-pristine,

so does the fallen empress remain untainted by her shame.

aches bathed in your luster,

i plead:

take all of me, Devī.

leave nothing of me behind.

establish me in knowing

that despite my wrongs, fears and corruptions, i, too,

your fragment in the microcosm,

remain unmarred.

may the holy flow of your untamed waters

sweeten the harshness i bear towards myself and the world

soften the rigid corners straining my being

loosen the knots hindering you from coursing within me.

Śrī Mātre Namaḥ. 🙏

photos: before & after bathing in the waters of Śrī Gaṅgā in the auspicious Gangotri. Śabda Yātra. 🙏 the blessing of blessings. 💙

you elude me: bhakti poem by Téa Nicolae

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you elude me,

my Beloved.
your nectarous call
trickles in my ears
and i run to you,
maddened.

i run to you,
enamoured,
clothed by longing
and with tears as jewels.

i run to you,
bare,
silk dress in shreds,
ripped slippers.

i’ve been running to you
since before i was born.
i am tired, Hari.
my dignity and pride
are long forgotten.
my toenails are cracked,
the skin peels off my feet.
my hair is rumpled,
my breasts are bruised;
your wayward bride.

whenever i get close
to throwing myself at your feet
my mind entangles me.
my wrongs push against my bones
and i fall on my face.
my blood smears the ground
and i grovel. i cry. i howl.

when your nectarous call
trickles in my ears,
i jolt forwards.
and i run to you,
maddened.

~ poem to Madhav, published in Śabda Magazine, volume II. my offering of longing as we approach the auspicious day of Vijayadaśamī! may we be victorious in our quest to merge with the Divine Beloved. 🙏

aegina, greece, 2018.

Draupadī’s Speech, Vastrāharaṇa: A Collaborative and Experimental Audio-translation

Téa Nicolae1 Comment

Fragment of a collaborative and experimental audio-translation of Draupadī’s speech following Vastrāharaṇa (The Attempted Disrobing of the Empress), as presented in the 2013 rendition of the Mahābhārat. Created in the module ‘The Practice of Literary Translation’ of the Warwick Writing Programme with Sumithreyi Sivapalan. 🙂

Draupadī:

Touch me not, Queen Mother Kuntī.

I will get besmirched.

I am no longer your daughter-in-law.

I am no longer your sons’ wife.

I am no longer the bride of the Kuru dynasty.

Now I am without husband, without name, without dynasty.

I am the fire that burns in the furnace. I am purity itself,

yet I feed on what is impure.

Today, in this sabhā, I have cried the tears of the women who walked this Earth.

Queen Mother Kuntī, Great Queen Gandharī, if you wish to save yourselves, renounce this sabhā and leave. Because this palace hall will break today.

I am no longer a human being. I am death itself, only death. I am the death of all the vile men present in this unjust sabhā today.

My curse is that, at this very moment…

Gandharī:

No, Draupadī. Do not curse. Do not curse! Forgive them. Forgive us. I beg you, forgive us!

Draupadī:

My curse is forgiveness in itself, Great Queen. If I have to punish, let it be in this lifetime. Every moment, they will suffer the agony of hell. Their pain will know no end.

Gandharī:

No, my daughter. The woman who gives life cannot give death.

In taking one’s own life, one annihilates their body. In taking another’s life, one destroys the soul.

When a person destroys their soul, that is called self-annihilation.

In your anger, do not act like these men!

Draupadī:

It is a woman’s duty to keep the house clean and it is a woman who purifies the house. It is a woman’s duty, as well, to keep this world clean, and only a woman can purify the Earth. I curse (that)…

still and edit i created of Pooja Sharma as Draupadī. the most fantastic performance of the fireborn heroine!

The Internal Freedom of the Mahābhārata’s Fire-born Heroine

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Perhaps one of the most jarring episodes of the Mahābhārata, the disrobing of Draupadī has been etched to my mind since my first introduction to the epic. The story of the Mahābhārata’s fire-born heroine goes as follows: the empress Draupadī, an incarnation of the celestial Śrī, is violently dragged to the royal court after her husbands, the Pāṇḍavas, are enslaved through deceit. Draupadī is tearful, menstruating, and the Pāṇḍavas’ offenders, the Kauravas, attempt to enslave her. However, she fiercely debates them and proclaims her freedom. Enraged by her rebuttal, the Kauravas decide to disrobe her. When they mercilessly begin to pull her clothing, Draupadī’s garment endlessly unfolds, and she remains clothed — by what is presumed to be the grace of Lord Kṛṣṇa.
My fascination with Draupadī first began as awe of the female endurance she embodies. As a woman myself, I deeply identified with her pains, and found our sufferings to mirror each other. In my reflections, my being melded with her character, whom I felt connected to through the thread of shared female experience. I found comfort in her triumph. As I continued mulling over her story, I became inexplicably moved by the imposing testament of devotion that is showcased in her tale; in most renditions of the Mahābhārata, Draupadī, while being abused, earnestly prays to her dearest friend, confidant, and God, Kṛṣṇa, who, out of boundless compassion, answers to her calls and envelops her in his grace. It is a touching picture: as the men of the court hang their heads in shame, bound in silence and inaction by their royal vows, Draupadī, deserted by all, is shielded by her devotion to Kṛṣṇa — and her devotion is enough.
However, my greatest personal and transformational shift has occurred when, with my beloved guru’s guidance, I was able to deconstruct the tale of Draupadī’s anguish in order to delve deeper into the teaching encased in it. Before doing so, there was slight anxiousness in my heart: there was self-doubt, and there were questions; Draupadī had been ‘saved’ through her devotion, but would I be? Would I be saveable or worthy?
Indeed, my mistake had been not delving deeper into the teaching encased in Draupadī’s anguish by remaining stuck at the level of storytelling. The liberating conclusion I have reached is that, in truth, whether the empress’s garment endlessly expanded or not is irrelevant. The teaching veiled in Draupadī’s disrobing is that she was untouchable because she was internally free. The horror she was subjected to did not shake her internal freedom, nor did it dismantle her devotion. Throughout it all, she was rooted in her love for Kṛṣṇa, and immersed in her independent power. As she says in a recent rendition: “You cannot make me your slave because I do not allow it. Independence lies within me; it is not a piece of clothing you can snatch.” All along, the question was not whether I would have been saved; it was whether I could unearth Draupadī’s fearlessness in myself.
The Mahābhārata’s fire-born heroine has taught me that freedom lies within me. It is not given to me by others, and it cannot be taken from me. My freedom is married to my devotion, and my heart holds the keys to both.


This article has been published in the second volume of Śabda Magazine.

Collage I made of Pooja Sharma as Draupadī in the 2013 Mahābhārat. Although the TV series presents many distortions, her brilliant, fiery performance makes viewing it a joy for me.

“defeat me” – poem, prayer for Naraka Caturdaśī

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defeat me,
monsoon one.
pierce through the weaponry of the self
until my armour plate breaks in two,
and i crumble at your feet
the way Naraka fell before you and Satyā.

show me mercy,
monsoon one.
before your sudarśana delivers my final blow,
hold me as one’s beloved would.
cradle me
the way you embraced your gopis
when swaying with the woods of Vṛndā.

dance me,
monsoon one,
to your flute’s tune
show me the hills
where the milkmaids bathed your feet with their tears.

let our waltz come to end
when my hand slips from yours…
then claim your victory over me,
Hari.
unchain me from my bonds of delusion
burn the bitterness weighing my heart
so we meld as one.
free me into union with you,
lover of Rādhā,
the way you wedded Naraka’s imprisoned women.

purifier of the fallen,
defeat me
and
allow me
rest
within you.

“defeat me”, poem / prayer for Naraka Caturdaśī… 💛 wishing a blessed Dīpāvali to all! may our ignorance dissolve into the light of consciousness as the asuras were absorbed into the devatās.

credit for the second, beautiful image: Madhav, unsplash.

tiny personal note: this is the first Dīpāvali i am spending in a place of my own, and it has been so precious to decorate my apartment (and even my rabbit’s hutch!) for the festival of lights. 💫 

grateful!

the tapestry behind me: the feet of Hari & Rādhārāṇī, by Harsh Malik. 💛