knew what to do. Besides, Somavat got annoyed if anyone told him what to do. Only this time he was not too happy: he had to dress like a woman and walk behind Sumedha – he was shorter, rounder, and cuter, as Somavat pointed out, enjoying his dominating friend’s discomfort.
The plan had worked. Sumedha remembered the affection of the queen as she welcomed them into her royal courtyard, washed their feet, offered them food, and wished them a hundred children as she handed over the cow. But uneasiness gripped his heart, guilt snaked its way in. What they had done was wrong!
Wrong? A mission spawned in poverty. Surely the gods understood. Surely the queen would understand. Sumedha grabbed Somavat’s hand, painted red, firmly. There was comfort in those hands. Somavat squeezed Sumedha’s fingers, a gentle acknowledgment of his friend’s anxiety, and continued walking. They had the cow, they had left the city, soon they would reach the village, get wives and all would be okay. They had done nothing wrong.
The bond between the boys touched Nandini’s heart. No, no punishment for the desperate, just a twist in cosmic laws to turn this trick into truth . . .
The fields gave way to the forest. The royal highway continued straight east but the boys turned into a narrow path that made its way into a thick bush. The trees made way for the imposter bride, the imposter groom and the very real cow. They then leaned back so that no one from the highway saw any trace of them. They were guests of the forest-goddess, Aranyani, who had heard the lowing of the cow and had chuckled to herself. Yes, Nandini’s wish would be granted. In Aranyani’s wild realm, the rules of the city evaporate like camphor: no husband, no wife, no king, no queen, no man, no woman . . . only predators and prey, and the occasional lover. She sighed at the infinite possibilities of nature.
As they neared the cave where Somavat’s clothes were hidden, Sumedha realized the cow would separate them forever. She would make them eligible for wives; with wives would come separate kitchens, separate homes, separate children and separate responsibilities. The temple would still be the same, but everything would change. He felt his skin being torn from his flesh, his breath being separated from his chest. The pain, this deep intense pain of separation, was unbearable. He walked around the cow, to get closer to friend and hugged him from behind, resting his head on his friend’s shoulder. Cheek met cheek, a deep longing expressed itself.
This was not the needy hug that Somavat experienced many a time as they slept under the same blanket on winter nights. This was not the mischievous hug he had experienced in the city when Sumedha pretended to be his husband. This was different, more anxious, more demanding, a child afraid of losing his mother.
Somavat felt Sumedha’s heart pounding. Why was his friend so scared? The ordeal was over; the cow had been obtained. Somavat reached out and caressed his friend’s face ever so gently, his affection pouring out. He, too, was sensing the end of childhood. No longer students, they would be householders, husbands and fathers. Is this the heartache people describe when it is time to let go? Was this what was bothering Sumedha?
Somavat turned around and cupped Sumedha’s face in his hands. Were those tears? Yes, his friend was crying. The realisation of the end. He hugged Sumedha tight and let his tears roll down too. Years of emotions poured out. They clung to each other, afraid of the world beyond. Between them was the only security they ever knew.
How does a wife comfort a frightened husband? Does she hold him tight between her breasts? Does she become mother for a moment, gently nudge him to take charge, feel powerful? Or does she become a flirtatious nymph and wipe away fear with a giggle? Somavat decided to become the nymph. No, a clown who mimics nymphs. That would make Sumedha smile once agin. He sniffed away his
The plan had worked. Sumedha remembered the affection of the queen as she welcomed them into her royal courtyard, washed their feet, offered them food, and wished them a hundred children as she handed over the cow. But uneasiness gripped his heart, guilt snaked its way in. What they had done was wrong!
Wrong? A mission spawned in poverty. Surely the gods understood. Surely the queen would understand. Sumedha grabbed Somavat’s hand, painted red, firmly. There was comfort in those hands. Somavat squeezed Sumedha’s fingers, a gentle acknowledgment of his friend’s anxiety, and continued walking. They had the cow, they had left the city, soon they would reach the village, get wives and all would be okay. They had done nothing wrong.
The bond between the boys touched Nandini’s heart. No, no punishment for the desperate, just a twist in cosmic laws to turn this trick into truth . . .
The fields gave way to the forest. The royal highway continued straight east but the boys turned into a narrow path that made its way into a thick bush. The trees made way for the imposter bride, the imposter groom and the very real cow. They then leaned back so that no one from the highway saw any trace of them. They were guests of the forest-goddess, Aranyani, who had heard the lowing of the cow and had chuckled to herself. Yes, Nandini’s wish would be granted. In Aranyani’s wild realm, the rules of the city evaporate like camphor: no husband, no wife, no king, no queen, no man, no woman . . . only predators and prey, and the occasional lover. She sighed at the infinite possibilities of nature.
As they neared the cave where Somavat’s clothes were hidden, Sumedha realized the cow would separate them forever. She would make them eligible for wives; with wives would come separate kitchens, separate homes, separate children and separate responsibilities. The temple would still be the same, but everything would change. He felt his skin being torn from his flesh, his breath being separated from his chest. The pain, this deep intense pain of separation, was unbearable. He walked around the cow, to get closer to friend and hugged him from behind, resting his head on his friend’s shoulder. Cheek met cheek, a deep longing expressed itself.
This was not the needy hug that Somavat experienced many a time as they slept under the same blanket on winter nights. This was not the mischievous hug he had experienced in the city when Sumedha pretended to be his husband. This was different, more anxious, more demanding, a child afraid of losing his mother.
Somavat felt Sumedha’s heart pounding. Why was his friend so scared? The ordeal was over; the cow had been obtained. Somavat reached out and caressed his friend’s face ever so gently, his affection pouring out. He, too, was sensing the end of childhood. No longer students, they would be householders, husbands and fathers. Is this the heartache people describe when it is time to let go? Was this what was bothering Sumedha?
Somavat turned around and cupped Sumedha’s face in his hands. Were those tears? Yes, his friend was crying. The realisation of the end. He hugged Sumedha tight and let his tears roll down too. Years of emotions poured out. They clung to each other, afraid of the world beyond. Between them was the only security they ever knew.
How does a wife comfort a frightened husband? Does she hold him tight between her breasts? Does she become mother for a moment, gently nudge him to take charge, feel powerful? Or does she become a flirtatious nymph and wipe away fear with a giggle? Somavat decided to become the nymph. No, a clown who mimics nymphs. That would make Sumedha smile once agin. He sniffed away his
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