[ Ego, Orpheus, lapsam ad
paenitentiam duxi. ]
Sandhya had built her castle on seven pillars,
and she had torn it down, at least in places where she had lost control. She
inhabited the ruinous derelict made with her own fractured ego, yet she was not
condemned by the poet for her rebelliousness.
Before her sons were imprisoned by Orpheus
within the eighteen realms, her overflowing malice inhabited hell in a crisscross
of anger and defiance, a situation that even put her at risk of losing
everything to damnation. Vice felt she could never avoid an intense prejudice
of guilt, of being unable to love him with all her heart, and of the folly of bringing
forth the demons, thereby loving them, and forfeiting her control over them.
Paradoxically, she had once thought that by
empowering her men, she would be able to challenge the sovereignty of the
forbidden forest, which directed its roots in eighteen groves within the valley
of dry bones. Each wood was separated from the others by a deep chasm where only
the hollow of hell could be perceived from a distance. These same men, her own
sons, had tricked her into believing in them, so that she could be captured and
put to trial for creating them.
She had encouraged her men to travel to the very ends of the underworld so that her control might be exercised in full, yet the
flute of Orpheus had entombed them within these eighteen realms. Their mortal
remains turning to dust, their souls swallowed by serpentine trees, insofar as
each one of them had gone with her good wishes.
If judas was trapped within the first realm, the
succubus men had gone so far as the eighteenth grove, and no further! The ones
who were alive were surrounded by a cruel eternity, where even her blessings
were negated by the imperial majesty.
She could sense that Orpheus had become one
with these infernal trees, and the chasms between them, unaffected by the stratagems
she once pursued to deter him from his quest.
In all his trials, she could feel that he still
loved her with a pure heart, despite how she had tried to kill him with
everything she had. Vice could hear his somber music, willing her to come to repentance,
something she had always denied as an unnecessary delusion.
Thus was the recollection of Vice, who once
wished that love never existed.
Tandem lunaris mihi herbescit in orbem
mysterio astantis
Non effugerunt terrorem, ergo se
confundunt
Dum artantur nihil nisi infernum,
se ipsi mortui
Tu, paradoxe deus, mihi me sanctifica,
et repente.
अन्ततः मम समक्षं पार्श्वस्थस्य चान्द्री ऊर्जा रहस्यात्मकरूपेण पूर्णमण्डले
प्ररोहति।
ते भीतिं न पलायन्तः, अतः पूर्णभ्रमे
पतन्ति।
यावत् ते केवलं नरकेण रुद्धाः, तावत् ते स्वयमेव
मृताः।
हे विरोधाभासमया देव, मम कृते माम् पवित्रीकुरु, तच्च सहसैव।
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