[ Ego, Orpheus, fēminam ad salūtem dūxī etiam cum mē timēret. ]
The black
river desired the ghostly forest with a heart that ached for salvation. She
would flow in the eternal brooding of reminiscences, of how once there was nothing but the endless ocean, and of the illusion of keepsakes, when love was
but a memory.
Sandhya
often felt that the forest knew more about her belongings than she herself did,
the light and shadows of origin that she carried in her very soul, even when
she wore the appearance of ignorance. She would naturally pretend that she did
not want to know how she was once separated from her sister, and even more, how
she once descended to the realms of hell and dwelt there by herself.
She was
often restored in an unyielding sense of pride that she had known everything
about these dark realms, the tirades of lost souls, and how she had become the source
of life to them. In the night, when the quiet darkness was inseparable from the
black waters, she imagined her overarching authority extending to every
precinct of the forbidden forest, yet she was surprised to herself that even
her presence could not affect Orpheus! Instead, thinking of him, she felt that
he was not dependent on her for gaining life in hell, although he sat on her
shores just as she predicted.
At first
glance, she would treat him just as any other son, with some love and some
admonition, but that changed when she saw that the others were dying like there
was no tomorrow. She could not help their prayers, although she wanted to, and
she felt helpless in the eventuality of death.
Sandhya
felt as if there was no end to dying, a foreboding sense that superseded even
her desire to save, and save whom? Honestly, she could not remember when she wanted
to save Orpheus; rather, dwelling in anger, she wanted to drive him to madness,
if not to his own death!
She was
even more enraged to find out that her discontentment did not affect Orpheus, who
sent a few more dead bodies to her doors, a morbid gift carried on the
shoulders of prisoners, who were too afraid to tell of the horrors of the SeshNag.
She could
not understand how her men were dying even in their youth, and all she could hear
was the distant sound of the flute that slowly turned her mourning into joy, as
if she were reminded that the ocean was not very far away, where the salvation
of the black river awaited her. Secretly speaking, she herself was scared of being
trapped in nightmares, or even of coming near Orpheus, as she realized that it
was she who needed to be saved, and from whom?
This was
the prayer of the woman when she sought her father in the darkness, a prayer of
coming to terms with darkness, and that she herself be spared from the
consequences of misplaced affection. Was she speaking to him, who seemed too
distant to even listen to her crying?
Tenebrae
mortuōrum ab salūte arboreā, mandāta quae serpens crūdēlis dat
Sum
tormentīs abstinēre confōrmāta, ab eō quod vixātur quī crēscis in umbrīs
Tē
redēmptōre meō, ad cursum transitī infīnītī ōceanī.
मृतानां छायाः
वृक्षच्छायायाः सुदूरे वर्तन्ते, तानि नियोगानि यानि क्रूरः सर्पः
ददाति ॥
अहं यातनाभ्यः
विरन्तुं पुनर्रचिता अस्मि, तेन जीवनेन यत् त्वया कष्टेन
जीव्यते यः छायासु वर्धसे ।
त्वयि मम
रक्षितरि सति, उत्तीर्णस्य असीम-महासागरस्य
मार्गं प्रति ॥
* Latin and Sanskrit written with the help of AI.
