The following is based on a dream I had when I was 18 or so - I was talking about it to my friends and they urged me to write so here it is :-)
The warrior stood tall and beautifully sculpted with his
long hair waving in the ever-present breeze. His village was atop a cliff
bordering the unruly sea. The sea had but a few calm moments - most usually its
mood was violent with strong gales and choppy waters. The setting was almost
unreal, the village itself seemed to belie every possibility of survival and
yet the people living in it loved it well. They lived and loved and fought and
enjoyed their food and drink. Life was hard but thoroughly lived in that
impossibly surreal landscape.
She walked slowly towards him admiring the sleek, powerful
lines of his body which was in marked contrast to her own softly curved,
slender form. She had loved him for years and it only seemed that the love grew
as time passed. They had not formally pledged their troth to one another before
the chief and his council of elders and the high priest but all knew they were
meant for each other. The love between the chief’s golden daughter and the dark
warrior was the stuff of legends after all.
He turned and smiled, holding out a hand to help her over
the rocks cluttering their favourite meeting spot. He looked calm and ready for
anything – she, on the other hand, scanned his features intensely with a
furrowed brow. His questing look earned only a slight dismissive shake of her
head. Turning her face away, she worried her lower lip as the thoughts pulled
her back into their realm. She had woken up with a bad feeling, a presentiment
of things about to go wrong, of some unstoppable danger to her love. She didn’t
tell him for he’d laugh it off – he often said he never feared any rival other
than her world of thoughts. She was highly sensitive and known in the village
and beyond for her uncanny sixth sense for important occurrences. And yet for
him who knew her since she was but a child, she would always be the dreamer who
needed him to take care of her, to pull her back to reality when her thoughts
carried her far away from him. He pulled her close to him and caressed her hair
lovingly in an attempt to soothe her troubled eyes. She looked up and smiled –
her perfect cupid’s bow lips inviting him to kiss her as they stood lost in
each other’s arms.
The other hated watching them together. Her heart bore envy
of such depth that nothing and no one could make her happy. She used to be
beautiful herself – she yet bore the traces of that beauty but the heart when twisted
with jealousy, shows itself in the eyes as glittering hatred. And so she looked
as she felt – bitter, angry and full of boiling envy. It was a wonder the two
lovers didn’t feel the heat of her glare but they locked out the world when
they were together and continued to be blissfully ignorant of the other one.
Days passed. The chieftain’s daughter felt her uneasiness
increase to such a level that nothing could soothe her. She had blinding
headaches and disturbing dreams. One night of tossing and turning brought up
yet another nightmarish scenario where she could see the village destroyed and
hear the screams of the dying rending the night while all around raged
uncontrolled fires. And then it was clear to her what would happen – she ran to
her father and warned him of some imminent attack by their old rival, the chief
of a neighbouring tribe who had had his eye on their land since he attained
power. Her father listened to her carefully and told her he would post more
scouts the next day and call a meeting to exhort the villagers to be more
vigilant but he refused to let panic spread and therefore she must keep her
dreams to herself – not even sharing it with her soon-to-be-betrothed. She was
his heir first and must learn the ways of a ruler without sharing the burden of
superfluous knowledge with anyone else. She agreed reluctantly.
The very next night, the scouts were ambushed in the middle
of the night and the attack began. It was eerily similar to her dreams and she
watched with horror as the night grew bloodier. Her love was in the thick of
it, slashing his way to the centre and trying to protect the chief. He was
surrounded by too many however and his beautiful body scored by a dozen
slashes. He fell just as the sun rose and the enemies started their
celebrations. The chief survived and so did his daughter. The other watched
smiling from the shadows till her heart felt a wrench at the sight of the
fallen warrior. She was stunned – she had bargained with the enemy to destroy
them all but spare the hero and now she was bereft. What had she done all this
for if not for love? She screamed madly and flung herself on him till the survivors
pulled her away. The chief’s daughter sat next to his body – not weeping or
wailing – just unnaturally pale and calm with eyes that were focused inward
away from the sight she could not bear to look at.
As was the tradition in those parts, the warrior was wrapped
in a burial shroud and thrown into the water from the place of worship atop the
cliffs. The chief’s daughter stood in silence and watched the body hit the
gray-green turbulence that was the sea. Her eyes mirrored the intensity of the
water and she suddenly stepped forward and leaped off the cliffs into the
churning sea. The sea took them both as they fell into its bosom. The water
moved in layers. Each layer was coloured differently and the hues lightened as
they approached the bottom, from the violent gray-green to a deep blue and
thence to a lighter blue and finally the perfect clarity of no hue at all. His
shroud had come undone and the wounds on his body had miraculously begun to
heal till he looked beautifully whole again to her loving eyes as they both
sank into the soft seabed to be together for all time.
The other stood atop the cliffs and watched the sea take
them both. Her twisted features dissolved to soft sadness. Two streams of tears
trickled down from her eyes and the hatred that had been her heart melted into
understanding and the beginnings of acceptance.
It is said that even today there stands a cypress at that
very point on the cliffs – once grotesquely twisted, it now looks beautifully
crafted and all who pass through stop to admire its gentle beauty.
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