The Hall of Dice

By Isha Isita

In an entranced moment of dark time,

entered the five handsome princes into the Hall

that would foretell their present doom and future glory,

the shining splendor of evil blinded Dharma’s eyes,

the glazing tiles stung ethic’s feet,

yet walked on the son of Dharma unto the

dais that housed the blackest of evil.

Shunned were the Shrutis,

the Rishis stopped in the track of their Tapasya,

today black time stands alone watching the fall of kurus,

as the lord of that imbecile House lifts

his hand for a game that

opposed his own principle.

A rusted air blew,

Mahakal himself threw the dice out of sly Shakuni’s hands,

the new and old Yuga fused their colours

into the red and black of the fallen dice.

Cry of the evil forces bloodied the air,

slain were all principles of kinghood,

what to say of others, if Dharmraj himself stakes his kingdom

on the ply of shallow personhood.

Staked were all riches that was all but his,

the madness did not even stop staking at the dear brothers,

the wife was staked like a chattel

as Dharma lost its power of discrimination.

All titles, all praise of the great ones

sitting statue-still became imbecile,

all bravery evaporated out of brave ones’s sword,

as the defiled hands dragged

the purity of the Kuru family ino the Kuru court.

Lost were the much prized shame of Dhritrastra’s women ,

vain was Gandhari’s Tapasya,

lost was devotion of Bhanumati,

none could save the Kuru honour from the grave of defilment today.

Dragging the sister-in-law clothed in a single-cloth drowned in menstrual blood,

manhood has crossed all limits of atrocity today.

laughter of indecent smoke mocks the purity of the Sati,

the hands that should touch the feet of the mother-like goddess,

today point to the ill-shaped knee

none can save the Kuru race now.

The eyes of the Elders ,fear to meet the burning eyes of their queen,

the protector of the Kuru race fails to protect his own daughter,

all learning of the Gurus stand inadequate today,

all blessings of the elders a curse on their own heads,

lost became the dignity of the kuru elders,

fate begin preparing their cruel end.

Wherever Draupadi’s eyes fell,

she meet cowardice hidden in a sharp-tinted sword,

a haughty drama of manhood clothing a shivering eunuch.

Her lips curled in curse,

her five brave husbands none rose to protect her.

A forceful sword tinge rang in the air,

in Draupadi’s question was the question of all womanhood,

in Draupadi’s question was the question of Dharma ,

in Draupadi’s question was the question of God himself:

“Reply ,oh Pitahmah,who was staked first-he or I “

In a voice that shook fire out of crevices,

Mahakali’s Daughter questioned the moon race:

Tell Oh! elders ,what place does the wife has in your star-studded

Kuru court.

But what reply shall the imbecile leaders give,

Time has glued them to the chairs of their own thinking,

each bypassing Dharma pleaded in Dharma’s name,

but which Dharma could stand Yagnaseni’s burning eyes.

A race was digging its own grave,

by trying to disrobe its own honour,

it was showing its own nakedness.

All codes were broken,

the king sat still in his throne,

the people stood mute,

Hastinapura had failed Time’s test and must bear the Sati’s curse.

Rusting hands touched Dharma’s outfits,

Touching their own death,

They prepared the doom of a mighty race.

Protected stood she,

her honour intact ,

her prestige alive,

but disrobed was all relation ,

rendered naked all codes of affection,

stood she no more the honour of the Kuru court,

bearing her honour in her own breast ,

she stood as the harbinger of a mighty upheavel.

Rage filled Draupad’s fated body,

in her eyes shone the coming age,

see oh Kuru,shouted her tears,

see your death in the honour you discarded.

By Isha Isita