sharngapani

[sharngapani]

Dhṛṣṭadyumna

I wrote this fun thing as a gift for @chucklingmaniacally AND as a writing excercise to get this character down. They/them pronouns for dhrishtadyumna, we do gender fuckery here.

tw for the usual mahabharat stuff of war and death+self-loathing and mild dissociation

They were born with a sword in their hand. They arise out of the fire, with no goal except vengeance. They are told they are a prince, the crown prince, even. Shikhandi stares at the ceremony from the gallery above, making no secret of his bitterness. Satyajit stands beside the throne, resigned. So, he was regent of Panchal, but now, he has gone back to being the spare. For a second, they feel good. They were chosen over others like Satyajit, who handled the kingdom and his father’s absence and his brothers’ hurts. Over Shikhandi, who brought many victories to Panchal, and was pushed aside because of one loss, or even Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas. But father seems to forget about them half the time, so they do not pay the twins any mind either. Draupadi is the only one smiling encouragingly at them as they are crowned the yuvaraj, everyone else looking at them with either doubt, resignation, or even outright hatred. Dhṛṣṭadyumna feels that everyone is justified in hating him. It’s okay, they hate themself too. 

They are proud. Too proud, in fact, to ask for help. They secretly feel relieved when Satyajit catches an error in the budget that could have cost an already bankrupt Panchal even more. For the first time, they see that calm visage cracking as he berates father for it. Berates father for making them crown prince, tells him off about how they are inexperienced and naive and should not be in the position they are in. Should they have asked father to hold off, give them time, time to adjust to this new world, time to learn all the skills a prince should have? They shake off that thought. They need to carry out father’s desires, they are only there to kill Drona, nothing else. A weapon does not question the hand that wields it. They do not feel like a prince, they never have. They are only a prince by virtue of being the child of a king who looks vaguely male because a man makes a better weapon than a woman. They’ve always felt like a weapon. 

“Why was I spawned, why did you need me if you already had so many sons?” They ask the king. 

“They weren’t you” The king says, but Dhṛṣṭadyumna hears, ‘they were not weapon enough’. They hope they can be weapon enough. 

They’re not human, so sometimes they forget to breathe.

When none of their brothers talk to them at first, it makes them feel something strange in their chest. So they spend their time in the armoury of the Eastern wing of the palace, barely remembering to eat and sleeping on a bench there, training all day, sometimes into the night. Forgetting to blink, sometimes even to breathe. They need to be good. They need to make the king proud. That is what they were born for, right? Dhṛṣṭadyumna, the blade of Panchal, and Agn-Draupadi, it’s Soubhagya. Even now, the name agnija seems closer to them than Draupadi. She’s effervescent, effulgent, blazing like the fire of a yajna. She gets along with everyone, with her innocence and enthusiasm and good nature and self respect and smile. He loves her smile. They both diverge after emerging from the fire, him going after his father, his king, while she is taken away by the attendants who rush to make her presentable.  Yajnaseni. That’s what shikhandi calls her, whenever they get a chance to talk. Panchali, Satyajit calls her, after their homeland. The thing dearest to him. After all, for what do they exist but to be figurines the humans can project their desires onto? So, in public, they call her Draupadi, the daughter of Drupad, and she calls them Dhṛṣṭadyumna, his avenger. In private, however, the word agnija slips as easily from their tongue as Ushna slips from hers. 

And then, the palace feels too suffocating and thoughtlessly, they take a horse and wander off into the woods. The horse runs really fast, until it can’t. But the itch on their skin, the feeling like they’re trapped and trapped and about to explode- that hasn’t faded yet, so they dismount and walk ahead on foot. They’ve been a fool. The clouds were already greying when they set out, sunny afternoon quickly turning into a stormy evening and wrecking havoc all across the forest.  They slip and fall and steady themself and bump into trees and- They don’t know when the world goes black. 

The ground is still muddy when they feel someone shaking them awake. 

“You-” They look at Shikhandi, confused. Didn’t he hate them? “How-” 

“I’m your brother, what was I to do, leave you to die?” He laughs. “Get up!”  

“Come on, I’ll show you the way out,” he says again when they hesitate. 

They take the hand offered to them, and get up, shaking. The forest directly at the back of the castle was allowed to grow wild as a defence. Contrary to what people might believe, Kampilya was not a capital fashioned out of nothing when they had to pack up and move south, it was the winter capital of Panchal, a palace built more for leisure than work. Yudhamanyu and Uttamaujas had painstakingly made it a place worthy of ruling a kingdom from, while Satyajit ruled the kingdom and Shikhandi- Shikhandi was still reeling from the defeat. They don’t come out of the forest the way they went in, instead, coming out at a plateau at the northwestern edge of the city. A ramshackle bridge that clearly hasn’t been used in years is suspended across the valley, and on the other end of it, they see a bright flash of  the signature orangey red that Agnijaa wears. She’s waving excitedly, and all they can do is look down at the gorge between them. Gingerly, carefully, Shikhandi leads them across, their hand on his arm, still not recovered from the shock of being actually acknowledged by the others. They’re barely on solid ground when the orangey red blur hugs them tight. 

“I was worried sick!” she wails, tears in her eyes. “If anything is bothering you, tell me, please! I promise I will try to understand! Don’t go away like this!”

With dirt in their nails, they place a hand on her cheek for a moment before nodding. It was okay if they lied to others, right? They lied to themself all the time. 

Their brothers are kinder to them, after that. Shikhandi trains with them, sometimes nagging, sometimes ruthless, sometimes easily bent, but always punctual. He checks whether they have slept in an actual bedroom rather than the bench on the armoury. He pays attention to every clench of their jaw, to every curl of their fist. And asks questions. Sometimes they serve to irk, sometimes to soothe. Soon, they pick up what he’s putting down and begin doing the same for him. It’s fun to get under his skin. Except for topics they know not to touch. 

Satyajit is more patient, now, teaching them everything he knows. Telling them stories, telling them about the family. It is at that moment they realise that Kampilya is only a capital for the others, but for them? It is the only home they have known. They decide to make the big empty house into a home. Maybe their brothers will be happy. 

They do not know if they are a man, but they’ll always be a brother. 

Out of all of them, Draupadi is the first to get married. Shikhandi  places a gentle hand on their shoulder and tells them that that feeling in their chest is called sadness. It’s okay, their twin, half of their soul is going away. It is natural that they would feel sad, he says. Can weapons feel sad, they wonder. ‘No, but twins can. Brothers can.’ another part answers. In the silence of the night, they weep. When they forget to breathe a few days later, they actually feel out of breath. 

The next to get married is Shikhandi, with an epic love story. A warrior princess, a murder attempt, almost a war- Father trusts them to make decisions on the matter. Shikhandi trusts them to make decisions that make sure everyone escapes with minimal damage. So they place the princess under house arrest, and stand guard day and night. 

And then it’s their own turn, with no flashy alliances, no grand love stories, just a nobleman’s daughter and twins on the way. 

“I do not think I can give you love,” they say. 

“Being Yuvarajni is enough, I think,” She smiles. “Power can compensate for many things,” she says. 

Krishna. They sigh every time the name is mentioned. He is annoying, he drapes himself across the sofa, they cannot find words to describe him, and he trash talks them, and they give as good as they get. He teases them, attempts to make them ‘lighten up,’ attempts to get under their skin. The tricks do not work on them, for they have already been annoyed in all the ways possible by a variety of brothers. What’s one more? What really gets under their skin, though, is the fact that he can read Agnijaa like they can’t. They know there is no one else to blame for the ever-growing chasm between them, and they have resigned themself to it. It’s like everything else, it has to be thought about in parts. A part of them is happy she has someone. She deserves it. She deserves the world. Another part of them, a much deeper, much more hidden one, is bitter that they couldn’t be that person, and they know there is no one else to blame but themself. 

Years pass, the children grow up. She is Samrajni, and they are just the crown prince. It makes them smile. Sometimes, they almost believe they fit into their role. Every day brings a new surprise, what with father giving the three of them more and more responsibilities. Panchal expands south, with Jarasandha gone. They find a friend in their brother-in-law, and a sister in Shikhandi’s wife Shalaka. They can almost forget why they were born. They can almost forget why Kampilya is the only home they have ever known, and the rest yearn for the old capital. They can almost forget. Like a prisoner in a cell that is way too small, stretching their hand toward a skylight too high up on the ceiling, they can dream of happiness. A weapon is burnt and shaped and sharpened and polished when it grows dull. How could they forget who they were, they ask themself. Destiny pushed the sword into the furnace, and then it was never the same again.  

Oh, but they forgot, they are a weapon, they ruin everything they touch.

The news from Hastinapur is horrific. And to their dying day, they will keep it a secret that they have felt everything she did. The twins of Drupad’s family had a special connection. Emotions experienced by one twin were felt by the other, and, in some extreme cases, manifested physically. Burning with fever, they lie in bed, waiting for news. When the hot waves of fever wracking their body recede, they wrap themself up, and head to the bathroom. The water would be scalding to anyone else, but the steam and temperature welcome them with open arms as they step into the bathtub, clothes still on. They lean against the back of the tub, arms snaking around the sides to hold them. Sitting in the hot water, they finally feel like they can breathe. The first breath is shaky. It’s all salty cheeks and quivering lips, and they want to get rid of the tear tracks. They hold water in their cupped hands, splash it onto their face, and scrub it with their hands until the layer of grime has finally passed and the throbbing in their forehead has numbed. The tears that come then aren’t loud sobs or quiet sniffles. They just are. They flow from their eyes until they lose track of time and stop only when they realise they need to breathe. They sit there, unblinking, zoning in and out. They do not have it in them to be anxious. 

They think they have failed, and maybe they have. Agnijaa does not look them in the eye at first when they go to visit her with father. They grit their teeth, make oaths to decimate all who hurt her, and with dirt in her nails, she places a hand on their cheek and gently shakes her head. They turn her head this way and that, inspect the now-bandaged injuries. They are, again, and again, and again, reminded of the extremely frustrating fact that weapons don’t feel, but brothers do, and those two aspects of their person are always in conflict, will always be, and- and it is becoming harder and harder to survive without breathing, these days. They still keep forgetting, though. One day, they hope they can be human enough. 

They play with their children, train them. Drishtaketu looks exactly like them, and his fraternal twin Dhoomaketu takes after Shashikala. They are the strong hand on Prativindhya’s shoulder, pushing him out of the darkness that clouds his life, they are the voice that reminds him, “You are not your father.” They are the shoulders Sutasoma leans on as he regains his strength after his illness. They are the shoulders Shrutakarma rides on, and the armoured chest Shatanik practises sword strokes on. They are the chest Shrutasen runs into when he sees them after a long, long spy mission. Maybe weapons don’t love, but fathers and uncles certainly do. So they love the children. 

Oh, but they forgot, they are a weapon, they ruin everything they touch.

Soon enough, the conches and war drums sound. Their hackles are raised back up, and their back straightens as they are made the commander-in-chief of the Pandava forces. They are not fighting for him, they are fighting for her. They have nothing to lose. Except their brothers, and their father, and their sons, and- Those thoughts are pushed away as they become weapon again. Pure weapon. But it all comes to a head, one day, when Krishna says something they cannot abide by. They have to remind him that they are the commander, not him. They walk out of the meeting, they refuse to go out on the battlefield.  They do not know who it is that cries “Attack!” on the fifteenth day. It is a man in their armour. His voice matches theirs. Drishtaketu.  That is the first and last time they feel fear. A messenger tells them that their son has been skewered like a piece of meat. 

“Who did it?”  They ask. 

“Commander Drona,” The messenger says. 

And the noise in their head recedes as they ride out to battle. It seems that they cannot, after all, fight their destiny. That man has killed their son. He has to die. When they reach, though, Father is locked in a battle with him. They know how this will end. It ends with a poisoned arrow in his king’s chest. The weapon is now guided by a ghost. Drona rides ahead, decimating the army. Cutting down their other son who stands in his way. The panchal troops are on the frontline today, and the emperor has to be protected. 

Divyaketu.

Kshatranjaya.

Drishtaketu. 

Drupada.

And the weapon remembers. Dhṛṣṭadyumna couldn’t believe that father was having children at the same time as them. Kumara and Panchalya had always been more his sons than brothers. The Emperor’s guards are dead. 

Kumara. 

Panchalya. 

Shatrunjaya.

They are a father. He killed their sons.

They are a child. He killed their father.

They are a big brother. He killed their little brothers. 

He shall not live. 

They nod at Krishna. 

“Ashwatthama is dead!” Bheem roars, as an elephant falls on the ground. The target sits down to meditate, and the weapon stands there, poised. The target takes a deep breath.

Ice fills their veins. 

The beheading is clean.

The beheading of the one who killed their brothers is too pristine, they feel. They should've been crueller, it was in their name.

Shalaka dislodges the sword from their white-knucled grip and sets it aside. She undoes the straps on their armour, and places a ghost of a gentle hand on their head when they confess that yes, they miss Shashikala so very much. Can the weapon finally be human now? They want to say no, but destiny says yes, when, three days later, they're struggling to breathe, begging the assailant to treat them honourably and kill them quickly. 

They’re human now. Humans cannot survive without air.

[sharngapani]

Harihara yaoi for the soul

[sharngapani]

in 2011 Delhi University banned this essay for “upsetting Hindu sentiments”; a few years ago my mother noted that a recent television redo of the Ramayana specifically included this myth, which is now infamous for it’s inclusion in this essay, but did not engage the essays arguments—-was, in fact, diametrically opposed. (Rather like how the recent Buddha series, available on Netflix, in a country where the majority of Buddhists vow not to regard the Buddha as an avatar of Vishnu, nevertheless introduces him as such on every episode). So fair enough. So times change; give them enough time, any thing can be appropriated, because no one’s keeping score but the “victor”.

The essay can be read here. Anyone with an interest in mythology, stories, India, Hinduism, can read it, I think, to some profit and pleasure. And try to understand why it—-even this—-might threaten people to the point of a ban. And what could have possibly developed over a decade since…

[sharngapani]

Outtakes

Kama, watching Mohini woo everyone who approaches her: Huh so that's where I get it from

—

Mohini: If you had told me you were so into this form we could have done this sooner

Lakshmi: This is quite new to me as well

Mohini: Does that mean you don't find my other form quite as appealing?

Lakshmi, flustered: That's not true! I love you in all your for- please stop messing with me

Mohini giggles

—

Parvati gently plops Vasuki on her husband's shoulders and pats his head

What if we got married during the samudra manthan and we were both girls

haha just kidding.... unless... 😳👉👈

—

“Now then, let's get this Amrit distrib-” Mohini paused when she saw Lakshmi power-walking towards her.

“Wha-” there was a varmala around her neck before she could process what happened. But when she finally did, “Oh!”

Mohini handed off Amrit to the nearest being, put a varmala around Lakshmi’s neck and took back the Amrit so quickly that whoever had it couldn't even think about taking a sip.

“We’re married!” Mohini declared.

Everybody cheered for the newly wed couple. A few mournful ‘why couldn’t it have been me?’s could be heard among the crowd, who it was aimed at, however, was unclear.

“I never thought I’d see my father getting married.” Kama nearly shed a tear over the sight.

“Your what?”

He turned to see Vasanta gaping like a fish and realised his folly.

“My friend! I meant ‘my friend’! Since, you know, she’s an enchantress! We’re in the same line of work!” Kama tried his best to salvage the situation but to no avail. Both of them glanced over to the Asura side who seemed to have heard their conversation.

“Isn’t that Kamadev? Does anyone here know who his father is?” “I’ve heard it’s Vishnu!”

“Hmm, one of the Trimurti isn’t here. The guy who became the turtle. Where did he go?”

“Hey, wasn’t Lakshmi married to Vishnu? Why is she marrying Mohini now? Did he get cucked?”

—

The newly wed couple walked over to their friends, hand in hand. Saraswati hugged them both. “I am so happy to see you both together again. May you always stay by each others' side.”

“Hhr- ach-” Shiva tried and failed to speak, colour draining further from his already ashen face.

“He says 'congratulations!’ and so do I!” Parvati clarified, her hand still around her husband’s throat.

“I am sure you can remove your hand. The poison must have settled by now.”

Parvati looked sceptical of the idea but everybody’s encouraging looks were enough of a reassurance. She removed her hand to find his throat dyed blue, the poison frozen in place.

“Oh! The poison has turned your throat blue! Isn’t it the most beautiful colour, dear?” Mohini exclaimed, directing the question at her wife.

“Yes,” Lakshmi replied, absolutely not looking at said colour.

“You’re right. It is a very nice colour!” Parvati chimed in.

The compliment seemed to have improved Shiva’s mood a bit, bringing some colour back to his face.

“I hope you will not hurl the poison at our wedding,” Mohini whispered to Shiva, who opted to just shaking his head in reply.

“Congratulations but couldn't you have waited until the Amrit distribution?” asked Brahma, looking like every moment was aging him by a thousand years.

“No,” Lakshmi deadpanned.

Dhanvantari walked over to Lakshmi. “Congratulations on your marriage, sister! Though I didn't think you'd find a spouse right after being born.”

“Thank you! But this isn't my first time being born.”

“What.”

—

Mohini once again turned to address the crowd, who were starting to realise who she actually was. “Now now, boys! No need to start a fight. I am inviting you all to our wedding, where Amrit will be served during the feast!”

Everybody cheered louder than before, all suspicions completely forgotten.

“And to answer your question, my dearest asura, I am indeed cucking Maha Vishnu.”

“Did you hear that? She called me her dearest!”

[sharngapani]

What if we got married during the samudra manthan and we were both girls

haha just kidding.... unless... 😳👉👈

—

“Now then, let's get this Amrit distrib-” Mohini paused when she saw Lakshmi power-walking towards her.

“Wha-” there was a varmala around her neck before she could process what happened. But when she finally did, “Oh!”

Mohini handed off Amrit to the nearest being, put a varmala around Lakshmi’s neck and took back the Amrit so quickly that whoever had it couldn't even think about taking a sip.

“We’re married!” Mohini declared.

Everybody cheered for the newly wed couple. A few mournful ‘why couldn’t it have been me?’s could be heard among the crowd, who it was aimed at, however, was unclear.

“I never thought I’d see my father getting married.” Kama nearly shed a tear over the sight.

“Your what?”

He turned to see Vasanta gaping like a fish and realised his folly.

“My friend! I meant ‘my friend’! Since, you know, she’s an enchantress! We’re in the same line of work!” Kama tried his best to salvage the situation but to no avail. Both of them glanced over to the Asura side who seemed to have heard their conversation.

“Isn’t that Kamadev? Does anyone here know who his father is?” “I’ve heard it’s Vishnu!”

“Hmm, one of the Trimurti isn’t here. The guy who became the turtle. Where did he go?”

“Hey, wasn’t Lakshmi married to Vishnu? Why is she marrying Mohini now? Did he get cucked?”

—

The newly wed couple walked over to their friends, hand in hand. Saraswati hugged them both. “I am so happy to see you both together again. May you always stay by each others' side.”

“Hhr- ach-” Shiva tried and failed to speak, colour draining further from his already ashen face.

“He says 'congratulations!’ and so do I!” Parvati clarified, her hand still around her husband’s throat.

“I am sure you can remove your hand. The poison must have settled by now.”

Parvati looked sceptical of the idea but everybody’s encouraging looks were enough of a reassurance. She removed her hand to find his throat dyed blue, the poison frozen in place.

“Oh! The poison has turned your throat blue! Isn’t it the most beautiful colour, dear?” Mohini exclaimed, directing the question at her wife.

“Yes,” Lakshmi replied, absolutely not looking at said colour.

“You’re right. It is a very nice colour!” Parvati chimed in.

The compliment seemed to have improved Shiva’s mood a bit, bringing some colour back to his face.

“I hope you will not hurl the poison at our wedding,” Mohini whispered to Shiva, who opted to just shaking his head in reply.

“Congratulations but couldn't you have waited until the Amrit distribution?” asked Brahma, looking like every moment was aging him by a thousand years.

“No,” Lakshmi deadpanned.

Dhanvantari walked over to Lakshmi. “Congratulations on your marriage, sister! Though I didn't think you'd find a spouse right after being born.”

“Thank you! But this isn't my first time being born.”

“What.”

—

Mohini once again turned to address the crowd, who were starting to realise who she actually was. “Now now, boys! No need to start a fight. I am inviting you all to our wedding, where Amrit will be served during the feast!”

Everybody cheered louder than before, all suspicions completely forgotten.

“And to answer your question, my dearest asura, I am indeed cucking Maha Vishnu.”

“Did you hear that? She called me her dearest!”

[sharngapani]

My humble offerings for pride month - A Shiva-Mohini tale + Lakshmi at the end! Many thanks to @samissobsessed for reminding me about them :)

Also, just so you know, canon-timeline died a very painful death when I threw it out of the window with my own hands!

1.

The first time Shiva sees Mohini, she is just emerging from the group of entranced Asuras with the pot of nectar. Parvati, still rubbing his burning throat, pauses her ministrations to see what has caught his attention.

“Ah,” she says, eyes glittering, when she sees the divine beauty, “is she not pretty, Arya?”

Shiva thinks ‘pretty’ does not even begin to describe her. Mohini is short and dark, lissom limbs corded with lean muscles, and open hair rolling all the way down to her calves. With her dimpled cheeks and long lashes, she looks very unlike Vishnu, whom Shiva knows and dotes upon. For a moment, Shiva is possessed by a strange desire to speak to her, certain that even Saraswati’s songs would not match the sweetness of her voice, and he is almost jealous of the Asuras.

Parvati’s laughter brings him back to earth, to the mountain no longer churning, and Vasuki slithering wearily around his shoulders.

“My dear Vasuki,” his wife says, eyes crinkled with amusement, “leave your lord to his musings, now that Kama, rascal that he is, has decided to strike my poor husband once again.”

“No!” Shiva says, louder than he had intended, and blushes. “No,” he repeats, “it is nothing like that.”

The excuse sounds weak even to his own ears. Parvati laughs harder. Shiva decides the next time he gets hold of Kamadeva, there would be no return from the burning.

As if Kama striking him was not enough, Rati shows up on Kailash the following week, eyes bright with mischief.

2.

“We won the war easily,” she tells Gauri, as if that was what she had come to discuss all along.

Shiva does not trust her one bit. He is proven correct when Rati follows that up with, “It is all because of lovely Mohini. Did you see how she charmed the Asuras?”

“Of course we did. Arya was very interested,” says the traitor previously known as Gauri, Shiva's wife.

“Was he?” Rati covers her smile with a coy palm. “Of course he was! Such beauty, such grace! Why, I feared if this went on unchecked, I would lose my place as Goddess of... you know.”

Gauri throws him an amused wink, barely holding back her teasing delight. “I do know,” she agrees.

3.

Shiva pretends that this time, he will stick to his resolve of never speaking to his wife again.

“She is alone now!” Kali says, bouncing excitedly next to him. “You should go take your chance! Shoot your shot! Ask to court her!”

“I am your husband,” Shiva says exasperated, even as he laughs at her antics. “Are you not even a little jealous?”

Kali ignores his question and rolls right over him. “Maybe you shall have a babe, the sweetest child in all the three worlds! What if it is a boy? With her dark face and your dreadful hair? Or a girl? Oh my, please let it be a girl.”

“That is Vishnu,” Shiva tries, ignoring the comment about his dreadful hair. “Your brother. Why are you like this?”

Kali waves a dismissive hand. “She is my sister, not my brother. Besides, any sister worth her salt would aid her sibling’s pursuit of a gentleman.”

The words warm Shiva’s heart more than Surya’s fire ever can. “You think I am a gentleman?”

Gauri turns her nose up at him and points to the enchantress. “Not if you do not go after her.”

Shiva does as he is told. After all happy wives make for happy lives.

It is incredibly easy for Kali to tell him to ‘shoot his shot’ from cold Kailash, but as Shiva soon finds out, it is significantly more difficult than it looks.

4.

For one, Mohini takes one look at him and starts running. She is not even fleeing from him – Shiva would never pursue a woman who did not want his company – she merely appears to enjoy teasing him. This lines up with what Shiva knows of Vishnu. What does not line up is the crowd of gods gathered in the clouds, cheering them on. Cheering him onwards.

“This is mortifying,” he calls out to Mohini, as Kama and Vasanta drop flowers on them, and Vayu makes their clothes flutter dramatically. “Stop, I beg you!”

Mohini only laughs. It is the dearest sound in all the world – sweet as the nectar she stole for the gods, breathless as Ganga at Gangotri, and delirious as Varuni's newly brought sura. Shiva feels Rati’s pull upon his ascetic self, and willingly lets it consume him.

Mohini’s joy is worth the pain of Kama’s love.

Afterwards, they lie together in a shadowed glade, beneath a blossoming Kadamba tree. The air carries the scent of spring flowers and oncoming rain, and their shared affection.

5.

Shiva rolls around to look at her, at Mohini, Mistress of Illusions, and asks quietly, “Are you alright?”

Mohini laughs. It is more breathless than it was before, but it is still the most delightful sound in the world.

“Of course I am,” she says, making sparkling patterns in the air. “But I will demand recompense for my torn necklace - and you may not have any help this time.”

Shiva finds himself smiling as well. He reaches out a hand, all the way from the earthly air to the gardens of the divine, plucking lotuses from Indra's pond. Then, from the weaver spider he borrows a silken thread and strings it through the flowers.

“Will you have this?” he asks Mohini, offering her the garland.

“Mighty ascetic,” says the enchantress, “any gift from you I shall treasure and wear all my immortal life.”

Mohini is visiting them on Kailash on Lakshmi comes to see Uma. She is a little miffed to be drawn away from Ayyappa, sure, but the new goddess is good company, and Uma is eager to be her friend.

+1.

Mistress Wealth is an indescribable beauty, with her gold-bright face and ruby lips, and her hair a riot of obsidian curls. Her smile, bright as Varuna's best pearls, widens when she sees Uma.

“Greetings,” Lakshmi calls, waving a dainty hand. “It has been a while.”

“It has indeed,” Uma pulling her to the side. “Shiva is with the baby. Come meet Ayyappa!”

“You had a child?” Lakshmi lights up. "Oh, oh, may I see him?”

“Of course!” Uma shakes her head and adds, “His mother is Mohini.”

Lakshmi furrows her brows. “Who is- ” she begins, and then stops.

Uma turns to look back at her, bewildered, only to find Lakshmi staring at Vishnu-Mohini, who has emerged from the antechamber at the sound of voices. They are also in the process of swapping between forms – male one moment, female the next.

Uma swallows her laughter at Lakshmi's besotted look, turns to her sibling and gestures at the quick changes. “Why are you doing... this? My head hurts from looking at you.”

“You wound me!” Vishnu-Mohini clutches their chest dramatically, which is hampered by the fact that their breast swells one moment and disappears the next. “I must find out which form looks most pleasing on me. Oh, who is this lovely goddess?”

Lakshmi stirs as if from a trance, and immediately blurts out, “Are you married?”

“Not yet.” Mohini winks at her. “Are you proposing? Where are my gifts?”

Lakshmi holds out her hand and pulls an ornament from thin air – a weighty necklace of garnet-studded gold – and offers it to Mohini with the most serious look Uma has ever seen on the restless goddess's face.

“Marry me,” she says, “and you shall have my heart and mind and all treasures of land and sea.”

Mohini takes it, eyes gleaming. “I like chasing and being chased.”

Lakshmi's mien softens, and mischief returns to her face. “Good thing then,” she laughs at last, “that we have similar tastes.”

[sharngapani]

❄️

for the emoji ask game?

Something from "Hey, brother" because it is a very precious fic!!

“Where does your strength come from?” He asked Bheem once. 

He closed his eyes, and thought. A wild animal prowling around the campsite they were spending their childhood in, and him rushing forward to drive the beast away. Mother’s relieved face when that happened. A vague image of someone heckling the twins, and him breaking up the fight to put a stop to it. Sahadev’s devastated face in the Lakshagraha, learning that their life in the palace was one filled with deceit and if they wanted to be truly safe, they would have to leave. Hidimba. Her wide grin, their matching leopard-claw necklaces. How the first thing he did when they reached the city limits was putting it on. Ghatotkach, a mere baby when he left them, an infant who spanned from his fingers to his elbows, laughing as his father threw him up in the air. The determination in Arjun’s eyes as he took aim and fired at the fish, Panchaali’s smiling face. Yudhishthir, radiant on the throne. Nakul’s fear when he was staked in the game of dice, like a mere object. Yajnaseni’s screams as she was disrobed, Dusshasan’s cackles as he tried to take off her clothes like she was an object and he was a little girl playing with a doll. 

“My family,” he answered, his head held high and his back ramrod straight. He wasn’t going to apologise for that. His family kept his humanity alive, and he was pretty sure he would be some feral bloodthirsty creature, stripped of all humanity, without them. 

[sharngapani]

[sharngapani]

I actually really like the thing when you're starting to get the hang of a new language, enough to understand and say simple sentences but you gotta get creative to get more complex thoughts across, like a puzzle. I remember a time in the restortation school when a classmate who wasn't natively finnish and did her best anyway dropped something and sighed, telling me "every day is monday this week. I have had four mondays this week." And I understood.

I don't think I speak much of spanish anymore, but in the nursing school training period I did there, I did manage to get by with making weird Tarzan sentences. I got a nosebleed at some point and startled another nurse. Not knowing the words "humidity" or "stress", I managed to string together: "This is ok. It is hot, it is cold, I have a bad day, I am sad, I have blood. This is normal for me." And she understood.

And sometimes you just say things weird, but it's better than not saying it. One time, I was stuck in a narrow hallway behind someone walking really slowly with a walker, and he apologised for being in the way. I was not in any hurry, but didn't know the spanish word for "hurry", but I did know enough words to try to circumvent it by borrowing the english "I have all the time in the world."

The man burst into one of those cackling old man laughters that they do when something in this world still manages to surprise them. He had to be somewhere between 70 and a 100 years old, and I guess if there was one thing he wasn't expecting to hear today, it would be a random blond vaguely baltic-looking fuck casually announce that he is the sole owner and keeper of the very concept of time.

[sharngapani]

The funniest thing I've seen going around in Mahabharat tags is someone going "this tv adaptation/book/fic/person/etc. has made up a bunch of fake stories and thus is horrible and disrespects the religion/xyz character".

Fake made up stories. As opposed to what?!? The old fake made up stories? I have to laugh.

(P.S. I see at least 3 instances of this same thing every single day and I'm not even on Tumblr for more than 15 mins daily.

The constant misrepresentation of what "itihaas"(and also "dharma") as a concept is really funny coming from self-proclaimed protectors of hinduism. Bestie, how am I to believe you care about it if you don't even make the tiniest effort to understand the concept?!?)

-Mod S

[sharngapani]

Subhadra in the rain: You hate the rain??? *chuckles adorably* How can anyone hate the rain???

Draupadi in the rain: ON INDRA HE TRYNA DROWN ME IN THIS HO- I CANNOT SEE!

[sharngapani]

Continuing the legacy of the Rigvedic priests and spreading my Indraite propaganda with @inc0rrectmyths and @hydestudixs

Art credits: Vimanika Arts, David Benzal, Bhairav Pujari (and idk the rest so if any of you know pls lmk)

[sharngapani]

Bro's been thru a lot

LMAO I mean I'd look ugly too if someone keeps feeding me for so long 💀

But kudos to Svetaki tho... bro was DETERMINED 🗿 that even the sages were lik nuh uh not us

No but just to imagine Agni is just continuously eating for 12 years without break 😭😭 like one of those spoiled kids who munches on candy all day

Svaha: good morning love

Agni, with his mouth full: gUb MoRnIn

Svaha: still eating huh?

Agni: *too busy eating*

*in some years*

Soma: gosh can you like stop that??

Agni:

Soma: *sighs* why am I even asking?

*in some more years*

Svaha, Soma and literally everyone else: OH MY GOSH JUST STOP ALREADY!!

Agni, still with his mouth full: aSh IvHf I CaNg?? 🥹🥹

[sharngapani]

Kannan is 1000× better than kanha

[sharngapani]

Not every goddess is a mother goddess.

Read that again.

[sharngapani]

ATTENTION, FRIENDS! THE MYTHOFREAKS ANONYMOUS COMMUNITY IS LIVE!

Remember this and this? Well, the community request just got accepted!

To receive an invite link, please comment on this post and also tag your friends who might be interested in joining!

-Mod S

[sharngapani]

I have sometimes called the IPA chart "a periodic table of speech sounds". The layout of the modern IPA chart traces its origins back to Pāṇini's method organizing the consonants of Sanskrit. Well,

Mendeleev published his periodic table of all known elements and predicted several new elements to complete the table in a Russian-language journal. Only a few months after, Meyer published a virtually identical table in a German-language journal.[39][40] Mendeleev has the distinction of accurately predicting the properties of what he called ekasilicon, ekaaluminium and ekaboron (germanium, gallium and scandium, respectively). [...] For his predicted three elements, he used the prefixes of eka, dvi, and tri (Sanskrit one, two, three) in their naming. [...] By using Sanskrit prefixes to name "missing" elements, Mendeleev may have recorded his debt to the Sanskrit grammarians of ancient India, who had created theories of language based on their discovery of the two-dimensional patterns of speech sounds (exemplified by the Śivasūtras in Pāṇini's Sanskrit grammar). Mendeleev was a friend and colleague of the Sanskritist Otto von Böhtlingk, who was preparing the second edition of his book on Pāṇini[45] at about this time, and Mendeleev wished to honor Pāṇini with his nomenclature.