After their union, Tarkshi left behind her palace to live with Drona. The transition was not easy. Accustomed to food being served by servants, Tarkshi struggled with the rustic life. For the first few days, she wept silently at night. Gathering food was a tedious chore compared to the platters offruits and grains that had served to her in her father's palace. Her plumage was often ruffled, and maintaining their nest felt arduous.
One morning, as Tarkshi sat preening her feathers with a
sigh, Drona approached her. "My dearest Tarkshi," he said.
"Share your burden with me."
Tarkshi hesitated. How could she admit that she yearned for
the comforts she had left behind? But Drona’s gaze was kind.
"This life so different, Drona," she confessed.
"In the palace everything was done for me. Here, there is so much to do
and I am not good at it."
Drona settled beside her. "I faced challenges to win
your hand, Tarkshi," he said. "But the greatest challenge is not in
overcoming obstacles, but in adapting ourselves to new circumstances."
He began to speak of the Vedas, what they spoke about life
and how to enjoy it. He spoke about satisfaction of honest effort. He showed
her the beauty of their nest, explaining how each twig and fiber contributed to
its strength.
Slowly Tarkshi began to see. She still missed the palace.
But as she practiced gathering seeds, she started to notice the differences in
the plants, the signs of ripeness that ensured the best fruits. Drona patiently
guided her, teaching her, showing her the inherent dignity in self-reliance.
Tarkshi's tears at night became less frequent. She began to
find a new appreciation for the simple abundance of their forest home. She was
still a princess in spirit but she was also becoming a partner, a participant
in the life they were building together. The rustic life was no longer just a
challenge. It was a path to a different kind of richness that no palace could
ever provide.
Their love deepened. On moonlit nights, they made love
beneath the trees. Tarkshi would tremble as Drona's beak trailed down her neck.
They joined like wind and water.
As the seasons turned, Tarkshi’s struggles softened into a
quiet competence. The forest became her home. Yet, sometimes, a flicker of the
world she had left behind would touch her thoughts.
One evening Tarkshi with Drona sat staring at the horizon. A
silence hung between them before she finally spoke.
"Have you heard," she asked Drona, "About
what is happening in Kurukshetra?"
"I have," Drona said.
Tarkshi turned towards Drona. "They say all the birds
have gathered there," she said. "A great war is coming, and birds
from all lands are flocking to witness it. I want to go there, Drona. I feel
drawn to it."
Drona was surprised. He said, "It is not a place for
you, Tarkshi. A war is a terrible thing. Our forest is far safer."
"But I feel drawn to it," she repeated, "It
is as if something inside me wants me to go there. I want to see it for
myself."
"No," Drona said. "You are with child."
Tarkshi was surprised. "How do you know?" she
asked.
"I see it in the way you eat, the way you favor certain
seeds now," Drona explained. "I see it in the swelling beneath your
feathers. You carry our child, Tarkshi. There is life growing within you. You
should not go to a place of war."
Tarkshi’s voice turned sharp. "You would keep me
grounded, Drona? Keep me from answering this call I feel?"
"I do not imprison you," Drona replied. "I
want to protect you. To ensure your safety and the safety of our unborn
child."
"And what about me?" she cried. "The part of
me that yearns for something more. Would you have me ignore that?"
The argument hung between them. That night, they slept
apart. Drona remained on a branch; his sleep troubled. Tarkshi slept curled
into herself in the nest.
At dawn Tarkshi flew away. She left no word. Tarkshi flew,
her belly slightly round. Seven fortnights had passed since conception.
Familiar landmarks of her home quickly receded. She flew
through jungles which seemed endless. The distance to Kurukshetra felt
insurmountable for a bird in her condition. She found herself needing to rest
often.
Soon she found herself where the war of Mahabharata between
the Pandavas and Kauravas was taking place. Eleven days of war had passed, and
this was the afternoon of the twelfth day.
Flying precariously above the chaos, she saw an old warrior.
He rode an elephant called Supratika. This elephant had a massive bell around
its neck, which made a loud noise whenever it moved. This warrior was called
Bhagadatta. He was the ruler of Pragjyotisha and was an ally of the Kauravas.
His allegiance meant anyone opposing the Kauravas in this battle was his enemy.
He also hated Krishna, who had slain his father, Narakasura. Bhagadatta had
earlier attempted to use Supratika to crush Bhima but had been thwarted. Now,
Bhagadatta faced both Krishna and Arjuna. He unleashed a barrage of arrows, but
Arjuna shattered each one and wounded Supratika.
Bhagadatta invoked a weapon called Vaishnavastra nd hurled
it at Arjuna’s chest. Tarkshi saw this.
Then, she witnessed a sight. Krishna stopped the chariot and
stood up, facing the incoming projectile. And in an instant, the weapon aimed
for Arjuna became a garland of flowers around Krishna's neck. Tarkshi saw this,
and in that moment, she saw not just Krishna but a blindingly luminous, divine
form.
And then she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her abdomen. It
was time to lay her eggs. The need for a safe place crashed down upon her, a
primal instinct overriding the terror of the battlefield. She needed a place to
rest, to hide, to bring forth the new lives she carried, and she needed it now.
Below her, the battle raged. Arjuna after witnessing
Krishna's act, took aim at Bhagadatta. As soon as Arjuna released the arrow,
Tarkshi flew directly into its path. The arrow, meant for the king on the
elephant, pierced her side instead. With a cry, she plummeted and from her
body, as she fell, dropped four small, precious eggs. They tumbled down landing
softly in a patch of undisturbed grass near the elephant.
At that very moment, Supratika’s bell finally gave way. The
damaged strap snapped, and with a clang, the massive bell fell to the ground,
directly over the patch of grass, covering the four fallen eggs.
Beneath the bronze shield of the bell lay Tarkshi’s still
body. And nestled there, warm against her feathers, were the four eggs,
unharmed, on the verge of hatching.
Then, from beneath the bell, a wave of light began to rise.
From this light, a form emerged. Vapu had emerged. Her curse had finally
lifted. Her sixteen long years as a bird had passed. She was now free.
She looked back at the scene she was leaving. Far away, a
figure sat on a tree branch. She saw Drona. He sat alone. Below her, she saw
the bell resting on the ground. One look at the life she had led and Vapu
ascended to join the other apsaras in Indra's court.
Some more on this
Tarkshi’s journey to Kurukshetra, despite being pregnant,
represents the call of destiny. Kurukshetra isn’t just a battlefield; it’s a
field of dharma (righteous action).
Tarkshi’s four eggs, falling safely into grass and then
protected by the fallen bell, symbolize hope, continuity, and karma.
Bells mark time in temples and here it marks the moment of
fate. It becomes a literal shrine for the unborn.
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