Kurukshetra

I’m in Arjun’s dharamsankat. I’m on the field of Kurukshetra. I know what is right and I know what is real–what I don’t know is how to choose between them, how to be true to myself and true to what the world expects. Do I conform to expectations, do I fight, do I suffer; or do I run away from the battlefield, keep “myself” safe even if I burn? Who tells me what is right and what is true and what is moral? Who tells me what to follow, and where can I falter? Am I a good son, a good daughter, if I run away–if I keep my desires above dharma, or are my desires dharma’s way? What is the truth of the world, and who gets to decide? Am I my own decision maker, my own Krishna, or is my Krishna the world which looks in through my eyes? Do I become my own maa, do I unmother the patriarchy she mothered, or do I beg my mother to change, for not her sake, but mine? Do I cry amongst the sarson, does the yellow conceal the red blood that flowed, do my tears water the bloodied field, or do I end up lathering myself in the soil? 

I stand on the field of Kurukshetra but I am holding my own hand. The sword is in another but there isn’t another to attack. Kurukshetra burnt once, on the bodies of thousands–do I have the courage to stand here and watch it burn again? 

Do I have the courage to light myself on fire, to rise from the ashes, to build myself anew? Do I have the courage to not be another body of Kurukshetra, do I have the courage to run away when running away is my stand? I am in Arjun’s dharamsankat, but do I have the courage to not be Arjun in this battle? Am I strong enough to be true to myself, only for me and for me? Arjun had it easier, his Kurukshetra was only 1500 square kilometres–my Kurukshetra is bigger, it’s the whole world, the whole brahmaand, so my only choice is to fight because I can’t run. 

I am in Arjun’s dharamsankat but he had it easier, atleast he wasn’t a woman in the 21st century, dangling between what they want from me and what I want from her. I stand in Kurukshetra, as the yellow flowers raise their heads, “Look, there’s another madwoman, comparing herself to Arjun, thinking she will bleed and the blood will stop the bodies that Kurushetra gets.”