Retelling the Renuka and the Parashuram tale

Source: Internet

Once upon a time, in ancient India, lived a sage of immense knowledge,

Jamdagni, one of the divine Saptrishis,

Feared by God of Gods, Revered by Lord of Lords,

Though spiritual, he was mercuruial.

Had a wife, divinely beautiful, Renuka,

Epitome of chastity & faithfulness.

World of wives & husbands envied her, when stories spread of her faithfulnes.

Suryadev bowed down to seek her blissfulness,

The Vaitarni, every morning, purified herself, when

Renuka dived and water rippled owing to her thrilling body.

Then she carried water, in an unbaked, bottomless clay pot.

Such was her fidelity that water feared to drain onto the ground.

One fine day, Suryadev was yet to sharpen,

Playing along the river were the Gandharvas,

Oblivious and joyful and exhilarating, they wandered;

Tuning their bodies to the rhythm:

Of the roaring river,

Of the chilling yet ferocious wind,

Of the sweet-smelling mogra, they danced.

Arrived Renuka for her daily ritual, diving into the Vaitarni she found sensed change.

Rising up, she followed the trail. There they were, the Gandharvas, with eye-catching handsomeness.

Breathtaking! To see the husbands of Apsaras,

Dancing on ambrosial Swaras.

Smiles of ecstasy lured her to oblivion.

World of fantasies swirled with sheer happiness, when her eyes coincided with Gandharvas’

She lost, against his charm, skipped a heartbeat.

Intense emotions coaxed her, to let herself run into his arms. She held back.

Taking water into the unbaked, bottomless pot, something happened she dared not:

Water drained, her chastity crumbled.

Oblivion evanesced to obvious.

Her fidelity compromised, she bitterly cried.

Repent, regret filled her conscience, cursed herself,

As herself as she relinquished for ephemeral desires!

Her body soaked, pot empty, she returned to ashram,Jamdagni grasped infidelity.

‘A grave shame’, he fumed.

The scholar across the seven seas, ordered his eldest son to behead mother.

Trembling in fear, yet the son refused to sever.

Burnt down to ashes, in his father’s rage, then,

Called the second, and the third,

And the fourth and the fifth;

All turned into ashes.

The youngest of all, Parshuram, avatar of the great Vishnu,

Raised himself on the occasion,

Swirled his axe and killed his mother, but,

Not without heart-burdening conviction.

Impressed by son’s obedience, Jamdagni granted him two wishes.

The brave boy, with unrelenting tears in eyes, with hands folded,

Pleaded to grant life back to his brothers and his mother.