Two Sisters

The first sister smiled as the mantra left her lips; these words spoken would bring her the world's greatest gifts. In the beginning, it seemed she had no way of becoming a mother, for her husband was cursed to never conceive, but she was destined to become one. She was always filled with kindness and curiosity, and came from humble upbringings. All these qualities had impressed an old sage, and he had blessed her with a special prayer. And so from her mantra she gave birth by death, by wind and by the heavens. Thus, while her children were of royalty, they were also of divine destiny. She would be tasked not only to raise her divine children, but those of her husband's second wife too. From that mantra the twins of the second wife also came, but she loved them all the same. An unconditional love which she instilled into five little hearts that would grow into the hearts of warriors and eventually, kings. They were happiness, her life, her dreams.

She held a secret as these were not her firstborn. But she had not smiled when she beheld her first son, for he was born out of wedlock and would surely be shunned. What mother wanted her child to suffer from her mistake? What mother would want to admit that her child wasn't safe? As she worried for his welfare and feared for his life, in her heart she knew she would have to make a sacrifice. In a basket she laid him, and gently pushed him down the stream. As her baby floated along, she sobbed and prayed for the heavens to watch over him. For although he was the son of the sun, he was still her son. She prayed that another family would find him, and he would grow up in a life that she could never give. Little did she know, the river would carry him back to her later on in life, as all rivers bend. And he would become the enemy of those very sons she bore, in a war that would ravage the kingdom. He would be her worry, her strife, her pain.

The second sister smiled only at the start, before the wariness of a laboured pregnancy filled her heart. In the beginning, she was told that she would be blessed with a hundred little ones to call her own. But as the months went on and what she thought was life grew in her womb, she was plagued by nightmares. Omens showered the kingdom, and the sages too grew afraid. This mother grew more concerned as she heard news that the sister afar was raising five beautiful children with love in their hearts. Finally, she gave birth but it was not a child. It was only flesh and was still. She had been promised her children, however, and so from the still birth came a hundred living. Her hundred sons grew up with her unconditional love, but no love was instilled in them. In their childhood they were troublesome, and darkness crept inside them. Yet, they were her happiness, her life, her dreams.

She was pativrata, the devoted one, and the most virtuous of all. But she was blind to the virtue of her children, for there was none. She saw light where there was no light, in her one hundred sons. What mother would not see all that was good in her child? What mother would want to admit that her children were vile? Her favourite son, her first born, was the worst of them all, and the jealousy and hate he bore would be his downfall. As her babies grew older, the evil inside grew older too. As she gave them all that a mother could, she slowly began to see that darkness too. She begged her husband to keep from spoiling them, but it was already late. And they would become enemies of the five other sons, in a war that would ravage the kingdom. They would be her worry, her strife, her pain.

A rivalry bloomed as five sons and their mother met a hundred sons and theirs. A great war loomed later on after years of tension between them. In the bloodshed, the first sister saw all but one of her children's children killed. She grieved for the loss of her descendants, but embraced her five sons, for they had lived on. Out of pain, out of suffering, five sons she had raised. Soon she realised, though, that her firstborn was also among the dead. She wept for her son that she did not mother but was the mother to no less. Out of pain, out of suffering, perhaps she had given him up in vain.

But the second sister lost all of her children; not one remained. Every one of them had been slaughtered by the five other sons and it seemed fate itself had a hand in their end. Out of pain, out of suffering, she had born one hundred sons, but as the battlefield cleared, their war had left her with none. Even though she knew they had been born with darkness in their hearts, she could not stop the pain of a hundred times that ripped through her soul. Though she would repent for their sins, she could not help the immense anger that brew inside. Out of pain, out of suffering, she cursed a divine man with her gaze, and lamented one hundred times.

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"While not sisters of blood, they were sisters of the crown,

Of in-laws, of divine sons; forever they were bound.

For out of these mothers, came a story of war

Of suffering and pain, this cycle they bore.

Both wept for the sins she could not prevent,

But only one cried one hundred times with a mother's lament."

References: R K. Narayan. The Mahabharata, [Print].

"Kunti", Wikipedia

"Gandhari", Wikipedia

Gandhari: A Mother Blinded by Love, Amar Chitra Katha. [Printed Comic]

"Kunti and Gandhari", Dolls of India Art Store

Banner Image Information: "The Final Grasp". Geograph

Image Information: "Two flowers blooming apart, but growing together". Personal Drawing