SINCERITY
Waking up, I feel no less exhausted this morning than I did yesterday. The morning procedures of hygiene, raising the sun, and having breakfast were a blur. I thank whatever higher power-that-be that no audiences with the other gods are today, elsewise I would take leave of my senses.
My head last night was not drenched with dreams as I slept, but cluttered with conundrum: what game was this mirror playing? Between the atrocities of Zeus’ callousness and Isis’ deceit, I fail to see what good pursuing this further will accomplish.
But Father…he left me with it for a reason. Why? He said reflection will lead to the answer, but all that is being reflected are painful memories!
… Confound it…
My sentimentality getting the better of me leads me back to that ludicrous mirror, and I brace for the bronze light’s worst…
Grass grew golden and dry around a wide lake, cacti clusters and bramble bushes littered the shoreline, and a few spired structures of stone bordered the distance.
… I can immediately tell this will not go well; the sound of sobbing resounds through the air, which smelt of freshly spread ashes…
A young man knelt at the edge of the lake. Tears streaked down a tanned face coated with stubble. He wore all white, a buttoned-up shirt and a waist-cloth wrapped and tucked around his legs like pants.
“Oh… Most honorable celestials…” he howled. “Should my penances in this life prove sufficient power, I ask! I implore! Please, bring my beloved, betrothed Pramadarva back to me…”
Pramadarva must be his lover, to evoke such cries, both from him and the spirit herself standing behind him.
As a goddess, I can see things beyond human eyes, and the souls of deceased mortals are among these. The spirit behind the man – whom I assume to be Pramadarva by her tears – shined with almost divine beauty even in death, with wavy, brunette bangs and a cherubic face. Her phantasmal form bore a loose lavender cloth draped over her shoulder, below which lay a blue petticoat and blouse.
She kept muttering “Ruru…” yet he could not hear. That must be the man’s name.
Their sobbing seeped into the sky for what felt like hours, until the atmosphere turned so tense you could cut it with a sword.
From a ray of light…something appeared between the couple, standing like man, yet shaped like a beast. Deep blue skin blanketed its body, like that of waning daylight. It was garbed in gold and gems, with clawed arms – one carrying a golden rod – and canines not unlike a boar’s.
And the crowning piece? A headdress of skulls.
What on Earth is this thing…? I’ve half a mind to label it an oni, but its eyes possessed neither drunken demeanor nor malignant intention, but heavenly charisma. It seemed…pastoral…insightful…and gentle.
“Lord Yama…!” the broken betrothed both exclaimed.
“Please, cease your prayer, Ruru…” the named beast stated solemnly. “Once souls meet the end of their days, they can never reclaim them. And as judge and god of the dead, I am to guide them to their final destination when that happens. It is the law of nature.”
God…of the dead? I know of the Shinigami and our own high judge of souls, Lord Enma, though the former is more of a status and the latter appears as human as any other god I know.
But Yama… Never in my life would I have considered something like…him to be a god.
“N-No… Please…!” Ruru pleaded. “There must be something…!”
The god of death shook his head sadly. “I understand you were prepared to spend a devoted life of happiness with fair Pramadarva, but as I said: it is-”
“I promised my life to her! And I would willingly give it!”
“Ruru…” The departed bride cried upon her groom’s deaf ears and Yama’s all-hearing ones.
“You would stand beside her in life and death…no matter the cost…?” Yama inquired of Ruru with a blank gaze.
Ruru straightened in shock at Yama’s stare, but stood firm with steeled eyes. “To share my life with her, I would.”
Ruru had a noble soul, but what he asked was impossible; no god would bestow such a boon upon a mortal, no matter how hard-
“…Then so it shall be.”
Wait… “What?”
“What?” The lost lovers echoed me.
Yama…is smiling. A gentle smile from stoic god of death.
He placed his rod against Ruru’s chest, absorbing some sort of lively light from his body. Yama then raised the rod towards the spirit of Pramdarva and fired a beam of light.
But that’s… No way…
Like flowing paint, Pramadarva gasped as her form regained corporeality…skin regained flesh tone…eyes regained life…
“Now…” Yama chuckled. “Do you pledge yourselves to each other? In sickness and health? ‘Til death do you part?”
No whisper of “I do.” Just a shaky stumble, bursting into a tearful embrace, reunited in union, death as their witness.
… I was back home…
… Why…?
“Why?” I spoke to that blasted bronze circle, as if it could hear me…
“What nonsense is this?! These mixed messages… What ridiculous ‘reflection’ is this?! Do you know what measure of a human a god is…? Or do you delight in my confusion?!”
My body seethes with solar fury, bangs billowing like flames, threatening to leak out amidst my cries.
I turned away, strangling my shoulders, having witnessed my weeping face in the mirror. “… Why do I bother...? It’s…not real. N-None of this is real… It’s all fleeting fantasy…and unnecessary nightmares.”
Something I cannot have…and something that can never be… Just like my family…
Mother…
Father…
… Warmth…?
What is…this warmth…?
Behind me…?
The… The mirror… It’s… What…?
A misty bronze fills my vision… From beyond…broad shoulders…stormy eyes…blinding blade…a mane like thunderclouds…
… Impossible…
No way…
“… Brother…?”
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This story is meant to be the tipping point; After her previous experiences, betraying Amaterasu's expectations of her understanding of what gods were was the key here, thus I chose the story of The Brahman and His Bride. A messenger of Yama originally delivered the message to Ruru, but to strengthen the impact of the moment for our sun goddess, the overseer of death himself personally appears before the two lovers and conducts the resurrection.
Where I wanted to start and end was clear, the challenge was getting there, as I wanted to get the details of the world just right. So I did research on how Hindu people conducted funerals - like how ashes were sometimes spread at sacred bodies of water since adults were cremated at death - and their clothing worn on funerals and day to day; white was typically worn on funerals. Black was disrespectful!
Death gods of a sort do exist in Japanese mythology, but to make Yama a more distinct figure, I did a little digging on Shinigami, implying a race of death gods, and a different sort of Yama from East Asian mythology who is a judge of souls, known as Enma in Japan. In fact, Enma is considered a shinigami. But the key here is pluralization; no one true death god seems to exist in Japanese mythology, which is why "Shinigami" is more treated by Amaterasu as something like a job rather than a sign of true godly power. I threw in a reference to oni to deepen Amaterasu's misconception, since popular depictions of these drunken ogre demons resemble some depictions of Yama.
But with that, the stage is set for one last trip into the mirror. Those who've been reading up to this point could probably guess what's coming...
BIBLIOGRAPHY
The Brahman and His Bride from Indian Myth and Legend by Donald Alexander Mackenzie
Research on Hindu funeral customs and clothing, Oni, Shinigami, Yama, and Enma,
IMAGE INFORMATION
Yama from The Metropolitan Museum of Art, dated around mid-17th to early-18th century, taken from Wikimedia Commons