A soft breeze filled with the sweet scent of an unknown forest flower caresses the reddish black long flowing curly hair of the princess of the plains. The big doe like eyes take in the beauty of sunrise over the pristine forests from the plains in the foothills of the mighty Barmuras. The light fog lifts like a veil slowly to uncover the beauty of the forests. The sound of the water of the fast flowing hilly river which demarcates the boundary of the king’s kingdom seems to form an accompaniment to the beautiful morning rag and the sitar of Sreelekha. Wearing a simple green colored sari, Sreelekha is as beautiful as a goddess. Her bright smooth skin glows in the first rays of the morning sun like an amber. Her petite figurine is the envy of any artist’s creation. The revered fearless merciful rajah Bhim Sen would always take her along wherever he went.
He would always look at her mango like beautiful face and say “My darling daughter you are my lucky charm. Tell me what you want”. She would say
“I want nothing father, you have given me everything. Just give me your blessings.” He would laugh, take her in his arms and say “That, my little angel, you have always”.
Everyone would say that Sreelekha was the reincarnation of her mother who passed away while giving birth to her. Bhim Sen had never married again as his love for Sreelekha’s mother was too great. He could never love any other woman like that. When Bhim Sen’s mother asked him to remarry, he disagreed. “How do we know that Sreelekha’s step mother would love her as if she was her own daughter? I do not want to leave that to chance. So for her sake, I am never going to marry again”. He was determined to give Sreelekha all the love, care, attention and happiness in the world so that she would never feel the absence of her mother.
Sreelekha had grown up to be a renowned painter. Her voice was so sweet that when she sang the devotional songs, tears would come in the eyes of anybody who would listen. She was also a very pious devotee of Lord Shiva. She would do puja three times everyday. When she would sew clothes for her father and cook food, the palace servants would be ashamed and ask her repeatedly to let them do it. She would be open hearted to help the needy and helpless, of her father’s kingdom. Everyone loved and respected her. When she danced, even the most renowned dancers of the kingdom would admire her skill. The king was very proud of her.
When the king proposed to go for hunting in the forest, she asked him to take her along.
“But my dear, this time, I intend to go to the forest near the hills. A fierce tribe rules those lands. It is very dangerous for you to come along.”
“But baba, you cannot leave me alone in this big palace”
“Very well my child. You know, I can not deny you anything. But promise me that you will never leave far from the tent”.
“You have my word for it.”
So here they were and she would never regret coming there. Just looking at the forests and sitting on the banks of the river would inspire her to start painting with her brush on the canvas. Especially today, when the rain is threatening to pour its weight on the foothills .Suddenly her brush stops as she intently listens to a sound. Anyone would say that it was the sound of a flute but to her it seemed as if someone was calling her. And the flautist was as lonely as her. It seemed to her that lord Krishna had himself come to these hinterlands from the heavens to play such a lovely tune. She wanted the music never to stop. But then the rains came with all its anger down upon the earth and the music fainted away.
No comments:
Post a Comment