Top Five Underrated Characters From The Ramayana?

Rama and Krishna trading places

for @medhasree

“You killed him,” says one of Kaliya’s wives in a voice devoid of all feeling, even as her husband sinks deeper into the waters of the Yamuna. “He was poisoning our waters, and the very air we breathe,” Balarama says, even as his heart yearns after the greatest part of him lying coiled at the edge of the universe. Almost he could slip into the waters himself and, unaffected, slip his arms around his kinswomen to comfort them. Rama, on the banks, cleans his arrows and slips them into a quiver comically big for him, and says, “I killed him, as I kill all monsters who trouble my people.” “We are ourselves everywhere hunted by Garuda,”another wife protests. “If you retaliate by poisoning mortals, you turn from victims to villains yourself. Betake yourselves to Ramanaka Island, and live unharmed.”

“I would love nothing more,” Krishna reassures Surpanakha, “for I cannot remember when last I saw a woman so divinely lovely, bedecked in all the treasures the world can offer and yet needing none to add to her own beauty.” The rakshasi pauses, and the following smile has a distinct gleam of fangs. “You flatter masterfully, mortal, but I can hear a lie. You would love nothing more, yet surely you will find a reason to refuse me.” “I would love nothing more,” Krishna repeats, “but I have a wife already.” “An obstacle easily removed,” Surpanakha suggests, grinning wider than her slender face should allow. Lakshmana springs to his feet, outraged, but then sits again, arrow unnocked, at Krishna’s amused gesture. “But if you kill her I would mourn a hundred summers and scarcely be in a mood for love. You are far too intelligent to think otherwise.” “Since when do mortal men limit themselves to a single wife?” the rakshasi queries. Krishna grins back at her, sunny and careless. “My own father has three queens, and the jealousy of one has brought us to this forest. So I cannot take you for a wife unless you renounce your royal life and live with us as a mendicant, for to do otherwise would cause resentment in my wife. Yet I cannot ask you to sacrifice your life and all its many enjoyments to live with us as my wife does, for that would anger you. You see my dilemma?” “I… yes,” says Surpanakha. “I will have your brother then, if I cannot have you.” “You could marry him,” Krishna allows. “But he is sworn to celibacy, so I would not advise it for one so given to pleasure as you are, O sensuous one.”

“Of course we will fight for you, with all the might Dwaraka has,” Rama assures the Pandavas. “I could hardly do less when my kinsmen are offered insult, and one I have long called a sister.” “One might argue,” says Prince Satyajit, “that it was Yudhishtira who offered insult to our sister, by waging her as he might his slaves.” It is the position Panchal has been taking on the matter, Panchali not excepted, and even Yudhishtira has grown inured enough to offer no ,ore than a tired flinch. “If he were playing against an honourable man, such a wager would not have been accepted, any more than you would trust a drunkard with your beloved child,” Rama says. “It makes no matter; we go to war not for petty faults, but because of dharma and adharma.” “Then must we wait,” Draupadi asks, “while the world grows heavy with adharma? What keeps us from war this instant?” “A vow binds you,” Rama reminds her, gentle and inexorable as a god. “But it does not bind us,” Satyajit points out. Rama’s answering laugh lights up the day, shakes birds from the trees.

Krishna is the one who fetches his wife from the Asoka grove, swings her off her feet laughing, kisses the tears from her eyes, and tells her, “I know this will be difficult for you after all our years in seclusion, but we must do it for the army, and to stifle any rumours before they raise their heads.” In front of the army he embraces her again, this time a conquering hero and not a relieved husband, and says in the voice that massed regiments can hear in the din of battle, “Now is my life lit up again, with Janaka’s chaste daughter in my arms. All my war has been but for this, that I may have my wife by my side once more.”

❤❤❤

Found my cat.

Elizabeth rendering Darcy speechless

or alternatively, ”Aziraphale, look! look at what what i did! i did the thing that you want me to do, Aziraphale! be proud of me! please come back now!”)

Read the notes 😂😂

a question to the skate board side of tumblr

how do you guys get the boards to stick to your feet when you jump?

Men in Black (1997) dir. Barry Sonnenfeld

Mahabharat characters and ficlets therein: [1/?] 

Draupadi and Krishna

Insp: edits by @walburgablack and numerous edits by @chaanv  

It tires her. Being this constant “Instrument of Destiny”. Sometimes, she wishes to escape the grand plans that Divinity expects her to execute, by way of being a pawn.

Getting married to five men, being pledged like a commodity, and being the object of desire for lecherous eyes, Panchaali really has had it all, in all these years.

What next, Krishna?, she asks him.

All she gets is a meaningful silence, and a smile that only she can decipher.

It is all for the greater good, he answers.

His flute takes an identity of its own.

The tune is strange, she wonders.

And sure enough, it is. It seems to juxtapose The Maker and The Destroyer in one. As if were the music to which Shankara would perform his Tandava.

And then, she remembers.

Rudra had materialised in the Sabha the day she was presented there. The rage, her outburst, the disappointment, and of course…

Their silence.

There isn’t much to salvage here, Krishne. The flute seems to answer.

She swears she can feel the crescendo almost foretell the future, the stench of carrion flesh hits her nostrils, almost as tangible as her ears pick the tune of the one who was her likeness in nomenclature.

I shall make my efforts, Panchaali. He seems to read her mind.

Strangely, she doesn’t hope for the prophecy to fail. A fact, He seems to know for a fact. 

What else, Krishna?, she breathes.

The familiarity of the smile, and the endnotes of the dirge seem all too corporeal.

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A girl I liked convinced me to stab a man, so I did. Felt guilty for a bit, then promptly forgot about it and walked around with the murder weapon for a couple of hours, going about my business, walking my dog. Eventually I was cornered by a plainclothes police officer who asked me why I had a bloody knife; I told him I was looking after it for my bogan cousin. He said, “You’re under arrest,” and I was like,, “No, I’m not, watch this,” and then I woke up.

#and then crowley came up with something