I do not remember what led me to walk down the isle of mystery and see my mother as Dusmukhi Ravana. Nor do I remember the day, I pictured myself as innocent Sita kidnapped by my ten-headed mother.
If Ravana disguised as Bhikshu (monk), she managed to hide her wicked, destructive thinking behind her sweet smile. Her touch easily manipulated and promised to comfort my weeping heart. Her nurturing hands that used to feed me became her secret partner in crime. She became over ambitious, just like Ravana.
Like Ravana, she liked to conquer and consciously awakened her senses to ego, delusion, anger, hatred, regret, jealousy, lust, insensitivity and fear. My senses heightened every time she took something of mine that she liked. She did not care if they were my favourite lip shades, ear loops or clothes. She wore her ferocious temper as a crown, and her passion for proving herself “always right” worked as a magical band-aid to her ego. There was no way, I could talk to her as a civilised person.
With a heavy heart, I wondered where my mother was? What had happened to her? Was she always like this? I had so many questions opposing the two sides of my mother’s personality that flowed across in my head. Each side presented its cold and hot arguments, but my sense of judgment was confusing and later it gave me a sharp pain in my chest. All I knew, I was drowning in the whirlpool of chaotic emotions that literally tossed me down on the ocean bed. This was it! The End! …” end of beautiful life…dreams ones I cherished.”
But it was not for Sita. Not when she was kidnapped by Ravana, not when she was given exile for the second time. She had many saviours from Jatayu to Hanuman. Where was my saviour? Where was my mother?
I missed my mother, her smile and goofier ideas for quick ways to earn and build my own empire. Her plans made me laugh. Somehow, the notion of her being thoughtful about my well-being warmed me from inside even if I never dared to implement her ideas. She had a peculiar way to look at things and those ways indeed could send me to jail.
I recollected an episode of my teens when, she was unwell. She limited herself in my room with little interest what’s so ever was in the household affairs. One thing that was common between my mother and me, was my bed. We slept together as strangers. One night I was shivering because of the high temperature. I knew the stranger in my bed won’t notice me. I laid helpless, tears rolling down my cheeks with little energy to grab the water bottle next to the side table of my bed.
Lost in immense body pain, I felt her gentle hands caressing my hair. She was soothing me and she exchanged no words and continued gently stroking my hair, horse head until I slept. The stranger acknowledged me, my mother is alive …
Suddenly, I experience jolly filled my heart. She touched the very core being inside me and I started to illuminate from my heart. She was there in that moment with me when her memories fogged my vision once again. I could not see clearly. Slowly the dense dark cloud of turbulent thoughts formed inside my mind and heart, warning me of the upcoming emotional cyclone.
The swirl took me away in the sky. Speed and intensity were immense enough that made me struggle for every breath. I wanted to breathe and breath harder, which was difficult since the swirl contained moist particles along with other aquatic creatures. The reel took me high and higher until I reached at the mouth of broader spectrum of the cyclone funnel. There I continued to be at the mercy of nature until the cyclone slowly died away and tossed me back on the surface of the ocean.
Laying exhausted with half-open eyes, I saw my surroundings. So many aquatic beings were dead. Their bodies floated around me. One of the dead fishes brushed my upper arms and what I saw shocked me. On the dead fish, it was written, “What you see in your mother, I am that.” One more dead fish floated towards me and said, “I am the greed that you see in your mother”…. while the next dead fish spoke, “I am your anger that you see in your mother”…
I looked up! And I saw several dead fished floating towards me. Soon all of them took the form of words. Scripted puzzles surrounded me. I realised it was an illusion! They were not dead fish but merely the reflection of my feelings, what I felt, how I felt and why. The illusion of dead fish conveyed the message that the demon was within me; it is then, things started to unfold. My mother has always been with me.
My own ideology of the perfect mother caused friction within me. The image of a perfect mother was of a woman who knows how to give. But I was wrong. A giver needs healing every now and then. The depleting energies of a giver need a nurturing hand now and then else, it wears down the giver and age faster.
My mother needed those nurturing, healing companion, who could listen and make her feel good. Those stupid ideas, taking my things always was a way to say, she was ready to be my friend. She wanted me to share my personal belongings and my life, just the way I did with my friends and sisters.
A mother can be a receiver. She has an inner child that wants attention, devotion and care. The ocean goddess taught me that I always wanted to receive more and more, which is a form of greed; eventually giving birth to other issues of life. What I receive, I should give back to maintain the balance of nature. At last, the child within, is a pure soul and it needs nurturing. Because it only then, we evolve and learn to love each other.
Contributor: Kavita Srivastava
About our Writing Program Student
Kavita Srivastava (35) holds a degree in MBA. She’s an avid reader of business strategies, digital marketing strategies, mythology, mystic and fine arts with a focus on content marketing. In her spare time, she loves to spend time with nature and animals. Some day, she wishes to adopt a puppy with whom she can go hiking and jogging. Currently, she’s pursing a career in digital content marketing.