#or the lore that all sons of gardeners should be able to speak the language of the bees

[specterofyou]

The real puzzle of TMJ is finding out which of them are Skilful, Wilful, Captious or Queer-- nevermind Justice is Queer:

[pocketseizure]

The Legend of the Princess, Chapter Ten

A Softer Time

In which Zelda and Ganondorf reminisce about their shared memories of childhood.

(Chapter Ten on AO3) (Story Tag on Tumblr) (Cover Illustration)

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Zelda ran her hand across the moss covering the outstretched wing of the stone statue of Hylia, appreciating how soft and springy it was under her fingertips. Perhaps in another era, the statue would have been cleaned daily, but she was practically the only person who visited the castle's inner garden these days. Small gatherings had been held here when her mother was still alive, but now only Impa accompanied her on her visits, and then only rarely.

This was a shame, Zelda reflected, as the garden was quite beautiful. It was located within the walls of one of the oldest parts of the castle, right next to the library. The white stone of the masonry had aged gracefully, covered as it was with ivy and heartvine. Judging from the fountain at the center of the area, which had been allowed to run dry and gradually fill with earth and clover, the garden must have once been purely ornamental, but Zelda's mother had grown a variety of medicinal plants here. Zelda maintained these plantings and continued to study their applications, even though she did not have frequent cause to make use of them.

Among them were some she hoped she would never use. Any medicine improperly applied could become a poison, of course, but some tinctures served only to bring pain. The most dangerous of the plants in the garden was a white bellflower ringed with blue. Impa referred to it as the "silent princess," as it was known within the Sheikah lore for doing its work efficiently and then vanishing without a trace. It was difficult to cultivate, but it had been a favorite of her mother. Zelda admired its beauty, and she had to admit that she admired its power as well. She hoped she would never have to avail herself of the silent princess, but she also understood that her personal ethics would be forever subservient to her position as a monarch of Hyrule.

If what Impa told me is true, she thought, tracing her finger around the outer rim of one of the freshly blooming flowers, my coronation may be the least of my worries at the moment.

"It's rare to see such a flower grown in captivity," a voice said at her back. "What is it you Hylians call it? The 'silent princess,' if I'm not mistaken."

Zelda's blood froze.

"Good afternoon, Ganondorf," she said, politely acknowledging his presence as a reflex but unable to prevent her next words from leaving her mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"I was given to understand that this is not a private place," he replied, and she could hear the frown in his voice even before she turned to face him.

"That's true," she agreed, "but very few people enter this garden. It's a bit out of the way."

"Indeed it is, but it was you who showed me how to get here. Don't you remember?"

As soon as he said this, a shadow of a memory flickered through her mind.

"You brought me here after we first met," he added, a faint note of sadness in his voice.

"That's right," Zelda whispered, the memory suddenly clear.

As a child, she hadn't been allowed to play with the other children in the castle. It didn't matter whether they were the daughters and sons of the staff or the nobility; if she so much as struck up a conversation, an adult would quickly materialize to usher her elsewhere. She was the only child of her parents, and, as such, she was precious. She could not be allowed to come to physical harm, nor was she allowed to compromise her reputation as the crown princess with any childish gossip or imaginings. Although Zelda had desperately wanted to play with children her own age, she had been strictly trained to be quiet and reserved. When the expectation that she remain still and silent became too much to bear, she found refuge in the library, where no one would interrupt her to tell her how to behave.

Late one afternoon Zelda had escaped from an interminable tea luncheon, fleeing to the library only to find a boy perhaps a year or two older than her sitting in a chair much too large for him. He was flipping through a book that he obviously wasn't reading. Zelda could still remember its title, An Agricultural History of the Zora River Basin. When she entered the room, the large oak door swinging softly shut behind her, the boy had given her a sullen look, as if annoyed by her intrusion. No one else in the castle, child or adult, would have dared to cast such an expression in her direction, and she was intrigued.

"Did you come here to read?" she asked as she approached him.

"Is not read. I go here to hide," he answered. His accent was thick, but his words were clear. In his voice Zelda recognized the intonation of someone who had been carefully instructed on how to speak in front of others.

He lowered his book, and Zelda was able to get a good look at his face. When she saw the large topaz stone adorning the diadem circling his forehead, she realized that this must be the Gerudo prince her mother had told her about. Her mother considered the Gerudo queen to be a special friend, and she had been excited that Zelda would finally be able to meet the queen's son, Ganondorf. When the queen had been presented during the previous evening's court, however, there had been no children accompanying her.

"Where were you last night?" Zelda asked him, taking it for granted that he would understand what she meant.

"Was bad. The food is..." The boy clutched his stomach to mime sickness.

"How rude," Zelda chided him, unable to help herself.

He shrugged and pointed at her. "Food is bad for you also, are too skinny."

For some reason this statement struck Zelda as unbearably silly. She started giggling, and the boy smiled at her.

"Our mothers are still at the luncheon. Do you want to go play outside while we wait for them?"

This was the first time Zelda had ever offered such an invitation. To her delight, Ganondorf accepted, and she had led him to the inner garden, all the while peppering him with questions just to listen to the way he used words. Within the hour he had grown impatient with Hylian and started to speak to her in Gerudo, and when the two of them were found sitting on the grass of the inner garden and braiding clover stems into chains their conversation was an equal mixture of their languages. Both of them found the other's way of speaking infinitely amusing.

It seemed that their mothers were always together, and there wasn't much room for children in the intimate space they created between themselves. The interruption of the queen's schedule affected Zelda's own, and during the Gerudos' visit she was mostly left to her own devices. She naturally gravitated toward Ganondorf, who also had little to do other than kill time while roaming around the castle. They played hide and seek in the hedges, chatted endlessly about inconsequential things next to each other at formal state dinners, and went on small adventures in the lonelier areas of the castle during the long summer afternoons.

Zelda smiled as she recalled these memories. "We were good friends," she said to Ganondorf, who was gazing at her with the slightly unsettling intensity that she had come to expect from him.

"Our mothers were good friends," he responded, as if correcting her. "But they never should have become so close. There cannot be true friendship between people who can never be equals."

Zelda recalled the way that the two women had spoken to and smiled at each other, and she shook her head. "I don't think your mother was subservient to mine in any way. And I don't think your position is subservient to mine, even if we are in my castle," she added. "It's been too long since we sat down and talked to one another. Why don't you join me for tea tomorrow afternoon? I hope it won't be an imposition."

"An imposition? Hardly," Ganondorf scoffed. "Is an invitation from the crown princess ever an imposition?"

Zelda decided not to respond to his implication that she had just issued an order. That had not been her intention, but a certain stubbornness kept her from correcting him.

"So you'll join me, then?"

Instead of answering her, Ganondorf raised his hand toward her. Zelda stiffened, but he reached past her shoulder to pluck one of the silent princesses from its vine.

"If I must join you, then I will," he said lightly. He met her eyes and then dropped his gaze to the flower in his hands. Zelda glanced down and watched him squeeze the stem above his palm. When a drop of the poisonous sap fell onto his skin, she flinched. She looked back up at Ganondorf, but he was still regarding the silent princess contemplatively.

"But I hope you won't be offended if I tell you that Hylian tea is not to my taste."

Zelda swallowed and resisted the urge to bite her lip. If Ganondorf knew the Sheikah name of this flower, then he must know how deadly it was, but surely he could not be suggesting that she would try to poison him.

"Perhaps I could take tea with you," she offered.

"Hylians do enjoy taking things, don't they," he replied, surprising her with his boldness.

"Ganondorf. It doesn't have to be this way between us. Why don't you tell me what you want to say?"

"Plainly speaking?"

"Yes," she insisted. "Please consider me a friend, as your mother was a friend of my own."

"Fine, then know this – As your kingdom rises, Princess, mine can only fall."

"That's preposterous, Ganondorf. Hyrule has no ill intentions toward the Gerudo, and your people are famously wealthy. Besides, if you truly believe that, then why did you come here?"

"Did I have a choice? Surely I don't need to tell you how it would look if my people failed to send an emissary to your coronation."

"No, I mean, I understand that," Zelda said in frustration, "but if you hate me and my kingdom so much, why did you come here, to this garden?"

Ganondorf seemed taken aback. "I don't hate Hyrule," he muttered, looking away from her. Zelda glanced down and watched him twist the stem of the silent princess around his finger in agitation.

"And I don't hate you either," he continued. "It's just that it's difficult for me, here in your castle. I sometimes feel that every room is haunted by the memory of my mother, and I wanted to go to a place that I don't associate with her. I remember, the last time I was here we read an old book together, something about magic. I seem to recall that you had a fascination with wizards."

Zelda was perplexed. How could Ganondorf speak of such personal matters in practically the same breath as he accused her kingdom of oppressing his own? She didn't know what to make of the situation, or of Ganondorf himself. Nevertheless, she did her best to salvage the conversation.

"I used to love stories about wizards," she admitted, "but they lost their luster when I realized that I have no talent for magic myself. The gift is supposed to run in my family, but it's never come easily to me."

"Magic doesn't come naturally to anyone," Ganondorf replied. "It's not the sort of thing that's supposed to come easily. You have to work at it, constantly."

"So you're able to use magic?" Zelda asked.

"I am."

"Then show me," she demanded. "I'd like to see it." She was a bit shocked by her own forwardness, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

"It would be my pleasure," Ganondorf said, smiling. He took a deep breath, released it, and began humming a simple melody. Each of the notes created a strange resonance in her heart, almost as if she had heard this song somewhere before.

Within seconds, a warm wind began circling through the garden, catching fallen leaves and flower petals and sending them up into tiny spirals. The wind also carried the subtle smell of the incense burned into Ganondorf's clothing as it blew across Zelda's face, striking her with a fierce pang of nostalgia for the brief time in which her days and hours had been her own.

The sky had grown vibrant with the hues of the setting sun, and Zelda knew she would have to excuse herself soon. She had only come here for a breath of fresh air after her afternoon audiences, and she still had a number of documents that she needed to return to her secretaries before she began to prepare for the evening court. She was scheduled to be fitted for another gown, so she had even less time than usual.

And yet she allowed herself to stand quietly as Ganondorf continued to hum, the wind he summoned dancing through the garden. It occurred to her that he had sought her out here, just as he had before the dance yesterday evening, just he had the other morning in front of the library; just as she had continually sought him out when they were children. Perhaps this is what they did for each other, something that they could not do for themselves – together they found time to be no one other than themselves, if only for a few moments before they returned to the court and reassumed the weight of the responsibilities of their positions.

( Chapter Eleven )

[wionews]

#MeToo, say Sita and Savitri

#MeToo has provided a global social platform for women to talk about sexual harassment, abuse and innuendos that every woman, perhaps all over the world, has undergone or felt, outside and sometimes inside home, and has more often than not, quietly accepted, especially in India because it is in our culture not to speak of such matters. And why? Tradition and mythology have idealised the ‘Sati’, ‘Savitris’ of mythology, but in doing so has drawn a ‘lakshmanrekha’ – boundaries that may not be crossed by women for fear of becoming tainted and, therefore, rejected.

Indian mythology is full of tales of women, who faced abuse, harassment and punishment for acts for which not they but men were responsible.

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Indian mythology is full of tales of women, heroines in their own right and often, symbols of ‘purity’ as defined by men, who faced abuse, harassment and punishment for acts for which not they, but men, sometimes their own husbands, were responsible.  And who wrote these stories of yore? Men, of course.

Take the story of Ahalya, most beautiful of women, wife of Gautama Maharishi, lusted after by Indra, mythical God of lightning, thunder and rain and king of the Devas, the most referred deity in the Rig Veda, who took the form of her husband to make love to her. Gautama cursed her for being wanton and made her into a stone, from which she was released only after the foot of Rama, Purushottama, the highest among men and a Vishnu avatar, touched the stone.

And what of Rama? Sita, his wife, crossed the ‘lakshmanrekha’ literally, to give alms to Ravana, who lusted after her and also wanted to teach Rama and his brother Lakshmana a lesson for cutting off his sister, Surpanakha’s, nose (whose only crime was to be enamoured of Rama, to whom she proposed, and who made fun of her proposal and passed her on to Lakshmana, who also made fun of her and additionally, cut of her nose – this was also a case of #MeToo!).

Men’s deceit is part of our mythical lore and this is clear in the case of both Ahalya and Sita.

  ×

He kidnapped Sita by posing as a hermit seeking alms, refusing to take the offerings unless she came across the drawn boundary. And well-bred Sita could not insult a Brahmin by refusing to do so. Men’s deceit is part of our mythical lore and this is clear in the case of both Ahalya and Sita. But Sita remains ‘pure’ because of Ravana, after all, turns out to be a gentleman who keeps her enclosed in a garden but refuses to take her against her will. But what of Rama, Vishnu’s avatar? He wants proof of her fidelity and makes her go through an ‘agnipariksha’, literally, a trial by fire, and later, on the basis of doubts expressed by a washerman, a subject of Rama’s kingdom who should not be denied in Ram rajya, banishes his pregnant wife, who apparently holds a lesser place in the scheme of statehood.

She gives birth to twins in exile and brings them up as a single mother under the protection of sage Valmiki, who teaches the sons the art of war as well as the fine arts. During Rama’s Ashwamedha Yagna, they prove to be able sons of their father by capturing Rama’s horse and defeating Rama and his three brothers. Getting to know the true identity of these young boy-warriors, Rama wants them back along with his wife, their mother. But Sita has had enough.

She prays to her earth mother, Bhoomidevi, of whom she was born, to take her back, and the earth opens to swallow Vaidehi, Sita –‘ MeToo’ Sita would have said if she could speak. The same is true of Yagnaseni, Draupadi, proud wife of the five Pandavas, dusky beauty, who is pawned by Dharmaputra Yudhisthir in a game of dice with the Kauravas, dragged into court by her brother-in-law Dushyasana, and saved the ultimate shame of total public disrobement by Krishna, who adds yards to her robe, making it never-ending. But did any of the stalwarts of the Mahabharata – Dronacharya, Bhisma Pitama, Dhritarashtra, let alone her five warrior husbands, protest? No. #MeToo.

It is not surprising that ‘chherna’ or sexual teasing, rape and women silently accepting abuse are engrained into popular films of every language, much appreciated and applauded by the male public.

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And Krishna, the most revered God of the Hindu pantheon, who kept Draupadi’s honour? There are many stories of his mischievous behaviour as a child which we indulgently smile at as part of his ‘lila’. Gods can do no wrong. But, has anyone thought about what adverse effect some of these stories may have on the minds of aberrant young males? The ‘vastraharan’ story is well known – how Krishna stole the clothes of young ‘gopis’ who were bathing and made them come out of the water nude, with their hands above their heads (which world over, is a symbol of surrender) before he returned their clothes.

While devotees will call this symbolic of total surrender to the sublime, some may think of it as voyeurism. While many things are symbolic in mythology, why are only women subjected to this test of self-surrender, why not men? It is argued that Krishna is the only man, all others are women, but that is not the way artists depict 'vastraharan'.

Given this background of 'lakshmanrekhas', male deception, victimisation of women for no fault of theirs as well indulgence towards what would today be called eve-teasing, it is not surprising that ‘chherna’ or sexual teasing, rape and women silently accepting abuse are engrained into popular films of every language, much appreciated and applauded by the male public. After all, our mythological lores are full of such incidents, and Krishna’s lilas are indulgently smiled at. But does one realise the impact that this kind of popular culture can have on society? It can leave so many women writing #MeToo on their Facebook statuses, without much hope of a change in male behaviour.

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