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ginazmemeoir · 2 years

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this is a fic idea that was swirling in my head for a while now, and here y'all go with it

tagging @gopikanyari @zoyas-musings @weird-u @totallyforgotyouwerehere @momo-all-the-way @dragonfairy1231 @holding-infinity-and-a-book @aadyeah @allegoriesinmediasres @postmyloan @ratio-on-the-patio

The gossip and rumours flew around like flies as the assembly stood there waiting under the sweltering sunshine, with Menavati at the head. Two attendants dabbed her forehead and fanned her, even as she stood with her arms aching while holding the thali. Shiva’s barat was late by a lot. By now, guests were getting anxious and her sisters, the apsaras, were spreading their sticky rumours.

“We never should have trusted her…”

“It was too good to be true…”

“That’s what you get for trying to yoke in Shiva, he is a sanyasi what else did they expect…”

“I’ve heard he danced around with his first wife’s dead corpse. Who would want to marry such a madman?”

Menavati tried hard to keep her anger and frustration in check, each cell of her being ordered to look and behave as the Queen of the Mountains should. The assembly was unused to the heat of the plains, and so she sent a message to Lord Surya to tone the sun’s power. It was her daughter’s wedding and she would let nothing stand in the way of it being the most splendid, most perfect wedding in the entire universe. No sooner had the message been sent than a scout came running breathless. “Devi, the procession has arrived!” he declared, panting. The news came like a breath of fresh air and scattered all the suspicions away. They were all worried about Parvati facing the same fate as the Kanya in the South, who had promptly flown into a rage and slain the local demons and coloured the oceans with her tears and makeup when Shiva had failed to arrive to marry her (more like tricked by the gods). All disorder was magicked away and dresses rearranged and makeup retouched as the assembly waited expectantly for the groom.

It was the bellow of a bull, and the cackling of yakshas that first alerted the assembly to something amiss. The usual auspicious sounds of conch shells and drums and trumpets were replaced by discordant noise and fearful cackles and roars. The air was filled with the stench of rotting flesh and a million other odours that clashed with the fragrance of the perfume and flowers which surrounded the women like a barrier. Immediately the guards went into fighting stance as all the devis and apsaras readied their own weapons. Menavati made a double check on her daggers and her mace, which was hidden in her hairpin. They faced a horde… of dancing demons?

Yakshas and bhutas and pishachas flew around laughing, all clearly drunk. The cloying scent of marijuana and smoking chillums filled the air. It was a mingled crowd of the devas’ enemies and subordinates. Asuras and rakshasas and danavas and nagas and even some humans and rishis. Their laughs were interspersed with the cries and shouts of the assembly, which turned into confused murmurs upon seeing the devas themselves fraternizing with these creatures, drunk as well. Menavati craned her neck to see around them, checking if Shiva even was present or if he had sent these drunkards in his stead. And she found him there. Standing in the midst of it all, there he was. Upon his bull Nandi, kicking around and bellowing in happiness, resplendent as the moon. Shiva was on his back, and Menavati had never wanted to unsee something with such fervour. His entire body was covered in ash, and he was the drunkest of them all, even now a pot of bhaang in his hand. His dreadlocks were flying all around and he wore the skin of a flayed tiger, still dripping blood, with snakes crawling over his body. Her lips recoiled and her eyes widened with disgust as her mind went blank.

Was this the Supreme Destroyer? Was this the man over which her Parvati almost killed herself, spending months submerged in a frozen lake and forsaking all food and water? Was this the man she wanted to wed; this mendicant who lived with all things unholy? All her questions remained unanswered as Menavati fainted with shock.

She awoke inside Parvati’s chambers. Even as she gazed upon her Menavati’s heart twisted. Her sweet daughter. Looking even more beautiful and radiant than Goddess Lakshmi herself. The mere thought of her with that uncouth man made her gag. “Ma are you fine?” she said, sitting down with her and offering her a glass of jaggery water. She got up on her elbows and sipped the water thoughtfully.

“I told you not to wait outside. I would have told you when he arrived. All this standing around in the sun with at least a kilo worth of gold and fabric. And the heat, uff…”

“I didn’t faint because of the heat Uma. I fainted because I saw Shiva.” Menavati interrupted her.

“I know it is too much to take in. Isn’t he just magnificent?” she sighed dreamily as she wore her bangles, her sister Ganga too sharing a sigh of desire.

“Are you out of your wits girl?” Menavati said, silencing her daughters. “That man, you want to marry him? That intoxicated monster? He is the man you did penance for?” she rebuked her. “Mother” was all Parvati was able to say, before Menavati yet again interceded her.

“Listen Uma. These are my final words. I would rather die than let you marry him. I am calling this wedding off and that’s it.”

Saying so, the Queen of the Mountains slammed the glass on the nearby stand and stormed out.

“Why did you do this Shiva?” asked Parvati, her furious whispers flitting about the garden, which was the only place where they got semblance of privacy in a palace bustling with people.

“Forgive me dear, I didn’t know your mother had such a weak constitution!” Shiva chuckled, incensing her father. Even though her brows were knitted together in that fierce look and her nostrils flared, Shiva couldn’t help being in love with her.

“This is not a joke Shiva! She has called off the wedding! And after going through everything I had just to get to marry you, I’m not willing to lose it all over something as frivolous as costumes.”

“Parvati, this is how I am. This is how I live. You knew that before you married me then why didn’t you tell her?”

Parvati sighed, and stroked Shiva’s face. “Shiva, I have accepted you fully. In every single way. For me you’ll forever be the most beautiful being in existence. Tiger skin and ash-based cosmetics included.” She added, laughing. There, that moment, with her hand on his cheek, and his hand holding hers, that was the most complete Parvati had ever felt in her life. She just wanted to remain like this forever, bottle up this moment and forever be bewitched. But if she wanted more such moments, she had to break this one. She gazed up at him with her kohl rimmed eyes and continued. “But all of this is new for my family. They’re not used to this… this wildness,” she says, barely registering the hurt on Shiva’s face, “this absolute rejection of customs and rules. They’re afraid of you Shiva, and afraid for me. Please, just for our wedding, please change yourself and your ganas. Just so we can proceed onwards and once we reach Kailasa, there’ll be no such nonsense.” She says holding his hands, her eyes brimming with hope and concern.

He shook off her hands, and fixed her with that stare which bordered on apathy and rage.

“I am not going to change myself just because some old crone is throwing a tantrum Parvati. It is her problem if she can’t deal with it. So until then, screw this wedding.” He said, his jaw set in determination, matched with the fire in Parvati’s eyes.

“I have endured the fire of tapas and the ice of the Mansarovar for you. I’ll have you Shambhu. You shall be mine and mine forever.” Said Parvati, declaring her love to the God of gods, with the earth and her mountains as her witness.

III

She walked towards her chambers slightly dazed, her mind jumbled up, scrambling for a solution desperately. This was wrong, this was all wrong. It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life and it was turning into a nerve wrecking nightmare. Clutching her carefully done hair, she gave a small scream of frustration and almost tripped on her sari, but was caught in time by someone else. “Oh thank you I’m so sorry I didn’t…” she trailed off her apology as she gazed at her saviour. It was a man with a goat’s head. She recognized him from the guest list description she had to memorize : this was the first Prajapati, the eldest son of Lord Brahma, Lord Daksha. Shiva had severed his head and replaced it with a goat’s head when his wife had killed herself because of Daksha.

“It’s alright Sati.” He replied. Parvati gave a small perplexed look as he smiled. Wait could goats even smile? And why did he call her Sati? “You seem a bit flustered” he said, cocking his head to one side. “Yes Prajapati, just wedding jitters.” She replied, wringing her hands.

“You know, should you have any trouble, you should approach Lord Narayana. After all, he’s the god of marriages as well.” Daksha advised, closing his eyes and chanting ‘Narayana’ even as he ended his sentence. The advice seemed like ghee added to a fire. Of course! Vishnu had accepted her as his sister, and so would help her get out of her predicament. After a hasty pleasantry exchange, Parvati rushed towards Vishnu’s guest chambers.

“Hari you have to help me!” she exclaimed, running in through the doors to Vishnu’s chambers, who was reclining on a divan with his wife, Goddess Lakshmi, eating paan. Parvati couldn’t help but feel that she had interrupted what was clearly an intimate, private moment, and a blush crept up her cheeks. Vishnu gestured to Lakshmi, who left with a curt ‘namaste’.

“Tell me dear sister, what do you want?” he asked, with that grin of his. Women would tear each other apart for a simple glimpse of that grin, but Parvati wanted to knock it out of his face with a cracking punch. “How dare you take pleasure in your sister’s grief?”

Vishnu graciously rose from the divan, his anklets tinkling, even as she accused him of apathy. “But what troubles you sister?” he asked, again with that small smile. “You know everything that happens, you’re just feigning ignorance. Please Narayana, help me! Shiva has stormed off saying he doesn’t want to marry and mother wants to cancel the wedding and everything is just falling apart…” she broke off mid-sentence, collapsing into sobs as she buried herself in Vishnu’s chest. “Relax dear, relax,” he consoled her, stroking her thick, raven black hair, undone from the helplessness flooding her body, “brides do not cry on their wedding day, it invites ill luck, and I should know for I’m married to the goddess of luck! Do not worry about Shiva, he is Ashutosh – he erupts in anger and calms down just as easily. He’ll come around. As for Lady Menavati, we will do something.”

“No it has to be done now. Ma is set in her ways. I want you to give a makeover to Shiva and his ganas, just for today. Turn them into someone that my mother approves of, someone she would wed me to in a heartbeat. Please Narayana.” Parvati cried, clutching him like a drowning man finally found a log.

“Fine. I’ll transform your Shiva, and when I’m done you won’t be able to recognize him. And if he resists, I’ll tie him to a chair and dip his head in a bucket full of makeup. Now you go, and get ready for your wedding and don’t you dare even think of crying.” Vishnu consoled her, holding her by her shoulders and kissing her on the forehead. Calmer, Parvati gave him a smile through her teary eyes, and walked out towards her own chambers, ready to be bedecked.

Parvati sat before the yajnavedi. Her sari was a bright crimson red, luxurious in its silken drapes which accentuated her body’s curved. A gold border ran along its edge, with the drape itself telling a story in gold and silver and gemstones, and peacocks were embroidered on the folds and it was all held together at the waist with a gold and turquoise cummerbund. Her arms were weaved with mehndi patterns, and green and gold bangles covered her wrists. Her feet too were covered with mehndi, the beautiful designs hidden by anklets and toe rings. Her face was decorated with red paint and illuminated by the light of the mandap fire, which reflected off her nose ring, a gold hoop encrusted with gemstones and held by a string of beads connected to her ear, both of which were adorned by earrings. Her hair wAS made up in an elaborate style and decorated with a heavy gajra and gold hairpin. A red veil rested atop it encircled by a crown, and a fur shawl hung by her shoulders. While the entire assembly marvelled at her, the bride and her parents themselves were a myriad of emotions : expectations, worry and anger; for the groom was absent.

“I told you not to marry that uncouth mendicant, but obviously nobody here listens to me. And now you’ve got your father’s support as well.”

“Mena, there’s no better groom for your daughter than Shiva himself, and if you can’t see that then you’re blind to your own child’s happiness.” Said Himavan, Parvati’s father, trying to calm a fuming Menavati. He was a tall well-built man, and towered over most people present.

“Lord Himavan, the auspicious muhurta is passing away. Where is Mahadev?” inquired Lord Brahma, who was acting as the priest.

“Over here Brahmadev!” rang out Vishnu’s voice, as he led Shiva into the mandap, accompanied by his hollering ganas. And Parvati almost didn’t recognize him at all. Gone was the ash and the tiger skin and the snakes and the intoxication. This person here wasn’t Shiva, he was Shankar, Parvati’s groom.

His body, toned by millennia of tapas and living in the wilderness, shone like the moon. A blue dhoti covered his legs, followed by silver anklets. A deep blue angavastra was draped around his upper body, set with cowri shells and turquoise gemstones. His hands, also covered with mehndi, were decorated with silver gauntlets and a gold ring. Rudraksha beads and iron neck rings hung from his neck, and his shoulders were also bound with rudraksha set silver. His dreadlocks were coiled and set in his deep red turban, with a crescent moon lapel. His eyes, no longer bloodshot and dazed with marijuana, twinkled with joy and his face was clean shaven, sandalwood paste applied to the forehead. The ganas, though fussy in their new garb, were happy for their lord.

Shiva ascended the mandap steps, reached towards Parvati, and first bent down to touch her parents’ feet, as was part of custom. Menavati, too stunned by this sudden transformation, shakily placed her hands on his head in blessing. He then sat down beside Parvati and flashed her a cocky grin. “I’m yours now Uma. And there’s no way I’m ever letting you go.”

The world then exploded with the sound of Sanskrit chants, a crackling fire, a shower of flowers and the hollering and cries of laughter of every being in the universe, as Shiva and Shakti were reunited.

#Shiva #Parvati #hindu mythology #mythology #vasu writes #india #mythology based fic #i'm writing after like soooo long now and it feels just so good #hope y'all like it :D

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