Peggy’s mind wanders in the ambiguity of the forest:

The king sleeps. I hear the rhythm of his deep breathe. Who is he dreaming of tonight. Who doesn’t know that? Tomorrow he will set off to win a new heart, as fresh as the forest flowers, as innocent as a river flowing far away from the localities. He is confident. He knows women’s hearts better than his own fingers. He is accustomed to make his dreams a reality. My 21st century values prevent me from having love in my dreams. I cannot sleep either. I embraced Insomnia instead of dream of the beloved long back.

Knowing what he is upto created sheer discomfort in me since last few days. Now I know the fantasies of Indian male that drive them since ages. Its bit disturbing to see that the warrior clans of ancient era were patriarchal to the fullest extent – I mean savageness of this lot is unacceptable. I pity myself for involving in this shitty affair. This shameless guy doesn’t even care for me. He doesn’t care whether I will feel comfortable flirting with a girl or open for lesbian love! How bluntly he talks about framing an innocent – probably teen-age girl before me. Guys of my age in our society seem true civilized in comparison to this one. At least they treat women far better.

Don’t they? Well, I must admit I am not sure if ‘our society’ a uniform one. I have been grown up in the urban middle class environment where people differentiate between child and adult, women and men and follow certain rules to express sexual intent. What happens in rural areas? Didn’t I see thirteen year old child mother standing in the queue before temple holding her tiny baby tight? What is the age of consent in rural areas? Forget about India, didn’t I meet a thirteen year old bride during my last US trip in Virginia? Which adult consent I am talking about? Don’t I know how consent is snatched everyday in our civilized work-environments with a promise of promotion and pay-hike? Isn’t it true that I belong to an odd group of middle age women who remained professionally unsuccessful for not doing necessary compromises? What this womanizer king is following is probably universal rule. A person in power has liberty to enjoy the world the way they want to. He is a sovereign ruler, young and brave; entitled to dream in his era. Who am I to stop him?

Shouldn’t I become little honest under the starry cold night sky inside the forest? Who is forcing me to follow 21st century Indian urban rules here? Am I not attracted by his handsome look? Don’t I seek a chance to stare at him for long, drinking his awesome male beauty whenever he takes his metal mirror in hand? Don’t I find his curvy moustache too sexy to ignore? Don’t I desire touch of his lips sometimes, long for his body from inside his body lying in the grass bed in these lonely nights here? Well, I am not into narcissistic acts – and I am unable to leave his body right now, also cannot expect king Dusmanta the illustrious one would fall for the nasty little Peggy, even if I am out before him. But if a tired, thirsty and hungry monarch views an exquisitely beautiful girl in the midst of his hunting expedition, what other story do we expect? What if an innocent jungle beauty discovers the charm of a prince waiting at her doorstep? Who am I to control the course of a story being played in an unknown era? I am not sure of this calendar year; lost my sense of time-frame after reaching an era before Jesus Christ. I never imagined I would feel so helpless without Jesus and his commandments. As Jesus and the Gospels are not yet born, I cannot resist going green with envy these days – my constant mocking at this love-struck king proves that. I did not see the girl, but cannot stand the idea of this attractive guy’s falling in love with her. Hmm – my point is not exactly morality which Botu was concerned with. In fact my sense of morality would stop screaming if this guy had fallen for me instead of that jungle girl. Quite a conspicuous self-discovery I have made in last few days. Not bad!

Now while the king will enjoy the nectar of love slowly and peacefully in the lap of mother nature, I will have to remain silent. As the cool, crisp air of the forest will surround the extraordinary amorous pair of ancient Indian fictions, I will have to watch them unspoken like those Bollywood’s filmy heroins I always hated for their submissive crying habit. This is what I call of tragic story. Now I have to contemplate which of the tragedies between Joy’s marrying Ridhhi and this guys falling in love with that Shaks hurts me more. Fall is really time for a change in this world shared by people of different generations I see.

I will have to wait for more changes.

To be cont.