An exiled man, stuck in a monsoon. Rama is held in a cave for his own good. To stay dry. To keep health. To avoid exposure to the horrid extremes of weather threatening the landscape.
To not die.
"It's spacious!" they cry. "It's full of lotus, and lily, and light!" Rama listens as he examines the sky turning, darkness burning through light. "It is the yearly rain," they smile, as if they are proud. As if they know all that is good and right and just. Rama thinks of Sita. He thinks of her beauty, he thinks of her heart, he thinks of her youth and he thinks of her wasting away each and everyday. He watches the clouds, he hears the thunder.
"Come,"
they say,
"Come and see our cave. Your cave. Come and see your home."
To not die.
"It's spacious!" they cry. "It's full of lotus, and lily, and light!" Rama listens as he examines the sky turning, darkness burning through light. "It is the yearly rain," they smile, as if they are proud. As if they know all that is good and right and just. Rama thinks of Sita. He thinks of her beauty, he thinks of her heart, he thinks of her youth and he thinks of her wasting away each and everyday. He watches the clouds, he hears the thunder.
"Come,"
they say,
"Come and see our cave. Your cave. Come and see your home."
 |
| And it Rains. Brien Henderson |
And it rains. It rains. It rains.
The man sat on stone.
Thoughts of chairs.
Old wood. New thread.
One word in his head.
A name.
The name.
Her name.
Like a beat from a drum.
Si. Ta
Si. Ta
Si. Ta
Like a drum.
Si. Ta
Si. Ta
Si. Ta
No.
A beat.
Like a heart.
Si.Ta
Si.Ta
Si.Ta
Yes.
Like a heart beats.
Si.Ta
Si.Ta
Si.TA
He groans. He moves.
And it rains. And it rains. And it rains.
He looks to his left.
Cave.
He looks to his right.
More cave.
He looks up to the sky,
to curse the pain.
The name.
Her name.
His name.
But curse most,
the rain.
He waits.
He waits.
He waits.
Hush your talk.
Drink your tea.
Hear the wind.
What does it say?
Siiiiiiii
Taaaaaaaaaa.
Drink your tea.
Hear the wind.
What does it say?
Siiiiiiii
Taaaaaaaaaa.
He groans.
He moves.
Cave.
More cave.
No thing but a cave.
There is no clock.
There is no time.
There is only
Rain.
Pain.
Rain.
Pain.
He moves.
Cave.
More cave.
No thing but a cave.
There is no clock.
There is no time.
There is only
Rain.
Pain.
Rain.
Pain.
"If"
He thinks.
"If I could"
He thinks.
"If I could leave this cave..."
He thinks.
"If I could"
He thinks.
"If I could leave this cave..."
"My Lord"
He turns.
"My Love"
He turns.
He hears.
He turns.
"My Love"
He turns.
He hears.
"My Lord, My Love"
My Love, My Lord.
My Lord, My Love.
A voice.
Her voice.
No.
No.
My Love, My Lord.
My Lord, My Love.
A voice.
Her voice.
No.
No.
No.
The wind.
Si.Ta
Siiiiiii
Taaaaaa
My Siiiii
Lord
My Taaaaa
Love
Cave.
Cave.
Cave.
Rain.
Rain.
Rain.
It Burns.
If he should touch the rain
could it
would it
Si.Ta
Siiiiiii
Taaaaaa
My Siiiii
Lord
My Taaaaa
Love
Cave.
Cave.
Cave.
Rain.
Rain.
Rain.
It Burns.
If he should touch the rain
could it
would it
burn 'way pain?
Could it burn 'way thoughts?
Could it burn 'way thoughts?
and names?
She is not here.
She is.
but she is not.
In all her grace,
Si.Ta
but she is not.
In all her grace,
Si.Ta
Lies on the same earth as he.
She is not here.
But she is.
And it rains.
But she is.
And it rains.
"Let me go,"
he cries.
"Let me go,
or let me die."
he cries.
"Let me go,
or let me die."
To Sleep.
No more.
And in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
And in that sleep of death what dreams may come.
Aye, there's the rub.
To lie.
To die.
To lie.
To die.
To die.
It rains.
"No"
He thought.
"I can not die.
while she rest on the same earth as I.
One day
I swear
One Day,"
he cries
It rains.
"No"
He thought.
"I can not die.
while she rest on the same earth as I.
One day
I swear
One Day,"
he cries
Days go by.
How he longs.
How he tries
to see through clouds
to see dusk
to see dawn
to see hope
of a new day come.
How he longs.
How he tries
to see through clouds
to see dusk
to see dawn
to see hope
of a new day come.
It rains.
It rains.
He listens,
Si.
Ta.
Si.
Ta.
Si.Ta
Si.Ta.
Siiiiiiiii.
Taaaaaaaaaa.
Drops fall to the ground
they sing,
oh, how they sing!
Her name.
Her only name.
God gave her a name
a name of nature
a name of grace.
It rains.
He listens,
Si.
Ta.
Si.
Ta.
Si.Ta
Si.Ta.
Siiiiiiiii.
Taaaaaaaaaa.
Drops fall to the ground
they sing,
oh, how they sing!
Her name.
Her only name.
God gave her a name
a name of nature
a name of grace.
"Soon"
he thought.
His arms ache.
A heart ache.
A name.
Wet drops on stone.
he thought.
His arms ache.
A heart ache.
A name.
Wet drops on stone.
There is no home,
when home is far 'way.
Si.
ta.
Si.
ta.
when home is far 'way.
Si.
ta.
Si.
ta.
And it rained. It rained. It rained. It rained.
Author's Note
I decided to try the "One Syllable" exercise. Let me tell you, it's difficult to write a full length story in that manor. I felt like I had hit a wall, so I added some text in the beginning as exposition. My inspiration came from The Rainy Season from the Ramayana. I really loved Rama's lament and I wanted to take his poem and turn it into text, but then I went with the one syllable thing and another poem happened. I attempted to capture the restlessness and absurdity of waiting. To me, every moment feels like a repetition of old thoughts. It feels like nothing is changing, the clock isn't ticking, etc etc. This is definitely the strangest thing I've written before.... one of my favorite playwrights is Samuel Beckett and I found myself channeling him as I wrote the poem. He utilizes repetition as a way of insanity; which I feel is another place one tends to travel when they're waiting, and waiting, and waiting....
((Also shout out to you if you catch the reference to Hamlet's famous speech!))
I decided to try the "One Syllable" exercise. Let me tell you, it's difficult to write a full length story in that manor. I felt like I had hit a wall, so I added some text in the beginning as exposition. My inspiration came from The Rainy Season from the Ramayana. I really loved Rama's lament and I wanted to take his poem and turn it into text, but then I went with the one syllable thing and another poem happened. I attempted to capture the restlessness and absurdity of waiting. To me, every moment feels like a repetition of old thoughts. It feels like nothing is changing, the clock isn't ticking, etc etc. This is definitely the strangest thing I've written before.... one of my favorite playwrights is Samuel Beckett and I found myself channeling him as I wrote the poem. He utilizes repetition as a way of insanity; which I feel is another place one tends to travel when they're waiting, and waiting, and waiting....
((Also shout out to you if you catch the reference to Hamlet's famous speech!))
Hey Cassandra! Wow this was really cool to read, very different than most of the others stories I have read this semester. You did a great job with the one syllable exercise, I was in Laura’s class last semester as well and it can be a pain to work through! I think that you did a good job getting your imagery across and I can’t wait to read more!
ReplyDeleteThis was really different style. You did a god job of showing the more emotional side of Rama, of how much he longed for Sita when she had been kidnapped by Ravana. Like Kaitlin said, the remote setting and the sense of isolation are really clear in this. Overall, the lyrical quality of it seems almost like a modernist interpretation of the Ramayana. I can imagine similar poems derived from other parts of the Ramayana, such as the battle against Ravana in Lanka.
ReplyDeleteKudos to you for trying the one syllable story! That must have been very hard... but you got very creative in writing the story. Wow! The way this is written is very powerful. I feel anxiety while reading it because it is exactly what it feels like to wait on someone. I'm someone who hates wasting time so I relate to how he feels. Reading his thoughts really made this feeling come up for me... you can't think about anything else but the one thing. What if Sita was feeling this same way. It's really hard to wait, but poor Sita has no clue why she is waiting for long. I really feel for her. If you needed your story to be longer that would be great way to do it. I wonder if this story would have the same effect without all the words being one syllable... I don't think so! It creates more tension in my opinion this way.
ReplyDeleteHoly smokes, you actually did the one-syllable style and pulled it off! Bravo. I didn't even pick up on it until the author's note bit either. I was wondering why you wrote no thing, instead of nothing, but now I have my answer. Good job (again)!
ReplyDelete