Storytelling: The Rainy Rainy Rainy Season

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."

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.

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. 

"If"
He thinks.
"If I could"
He thinks.
"If I could leave this cave..."

"My Lord"
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.

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

burn 'way pain?
Could it burn 'way thoughts?

and names?

She is not here.

She is.
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. 

"Let me go,"
he cries.
"Let me go,
or let me die."

To Sleep.

No more.
And in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Aye, there's the rub.
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

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.

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.

"Soon"
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. 

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!))

Reading Notes: Ramayana C

I really like The Rainy Season in the Ramayana. It makes me think of television, and how in an intense series there will always be the relaxed episode. Like in Breaking Bad, for example, there's the episode about the fly inside of the lab. Rama waiting out the rain, full of lament, is much like that episode. It's just waiting.

I'd like to take the Lament and add action to it, and to translate the verse into something more palatable and easier to understand.



Rama's lament:

They say that as the seasons move,
Our sorrow gently fades away;
But I am far from her I love
And sorrow deepens every day.

(They say that as time passes, pain decreases. But I grow sadder and sadder every passing day.)

That she is gone, is not my woe;
That she was reft, is not my pain;
The thought that agonizes so
Is this: her youth is spent in vain.
(Her life is being wasted; this is not about me)

Blow, breezes, blow to her dear face;
Blow back to me her kisses sweet:
Through you we taste a glad embrace,
And in the moon our glances meet.

(I remember, I remember when we met. The moment, the time, the place.
The moon lit our embrace)

When she was torn away from me,
"My lord! My love!" was all her cry,
Which tortures me incessantly;
My heart is poisoned, and I die.
(And then she was taken from me, so hastily. I hear her cries in my head, in my sleep.)

I burn upon an awful pyre;
My body wastes by day and night;
Her loss is fuel to feed the fire
That burns so pitilessly white.

(It hurts, I'm dying inside. But I know that I have to continue, I have to keep going, finding her is my only option.)

If I could leave each loving friend,
Could sink beneath the sea, and sleep,
Perhaps the fire of love would end,
If I could slumber in the deep.

(If I died, if I died, maybe I could move on.)

One thought consoles my worst distress;
Through this I live: I cannot die
While she lies down in loveliness
Upon the self-same earth as I.

(but I cannot die, I have to rescue her.)

The sun-parched rice, no longer wet,
Lives on, while earth her moisture gives;
The root of love supports me yet,
For they have told me that she lives.

(I know that she still lives)

Though giants hem her round, yet soon
She shall be freed, and shall arise
As radiantly as the moon
From clouds that darken autumn skies.

(and I will rescue her, and she will rise again.)

When shall I pierce the giant's breast
With shafts that suck his life away,
That give my tortured darling rest
And all her absent griefs allay?

When shall I feel the close embrace
Of my good goddess, as in dreams?
When kiss her smile, while on her face
The water born of gladness gleams?

(But when, oh when, will I have her back? Back in my arms? In my embrace?)

When shall I pluck from out my heart —
A heart by woes of absence torn —
The pain of life from love apart,
Forget it, like a garment worn?

(When will we leave this life behind and create ours together?)

Rama in his cave
Ramayana

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PDE RAMAYANA The Rainy Season

Reading Notes: Ramayana B

The Killing of Kaba
wiki

I really enjoy the monster stories, and I think I'd like to write another POV from the antagonist. After conducting some light research on Kabandha I was very intrigued to learn about how he was a gandharva (celtic musician) who was cursed to become this headless monster, until his arms are detached by Rama. In this version of the Ramayana he is cremated which releases him from the curse. I like that aspect of the story, I think it's more poetic. I plan to write about when the Kabandha is turned into the beast and his beginning life as this shape and form.

notes:
-created into a demon by Indra, king of the gods/sages
-named Vishvavsu/ Danu
-was given a boon of immortality, which lead to a huge ego
-attacked Indra



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Public Domain Edition of the Ramayana  Kabandha

Wikipedia- Kabandha