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Drops of water from the smooth marble of the dark cave dripped on the bronze hued complexion of Apollo. The man welcomed the gentle coolness of the droplets as he gazed at the Oracle before him who sat cross legged on a small stool. Her irises encased the pity and compassion she felt for him, wondering for the hundredth time if it were possible to swallow the prophecies that sat on the tip of her tongue or to change the words that seemed to fall from her lips without her assent.
Seven half bloods shall answer the call
To storm or fire, the world must fall
An Oath to keep with a final breath
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death
The cursed demigod shall be revealed
Trial after trial, the youngest shall yield
A choice will prevail, to protect or ravage
She shall accept, the daughter of marriage
The time will come when she must choose
Mortality or the son of Zeus
Either path will lead to her doom
Born from the thousand womb
She is the one of mixed descent
Accompanying the destroyer on the sea's behest
Protected by the goddess of wealth
Blessed with a soul of strength
"Son of Zeus?" Apollo's attempt to form coherent words had taken a long time and when he did, his tone was dry and hoarse. "Ares? Hermes? Hephaestus? Or a mortal demigod perhaps?" The sun god's voice was desperate, pleading for the prophecy to not mean him. The priestess merely gave him a glance of sympathy, shaking her head softly.
"Brother of Artemis, surely thou must know that I only give out auguries to those who are to meant to hear them." Pythia murmured, her hands unrolling a scroll of papyrus. She dipped a quill into the sapphire ink and began to write, the calamus scratching against the parchment as the Oracle composed the premonition she had spoken.
"Me?" The god of truth questioned incredulously. "I am destined for a demigod?" Apollo's eyes smoldered, rage simmering in the golden ichor that surged through his veins. "Have you forsaken the power of omens that you even dare suggest a half god could be my soulmate?" Apollon's accent took on a dark note, the healing god fading away to reveal the harbinger of plagues. In his fury, the deity seemed to forget that the lines of the prophecy held a far more potent promise of war and destruction than him being destined to one for eternity.
"Phoebus Apollo." Pythia stood from her stool, the ivory chiton that symbolized her virginity fluttering in the chilly zephyrs that swarmed the cave. She lowered her gaze and bowed her head, folding the scripture and holding it out to the oracular god. "Thy knows as well as I who the prophecy speaks of."
Falling to her knees before the tyrant deity of archer, she clasped her hands together. "The soul of Delphi has whispered to myself, this divination shall not come to pass for many millennia. Her soul has not yet been created and will not be birthed for more than a thousand years. You have much time My Lord, much time."
Apollo sneered at Pythia but grasped the scroll gently from her nimble fingers, glancing at the kneeling Oracle before he dissolved into a column of flames and charred the silken attire of the priestess.
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The palace of the sun was as radiant as it could be, golden hued and mystical. The pillars were engraved with the carvings of Daphne and Hyacinthus, the walls shouldering the paintings of Koronis and Areia. The essence of the Nine Muses could be found in the chiming of the wind and music that seemed to be playful sing in each corner. Each of Apollo's famed and tragic lovers were immortalized in the Sun Palace, all given an alcove so the god could remember them for all eternity.
From the merciless god of vengeance and grudges, Phoebus Apollo had morphed into a generous deity who favored and aided the demigods that embarked on dangerous voyages and torturous quests. He was now as warm as the rays of the sun, his dark nature hidden under the immortal blood that formed his entire being.
He watched the world fall and burn, rising from the ashes of the fallen kingdoms. He gazed upon mortals and demigods, waging wars for love and power, sometimes for retribution. He glanced at the women that he may have once stolen glimpses at but now, they seemed as dry as the Sahara Desert.
His heart was empty, deprived of the affection and love he craved as the long forgotten words of the Pythia slowly slithered over him. It had been four millennia since she had passed, but the papyrus where she had written the prophecy remained, hidden away in the palace. It would come to him, Apollo decided, when the time came.
But for now, he was content with watching his hateful stepmother slowly soften into a beautiful woman with a kind heart as she fell in love with a mortal, the vows she had once made to remain faithful slowly cracking.
A taunting smile curved the lips of Apollo's in a mischievous manner as he flicked his irises away from Hera and the woman she courted, knowing the secret he now carried in his heart was worth far more than the power of his father.
But the son of Leto felt unsettled, as if the future of this earthly being that was being wooed by the wife of Zeus was intertwined with him in a manner that was not quite romantic but meaningful nonetheless. His ancient memory stirred, an inkling of the words of a premonition he had received from Pythia creeping upon his mind. Words about the daughter of marriage and curses. But he took no notice. Perhaps the time hadn't yet come.
Whilst Apollo flickered the reins of his sun chariot through the cerulean sky, the wind gods had, at Delphi's behest, removed the ancient scroll from the alcove where it had been hidden to bring it to his resting chamber, where it lied in waiting for the deity to be reminded of the words that sealed his fate: for him to remember the woman he had no choice but to fall in love with.
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Love is a mystical power, a driving force and the sole reason for the battles and wars waged throughout the world. The world was scorched into ashes and rose again, for an infinite amount of time, created and destroyed by love. The world would come to life and die again, repeating the cycle infinite times over, all because of love.
Love can be obsessive, such as the love Medea had for Jason. It is the love that consumes your entire soul until the memories of your beloved make up the very essence of you. It could also be possessive, such as the love Hades had for Persephone. The type of love that ousts all sense of rationality and causes you to act immorally.
Or love could be truly pure, such as the love between Eros and Psyche. The love that is pure and untouched, existing between only the two of you. The love that leaves a beautiful burn in your heart and is the reason that you live. The love that absorbs you in a pleasant way, no matter the trials you face.
Romantic love is an aspect of love, but Aphrodite will teach you that there exists infinite different kinds of love in this universe. The love a parent has for their child, the quiet love between friends, the boisterous love siblings have and the kindred love grandparents possess.
Those who are truly blessed, the ones whose past lives were nothing but virtuous may have the boon of finding a soulmate. A soulmate that may be your comrade or consort, or perhaps a twin flame. But this story is not about the divineness of companionship of comrades, it is about finding your soulmate and how sometimes, it can very well be a curse.
This is the story of Sahasra Anand and her daughter, who are damned in their love and are watched over by Aphrodite. The goddess who gazed at them with empathy and sorrow knowing the Ancient Laws forbade her from entering the tale.
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Sahasra Singh Rajput had always known, deep in her soul, that something made her differ from the other young women of her age. Perhaps it was the way her gaze lingered a tad too long on the feminine nature of the girls she met, maybe it was the way her glances brushed past the boys without a lingering look. What ever it was, she knew she was quite frankly, fucked.
Such language was not proper etiquette for the daughter of a rich and affluent family, but it was what it was. However, Sahasra kept that side of hers hidden deep away, forging a pretty smile and donning the perfect heiress personality her parents wanted. It was only the finest mockery but the others didn't have to know that.
Twenty one years passed, so unbearably monotonous and without a ounce of action in her life. Sahasra felt as if she was in a lucid dream, simply passing through the motions of her existence. No hearty laughs or blushing smiles, only an indifferent expression she wore well on her aristocratic features.
The days seemed to pass even slower, if it were even possible. The detachment Sahasra felt from her life was frightening and even her mother, Queen Mohini seemed to feel so. And it resulted in her calling upon Sahasra to her private office in their manor, folding her hands on the sturdy desk made of dark.
"Aapne humko bulayi hai, Maa?" Sahasra inquired, her words kind enough but no emotion behind them. Mohini nodded, pointing to the chair where she gestured for her daughter to sit. The heiress hesitated before gracefully seating herself and crossed her ankles delicately. The epitome of how the Princess of Jodhpur palace should be. Alas, how cursed are we that the Princess does not seem to have any will to live. Life or death, both seem the same to her.
(You have called for me mother?)
"Haa Sahasra, hum aapse bohot kuch kehna hai." Mohini answered, rising from her seat and walking over to where Sahasra was seated. "Aapke pita hamesha ek putr chaahtha the. Ek bete ko vah ek nirdayee vyaapaari aur aadarsh shaasak banaaana chaahtha tha. Aur phir, humne aapko janam diye the, ek putri ki."
(Your father always wanted a son. A son he wished to make a ruthless businessman and the perfect ruler. And then, you were born, my daughter.)
Sahasra restrained a sigh that threatened to escape her lips and flicked her gaze to the window that looked out to the Royal Gardens. Emerald flora wove themselves elegantly along the vast expanse of earth and little creatures scattered along, chittering happily to each other. The sun kissed the horizon, their union creating coral hued streaks across the sky. The birds chirped soothingly, gently nudging the people in the Palace awake with their soft coos.
"Aapki pita niraash the aur unhonne khud ko door kar liya, mujhe tumhen paalane ke liye chhod diya. Ek saal ke baad, humne ek bete ke lie koshish kee aur hamey ek dil dahala dene vaali khabar mili thi. Hum aur bachche paida nahin kar sakata tha kyonki jokhim bahut adhik tha." Mohini's face was one of sadness, the old memories she had buried bursting free and surging through her mind.
(Your father was disappointed and he distanced himself, leaving me to raise you. After a year, we tried for a son and got an earth shattering news. I could not bear any more children for the risk was far too great.)
The Princess of Jodhpur could not deny the hurtful stab at her mother's words. She knew her father only bestowed his attention on her for she was the only heir of the powerful Jodhpur palace. Perhaps the royalty of India had lost their commanding status of Independence, but not one could deny the vast amount of riches they possessed and the infinite number of businesses they owned.
Jodhpur was among the last royalty of India and the one that held most authority. The Government of India had no rule in Rajasthan, it was a merely a formality. The people of Rajasthan followed the just orders of the Royal Family for they knew their ancestors had lived happily under the rule of these Royals and they would too.
"Maaji, nishchit roop se inn shabdon ka koi arthaarth hoga jo aap keh rahi hain. Mere paas un shabdon ke aadaa-pradaan ke liye jyaada samay nahin hai jo keval dil aur aatma ko chot pahunchaate hain." Sahasra murmured, clasping her thin bony hands on the dark hued wooden table.
(Mother, surely there must be a point to these words you are saying. I do not have time to spare for the words that merely wound the heart and soul)
Mohini seemed to age a decade in ten seconds, her noble stature now stooping and the frowns that marred her pleasant face deepening. "Your father and I have decided to send you to the USA branch of Agami Ananta." Her words were tinged with a light accent as she deigned to speak in English.
Sahasra furrowed her brows, the weight of her mother's sentence slowly settling itself into her mind. Ananta was the name of their group of companies while Agami was the prefix that signified this particular branch dealt with creating new software.
Each branch of Ananta had a unique suffix that symbolized which type of business it dealt with. Aishwarya Ananta was the famed branch of ethereal jewelry, Kausheya Ananta manufactured only the best of silk attire and there were too many corners that Ananta dipped itself in for Sahasra to think about.
And one day, she would inherit these companies making her the wealthiest woman on Earth and the 5th richest person in the world. Sahasra Singh Rajput was already known as an individual that amassed money for she was the CEO of Upadana Ananta which was a diesel and petrol supplier.
The young Princess looked out the window once more, her eyes blinking while her mind seemed to run through each scenario that could be possible. There were more advantages of being sent away, perhaps something would ignite her life, a mere spark would suffice for her entire passion had been doused in something equivalent to gasoline, waiting impatiently to blaze and bring the world to their knows.
Sahasra glanced at her Mother and gave a quick, sharp nod. "I shall leave at the earliest." Her answer was courteous, respectful, but something akin to what she would say to a passerby on the streets, detached. Mohini's shoulders sagged and she let out a weary sigh, knowing she would not get another word out of her daughter. Perhaps it had been her fault either. Perhaps she should have given a more valiant attempt for her husband and daughter to bond.
But so many if's swirled around her mind that Mohini did not even discern Sahasra walking away from her, too lost in her memories of the past, the bygone time sucking her into a void. If only she could have a chance to correct the mistakes she had committed in her life, starting with appreciating her daughter the way she should have rather than living a fantasical world where her imaginary son would arrive.
But alas, time is one thing that even the gods above do not have control over. Not Chronos, the personification time and neither the goddess Kali, the feminine energy of destruction and time.
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The Island of Delos was soothing, a silvery balm to the troubled essence of Apollo. His birthplace, the soil that shielded his mother from the wrath of Hera, the seeds that burst into vines when he entered the world, the air that had life breathed into it when Artemis stepped foot onto Earth, all of it brough innate serenity to the god of truths.
But as he entered the land (in his vision, for gods do not dream) where Leto was bestowed protection from the nymphs and spirits of nature to cloak her from the Queen of Gods (Greek gods, for her Norse and Egyptian counterparts were sharp contrasts), his divinity was unsettled. As if something (or someone) had entered the place, but not with ill intent. Merely a discomfort for Delos was the home for Apollo and no one bar his twin sister could even touch a speck of dirt without their permission.
So who was this person that dared to enjoy the heavenly nature of their island? Summoning his bow, Phoebus Apollo stepped forward and honed his senses to where the person (not a god but not a mortal either) stood. Golden armor molded to his body, as if he was born with celestial bronze instead of skin (he was not born, he was created and forged in matter that humans could not even begin to comprehend).
The trees rustled, the breezes of the wind quieting down, almost maddeningly so (Zephyr never saw Delos, Apollo would never allow it so it was the gentle gusts of Aeolus instead).
"Who dares?" The son of Zeus hissed, the string of his bow being stretched back with the weight of a gilded arrow resting on it (he did not need a weapon but he grew accustomed to it. The arrows he shot with were merely forms of his divinity he chose to fight with).
"Aegletes, the light of the sun." Came a soft voice. "Your worshippers have thought you and Helios to be the embodiment of the sun, the physical manifestation of what the earth revolves around. But they have forgotten, just as the earth is not Gaea herself but merely what she represents, you are the energy of the sun, giving the sun your power, your light. You my beloved, are not the sun."
A woman emerged seemingly from nowhere, in a dark sparkling attire of a burgundy hue (a dhoti, angavastram and uttariya). When the god of knowledge saw closer, he realized her garment was woven from gold threads and rubies, making her brighter than any treasure he had ever seen. She was tall for someone who was not a god, her dark hair cascading to her thighs. Her thick tresses (that seemed like they held the galaxies) were in a simple braid, a few strands framing her face.
The maiden's skin was tanned and glowed (like the sun itself), her eyes a deep chocolate (the only thing besides her apparel that didn't seem quite Greek). Her wrists were adorned with golden bracelets while aureate necklaces covered her torso. She looked like a goddess (but not an Olympian) but Apollo knew if he traced her skin with his dagger and dug just a little deep, she would bleed red (and what a mystical sight that would be, her wine hued blood visible only because he willed it, his hunger demanded it, to make her whine and beg for him to carve a brand into her gleaming skin).
But when the embodiment of light forced his other-worldly (monstrous) traits away from his mind, he knew exactly who she was. "You," The word was an accusation, the letters burning acidly on Apollo's tongue and leaving a bitter taste. But his weapons vanished and so did the shields covering his body (the mortal-like form he assumed for the mortals who prayed to him).
"Me," The woman agreed in a voice that was deep and royal but kind and delicate., stepping closer to him.
"Chitralekha," He breathed, her intoxicating scent of spicy ginger and sandalwood drugging him. The name tumbled from his lips, though he could have sworn he did not know it. She stood inches away from him, a visage of empathy and sadness morphing her features.
"It is who I will be, yes." The woman murmured and stretched out a hand, her fingers grazing against the searing hot skin of Apollo. The island of delos melted away and suddenly, the sun god felt waves crashing against his burning body. He looked down and clear sparkling water reflected in his gaze. But something else captured his attention.
"You lowly excuse for a soul," He snarled, his fingers curling around the throat of the girl. Chitralekha merely turned the corners of her lips upwards, her palm resting against the cheek of her fated.
"You have lived for five millennia and knew of your prophecy for only two. And yet, you cast it aside and engaged in many mortal and immortal affairs." A tear drop fell onto the fingers of Apollo who had to yet loosen his grip. "I have lived longer than you priye, for eons and eons, unable to love for they were not you. I have lived long lives that were devoid of any romantic companionship, a lonely lives that were spent waiting for someone who had not yet been born."
{Priye - Beloved (Sanskrit)}
He staggered back with guilt flooding his veins filled with ichor, stunned (from the endearment and her words) and his hands fell to his sides. "I have waited for more than thousand years, for more than a million years, cursed to live without you. Roaming in ancient land far away from where you would be born, the least you can do is honor my heritage." Chitralekha closed her eyes and fell to her knees, the cerulean water drowning her attire.
"You are from Aryavarta." Apollo managed to force the words from his tongue. "The land of the noble, the land of the seven rivers."
"Yes hridaya, I am from what you now call India. I have travelled the land of Aryavarta from Satya Yuga, my heart unable to marry anyone else because my soul knew my destined was you." She swayed, the agony of her thousand lives burdening her mind.
{Hridaya - Heart (In Sanskrit)}
"I will honor your heritage." The god (who was now reduced to a mere mortal in emotions) fell with Chitralekha, taking her soft palms in his (she knew it was him asking forgiveness). He looked down at his pale greyish blue attire (a dhoti and an uttariya) and at hers (she wore a white chiton, wet with tears and water of the ocean they sat in). Reaching out hesitantly (his hand trembled in guilt), he brushed his fingers against her neck and the dark lilac bruises disappeared (taking the pain with them).
"You have stated you will become Chitralekha, you are not Chitralekha now, are you?" He questioned. The maiden licked her dry lips and gave an innocent smile, nodding. "I am nothing but the amalgamation of all the lives I lived and memories I experienced. I am a soul, a spirit that will re-incarnate into Chitralekha."
"Satya Yuga, how long ago was that?" His voice was quiet, his fingers tracing the inside of her wrists absent-mindedly. "In the Vedic literature, we measure time using the days of Brahma. One day of Brahma is called a kalpa. One kalpa is divided into fourteen manvantara periods. One manvantara period has seventy one Yuga cycles. Each Yuga cycle has four Yugas, the Satya Yuga, Treta Yuga, Dvapara Yuga and Kali Yuga." The ancient soul's tone was soothing to listen to and Apollo hummed.
"The start of Kali Yuga was when you have taken birth, around 5000 years ago. Satya Yuga lasted for a million and seven hundred twenty eight thousand years. I have taken birth fifty four times in that Yuga. Treta Yuga lasted for a million and two hundred ninety six thousand years. I was born the most in that Yuga, around sixty eight times."
"So far you have lived for three million and twenty four thousand years."
"Yes, I have. And Dvapara Yuga lasted for eight hundred and sixty four thousand years. I was born only thrice during this time."
"Three million and eight hundred eighty eight thousand years."
"The Kali Yuga is said to last for four hundred and thirty two thousand years. Five thousand and one hundred twenty five years have already be completed. I have yet to be born in this era."
"You mean that ever since I have taken birth, you have not?"
"Precisely, my destiny was written in such a way that I would live short lives for millions of years until my fated was created. When he was, I would re-incarnate only once more and live a long fulfilled life."
"This a curse from the fates, never a blessing." Apollo was pained but Chitralekha shook her head. "It has been a blessing Apollo, I have learned from many great rishis and sages. I have lived life under the guidance of Shri Rama and Shri Krishna. I have taught greater people still. Perhaps I could not wed, but all my lives till now had a purpose. And you my life, are my last."
Chitralekha took Apollo's face in her hands and pressed her lips to his forehead, leaving behind a gentle and cool touch. "I have come before I am born to tell you, my new body will not know all that I do. It will take time, decades perhaps before I realize who I truly am. Be patient with me, just like I have been. Please." She pleaded, pressing delicate kisses to his cheeks and jaw, to make up for the eons she spent without him and the years she will have to wait in the future.
"I will, I promise." Apollo swore and just as he curved his arm around the waist of Chitralekha, all he held were droplets of water. He stood alone in the water, under the heat of the blazing sun with merely the fragrance his fated love had left behind.
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Dhoti and Uttariya Apollo Wore (The cloth over shoulder is Uttariya. Dhoti is the single piece of cloth wrapped around legs)
Dhoti, Dori and Uttariya That Chitralekha Wore (The lower garment around the legs is dhoti, the cloth tied around the breasts is dori and the cloth hanging from the shoulder is uttariya)
Images used are for reference only, these actors are not who I have in mind when I imagine Chitralekha and Apollo.
People in Satya Yuga had a lifespan of 100,000 years. But each of Chitralekha's life in that period was around 5000 years. It seems like a lot to us but millions of years ago, the earth spun faster around the sun which means the days went faster. Living only 5000 years in Satya Yuga is like living only 25 years out of a 100 years lifespan.
In Treta Yuga, people lived for 10,000 years. Chitralekha's every life was around 500 years.
In Dvapara Yuga, people lived for a 1000 years. Chitralekha's every life was around for 250 years.
The soul that Apollo talked with is not Chitralekha but the soul that was fated to love Apollo. Body and soul are two very different things. The soul will be born in a body who's name will be Chitralekha. Apollo is the god of prophecies so he would know his beloved's future name.