The story of Meera

Love season is upon us. Scrolling through innumerable posts with pictures of loving handholding, pexels-photo-326627.jpegmessages of sweet endearments, encouragement for partners and all the celebration makes me reflect that we have found the medium to externalise but intrinsically, what is love made of?

In quick second test, I thought of the story of Meerabai as I thought of love. Fascinating, her name and her tales. In one part of the world, everyone knows of this name and it’s glory. Glorious for it defiance, it mocked the world that took itself seriously with fraility in its cycle of birth, marriage and death.

She loved with love. This love will define her.

She believed that she loves Lord Krishna and she loved with reverence. Dillusion, it seemed. ‘We all love him but it fits with practicality of life’ they said. Meera couldn’t see the point of ‘Bhakti’ (reverence) through convenience. Mad, she was considered but who doesn’t want to feel a love that is madness? This world does accepts a presence of something higher than themselves and bows to the enormity and beauty of creation. There is fears for self-preservation, there is greed in prayers of self- expansion. There’s gratitude and reverence mixed with aims and goals. Goals of returned love, goals of recieving..But sometimes, the bowl that would receive is too small.

Meera accepted to be loved differently- like a beloved who accepts the unrequited nature of love. A love of no expectation. She expected to mix herself in elements of divinty. It is said, that god created man in his own image and man created god with the vision given to him. Which is true? We might never know…

 But there were stories and songs of a lover who defied love as a game with rules of transcation, who quantified love solely on her own passion and reverence. Selfless beyond its human capacity or  understanding. It’s self- sabotaging to the world. To the lover – it’s a dance with divine. Rest all is a world game. But she keeps loving with fervour and craze. She would be a monk drinking only from the divine’s cup. Born in the world, she has duties and lifecourse. She lived and loved- blessed to give.

-Rupika Moitra

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