They say that when greedy kings were bleeding her dry, the Earth Mother went crying to the Savior. And so, he appeared and cleansed the soil of those with greed in their hearts. Entire lineages were removed.
And then the Savior died.
An age passed.
Once again, mortals gave in to greed. They defined their worth were jewelry and clothing and status. Kindness was there, as it always is, but the rise of men with immense wealth made one wonder what trauma were we giving our children that they felt the need to hoard so much?
Once again, The Earth Mother was being churned dry. Entire seas drained for crop. No fresh water for some of her children. Animals dying in wildfires. Women working for next to nothing. Children in factories that polluted the air and the very roots of her precious plants.
No, The Earth Mother wasn’t just being bled dry, she was being poisoned too. Her lungs chocked with smoke and smog. Her veins clogged with waste. So much waste. And her blood picked out to make this waste. Her resources turned on their head and her life-giving soil? It had been stripped bare…and no matter how much fertilizers they added, how many medicines they gave her, health seemed like a distant dream. Yet, how could she ask them to stop. Her children had to eat! Yet, perhaps some gentleness, some thoughts for her too?
“Why worry? Savior will arrive when it’s time. Bear a little longer,” the king of the heavens said when her tears too dried on her face, like empty riverbeds.
She knew her Savior would arrive.
Yet, she was scared to call on him. For she too knew the wheel. This time, he would come to end it all. And as horrible as they had become, these were her children still.
And so, she decided on a new plan.
The Daughter.
The one with the wild hair and red lips. With a loud laugh like the moving of the tectonic plates underneath. The one who would not back down…but stay with those of her siblings that were fighting for Mother Earth. She would stand in the boycotts. She would water the plants. She would run for the government.
She went to The Goddess.
“My daughter?” By now Earth’s throat burnt at odd times. Sometimes she had hot flashes, other times, her hair stood straight and her skin went cold. Her skin had been exposed, devoid of all the hair that once guarded it, even her eyebrows seemed lesser. And yet, she felt radiant. For today, she would birth hope.
“My love?”
“Mother,” the woman said, bending to touch Mother Earth’s cracked feet.
“I have a task for you, should you choose to accept,” the ailing woman said, as the two sat with Daughter’s head pillowed in the Mother’s lap.
And so, she came, crying and wailing. Her human ma, named her Lajja which some thought meant shame, but words often mean something entirely different in hindsight. Lajja grew up a happy child of mud and trees, her connection with nature something to marvel at. A green thumb and a voice like a river’s melody, the men said, Lajja had.
They praised. They envied her. And as men do, they wanted her.
Yet, nothing would take over her dreams. For Lajja knew what she was here for.
She had to save her siblings and her Mother. Or else, the Savior would come.
But this was a new world. Lajja couldn’t be the dutiful woman she had been before.
No, she had to be fierce. She had to be the force of nature; she knew her Mother had given birth to.
First, she had to learn. Learn how some greedy kings, hidden behind new names, were poisoning her Mother. She had to know the false and real solutions her siblings were trying. And she had to reach out…reach out to those children of the Mother who knew the ways of the soil and water and land. Learn their wisdom and bring it to everyone. Find a way for her siblings to live fulfilling lives without killing their Mother.
And so, Lajja formed a love for travel. The dirt under her feet reminded her of her purpose. The wind of her skin felt like a caress for a job well done. The acid that no longer rained from the heavens, strengthened her resolve. She would do it. She could do it. The Savior would not come.
But some men wouldn’t stand for it.
“A woman traveling alone isn’t safe,” her father said, his eyes full of worry. So, Lajja picked up the ways of the dart and knife. To survive in the forest, she told her father, as her friend and she nocked another dart in her stun-gun. Bullseye was her birthright but dealing death wasn’t.
Next, she made friends with people who were seen as strong and wise.
And her father calmed.
After all, what man doesn’t want his daughter to prosper?
Right?
Thus, Lajja went around the world. Sometimes, she appeared with a healer’s touch. Other times, she had scholar’s hunger. What defined her though was an adventurer’s sprit. She danced under the moon on the moors and sang old ballads in sarees the mothers of the girls she bought healing to gifted her. She hunted with the tribes of old. She screamed when the tear gas came, and she laughed when trees grew. She smiled when they unveiled technology that would make water cleaner after factories let it out and she scowled when they told her and her peers, their work made no changes.
Lajja spoke and inspired and fought,
She lived.
On her death bed, with a young protégé or two sitting at her feet, Lajja thought of the Savior. Her husband in another life. Her hands were scarred now, years of toil reflected in the grooves her skin made. Her hair had gone grey but to the Mother waiting for her? Lajja was as radiant as the day Mother Earth met Daughter.
Today, they knew, there was a while before they would have to meet him as the Last Savior. Her job complete, humanity set on a path where they harvested the Sun’s energy and tilled the soil with love and not greed, Lajja died.
But did she?
Author’s Note: Hope you liked the story, I can’t wait to read your reviews. To read more of my published work, head to Muses_Saga….and if you wish to support Anjali Roongta’s Musings, you can share…or pay what you want.
