Shanta – The Sister

Eternal are some stories,

That even time cannot decay.

A father’s boon, A son’s duty,

A wife’s service, A brother’s sacrifice.

Of commitment that none could sway.

From heavens did they ascend,

Whose blood was indeed so pure.

Yet lies forgotten

A saga within the lore.

For there was a sister,

Away from it all.

A spectator ever so silent,

From the same blood at all?

A mind she must have had,

And if she had so what?

The epic has no place,

For what she felt or thought.

Given or not for adoption,

Married to a sage was she.

And that was her story,

Could she more important be?

Forgotten because it could be forgot,

Amidst the great truths that were told.

An identity left to rot,

The wise sometimes choose to live blindfold.

What happened next,

Was just as trivial.

A life went on and ended,

To the sages it was immaterial.

The sister of a God was she,

A blood so blue was hers.

Shanta was her name,

With not one but four mighty, righteous brothers.

And so it happens,

Even to this day.

The wise few decide who to pray,

And who to let slip away.

And we. We, the people,

Well, we just obey.