Week 7 Storytelling: What Is a Superstition But a Lost Way of Life?

The young woman was wearing the most elaborate sari the old woman had ever seen. The young woman's dark nose was wrinkled in disdain at the scent of incense smoke that wafted through the tent. The old woman lit another stick of incense.
"I have told you all I can, child. You should not marry. Wait until an auspicious time."
"Could you read the stars again?" the young woman begged.
"Child, I have read all the signs and portents. Nothing will change today."
The young woman let out a huff and turned, spinning on her heel and rushing out of the tent. The old woman remained seated. She wished for the millionth time in her long life that she had been born in the time of Rama or the Pandava brothers, in a time when her knowledge would've been respected. Those of that time were heeded without question, sought out by the greatest of kings. The only people who sought her out were love-struck women who were called superstitious by their friends.

When the old woman ventured out to find her midday meal, she passed the young woman who had visited her earlier, in the middle of a wedding ceremony. The old woman staggered up the aisle to the couple, who looked at her in shock.
"Get out of here," the young woman hissed.
"I warned you," the old woman said, ignoring the young woman's scowl. "Is it worth all this conflict?This will be repaid with the worst of consequences. If you had not sought council, you would be saved by your ignorance. Because you did seek me out, but refused to obey the stars, they will make an example of you. It will be like it was in the days of old. Your story will make people believe once again." The old woman left them to their fate without another word.

The old woman heard the story from a friend a month later. The newlyweds moved constantly to escape the ill omens that hovered over them. First it was howling jackals, then earthquakes, then whirlwinds, then meteors, then finally cloudless showers of blood that frightened everyone. They were ostracized by all that knew them. They lived in the forest alone until the day that the young woman disappeared. The day after the old woman's friend told her their story, the young woman's husband stepped into the old woman's tent.
"You are a fool," the old woman said softly, "leave me be."
"I cannot. I need my wife back. How can I fix this?"
"Burn down the forest. Feed Agni with the fat of the animals, and beg him to give your wife back."
The man looked hurt. "I cannot do that."
"Then you cannot have your wife back."

The old woman woke the next morning to smoke. It was not her incense. She stepped outside and felt the warmth of the forest fire immediately. She sent up a prayer to Agni to ask for protection.
At the edge of town she found the young woman's husband. He was curled up on the floor of an old, abandoned chariot, and he was weeping.
"Where is she?" he cried.
The old woman peered into the fire. "Agni, the man has learned. He will teach his wife."
The fire loomed, but no woman emerged.
"His mind has been made up. You will remain alone as an example. The omens, though, will leave you now." The old woman gazed down at the weeping figure. He didn't acknowledge her.
The old woman headed back to her tent.

Author's note: The Mahabharata contains a number of great mystical details that captured my attention. I wanted to build a story that captured those details, rather than any specific characters in the Mahabharata, so that they could have a chance to shine on their own.

Source: Narayan, R. K., The Mahabharata: A Shortened Modern Version of the Indian Epic.

Photo: Incense by David Kotai