Panchkanya

Ahalya

I wish to be her, a jewel of mercy, beauty and deed, in silent strength, she plants the seed.

The world may harden, the heavens may stay blind,

The men may pronounce their judgement in kind,

But her light glows from within, a spark no curse can dim.

Forest, ages, countless nights.

Her silence is a lamp that burns within,

Her beauty is deep, not just skin,

Still she stood, a soul made of eternal fight. Survives through trial, through shame, through blight.

Not in revenge, not in rage,

But in pure grace, page by page,

For in forgiving, she rose above all,

Higher! and higher and higher.

Tara

I wish to be her, a color,

Deep as dusk, steady as stone,

The shade that speaks when kings fall mute,

When rage must bow before the throne.

A queen between two mighty kings,

She watched as war pulled love apart,

Yet held the peace within her hands,

With silence sharp and wiser heart.

She lost a love, she held a land,

She saw the throne through ash and flame,

Yet never broke, nor raised her voice,

But ruled with thought and not with blame.

She once did say, with gaze so clear:

"Let not blind anger guide thy path,

In reason lies the end of wrath."

O Tara, voice the fire should heed,

The mind beneath the crown of gold,

The truth that stands while armies bleed,

The grace that age cannot withhold.

I wish to be her, a color,

Not bright, but endless in its fire,

A light that climbs through storm and ire,

Higher, and higher, and higher.

Mandodari

I wish to be her, a mirror,

Not brittle glass, but quiet soul,

That holds the truth while kingdoms roll.

She saw the fault, she spoke the cost,

She stood by love when all seemed lost.

Not blind, not meek but crystal-clear,

A steady heart when war drew near.

She kept the vow he could not keep,

A true wife’s strength, unsung, but deep.

She stayed, not out of silent fear,

But to reflect what he refused to hear.

"Right does not bend for pride or throne,"

She whispered and still stood alone.

No crown could weigh the grace she bore,

A voice of dharma, soft and sure.

I wish to be her, a mirror,

Where truth survives though lies conspire,

Still, and silent, rising higher,

Higher, and higher, and higher.

Draupadi

I wish to be her, a flower that can still grow after a forest fire,

The world may tremble, men may lie, but her light cuts unseen.

Her hair a thunder, voice a storm, Her will a deathless blade,

Through forest, war and many a form,

she remained unhayed.

The one who questioned honor, "Where is the Dharma? where the right? Is justice lost in darkest night?"

A woman's power, pure, rich and right. A woman made of eternal fire,

Higher, and higher, and higher!!

Kunti

I wish to be her, a veil,

A sable shroud of tempered might,

That bears the burden of concealed anguish,

Yet folds the spirit with tender fortitude.

To embrace another not as rival,

But sister born of circumstance,

To kindle equal fires in all her sons,

And instill in them eternal rectitude.

She bore the ceaseless ache of absence,

A yearning veiled in silent grace,

Yet uttered not a word of censure,

Her soul a bastion, unwavering, austere.

“No blame shall stain my lips,” she said,

“For hearts must heal, and wounds be shed.”

No venom laced her patient tongue,

But steadfast mercy through the storms endured,

An unyielding flame that time could not quench.

A veil that hides no shame nor falter,

But crowns the soul with tranquil light,

A mother’s heart, an indomitable blaze,

Higher, and higher, and higher.

Five names, yet one immortal thread

Of truth, of grace, of fire unsaid.

They rose, though silence bound their choir

Higher, and higher, and higher.

- Ajita