Of lotus flowers

by Rajeshwari Rai (Singapore)

I didn't expect to find Korea South

“I have been a seeker and I still am, but I stopped asking the books and the stars. I started listening to the teaching of my soul” - Rumi I stood outside the Hyangwonjeong pavilion of the Gyeongbok palace, listening to the riveting narrative the tour guide wove about love, war and tragedy. Legend has it that Obama and his convoy had driven up to this very pavilion and he shed a tear or two when he heard the tale of Queen Min who was brutally assassinated by the Japanese way back when. And justifiably, so. It was difficult to remain unmoved when one looked upon the tranquil scene. Even at the risk of sounding cliche, I could not help but think that I was looking at a painting - one which was painted with delicate but deliberate brushstrokes and yet executed almost effortlessly. The roofs curved towards the sky and the combination of green doors with red accents was a touch of genius. It was soothing to watch a gentle breeze stir the occasional ripples into the still waters of the turquoise lake. The intoxicating perfume of the lotus flowers hung heavy in the air, evoking emotions that I thought I had long buried deep within me. I had gone off to Korea on a whim. I remember feeling frustrated with the lack of progress in our relationship. Ever since I had discovered that the husband had an affair, I had swept all my emotions under the carpet. I wanted life to go back to the way it had been before my discovery but it had been a few years now. I wanted space and a closure of sorts. It was my first solo trip. Before walking over to this pavilion, the tour guide had brought us past the concubine quarters. The concubine quarters were pretty but nowhere near as magnificent as that of the Queen and the King. The layout was a bit strange - for the concubine quarters were located right beside the Queen’s residence. Whenever the King wanted to sleep with a concubine, he had to sneak past the Queen. “What did the Queen do?” I wondered. Did she lay in wait like a ninja, waiting for the King to tiptoe past her? Would she then follow him to watch him do the deed? Or did she instead resign herself to the fact that he had gone to satisfy his carnal desire with the latest addition to the harem? Did they have a harem just like that of the Ottoman empire? What went through the King’s mind every time he visited a concubine instead of the Queen? Did he care about her feelings? For surely, her heart must have hurt - at some point, at least - just like mine had. She was the Queen, who despite her prestige or perhaps inspite of it, was not allowed to leave the Palace. Who could she possibly relay her sorrows to? I teared because I felt like she must have led such a lonely existence. And yet, after the Queen was assassinated by the Japanese at the pavilion, the King spent his last days there, waiting for the seasons to pass him by and pining for the loss of his wife. As he sat by the lake, he would have watched the lotus flowers bloom and then wilt; He would have breathed in the musky scent of the lotus flowers which would have lingered in the air but never quite gone. How sorrowful his existence must have been! Was love different from lust? Were they interchangeable? Could one forgive and forget? I still did not have the answers to the questions that I thought I had set out to ask. However, the intense angst - that had felt so palpable that it crushed against my chest and rammed itself in the confined spaces of my heart - began to ebb away. I could finally breathe just a little better. I knew it was not completely gone yet but it had become a tad smaller. It was a little easier to cry. I had gone off on this trip not knowing what to find. Yet, somehow I had reclaimed a piece of myself.