The Games We Play

Prompt: A Conversation with Your Spouse  |  Genre: Comedy  |  Word count: 1200 words

Author’s note: All references to any person living or dead (or immortal or undead) are purely fictional, and are meant only to evoke a laugh.   

“Again?! How many times have I told you I don’t like it!”

“Hmmm...”

“Are you even listening to me?? What is that? What are you reading?!”

“Nothing”, he suddenly looked up, alarmed. “It’s just the news.”

She snatched the scroll away from him. And all hell broke loose.

“News? You call “The Nymphet” news?! Oh, of course! For you it is, right? You can find your next target right here, can’t you?!”

“It’s not what it looks...” he started, when suddenly the fire in the hearth roared up furiously. Zeus knew what that meant. Trouble.

“Do you even realize how your...your...”

“...good looks?”

“...activities...” she glared, “ruin my reputation?!”

Hera paced the floor as she grew more agitated. “I’m the goddess of women and marriage! And my own brother first...” she made a face, “...takes me... and then goes on philandering with the rest of the world!! Everybody is laughing at...”

Hera stopped when she caught Zeus mouthing her words while mimicking her expression.

Zeus, caught mid-sentence with his mouth open, slowly turned to face his wife. And what he saw, scared the shit out of him. So he did what every good husband does in such a situation.

He fled.

“He just left?? How can he...?! I won’t let him get away this time!”

And so she followed.

Indra sat regally on his throne. When he saw Shachi approach him, he remained nonchalant. But if you looked really close, you’d notice that he wasn’t nonchalant at all. In fact, he was positively gloating.

“So here you are”, Shachi asked with smouldering eyes.

“Yes, I am. And so are you. You do realize what this means, right?”

“Yes... but perhaps you don’t”, she said smiling sweetly.

Indra laughed, “I am Indra and you are my dutiful wife. To you, I’m god. You can’t really do anything here!” When she continued to smile, his laugh turned unsure, “Can you?”

Shachi smirked, flipped her long plaited hair behind, and swayed out of the throne room.

Indra could somehow sense that this calm was going to herald a storm. He remained alert over the next few days, keeping an eye out for any traps. A week passed but still no sign of trouble. Maybe Shachi had forgiven him for his “activities”. That’s one useful thing about wives—they may never forget, but they always forgive.

But a month had passed and he was still sleeping on the couch. If Shachi wanted to punish him, she should be happy with herself—he had suffered a great deal already! He wasn’t used to being out of action for so long. But being an Indian god, he couldn’t just go and take any woman he wanted. He had to seduce them and get their permission. Or take them without letting them know. It required too much subtlety! As Zeus, he had it much easier. But he feared Hera’s wrath. So he was stuck in this realm.

For another two months.

By now, his itch had become painful. He had to scrotch... err.... scratch it! But he didn’t know how he could do it without letting Shachi know.

Until he met Ahalya. Brahma’s most beautiful creation. By the river. Alone. Bathing.

He had eyed her since the day she was created. But she was handed over to saptrishi Gautama... who was an ascetic.

What a waste!

But he was the God of all gods! He can’t waste nature’s gifts! Even if other lesser gods—and Gautama or Shachi—wouldn’t see the truth as he did. So he had to be discreet. That’s why, he disguised himself as the ragged, poor and simple Gautama before he approached Ahalya.

“Swamy! What are you doing here?! I thought you went for your morning puja”, asked a surprised Ahalya, her cheeks blushing pink.

“I had planned to, but I forgot to take my purification bath. That’s why I’m here” he replied, with a not-so-pure look in his eyes. 

“Oh.”

An awkward silence ensued.

When a soft breeze blew, goosebumps appeared on her wet, cold skin. His eyes moved to acknowledge them. She followed his eyes, saw what he saw and shivered.

He got his cue.

And she realised he wasn’t her husband. But right then, she didn’t care.

An age passed... or perhaps a few minutes. They couldn’t tell. But they were sated and spent... and at the bottom of the river.

It was a good thing he was the God of rivers as well.

When they surfaced, however, they wished they hadn’t.

The real saptrishi Gautama stood before them. Filled with jealous rage, he cursed. Ahalya turned into stone. And Indra, revealed in his true form, was covered with a thousand vaginas.

Mortified, he hid himself in a dark corner of the world where he bled from a thousand different orifices. He didn’t want to be found. But prayers aren’t always answered.

“Hello, dear husband”, said Ahalya as she swayed toward him.

Indra frowned, confused. She smiled her devious smile. His eyes widened in recognition. The air around her shimmered and faded away. Standing before him, was the beautiful Shachi.

“How... how did you...?” he stammered.

Her smile grew wider, “I was the one who sank to the floor with you... but not the one who rose back up. You were always the weakest after your...”

“...activity?” he retorted.

“Yes” she smiled like a smug cat. “You fled here to escape me. But you forgot they have a concept called karma.”

He bowed his head and conceded his defeat. For now.

“Loki!!”, Thor cursed. Asgard shook with his fury.

Sif, lying on their bed, was crying inconsolably. Her beautiful golden tresses, the source of her pride, were shorn.

It took him a couple of hours, but Thor finally caught hold of Loki. He dragged Loki back to his castle, to stand before his beloved Sif.

“Return the tresses to Sif, Loki”, he warned.

“That’s impossible!”, Loki quaked, his eyes looking confused.

“So then, be prepared to die!” Thor proclaimed, as he raised his arm to strike his brother.

“Wait!” cried Loki. “I have a bargain to offer!”

Thor, suspicious of the God of mischief, nevertheless stayed his hand and asked, “What is it?”

“I can get the dwarves to forge a golden crown out of her tresses.”

Sif looked up slowly, no longer sniffling. Thor took it as her acquiescence, “Fine Loki. I will let you go if you bring Sif this golden crown, crafted more beautifully than any other jewels in Asgard.”

Loki agreed and retreated from Thor, looking behind just once, confusion and betrayal writ on his face.

Thor turned toward his distraught wife. She looked at him, eyes brimming with tears, a soft smile playing on her lips, as she mouthed the words, ‘I love you’. Thor walked to her and held her close.

Later, when night fell, in a dark lonesome corner, two hushed voices could be heard.

“I don’t understand this Thor!”

“Quiet, Loki! If anyone hears you, I will cut off your tongue!”

“But you were the one who asked me to shear Sif’s hair!” Loki whined.

“When you get married Loki, you’ll understand,” Thor replied mysteriously, as he mentally crossed off a score.