Of Swans, Doves, and Vultures

It was a vengeful day. The Catholic Church of Rome had philosophically taken the Church of England down. Calais, a narrow point of French lands that opens continental Europe from the British Isles, had this time wafted a two-handed French sword into Britain in the firm hands of a French swordsman as the executioner. In the spring of 1536, Anne Boleyn was also 36, about to be executed at the Tower of London, on a clear, calm, sunny morning of Friday, May 19. Two ladies had been sent along, one to carry her body and another to pick her head for burial. The Constable of the Tower, William Kingston, was appointed as the official eyewitness. Anne was escorted to the special scaffold near the White Tower; she was shown to common Londoners, she spoke to the crowd for a while, and then she bent slightly, her head leaning forward. At the command shot from a distance, the Frenchman pulled his heavy muscular arms up, and the sword became mercilessly sharp, monstrously desirous of the healthy, palpable veins of Anne’s nape. On its downward strike, it cut her head from the body, blood all around, gushing on the floor, searching for its veins in Anne’s skull, but eventually draining away. Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII, was ordered to be killed for treason and adultery by her own husband.

Times again, women are tested for loyalty, not only forced to take accountability for their own supposed wrong acts, but also to subsume liability for deeds they never committed, acts never performed. This 12,700 km diameter earth is ruthlessly cruel: shaped by male weight, birthed by the greed and arrogance of men, a patented, ill-formed design of patriarchy. Most women in this world have been historically moved by men as objects, visual treats, sensual prizes, and factories for producing more men. Men escape duties toward women by citing impurity, lack of love, lack of worth, and lack of prosperity. Men may conquer and terraform lands, prove industrious, build muscular frames, shape engineering crafts with their hands, even go to the moon; yet to women, the world of men becomes spineless - leeching, clandestine, and blame-shifting. To most women’s eyes, men appear either as children or as spineless structures: the former while men are innocent, blatant, and overt; the latter when they get exposed being hollow, cowardly, and evasive.

The strength of men lies in thriving on the weakness of women - on their loyalty, obedience, and innocence

Anne Boleyn was ordered to be eliminated by Henry VIII for not being able to produce a male heir for him. The marriage with Anne, in turn, was a sham of infatuation, where Henry treacherously abandoned his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, for the same reason - her failure to produce a male heir. Wanting a quick exit, he asked the Pope of the Catholic Church for a divorce; when the Pope refused, Henry disenfranchised the Catholic Church and founded his own -- the Church of England, appointing his own vicars and clergymen to grant “permission” for his marriage to Anne Boleyn. After marriage, Anne gave birth to Elizabeth I, yet again disappointing Henry, and she tried for the genesis of a male in her womb. However, the foetus splattered internally within a few weeks; though a male child had once formed for Henry VIII, it remained only a foetus and died through miscarriage.

Crestfallen though he was, Henry VIII - benighted by arrogance and drunk on unruly male power chose to eliminate Anne for the next betrothal waiting in the wings: his shameless nuptial plans with Jane Seymour. Barely eleven days after Anne’s execution, he wedded Jane, while Anne’s body had scarcely yielded to the soil and the worms had not yet finished their work.

Women, history shows, are often kinder than the men who betray them, kinder even to recalcitrant, perfidious, and recreant husbands. They give mind, body, and wisdom without hesitation to men who demand endlessly, who test mercilessly. Like the discredited science of phrenology once used to measure weakness, men have always probed women’s loyalty to extract more submission, while offering little but suspicion in return.

And yet, at the scaffold, Anne’s final words were not of rage but of grace:

“I am come hither to die, according to the law, and thus yield myself to the will of the king, my lord. I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never. And to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign lord. If any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. Thus I take my leave of the world, and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me.”

Such were her words - pure gold - even as her intentions were maligned, her modesty mocked, and her piety pilloried. She was condemned with unscrupulous accusations: painted as adulterous with six men, including her own brother George Boleyn; harassed with doubts over her character; and finally indicted for conspiring against the very king she had once lifted to defy pope and kingdom alike.  

All along, Henry VIII could never secure a surviving male child, the longest-lived son survived for about 15 years despite six marriages. He later killed his fifth wife, Catherine Howard, only sixteen when he was fifty, on similar charges of treason and adultery.

While penning this down, I was not a feminist, neither before, nor after. The idea of feminism in the modern world is fancier than lived: a few accept it, a few over-rejoice in it, a few scorn it, and many avoid it. My obsession and plea is not to claim feminism but to speak of common sense and moral fears. Thankfully, the women in my life are not vultures, but swans and doves. These statistics may not reflect only my case; I supremely believe they hold true in many men’s courts. Yet too many still choose violence and cowardice to control women. Too many penis-brained men see women as objects, as mere vessels of pleasure. Only a few see them for what they are: life forms created to live, prosper, and leave etching memories on this planet.

Of Swans, Doves and Vultures

Through this letter - my one-time semblance of feminism - I pay sincere gratitude to the women who raised me, who stand with me, and who stand for me. And I plead forgiveness if I have unknowingly caused misery through the weight of men’s arrogance.

 Anand ¥¥