She was a very spirited girl, Mayuri was
Till an evil man befell upon her town,
Who sold her friends as slaves abroad,
While she swore revenge, with the tip of a sharp sword.

Her beauty was the talk of the province,
Her skills in Killing, were given the same too.
She was called several names,
but forgiving wasn't one of them.

When her sword fell,
Head's rolled.
Of sinners, of felons,
Of rapists who targeted women's melons.

A devoted woman, who worshipped Ram,
His principles she followed
And wavered from none.
Despite seeing the collapse of the race that called itself Human.

She lived in a time,
When the belief of God,
Was all but dead.
Only she remained loyal.

Proving her mettle in both kindness when needed.
And in furious battle when seeded.
She never gave up. she never held back.
Fighting for glory, the first to attack.

She came to Ayati, to finish one evil,
but instead collided with the vilest devils.
For she knew not, that cities were merely high walls.
Where anything could happen and no one would complain at all.

She challenged the King, she fought his guards.
His best warriors, but all fell apart.
For she was driven, not by loyalty.
But for the right and just, to which she'd pledged her fealty.

She'd a remarkable body, the finest to be bestowed to a female.
A thing of beauty. Pity, they all said,
She would've made a great princess.

Mayuri was a nimble woman,
Her breasts fine and voluptuous.
With nipples pointed peaks.
She moved gracefully about.

Her eyes that made fire feel shame,
Her hair, the most softest of silk.
Her shapely legs, muscular and long.
Arms of a Goddess, sensual but strong.

Her fingers were agile, that deftly handled
weapons.
Her face was of a mother, that changed accordingly.
She had a small nose and luscious lips,
Ears hidden in the hair that's left for imaginings.

Her thighs were huge, like an elephant
but gracefully so.
They met beautifully at the centre,
Below her naked navel and thin waist,
Much to the satisfaction of the admirer who'd greatly aroused, tell this tale.

Many of her enemies fell to her beauty,
Before her sword.
And before they were out of their fantasy with her,
They were no more.

It's said she was fair skinned,
Some said she was dark.
But as usual no one could say
What the beautiful warrior, exactly was.

It is mostly accepted that she was
of a skin, the shade of olive.
Fair, dark, husky, but all the same,
A creature of beauty.

It was said she had a lover, a killer like her
Someone who fought for Ram once
And who after his departure, fell apart
And lost his way.

She killed him, they said
But truth be told,
those were uncertain times.
What was true, what was legend?

None knew. But if one be sure,
It's this that the Warrior Girl, Mayuri
Wasn't a myth. She was made one, to be
Forgotten? Mostly true.

For men feared her. Her prowess in both
Bed and the battlefield,
Exemplary in nature, which if true,
Would inspire other woman to March

To find their own destiny,
To make revenge theirs,
To take Justice in their bangled hands.
Then oh! Imagine where would men go?

For pleasure? For fun? For love?
For now the women unleashed,
Was like the Ganga, that'd flow ceaseless,
Unless held strongly back.

And thus Mayuri faded,
From Herstory she became legend,
From legend, she became Myth
And from Myth she was forgotten.