CONTRIBUTOR SPOTLIGHT:
Interview with Ashwini Shenoy

Rappahannock Review Fiction Editors: “In Search of Death” revolves around the idea of death in its characters and its theme. What do you think is the importance of talking about death?

Ashwini Shenoy: Talking about death is, in many ways, talking about life itself. Death defines the boundaries of our existence, and within those boundaries, everything gains meaning. Love, hate, loss, regret. Despite centuries of human endeavour to prolong life, no one truly wishes to be immortal. Without the finality of death, life has no meaning. By engaging with death in fiction, we’re really exploring how humans make sense of their limited time, how they confront fear, and how they search for continuity through memory, legacy, art, or love.

RR: Brinda has a motherly aspect when in Laila’s presence. Why did you choose to focus on this for Brinda’s character?

AS: Motherhood, in any and every form, is the purest of human connections. Brinda, who has lived alone for centuries, has travelled through changing times, leaving behind entire worlds before beginning anew each time, forever in search of meaning. Why was she chosen to be this immortal being yet without purpose? What was the meaning of her endless existence? Laila gives her that purpose. To be a mother, a protector who realizes that even if her sense of belonging would last only a brief moment within her boundless time, it is enough. It is meaning enough, a reminder that even within eternity, it is the finite that gives life its soul.

RR: When Brinda disappears, there’s a shift from her first person perspective to a third person. What is the significance of switching from first to third person?

AS: The shift from first to third person mirrors Brinda’s disappearance itself. When she’s present, the story is intimate. We see the world through her thoughts, her solitude, her yearning. But once she vanishes, that intimacy is broken. The narrative steps back, as though the world can now only observe her absence rather than feel her presence. The change in perspective reflects the distance between life and memory, between what was lived and what is left behind.

RR: In your bio, you’re described as a storyteller writing about the “intersection of mythology, contemporary life, and speculative fiction.” How does mythology influence your stories?

AS: Mythology, for me, isn’t about retelling old stories. It’s about understanding the emotional truths they carry. Myths have always been humanity’s way of making sense of the world: of love, loss, death, creation, and belonging. When I write, I draw on that symbolic language to explore contemporary questions. What immortality means in a world obsessed with progress, how karma balances over time, or how faith and Dharma evolve. Myth gives me both distance and depth; it allows me to look at modern life through a timeless lens.

RR: Favorite story from the Mahabharata and why?

AS: The story of Shikhandini in the Mahabharata has always resonated deeply with me. It’s a tale that exists in the margins of the epic, yet it carries immense emotional and philosophical weight. Shikhandini’s journey, from rejection and vengeance to transformation and purpose, raises questions about identity, destiny, and justice that is relevant even today. I was drawn to her because she represents those who live between worlds: between genders, between past and present, between human and mythic. Her story allowed me to explore not just what it means to be seen, but also what it means to define oneself. This became the heart of my debut novel, Shikhandini, Warrior Princess of the Mahabharata, through which I reimagined her voice and her place within the epic.