I've approached the end of 2009 barely realising that it's the end of the year. It feels like the beginning to me. Are we really at the 31st of December? Are we really staring 2010 in the face?
Yes we are.
And a new significance hit me just today too. This is the end of a decade. The end of an era. We're sitting on the fence looking into a mysterious secret garden. We just have to jump inside and land on the green grass and find what new and wondrous things there are to experience.
This last year has been difficult for everyone. I know that I faced some tough times. There was bitterness and anger and terrible frustration. It was hard to see the light in the darkness, even if I am an optimist in my heart.
The financial situation has been painful for people all over the world and we can't forget that we are still at war in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our men and women are still being wounded and still dying far from home.
I read Queen Elizabeth's Christmas speech online just a little while ago and a lot of what she said was what I was thinking too. That even in difficult times we have to continue to do what is best for ourselves and for our society. Even when we're struggling we can't forget others or the debt of service we have to each other. We can't forget to be grateful.
We hold each other up. We keep each other going. Over the last year I've seen evidence of that fact many times. People held hands with strangers and carried them to this point, past their darkest hour.
I'm blessed to have many friends. I count you, my blog readers, as some of those precious friends.
I hope that in this new year we can go on together to experience greater hopes and greater achievements. There is so much still left to do. So much still left to see. And when times are tough I hope we can hold hands and carry each other, as brothers and sisters, into a brave new world.
My best wishes to you all for the New Year. May you laugh in the darkness and be serene in the light. May you be healthy and happy and prosperous. May you live in peace and love.
Aum shanti shanti shanti.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Back North
I'm back! My trip to south India is officially over and I'm so tired I can barely think.
We got home at 9pm and it's now 10.30pm here. The moment I entered the house I swept the floor in the entire flat and then soaked all the dirty clothes from our bags. Then I dragged myself out to Aum Cyber Cafe to check my emails and blog.
See how much I care about you all?
In the coming weeks I'll give you little tidbits of my experiences in the south (with pictures). We managed to pack so much in to the last two weeks that I'm feeling overwhelmed. So it's better if I space it out a bit.
My clothes are hanging off me. I've got dark circles under my eyes. My legs are aching from calcium deficiency (I only managed to drink milk three times in two weeks). My sore throat of the last couple of days has become a repetitive cough that's driving me crazy. I've got masses of emails that I've only skimmed through and now have to reply to in proper order. I have to catch up with all my friend's blogs and get back into writing my books.
But I loved everything about this trip. It was worth all the stress and work and neglect to my body. It was worth not reading my emails or blogging when I was supposed to (although I did manage to keep up until the last few days). It was worth sitting on a train for two days straight just to get down there and then sitting on a train for two days straight to come home.
I made so many friends. I met so many family members. I feel as if I connected with myself in so many ways.
Then there was the bit where I saw God.
Yep.
I tell you about it some time. For now, good night.
We got home at 9pm and it's now 10.30pm here. The moment I entered the house I swept the floor in the entire flat and then soaked all the dirty clothes from our bags. Then I dragged myself out to Aum Cyber Cafe to check my emails and blog.
See how much I care about you all?
In the coming weeks I'll give you little tidbits of my experiences in the south (with pictures). We managed to pack so much in to the last two weeks that I'm feeling overwhelmed. So it's better if I space it out a bit.
My clothes are hanging off me. I've got dark circles under my eyes. My legs are aching from calcium deficiency (I only managed to drink milk three times in two weeks). My sore throat of the last couple of days has become a repetitive cough that's driving me crazy. I've got masses of emails that I've only skimmed through and now have to reply to in proper order. I have to catch up with all my friend's blogs and get back into writing my books.
But I loved everything about this trip. It was worth all the stress and work and neglect to my body. It was worth not reading my emails or blogging when I was supposed to (although I did manage to keep up until the last few days). It was worth sitting on a train for two days straight just to get down there and then sitting on a train for two days straight to come home.
I made so many friends. I met so many family members. I feel as if I connected with myself in so many ways.
Then there was the bit where I saw God.
Yep.
I tell you about it some time. For now, good night.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Shantanu - The Ancestor Part II
This is part of my ongoing series on the Mahabharat, an epic poem of ancient India. For links to all previous Mahabharat posts go here. Or you can simply click on the Mahabharat page link above.
This is the second part of my Shantanu - The Ancestor series. To read the first part go here.
In the first section we saw that Shantanu, a descendent of King Bharat, married Goddess Ganga and was very happy. But when Ganga began killing their children Shantanu was stunned and helpless. He saved their eighth child but it came with a terrible price.
This is what happened next:
The years crept by. Shantanu spent his nights in Ganga's room, his heart burning for what he knew he couldn't have. Each day he would walk along the banks of the river hoping for a glimpse of his wife. But she never appeared.
Shantanu wondered how his son was, how old he must be, what he must be learning. He saw other fathers with their children, teaching them to walk and talk and felt the bleeding wound of his own loss. He, the father of eight sons, had no one to teach.
He administered to the affairs of state day and night and his ministers, knowing of his personal anquish, helped him by ensuring the smooth running of the state.
It was sixteen years after Ganga left him and Shantanu was walking along the riverbank, carrying his bow and arrows with a halfhearted intention of practicing his archery. Suddenly, before his very eyes, a dam was erected in the sacred river. He knew that it must be a magical dam and when he looked closer he saw that it was made out of arrows!
Shantanu's body flushed red with rage to see his Ganga thwarted. He raced forward, nocking an arrow on his own bow to break the offensive structure.
"Mother, Mother, I did it!" An handsome youth came running down the bank towards Shantanu, waving a bow and jumping in the air.
Shantanu froze when Ganga herself walked up behind the youth, dressed in her white silk robes.
"Yes, my son, you did."
Shantanu was mute at the sight of her but when her words finally penetrated his mind he tore his gaze from her to the youth. And he knew he was looking at himself. He looked again at Ganga, yearning for her to speak the words.
"My lord," Ganga said. She put her hand on the youth's shoulder. "Devrath, look you at the King of Hastinapur. He is your father."
Devrath looked straight at Shantanu and seemed to drink in his father's visage. His features trembling with emotion, Devrath fell to the ground and prostrated himself at Shantanu's feet.
Shantanu lifted his son and embraced him.
They both wept tears of joy.
"I have waited so long to see you, my boy," Shantanu said, holding Devrath's face and stroking his hair. "So long." He embraced his son again.
"He has completed his education," Ganga said. "He has been taught scripture, ethics, politics, science, and art by the sages of the celestial realms. He has learned warcraft from the great Parashuram himself. He is now ready to be a prince."
"He is perfect whatever he has learned," Shantanu said. He was unable to let go of Devrath, still embracing him and gazing at his face. "He is a Kuru of Hastinapur."
"Look at what I did, Father! I put a dam in the river."
"Yes and you used tremendous skill to do so. Now break the dam. It is not right to thwart nature, son."
Devrath looked at his mother who nodded and then nocked an arrow on his bow. With one swift shot he broke the barrier of arrows and the water came crashing through again.
Shantanu grinned in amazement at his son's superb archery and threw his arm around the boy's shoulders. "I am so proud of you."
"Now I entrust Devrath to you, great King." Ganga said as the river flowed past them. "Take him back to Hastinapur."
Devrath tore himself away from his father's embrace. "But mother, aren't you coming with us?"
Ganga smiled at Devrath and touched his face. "No, my sweet son. My place is not in Hastinapur. You must go with your father now and do your duty to the people."
"But how will I live without you?"
"I will be here whenever you need me, Devrath. Come here to my banks and you will see me."
Shantanu stepped forward. "Ganga, come home..."
"You know that is not possible, great King," she said.
They gazed at each, the love still so potent between them.
Shantanu knew it was his fault they could no longer be together. He had broken his vow to her. But if he hadn't then Devrath would now be dead. Clenching his teeth, Shantanu nodded. He stepped back.
Ganga walked into the water, the river lapping against her yet not wetting her body. She walked deep into the currents and stood unaffected. She turned and smiled at Devrath, then disappeared.
Shantanu saw that his son was staring at the ground. "What are you thinking, son?"
The boy didn't look up. "I'm thinking about how lucky other children are. They get to have both their parents together. But I have never experienced that. When I had my mother I didn't have my father. Now that I have my father, I won't have my mother."
Shantanu thought about how different their lives should have been. How much he had missed of Devrath's life. But no, he didn't want to dwell on that. He had to look to the future.
"We both love you, son. And your mother will always be here when you need her."
The boy shrugged.
"Come, we must go back to Hastinapur. The people will want to see their prince."
To be continued...
Go here to read the next part.
This is the second part of my Shantanu - The Ancestor series. To read the first part go here.
In the first section we saw that Shantanu, a descendent of King Bharat, married Goddess Ganga and was very happy. But when Ganga began killing their children Shantanu was stunned and helpless. He saved their eighth child but it came with a terrible price.
This is what happened next:
The years crept by. Shantanu spent his nights in Ganga's room, his heart burning for what he knew he couldn't have. Each day he would walk along the banks of the river hoping for a glimpse of his wife. But she never appeared.
Shantanu wondered how his son was, how old he must be, what he must be learning. He saw other fathers with their children, teaching them to walk and talk and felt the bleeding wound of his own loss. He, the father of eight sons, had no one to teach.
He administered to the affairs of state day and night and his ministers, knowing of his personal anquish, helped him by ensuring the smooth running of the state.
It was sixteen years after Ganga left him and Shantanu was walking along the riverbank, carrying his bow and arrows with a halfhearted intention of practicing his archery. Suddenly, before his very eyes, a dam was erected in the sacred river. He knew that it must be a magical dam and when he looked closer he saw that it was made out of arrows!
Shantanu's body flushed red with rage to see his Ganga thwarted. He raced forward, nocking an arrow on his own bow to break the offensive structure.
"Mother, Mother, I did it!" An handsome youth came running down the bank towards Shantanu, waving a bow and jumping in the air.
Shantanu froze when Ganga herself walked up behind the youth, dressed in her white silk robes.
"Yes, my son, you did."
Shantanu was mute at the sight of her but when her words finally penetrated his mind he tore his gaze from her to the youth. And he knew he was looking at himself. He looked again at Ganga, yearning for her to speak the words.
"My lord," Ganga said. She put her hand on the youth's shoulder. "Devrath, look you at the King of Hastinapur. He is your father."
Devrath looked straight at Shantanu and seemed to drink in his father's visage. His features trembling with emotion, Devrath fell to the ground and prostrated himself at Shantanu's feet.
Shantanu lifted his son and embraced him.
They both wept tears of joy.
"I have waited so long to see you, my boy," Shantanu said, holding Devrath's face and stroking his hair. "So long." He embraced his son again.
"He has completed his education," Ganga said. "He has been taught scripture, ethics, politics, science, and art by the sages of the celestial realms. He has learned warcraft from the great Parashuram himself. He is now ready to be a prince."
"He is perfect whatever he has learned," Shantanu said. He was unable to let go of Devrath, still embracing him and gazing at his face. "He is a Kuru of Hastinapur."
"Look at what I did, Father! I put a dam in the river."
"Yes and you used tremendous skill to do so. Now break the dam. It is not right to thwart nature, son."
Devrath looked at his mother who nodded and then nocked an arrow on his bow. With one swift shot he broke the barrier of arrows and the water came crashing through again.
Shantanu grinned in amazement at his son's superb archery and threw his arm around the boy's shoulders. "I am so proud of you."
"Now I entrust Devrath to you, great King." Ganga said as the river flowed past them. "Take him back to Hastinapur."
Devrath tore himself away from his father's embrace. "But mother, aren't you coming with us?"
Ganga smiled at Devrath and touched his face. "No, my sweet son. My place is not in Hastinapur. You must go with your father now and do your duty to the people."
"But how will I live without you?"
"I will be here whenever you need me, Devrath. Come here to my banks and you will see me."
Shantanu stepped forward. "Ganga, come home..."
"You know that is not possible, great King," she said.
They gazed at each, the love still so potent between them.
Shantanu knew it was his fault they could no longer be together. He had broken his vow to her. But if he hadn't then Devrath would now be dead. Clenching his teeth, Shantanu nodded. He stepped back.
Ganga walked into the water, the river lapping against her yet not wetting her body. She walked deep into the currents and stood unaffected. She turned and smiled at Devrath, then disappeared.
Shantanu saw that his son was staring at the ground. "What are you thinking, son?"The boy didn't look up. "I'm thinking about how lucky other children are. They get to have both their parents together. But I have never experienced that. When I had my mother I didn't have my father. Now that I have my father, I won't have my mother."
Shantanu thought about how different their lives should have been. How much he had missed of Devrath's life. But no, he didn't want to dwell on that. He had to look to the future.
"We both love you, son. And your mother will always be here when you need her."
The boy shrugged.
"Come, we must go back to Hastinapur. The people will want to see their prince."
To be continued...
Go here to read the next part.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wit
I'm sorry.
I can't stand it anymore. I just can't. I tried. For years I tried. But I can't do this anymore.
I have to explain to you what wit is.
Why? Because most Americans don't know. And worse - most American writers don't know. Even some of my own friends.
I tried to keep my mouth shut. I didn't want to offend anyone or step on anyone's toes. But if I hear one more person refer to sarcasm as "clever" or "the best form of wit" I'll go crazy.
Now read carefully and follow my words because this is very important. It works like this:
Irony = Highest form of wit
Sarcasm = Lowest form of wit
Get it? No? Read again:
Irony = Highest form of wit
Sarcasm = Lowest form of wit
Still confused? Read again:
Irony = GOOD
Sarcasm = BAD
Why? Because sarcasm is mean. It's humour at the expense of someone's feelings. It's laughing at someone elses weakness or mistake or confusion and that's cruel. Therefore it is considered to be the lowest form of wit.
Irony, on the other hand, is about finding humour in truth. It's about noticing the absurdities of life and commenting on them. It's not about picking on someone or laughing at them. This whole post, for example, is the essence of irony - that I have to explain what wit is. Wit is something that any person of 'wit' should understand. Yet so many people don't. That is ironic. See?
A lot of people mistake irony for sarcasm because they don't know the difference. Because of this appalling lack of understanding they say things that make them seem foolish like: "Sarcasm is the staple of my humour. I'm very witty."
The paragragh above is what is called sarcasm, because it's picking on someone's misunderstanding and making them the butt of the joke. I didn't name names because that would be really unfair but it's still sarcasm and therefore the LOWEST form of wit.
And the bit where I said "Irony = Good" and "Sarcasm = Bad" was also sarcasm because I was smacking you on the head and making you feel stupid.
Do you see now?
Examine your writing. Look for what is irony and what is sarcasm. Try to tell the difference. Then do this: Cut out all the sarcasm. All of it. Don't worry about being true to the characters in this exercise. Just get rid of all the sarcasm. Then read the writing again and see if what is left is really irony. I'm telling you to do this so that you can learn what irony truly is. You won't figure it out unless you pick it out yourself and learn to identify it. If you see that what's left is not irony but actually still sarcasm then cut that out too. See for yourself what form of wit you rely on in your writing. Then decide if you want to rely on the highest form of wit or the lowest.
Remember this: Irony is a statement of truth. It notices the absurdities or oddities of life and comments on them. It is never cruel or mean or bad-natured. It is the HIGHEST form of wit.
Whether you prefer irony or sarcasm is up to you, of course. We all have to make our own decisions and I really don't care which one you choose. (This is irony. Everything I said is true and a statement in fact. It's an absurdity of life that some people might choose the lowest form of wit as their preference.)
But please don't mistake sarcasm and irony for each other. And please don't refer to sarcasm as "the best thing ever" because you'll be wrong. Not to mention ridiculous. (See how that was sarcasm? It hurt your feelings, right? That's why it's the LOWEST form of wit.)
I had to get this off my chest. I hope you'll still like me after my brutal honesty. I feel like a surgeon who had to cut off the infected leg of a dear friend because otherwise it would kill him. I didn't want to do it and the process was painful for everyone concerned.
But I had to. (Irony.)
I can't stand it anymore. I just can't. I tried. For years I tried. But I can't do this anymore.
I have to explain to you what wit is.
Why? Because most Americans don't know. And worse - most American writers don't know. Even some of my own friends.
I tried to keep my mouth shut. I didn't want to offend anyone or step on anyone's toes. But if I hear one more person refer to sarcasm as "clever" or "the best form of wit" I'll go crazy.
Now read carefully and follow my words because this is very important. It works like this:
Irony = Highest form of wit
Sarcasm = Lowest form of wit
Get it? No? Read again:
Irony = Highest form of wit
Sarcasm = Lowest form of wit
Still confused? Read again:
Irony = GOOD
Sarcasm = BAD
Why? Because sarcasm is mean. It's humour at the expense of someone's feelings. It's laughing at someone elses weakness or mistake or confusion and that's cruel. Therefore it is considered to be the lowest form of wit.
Irony, on the other hand, is about finding humour in truth. It's about noticing the absurdities of life and commenting on them. It's not about picking on someone or laughing at them. This whole post, for example, is the essence of irony - that I have to explain what wit is. Wit is something that any person of 'wit' should understand. Yet so many people don't. That is ironic. See?
A lot of people mistake irony for sarcasm because they don't know the difference. Because of this appalling lack of understanding they say things that make them seem foolish like: "Sarcasm is the staple of my humour. I'm very witty."
The paragragh above is what is called sarcasm, because it's picking on someone's misunderstanding and making them the butt of the joke. I didn't name names because that would be really unfair but it's still sarcasm and therefore the LOWEST form of wit.
And the bit where I said "Irony = Good" and "Sarcasm = Bad" was also sarcasm because I was smacking you on the head and making you feel stupid.
Do you see now?
Examine your writing. Look for what is irony and what is sarcasm. Try to tell the difference. Then do this: Cut out all the sarcasm. All of it. Don't worry about being true to the characters in this exercise. Just get rid of all the sarcasm. Then read the writing again and see if what is left is really irony. I'm telling you to do this so that you can learn what irony truly is. You won't figure it out unless you pick it out yourself and learn to identify it. If you see that what's left is not irony but actually still sarcasm then cut that out too. See for yourself what form of wit you rely on in your writing. Then decide if you want to rely on the highest form of wit or the lowest.
Remember this: Irony is a statement of truth. It notices the absurdities or oddities of life and comments on them. It is never cruel or mean or bad-natured. It is the HIGHEST form of wit.
Whether you prefer irony or sarcasm is up to you, of course. We all have to make our own decisions and I really don't care which one you choose. (This is irony. Everything I said is true and a statement in fact. It's an absurdity of life that some people might choose the lowest form of wit as their preference.)
But please don't mistake sarcasm and irony for each other. And please don't refer to sarcasm as "the best thing ever" because you'll be wrong. Not to mention ridiculous. (See how that was sarcasm? It hurt your feelings, right? That's why it's the LOWEST form of wit.)
I had to get this off my chest. I hope you'll still like me after my brutal honesty. I feel like a surgeon who had to cut off the infected leg of a dear friend because otherwise it would kill him. I didn't want to do it and the process was painful for everyone concerned.
But I had to. (Irony.)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Shantanu - The Ancestor
This is part of my ongoing series on the Mahabharat, an epic poem of ancient India. For links to all previous Mahabharat posts go here. Or you can simply click on the Mahabharat page link above.
It has been argued that the devastation of the Mahabharat war has it's roots in the deeper history of the Kuru family. It has been argued that the first seeds of that war were sown during the reign of King Shantanu.
This is his story:
King Shantanu was the emperor of Hastinapur, a descendent of King Bharat. He was a powerful monarch and ruled his people with truth, justice and love. In his realm none were sick or poor or without food. All were employed. All were safe.
One day, Shantanu was riding his chariot along the banks of the Ganga river when he chanced to see a stunningly beautiful maiden sitting on the riverbank. She was dressed in white silk robes and had lustrous black hair and creamy skin. Her eyes were dark and liquid and fathomless.
His heart stopped in his chest. He alighted from his chariot and approached the lady. "Who are you?" He breathed.
She looked at him, her gaze piercing through him and making him almost delirious with desire. "I am Ganga," she said.
He realised she was the goddess of the river and daughter of the creator, Father Brahma. "I am King Shantanu of Hastinapur and I am in love with you. Will you marry me, Goddess Ganga, and be my queen?"
She blushed and looked away. "Yes," she said and Shantanu was the happiest man on earth. "But on one condition."
Shantanu rambled: "Anything, everything. Whatever you want."
"Oh King, hear my condition first. I will marry you but only if you promise never to question me or stop my actions, ever."
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Think again, great King. You should not be so quick to make decisions."
Shantanu brushed aside her warning. "I'll do anything to have you as my wife. I agree to your condition."
So Ganga accepted Shantanu as her husband and Shantanu was so enamoured of his bride that he left state matters to his ministers and spent all his time in the queen's apartments. His ministers were worried about the king's obssession with his wife but kept quiet and carried on taking care of the nation. They reasoned that after a few years things would return to normal.
Ganga herself told the king that he should not spend so much time with her at the cost of his people. A good king always ensured the smooth running of his kingdom before anything ese. But Shantanu brushed aside her words.
Soon the queen gave birth to a son and the people of Hastinapur rejoiced at the arrival of the prince. The word spread that the child was healthy and beautiful, with his mother's liquid eyes and his father's handsome features.
Shantanu was so happy he could barely contain himself. He opened up his treasury to the masses and made gifts of thousands of cows to the Brahmins.
As he was standing at his window, bestowing yet more charity to the Brahmins, he noticed Ganga walking out of the palace towards the river. She was carrying their son, barely a day old.
Surprised that she was already out of her childbed and concerned for her welfare Shantanu left the palace and followed her. He saw that she was taking the child all the way to the Ganga riverbank where she stood gazing at that sacred water that was her own self.
She was so beautiful and she had given him a son. He loved her so much.
Shantanu was about to move forward and take her in his arms when Ganga lowered their swaddled son to the water and let go.
Shantanu stared in horror as his son drowned. He ran forward to save the baby but then Ganga turned and saw him. She met his gaze with her fathomless eyes.
The condition of their marriage hit him. He had vowed never to question or stop her actions. Shantanu stood, frozen, unable to understand what was happening.
Their son was dead, drowned by Ganga herself.
Ganga rose to her feet and walked towards Shantanu. She looked up at him and smiled, then walked back to the palace.
He rushed to the riverbank but knew the child was gone, carried away by the secret depths of the Ganga river. His son was gone.
Blindly, he stumbled back to the palace, unable to speak or make sense of anything. He went to the queen's chamber and she was there sitting on her bed, gazing at the floor. She didn't say anything to him. All the maids were silent with horror, having witnessed from the windows what the queen had done.
Shantanu fell into a deep depression. He couldn't understand why Ganga would do such a thing. He knew that there must be a reason but since she never spoke to him of it or explained why, he could only guess at what drove her. He knew he couldn't question her or she would leave him.
He couldn't bear for her to leave him.
One by one Shantanu and Ganga had seven sons and Ganga drowned them all.
Shantanu had stopped rejoicing at the births of his children because he knew they would only live for a few hours. He spent the whole time of Ganga's pregnancies grieving for what he knew would come.
The deaths of the children threw a pall over the kingdom. The people were full of talk about the queen's unnatural actions. They asked what kind of mother Ganga was that she killed her own children. They asked what kind of father Shantanu was that he allowed it.
Then his eighth son was born. As always, Shantanu followed Ganga to the riverbank. Just as she reached down to lower their baby into the water Shantanu couldn't bear it any longer.
"Stop!" He raced forward and grabbed his son from her. "Why, Ganga? Why!"
Ganga gazed at him, her eyes sad and resigned. "Now I shall have to leave you, my lord."
"But why, Ganga?" Shantanu demanded. "Why do you kill our sons this way? What kind of mother kills her own children?"
Ganga closed her eyes. "A loving mother, my lord."
"What are you talking about? Tell my why, Ganga. Tell me why!"
Ganga turned away and took a deep breath. "In your past life you were a king in the celestial realm and sat in Lord Indra's court. One day I came there with my father Brahma and you looked at me with desire. I looked at you too. A gust a wind blew my veil from my body and all the men in the court turned away to preserve my modesty. But you didn't look away and neither did I.
When my father saw this he was enraged and he cursed us both that we should have to live on earth as humans. That is why you were born as King Shantanu and I came here to Hastinapur and agreed to be your wife."
Shantanu wasn't surprised at her words. He'd known that his desperate love for Ganga had to have it's roots somewhere in his past. "But why do you kill our sons? I've stood by and watched you drown seven of my children! Why?"
"It was for their own good."
"How can you say that?"
"It's true. They were eight celestials who played a prank on a sage by stealing his cows. The sage was enraged when his cows were hurt and cursed the celestials that they would have to be born on earth and live lives of great suffering. Stricken with fear they came to me and begged that I give birth to them. They made me promise to kill them as soon as they were born so that they didn't have to suffer through an entire human life."
Ganga stroked the head of the child in Shantanu's arms. "I was able to free seven of my children from the curse. But it seems that this last one will not escape. There is no choice now for him."
"You did it to spare them?" Shantanu stuttered. He'd known. He'd known that there had to be a reason. His wife wasn't an unnatural mother after all. "But why didn't you explain this to me? Why did you make me vow not to question you?"
"Because if you'd known you wouldn't have let me end their lives. You would have stopped me as you have stopped me with this eighth child. Now I have to leave you," Ganga said.
Shantanu went cold. "No. No wait. Ganga, you can't be serious. You can't leave me."
"It was the condition of our marriage, great King. You cannot prevent me."
"But-but-I didn't know! Don't go. I need you, Ganga. I love you!"
"And I love you," she told him. "But I cannot stay. My father is waiting." She took the child from Shantanu's arms. "I will have our son educated in the celestial realm. When the time is right I will return him to you."
She held the baby close in her arms and turned to walk into the river.
"Ganga, wait! Don't go!"
"I have named our son Devrath." Ganga said and moved deeper into the waters. The waves lapped around her but magically did not wet her body. She kissed the baby's head. The currents of the river water slid around her, the same creamy colour as her skin. She looked back, just once, and Shantanu drowned in her fathomless dark eyes. "I will return our son to you to fulfill his destiny. Until then, goodbye, my lord."
And Ganga disappeared with Devrath.
To be continued...
Go here to read the next part.
Go here to read the previous Mahabharat post.
It has been argued that the devastation of the Mahabharat war has it's roots in the deeper history of the Kuru family. It has been argued that the first seeds of that war were sown during the reign of King Shantanu.
This is his story:
King Shantanu was the emperor of Hastinapur, a descendent of King Bharat. He was a powerful monarch and ruled his people with truth, justice and love. In his realm none were sick or poor or without food. All were employed. All were safe.
One day, Shantanu was riding his chariot along the banks of the Ganga river when he chanced to see a stunningly beautiful maiden sitting on the riverbank. She was dressed in white silk robes and had lustrous black hair and creamy skin. Her eyes were dark and liquid and fathomless.
His heart stopped in his chest. He alighted from his chariot and approached the lady. "Who are you?" He breathed.
She looked at him, her gaze piercing through him and making him almost delirious with desire. "I am Ganga," she said.He realised she was the goddess of the river and daughter of the creator, Father Brahma. "I am King Shantanu of Hastinapur and I am in love with you. Will you marry me, Goddess Ganga, and be my queen?"
She blushed and looked away. "Yes," she said and Shantanu was the happiest man on earth. "But on one condition."
Shantanu rambled: "Anything, everything. Whatever you want."
"Oh King, hear my condition first. I will marry you but only if you promise never to question me or stop my actions, ever."
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Think again, great King. You should not be so quick to make decisions."
Shantanu brushed aside her warning. "I'll do anything to have you as my wife. I agree to your condition."
So Ganga accepted Shantanu as her husband and Shantanu was so enamoured of his bride that he left state matters to his ministers and spent all his time in the queen's apartments. His ministers were worried about the king's obssession with his wife but kept quiet and carried on taking care of the nation. They reasoned that after a few years things would return to normal.
Ganga herself told the king that he should not spend so much time with her at the cost of his people. A good king always ensured the smooth running of his kingdom before anything ese. But Shantanu brushed aside her words.
Soon the queen gave birth to a son and the people of Hastinapur rejoiced at the arrival of the prince. The word spread that the child was healthy and beautiful, with his mother's liquid eyes and his father's handsome features.
Shantanu was so happy he could barely contain himself. He opened up his treasury to the masses and made gifts of thousands of cows to the Brahmins.
As he was standing at his window, bestowing yet more charity to the Brahmins, he noticed Ganga walking out of the palace towards the river. She was carrying their son, barely a day old.
Surprised that she was already out of her childbed and concerned for her welfare Shantanu left the palace and followed her. He saw that she was taking the child all the way to the Ganga riverbank where she stood gazing at that sacred water that was her own self.
She was so beautiful and she had given him a son. He loved her so much.
Shantanu was about to move forward and take her in his arms when Ganga lowered their swaddled son to the water and let go.
Shantanu stared in horror as his son drowned. He ran forward to save the baby but then Ganga turned and saw him. She met his gaze with her fathomless eyes.The condition of their marriage hit him. He had vowed never to question or stop her actions. Shantanu stood, frozen, unable to understand what was happening.
Their son was dead, drowned by Ganga herself.
Ganga rose to her feet and walked towards Shantanu. She looked up at him and smiled, then walked back to the palace.
He rushed to the riverbank but knew the child was gone, carried away by the secret depths of the Ganga river. His son was gone.
Blindly, he stumbled back to the palace, unable to speak or make sense of anything. He went to the queen's chamber and she was there sitting on her bed, gazing at the floor. She didn't say anything to him. All the maids were silent with horror, having witnessed from the windows what the queen had done.
Shantanu fell into a deep depression. He couldn't understand why Ganga would do such a thing. He knew that there must be a reason but since she never spoke to him of it or explained why, he could only guess at what drove her. He knew he couldn't question her or she would leave him.
He couldn't bear for her to leave him.
One by one Shantanu and Ganga had seven sons and Ganga drowned them all.
Shantanu had stopped rejoicing at the births of his children because he knew they would only live for a few hours. He spent the whole time of Ganga's pregnancies grieving for what he knew would come.
The deaths of the children threw a pall over the kingdom. The people were full of talk about the queen's unnatural actions. They asked what kind of mother Ganga was that she killed her own children. They asked what kind of father Shantanu was that he allowed it.
Then his eighth son was born. As always, Shantanu followed Ganga to the riverbank. Just as she reached down to lower their baby into the water Shantanu couldn't bear it any longer.
"Stop!" He raced forward and grabbed his son from her. "Why, Ganga? Why!"
Ganga gazed at him, her eyes sad and resigned. "Now I shall have to leave you, my lord."
"But why, Ganga?" Shantanu demanded. "Why do you kill our sons this way? What kind of mother kills her own children?"
Ganga closed her eyes. "A loving mother, my lord."
"What are you talking about? Tell my why, Ganga. Tell me why!"
Ganga turned away and took a deep breath. "In your past life you were a king in the celestial realm and sat in Lord Indra's court. One day I came there with my father Brahma and you looked at me with desire. I looked at you too. A gust a wind blew my veil from my body and all the men in the court turned away to preserve my modesty. But you didn't look away and neither did I.
When my father saw this he was enraged and he cursed us both that we should have to live on earth as humans. That is why you were born as King Shantanu and I came here to Hastinapur and agreed to be your wife."Shantanu wasn't surprised at her words. He'd known that his desperate love for Ganga had to have it's roots somewhere in his past. "But why do you kill our sons? I've stood by and watched you drown seven of my children! Why?"
"It was for their own good."
"How can you say that?"
"It's true. They were eight celestials who played a prank on a sage by stealing his cows. The sage was enraged when his cows were hurt and cursed the celestials that they would have to be born on earth and live lives of great suffering. Stricken with fear they came to me and begged that I give birth to them. They made me promise to kill them as soon as they were born so that they didn't have to suffer through an entire human life."
Ganga stroked the head of the child in Shantanu's arms. "I was able to free seven of my children from the curse. But it seems that this last one will not escape. There is no choice now for him."
"You did it to spare them?" Shantanu stuttered. He'd known. He'd known that there had to be a reason. His wife wasn't an unnatural mother after all. "But why didn't you explain this to me? Why did you make me vow not to question you?"
"Because if you'd known you wouldn't have let me end their lives. You would have stopped me as you have stopped me with this eighth child. Now I have to leave you," Ganga said.
Shantanu went cold. "No. No wait. Ganga, you can't be serious. You can't leave me."
"It was the condition of our marriage, great King. You cannot prevent me."
"But-but-I didn't know! Don't go. I need you, Ganga. I love you!"
"And I love you," she told him. "But I cannot stay. My father is waiting." She took the child from Shantanu's arms. "I will have our son educated in the celestial realm. When the time is right I will return him to you."
She held the baby close in her arms and turned to walk into the river.
"Ganga, wait! Don't go!"
"I have named our son Devrath." Ganga said and moved deeper into the waters. The waves lapped around her but magically did not wet her body. She kissed the baby's head. The currents of the river water slid around her, the same creamy colour as her skin. She looked back, just once, and Shantanu drowned in her fathomless dark eyes. "I will return our son to you to fulfill his destiny. Until then, goodbye, my lord."
And Ganga disappeared with Devrath.
To be continued...
Go here to read the next part.
Go here to read the previous Mahabharat post.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
I need to curb my tongue
I realised just today that I haven't told you anything about the food here except for my little cake confession. It's a bit shocking since India clearly has some of the best food in the world.
Well... With all the weddings going on I've done a bit of eating. Tons of eating if you will know the truth.
I've eaten puris, which are a type of fried puffed bread. I ate the puris with different shaks (sometimes called shabji) which are what you would call curry in the west - various vegetables mixed and cooked with mustard seeds and cumin and chillies and ginger. There was paneer and pea shak - paneer is an Indian cheese that is cut into cubes and stir fried with spices and tomatoes and peas. There was aubergine shak (eggplant in American speak) which is one of my favourites because of all the iron. I'm a health freak if you'll believe it. There was potato shak. There was mixed vegetable shak which is more dry and - look, I've eaten tons and tons of shak, ok? Shak is always yummy.
Then there was dhal which is a type of lentil soup. It's eaten with fluffy white basmati rice mixed in, all piping hot.
Then there was curdi which is soup made from yogurt and chick pea flour. It's also eaten with basmati rice and served piping hot.
In finger food there were samosas which are savoury pastries filled with peas and sweetcorn and bean sprouts. There were bhajias which are vegetables covered in chick pea batter and fried. Then there was dhokla which is a kind of savoury cake that is steamed instead of baked. There was also khamani which is my favourite. It's a paste made from chick pea flour and yogurt that is cooked and rolled out in thin sheets. Then when it dries it is cut into thin strips and rolled up into bite size pieces then covered in hot spices and coriander. The texture is smooth and it melts in your mouth.
We also ate sweets but I'm sure you don't want to hear about them. What? You do? Ok, ok, no need to shout.
One dessert I ate was halvo which can be made from various vegetables and like carrots or dudhi or anything that has a lot of moisture in it. The vegetable is grated and cooked in milk and flour and sugar and cardamom until the water all evaporates and all the ingredients have melted together and thickened. Then it's poured into a plate and allowed to cool, topped with chopped pistachios and almonds and cut into cubes. The texture is chewy and grainy. The one I had was carrot and fig I think.
I ate gulab jambo which some states call gulab jamun but that's because they're stupid. Gulab jambo are made from milk and milk powder and flour that is mixed into a thick dough. The dough is rolled up into little balls that are deep fried in ghee (clarified butter) until dark golden. Then they are soaked into a sugar syrup which has rose essence added to it. They soak up all the syrup overnight and in the morning are soft and sweet. I ate them with the sweet rose flavour exploding into my mouth and my taste buds praising God.
I also ate basundi which is the best milk dessert ever. It's milk that is cooked on a low heat for three hours until it has reduced into a thick creamy consistency that looks like nectar. Then it's allowed to cool and when it's cool sugar, cardomum and nutmeg are added. Some people add pistachio nuts too but I like it just like it is. Even though it's milk you eat it with a spoon. This is because the taste is so stunning you want to savour each bite and not gulp it down like a morning shake. It's very rich so you can only have so much but it's the type of dessert you want to have again and again. I've been known to have three bowls in one day but that's only when we make it at home. I did not go back for seconds at that wedding. I did not. My sister did.
I could go on and on about what I ate but I think this is enough for you right now. Right?
And just in case you're wondering... Yes. I did eat cake. Strawberry cake. With extra cream and a heart shaped design on top made from strawberry syrup. But that wasn't at a wedding.
*giggle*
Well... With all the weddings going on I've done a bit of eating. Tons of eating if you will know the truth.
I've eaten puris, which are a type of fried puffed bread. I ate the puris with different shaks (sometimes called shabji) which are what you would call curry in the west - various vegetables mixed and cooked with mustard seeds and cumin and chillies and ginger. There was paneer and pea shak - paneer is an Indian cheese that is cut into cubes and stir fried with spices and tomatoes and peas. There was aubergine shak (eggplant in American speak) which is one of my favourites because of all the iron. I'm a health freak if you'll believe it. There was potato shak. There was mixed vegetable shak which is more dry and - look, I've eaten tons and tons of shak, ok? Shak is always yummy.
Then there was dhal which is a type of lentil soup. It's eaten with fluffy white basmati rice mixed in, all piping hot.
Then there was curdi which is soup made from yogurt and chick pea flour. It's also eaten with basmati rice and served piping hot.
In finger food there were samosas which are savoury pastries filled with peas and sweetcorn and bean sprouts. There were bhajias which are vegetables covered in chick pea batter and fried. Then there was dhokla which is a kind of savoury cake that is steamed instead of baked. There was also khamani which is my favourite. It's a paste made from chick pea flour and yogurt that is cooked and rolled out in thin sheets. Then when it dries it is cut into thin strips and rolled up into bite size pieces then covered in hot spices and coriander. The texture is smooth and it melts in your mouth.
We also ate sweets but I'm sure you don't want to hear about them. What? You do? Ok, ok, no need to shout.
One dessert I ate was halvo which can be made from various vegetables and like carrots or dudhi or anything that has a lot of moisture in it. The vegetable is grated and cooked in milk and flour and sugar and cardamom until the water all evaporates and all the ingredients have melted together and thickened. Then it's poured into a plate and allowed to cool, topped with chopped pistachios and almonds and cut into cubes. The texture is chewy and grainy. The one I had was carrot and fig I think.
I ate gulab jambo which some states call gulab jamun but that's because they're stupid. Gulab jambo are made from milk and milk powder and flour that is mixed into a thick dough. The dough is rolled up into little balls that are deep fried in ghee (clarified butter) until dark golden. Then they are soaked into a sugar syrup which has rose essence added to it. They soak up all the syrup overnight and in the morning are soft and sweet. I ate them with the sweet rose flavour exploding into my mouth and my taste buds praising God.
I also ate basundi which is the best milk dessert ever. It's milk that is cooked on a low heat for three hours until it has reduced into a thick creamy consistency that looks like nectar. Then it's allowed to cool and when it's cool sugar, cardomum and nutmeg are added. Some people add pistachio nuts too but I like it just like it is. Even though it's milk you eat it with a spoon. This is because the taste is so stunning you want to savour each bite and not gulp it down like a morning shake. It's very rich so you can only have so much but it's the type of dessert you want to have again and again. I've been known to have three bowls in one day but that's only when we make it at home. I did not go back for seconds at that wedding. I did not. My sister did.
I could go on and on about what I ate but I think this is enough for you right now. Right?
And just in case you're wondering... Yes. I did eat cake. Strawberry cake. With extra cream and a heart shaped design on top made from strawberry syrup. But that wasn't at a wedding.
*giggle*
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Family Weddings
I wrote this last week:
Right now it's marriage season in India.
That means that there are weddings being celebrated on every corner, every day, from morning till night. There are fireworks on an almost constant basis and there's music blaring from every house.
I'm so sick of it I can't even tell you. If I hear one more random firework in the middle of the day I might go crazy. On the bus today we drove post people setting off firecrackers at 2pm. It woke me up out of my doze with a massive jerk.
Seriously, all this love in the air is making me nauseaus.
Having said all that we went to a family wedding today. It was no one close - just a cousin of my cousin - but we went to show our faces and be good relatives. It's important in Indian culture to be a good relative.
Today was the first day of the marriage celebrations. The actual ceremony is tomorrow and the reception is the next day. What happened today was the official invitation offered to the Lord asking him to please enter the house and be present to bless the couple during their union.
There was also the 'piti' which is a beautification ceremony for the bride and groom. We're from the groom's side so we did the piti for the groom while the bride will have hers done at her family's house. Basically a mud mask is made out of sandalwood, turmeric, certain perfumes and other beauty products. Then the ladies of the household get together to plaster it on the victim. It's really fun! And it works too. It brightens up the skin and clears impurities. It's especially fun when it's your brother getting married. You get to shove the piti up his nose and in his ears and he can't do anything about it.
Anyway, since this groom is only distantly related to us I didn't join in with the plastering since it would have been awkward, not to mention weird, plastering some guy I don't even know. So I stood in the background and smiled while this guy got his nose filled.
He was good natured about it.
During the prayers a yagna (fire sacrifice) is done to purify the house. I've seen the ceremony before at other weddings but this was the first time I'd seen it done in India. The entire ceremony is called the grashanti. I love watching yagnas; the chanting of the mantras and offering of ghee and rice is hynoptic. It's like the fire rises up and takes the rice from your hand in rhythm to the mantras.
Anyway, at the end when we were eating I was talking to my aunt (who I adore) and saying I'd really enjoyed watching. She said: "Yes, it's nice, isn't it? First we did the Ganesh Stapan and then the piti and then the grashanti."
I nodded.
"When you get married," she annouced in a loud voice, "it'll be done just like this."
Everyone turned to look at the girl who wasn't married.
I laughed it off but she insisted. "No, really, when we find you a boy we'll do it just like this. Don't you want it done just like this?"
What else could I say? "Yes, of course, aunt." I looked down and concentrated on putting on my sandals. It was a while before everyone stopped staring at me.
*sigh*
Family wedding's, eh?
Right now it's marriage season in India.
That means that there are weddings being celebrated on every corner, every day, from morning till night. There are fireworks on an almost constant basis and there's music blaring from every house.
I'm so sick of it I can't even tell you. If I hear one more random firework in the middle of the day I might go crazy. On the bus today we drove post people setting off firecrackers at 2pm. It woke me up out of my doze with a massive jerk.
Seriously, all this love in the air is making me nauseaus.
Having said all that we went to a family wedding today. It was no one close - just a cousin of my cousin - but we went to show our faces and be good relatives. It's important in Indian culture to be a good relative.
Today was the first day of the marriage celebrations. The actual ceremony is tomorrow and the reception is the next day. What happened today was the official invitation offered to the Lord asking him to please enter the house and be present to bless the couple during their union.
There was also the 'piti' which is a beautification ceremony for the bride and groom. We're from the groom's side so we did the piti for the groom while the bride will have hers done at her family's house. Basically a mud mask is made out of sandalwood, turmeric, certain perfumes and other beauty products. Then the ladies of the household get together to plaster it on the victim. It's really fun! And it works too. It brightens up the skin and clears impurities. It's especially fun when it's your brother getting married. You get to shove the piti up his nose and in his ears and he can't do anything about it.
Anyway, since this groom is only distantly related to us I didn't join in with the plastering since it would have been awkward, not to mention weird, plastering some guy I don't even know. So I stood in the background and smiled while this guy got his nose filled.
He was good natured about it.
During the prayers a yagna (fire sacrifice) is done to purify the house. I've seen the ceremony before at other weddings but this was the first time I'd seen it done in India. The entire ceremony is called the grashanti. I love watching yagnas; the chanting of the mantras and offering of ghee and rice is hynoptic. It's like the fire rises up and takes the rice from your hand in rhythm to the mantras.
Anyway, at the end when we were eating I was talking to my aunt (who I adore) and saying I'd really enjoyed watching. She said: "Yes, it's nice, isn't it? First we did the Ganesh Stapan and then the piti and then the grashanti."
I nodded.
"When you get married," she annouced in a loud voice, "it'll be done just like this."
Everyone turned to look at the girl who wasn't married.
I laughed it off but she insisted. "No, really, when we find you a boy we'll do it just like this. Don't you want it done just like this?"
What else could I say? "Yes, of course, aunt." I looked down and concentrated on putting on my sandals. It was a while before everyone stopped staring at me.
*sigh*
Family wedding's, eh?
Friday, December 11, 2009
We're having too much fun to stop
This is part of my ongoing series on the Mahabharat, an epic poem of ancient India. For links to all previous Mahabharat posts go here. Or you can simply click on the Mahabharat page link above.
So far in my series on the Mahabharat we've covered a lot of ground.
(Just in case you're wondering what I'm talking about, I post a piece of writing based on the ancient Hindu epic 'The Mahabharat' every Friday.)
To recap we've discussed King Bharat, Sage Vyas, The Bhagavad Gita, Karna, Kunti, Draupadi, Yudhishtira's test by Dharmaraj and so many of the issues that come out of these individual stories.
I'm glad that you've been enjoying the series. I've enjoyed writing it and there will be more posts coming in the weeks that follow.
Next I'll be focusing on King Shantanu, who was an ancestor of the Pandavas in the line of the Kuru kings. His story is fascinating because it leads us into the crisis that was the Mahabharat war. It was from Shantanu that the seeds of that war were planted.
If you wish to go back to any of the older Mahabharat posts then you can do a blog search with the word 'Mahabharat'. Every post in the series will come up. It's quite a surprise how many I've done now. The search box is in the top left hand corner of this blog page.
I'm going on a trip to South India on Tuesday for two weeks so I might not get to post the next two weeks of Mahabharat posts. I've no idea how much time I'll get to find a cyber cafe and probably won't get much time to work there even if I do find one. If this turns out to be the case then please be patient with me. The posts are written and ready and I'll definitely put them up when I get back to Ahmedabad.
Otherwise, I'll try to post my non-Mahabharat stuff at some point in-between whenever I get the chance.
Till then: "Jai ho." = Be Glorious. Be Victorious.
Go here to read the next Mahabharat post.
Go here to read the previous Mahabharat post.
So far in my series on the Mahabharat we've covered a lot of ground.
(Just in case you're wondering what I'm talking about, I post a piece of writing based on the ancient Hindu epic 'The Mahabharat' every Friday.)
To recap we've discussed King Bharat, Sage Vyas, The Bhagavad Gita, Karna, Kunti, Draupadi, Yudhishtira's test by Dharmaraj and so many of the issues that come out of these individual stories.
I'm glad that you've been enjoying the series. I've enjoyed writing it and there will be more posts coming in the weeks that follow.
Next I'll be focusing on King Shantanu, who was an ancestor of the Pandavas in the line of the Kuru kings. His story is fascinating because it leads us into the crisis that was the Mahabharat war. It was from Shantanu that the seeds of that war were planted.
If you wish to go back to any of the older Mahabharat posts then you can do a blog search with the word 'Mahabharat'. Every post in the series will come up. It's quite a surprise how many I've done now. The search box is in the top left hand corner of this blog page.
I'm going on a trip to South India on Tuesday for two weeks so I might not get to post the next two weeks of Mahabharat posts. I've no idea how much time I'll get to find a cyber cafe and probably won't get much time to work there even if I do find one. If this turns out to be the case then please be patient with me. The posts are written and ready and I'll definitely put them up when I get back to Ahmedabad.
Otherwise, I'll try to post my non-Mahabharat stuff at some point in-between whenever I get the chance.
Till then: "Jai ho." = Be Glorious. Be Victorious.
Go here to read the next Mahabharat post.
Go here to read the previous Mahabharat post.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Phantom Hand
I totally forgot to tell you about the phantom hand!
So Papa and I went to the city of Bharuch to visit our relatives down there. Tragically they'd had several deaths on that side of the family (four deaths to be precise) and so were holding a religious festival in their memory.
After all that was over and we did our trip further south to Shirdi and Sapta Shrungi, we went back to Bharuch for one more day. Then Papa and I got on a bus to go back to Ahmedabad. It was a four hour trip and was pretty much uneventful except for one thing.
As we neared Ahmedabad I was dozing in my seat. Papa was asleep in his seat on my right. I've always been a light sleeper and wake up at any slight bump or jolt.
I felt a movement on the right side of my waist that didn't belong. I opened my eyes and looked down.
There was a huge masculine hand waving around in the air. It had thick fingers with blunt fingertips and black dirt beneath the nails. It was heading in my direction, the hand outstretched as if to grab me.
I lurched to the left to avoid it.
The hand closed on air. It opened again. Then it retracted through the gap between the seats.
I stared at the empty space where it had been.
It was like that Skittles commercial where the worms come out of their holes to gobble up the skittles and a voiceover says: "Taste the rainbow." Then the worms retract back into their holes and everything is quiet again.
Since the thought that some creep was attempting to grope me on a public bus (with my father asleep beside me!) turned my stomach, I chose to believe instead that he was trying to rob me. I made a thorough yet surreptitious search of my pockets and my bag. Nothing was missing.
Then I glanced at my dad's clothes but didn't want to wake him up to search his pockets. No sense in alarming him or causing a fight in a moving bus with the creep. We still had an hour to go on our journey and if I told my dad then there would definitely be a fight. Papa has a hell of a temper when it comes to his daughters.
I spent the hour keeping a sharp eye out for a phantom hand that might float through the gap between our seats like a worm looking for a skittle. It didn't return. I shoved my scarf in the gap to block it up.
My dad woke up as we entered the city limits. I leaned over and said: "Search your pockets." He checked both but everything was in order. He asked me why I'd asked but I just shook my head and mumbled something.
Normally I love bus journeys but getting off that bus was a relief. I could go home and sleep and not worry about any phantom hands.
So Papa and I went to the city of Bharuch to visit our relatives down there. Tragically they'd had several deaths on that side of the family (four deaths to be precise) and so were holding a religious festival in their memory.
After all that was over and we did our trip further south to Shirdi and Sapta Shrungi, we went back to Bharuch for one more day. Then Papa and I got on a bus to go back to Ahmedabad. It was a four hour trip and was pretty much uneventful except for one thing.
As we neared Ahmedabad I was dozing in my seat. Papa was asleep in his seat on my right. I've always been a light sleeper and wake up at any slight bump or jolt.
I felt a movement on the right side of my waist that didn't belong. I opened my eyes and looked down.
There was a huge masculine hand waving around in the air. It had thick fingers with blunt fingertips and black dirt beneath the nails. It was heading in my direction, the hand outstretched as if to grab me.
I lurched to the left to avoid it.
The hand closed on air. It opened again. Then it retracted through the gap between the seats.
I stared at the empty space where it had been.
It was like that Skittles commercial where the worms come out of their holes to gobble up the skittles and a voiceover says: "Taste the rainbow." Then the worms retract back into their holes and everything is quiet again.
Since the thought that some creep was attempting to grope me on a public bus (with my father asleep beside me!) turned my stomach, I chose to believe instead that he was trying to rob me. I made a thorough yet surreptitious search of my pockets and my bag. Nothing was missing.
Then I glanced at my dad's clothes but didn't want to wake him up to search his pockets. No sense in alarming him or causing a fight in a moving bus with the creep. We still had an hour to go on our journey and if I told my dad then there would definitely be a fight. Papa has a hell of a temper when it comes to his daughters.
I spent the hour keeping a sharp eye out for a phantom hand that might float through the gap between our seats like a worm looking for a skittle. It didn't return. I shoved my scarf in the gap to block it up.
My dad woke up as we entered the city limits. I leaned over and said: "Search your pockets." He checked both but everything was in order. He asked me why I'd asked but I just shook my head and mumbled something.
Normally I love bus journeys but getting off that bus was a relief. I could go home and sleep and not worry about any phantom hands.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The Aum Cyber Cafe
I wrote this a few days ago.
I really should talk about the place where I spend at least three hours a day in.
I've become such a regular that the people who work here no longer call me 'madam' but 'ben' which means sister. I have a chat and giggle with them and they offer me tea and food.
It's always clean and fresh looking here, with lilac paint on one side and light green on the other. The floor tiles are white and the computer stations are separated by black cotton dividers.
Today, sweets are being served to everyone because Satish's sister (Satish is the manager) had a baby. That's a tradition in India - to give out sweets whenever a happy event occurs in the family. It could be anything from a new birth to a wedding to one's son passing his bar exam.
All the people of the cyber cafe ate their sweets and congratulated the manager on becoming an uncle. I ate two but only because they insisted. The manager said that he'd already put in an order at the sweet shop for another delivery that evening.
That made me laugh.
That's the thing about India. They know how to celebrate and they know how to get everyone else to celebrate too.
We asked about his sister's welfare and he said she'd been in labour until 11:30 the previous evening and that she had to undergo emergency caesarean due to complications. It was clear that he'd been worrying about her and was glad it was over and she was safe.
In Indian culture brothers and sisters have a very close bond. When a girl has problems or needs help she always goes to her brother. Brothers are always the first to celebrate loud and large whenever their sister achieves something.
It made me think of my own brother and how he has always been there for me. I certainly could never have done my nationwide book tour without his help and support. You know he bought a minivan for me to drive around the country while on tour? My beloved KIA Sedona.
The atmosphere in the cyber cafe today is upbeat. Everyone is smiling and good vibes were buzzing around.
I'm really becoming attached to this place. In about ten days I and my father will be travelling in south India so I won't be able to come to the cyber cafe every day. I'll miss it.
I'm leaving for a few days to go to Nadiad and Dakor so I won't be around to check my blog. I might not be able to publish Wednesday's post on time but stay tuned. I'll be back.
I really should talk about the place where I spend at least three hours a day in.
I've become such a regular that the people who work here no longer call me 'madam' but 'ben' which means sister. I have a chat and giggle with them and they offer me tea and food.
It's always clean and fresh looking here, with lilac paint on one side and light green on the other. The floor tiles are white and the computer stations are separated by black cotton dividers.
Today, sweets are being served to everyone because Satish's sister (Satish is the manager) had a baby. That's a tradition in India - to give out sweets whenever a happy event occurs in the family. It could be anything from a new birth to a wedding to one's son passing his bar exam.
All the people of the cyber cafe ate their sweets and congratulated the manager on becoming an uncle. I ate two but only because they insisted. The manager said that he'd already put in an order at the sweet shop for another delivery that evening.
That made me laugh.
That's the thing about India. They know how to celebrate and they know how to get everyone else to celebrate too.
We asked about his sister's welfare and he said she'd been in labour until 11:30 the previous evening and that she had to undergo emergency caesarean due to complications. It was clear that he'd been worrying about her and was glad it was over and she was safe.
In Indian culture brothers and sisters have a very close bond. When a girl has problems or needs help she always goes to her brother. Brothers are always the first to celebrate loud and large whenever their sister achieves something.
It made me think of my own brother and how he has always been there for me. I certainly could never have done my nationwide book tour without his help and support. You know he bought a minivan for me to drive around the country while on tour? My beloved KIA Sedona.
The atmosphere in the cyber cafe today is upbeat. Everyone is smiling and good vibes were buzzing around.
I'm really becoming attached to this place. In about ten days I and my father will be travelling in south India so I won't be able to come to the cyber cafe every day. I'll miss it.
I'm leaving for a few days to go to Nadiad and Dakor so I won't be around to check my blog. I might not be able to publish Wednesday's post on time but stay tuned. I'll be back.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Draupadi - Born of Fire Part VI
This is part of my ongoing series on the Mahabharat, an epic poem of ancient India. For links to all previous Mahabharat posts go here. Or you can simply click on the Mahabharat page link above.
This post is the sixth and final part of my Draupadi - Born of Fire series. These are the first, second, third, fourth and fifth parts.
In previous sections we saw that Draupadi was abused by the Kauravas and that Krishna vowed to her that she would be avenged.
Thus there was war. A terrible bloody massacre.
Draupadi's husbands and sons fought to destroy the tyranny of the Kauravas. Draupadi's brother Drishtidyuma acted as the Commander-in-Chief of the Pandava army. Draupadi's father donated his entire army to the cause and fought in that war with his sons-in-law.
One by one, Draupadi's men took down all Duryodhan's friends and allies over a span of eighteen days.
Bhima dueled with Dushashan, tearing off the arm Dushashan had used to touch Draupadi. He pulled the flesh of Dushashan's chest apart and in a frenzy of rage and bloodlust, Bhima smeared the blood on his face and mouth. He then took a handful of that blood and ran back to the camp so Draupadi could bathe her hair with it.
Arjuna slayed Karna after a ferocious fight, beheading him on the battlefield with a single perfectly aimed arrow.
Sahadev took care of Shakuni, wielding his sword with unsurpassed skill to kill the man who had conspired against them all their lives and caused Draupadi so much anguish.
Yudhistira and Nakul killed many of Duryodhan's powerful friends, people who were formidable opponents.
The Kauravas were wiped out.
Duryodhan himself lay dying on the battlefield after a duel with Bhima.
True to his vow, Bhima had smashed Duryodhan's thigh and broken it, the same thigh Duryodhan told Draupadi to sit upon.
The war was over and the Pandavas were victorious. They went to the Kaurava camp to spend the night there as the victors.
There were only three commanders left on Duryodhan's side. Ashwathama, the son of Drona, was one of them. He came to Duryodhan as he was dying and asked for instructions.
"I want the Pandavas dead," Duryodhan said. "Bring me their dead bodies."
It was night. The rules of the war stated that the fighting begin at sunrise and end at sunset. To fight at night was considered to be against righteousness.
Ashwathama ignored the rules. He snuck into the Kaurava camp where the Pandava family were sleeping. He heard two soldiers praising the Pandavas, talking about how close the bond between the brothers was.
"They're all sleeping in the same tent tonight," the soldier said.
Ashwathama found that tent. It was dark and the five brothers were sleeping. Ashwathama slaughtered them all and collected their heads. But when Ashwathama took the heads back to Duryodhan, Duryodhan said this:
"You fool! These are not the Pandavas. These are Draupadi's five sons."
And Ashwathama saw in the moonlight that the five heads were indeed the teenage heads of Draupadi's sons, each one looking identical to his father.
Duryodhan said this before he died: "I hated the Pandavas but I didn't want to vanquish our entire lineage. Now there is no one of our bloodline left. The Kurus are destroyed."
In the morning when Draupadi went to wake her children she cried out in horror. Her young sons, one from each husband, were lying in pools of blood, headless.
The Pandavas and Krishna came running when they heard Draupadi's cry.
Draupadi fell upon her sons bodies and wept.
Bhima lifted her in his arms and tried to comfort her.
"Find who did this and bring them to me!" she told him.
"It shall be as you say, Panchali," Bhima told her.
"We will kill who has done this," Arjuna said.
The Pandavas and Krishna tracked down the killer and found Ashwathama who had taken refuge in the ashram of Sage Vyas. They seized him and dragged him back to Draupadi for his judgement, tied up like the criminal he was.
But when Draupadi saw who they had captured she ran forward. "Let him go!"
Arjuna was aghast. "He is the one who has killed our sons, Panchali!"
"Let him go," she said again and moved to unbind Ashwathama herself.
"But why?" Bhima demanded to know.
Draupadi looked at her husbands. "He is the only son of your guru Drona and his wife Kripi."
"So?" Arjuna said.
"So he is the son of your guru. The scriptures state that the son of one's guru is the same as one's guru. If you kill him you will be guilty of killing a Brahmin and will have to suffer for it.
"And I have another reason. His mother Kripi is all alone in the world. Her husband Drona is dead. Ashwathama is all she has. Will you leave her with nothing?" Draupadi stood, still weeping. "I have lost my sons but Kripi has committed no crime. I don't want her to feel my pain."
"We cannot leave him unpunished," Bhima insisted.
"I forbid you to kill him," Draupadi said. "No more killing."
Krishna came forward. "Ashwathama is truly an evil man. By killing defenseless children he has committed the worst crime. Yudhistira, cut out the gem that grows in his forehead. The wound will never heal even though he will wander this world alone until the end of the next age. He will live in constant pain and no one shall give him sympathy. That is his punishment."
Ashwathama had been born with a priceless jewel in his forehead and it was that jewel that gave him his immense power. Yudhistira cut it out as the man screamed in agony, feeling his power drain from his body. The Pandavas left him there and took Draupadi away.
The war was over.
Draupadi's mercy towards Ashwathama at such a time is evidence of the purity of her heart. She saw beyond her own pain and forgave Ashwathama his crime of killing her children for the sake of his mother Kripi.
She also, even in the midst of her grief, prevented her husbands from committing a bad deed. She did not want them guilty of killing a Brahmim. She reminded them of their guru Drona and protected Ashwathama.
Draupadi's heart was so big. She thought of everyone.
Much later when Draupadi was asked what hurt the most about losing her children she replied that they died in their sleep. "If they'd been awake my brave sons would have remembered Krishna's name and faced death. Those who remember the Lord at the time of death are granted salvation from this material world. But my children were asleep so they couldn't do that. They couldn't remember Krishna. That is what hurts the most."
Draupadi's grief was not selfish or focused on her own pain. She thought only of her children and of the fate of their souls.
We can learn so much from Draupadi's story. From her compassion. From her love. From her intelligence. Her capacity to forgive was without doubt her greatest strength.
She was Krishne, Krishna's dear one. An inspiration to us all.
Go here for the next Mahabharat post.
This post is the sixth and final part of my Draupadi - Born of Fire series. These are the first, second, third, fourth and fifth parts.
In previous sections we saw that Draupadi was abused by the Kauravas and that Krishna vowed to her that she would be avenged.
Thus there was war. A terrible bloody massacre.
Draupadi's husbands and sons fought to destroy the tyranny of the Kauravas. Draupadi's brother Drishtidyuma acted as the Commander-in-Chief of the Pandava army. Draupadi's father donated his entire army to the cause and fought in that war with his sons-in-law.
One by one, Draupadi's men took down all Duryodhan's friends and allies over a span of eighteen days.
Bhima dueled with Dushashan, tearing off the arm Dushashan had used to touch Draupadi. He pulled the flesh of Dushashan's chest apart and in a frenzy of rage and bloodlust, Bhima smeared the blood on his face and mouth. He then took a handful of that blood and ran back to the camp so Draupadi could bathe her hair with it.
Arjuna slayed Karna after a ferocious fight, beheading him on the battlefield with a single perfectly aimed arrow.
Sahadev took care of Shakuni, wielding his sword with unsurpassed skill to kill the man who had conspired against them all their lives and caused Draupadi so much anguish.
Yudhistira and Nakul killed many of Duryodhan's powerful friends, people who were formidable opponents.
The Kauravas were wiped out.
Duryodhan himself lay dying on the battlefield after a duel with Bhima.
True to his vow, Bhima had smashed Duryodhan's thigh and broken it, the same thigh Duryodhan told Draupadi to sit upon.
The war was over and the Pandavas were victorious. They went to the Kaurava camp to spend the night there as the victors.
There were only three commanders left on Duryodhan's side. Ashwathama, the son of Drona, was one of them. He came to Duryodhan as he was dying and asked for instructions.
"I want the Pandavas dead," Duryodhan said. "Bring me their dead bodies."
It was night. The rules of the war stated that the fighting begin at sunrise and end at sunset. To fight at night was considered to be against righteousness.
Ashwathama ignored the rules. He snuck into the Kaurava camp where the Pandava family were sleeping. He heard two soldiers praising the Pandavas, talking about how close the bond between the brothers was.
"They're all sleeping in the same tent tonight," the soldier said.
Ashwathama found that tent. It was dark and the five brothers were sleeping. Ashwathama slaughtered them all and collected their heads. But when Ashwathama took the heads back to Duryodhan, Duryodhan said this:
"You fool! These are not the Pandavas. These are Draupadi's five sons."
And Ashwathama saw in the moonlight that the five heads were indeed the teenage heads of Draupadi's sons, each one looking identical to his father.
Duryodhan said this before he died: "I hated the Pandavas but I didn't want to vanquish our entire lineage. Now there is no one of our bloodline left. The Kurus are destroyed."
In the morning when Draupadi went to wake her children she cried out in horror. Her young sons, one from each husband, were lying in pools of blood, headless.
The Pandavas and Krishna came running when they heard Draupadi's cry.
Draupadi fell upon her sons bodies and wept.
Bhima lifted her in his arms and tried to comfort her.
"Find who did this and bring them to me!" she told him.
"It shall be as you say, Panchali," Bhima told her.
"We will kill who has done this," Arjuna said.
The Pandavas and Krishna tracked down the killer and found Ashwathama who had taken refuge in the ashram of Sage Vyas. They seized him and dragged him back to Draupadi for his judgement, tied up like the criminal he was.
But when Draupadi saw who they had captured she ran forward. "Let him go!"
Arjuna was aghast. "He is the one who has killed our sons, Panchali!"
"Let him go," she said again and moved to unbind Ashwathama herself.
"But why?" Bhima demanded to know.Draupadi looked at her husbands. "He is the only son of your guru Drona and his wife Kripi."
"So?" Arjuna said.
"So he is the son of your guru. The scriptures state that the son of one's guru is the same as one's guru. If you kill him you will be guilty of killing a Brahmin and will have to suffer for it.
"And I have another reason. His mother Kripi is all alone in the world. Her husband Drona is dead. Ashwathama is all she has. Will you leave her with nothing?" Draupadi stood, still weeping. "I have lost my sons but Kripi has committed no crime. I don't want her to feel my pain."
"We cannot leave him unpunished," Bhima insisted.
"I forbid you to kill him," Draupadi said. "No more killing."
Krishna came forward. "Ashwathama is truly an evil man. By killing defenseless children he has committed the worst crime. Yudhistira, cut out the gem that grows in his forehead. The wound will never heal even though he will wander this world alone until the end of the next age. He will live in constant pain and no one shall give him sympathy. That is his punishment."
Ashwathama had been born with a priceless jewel in his forehead and it was that jewel that gave him his immense power. Yudhistira cut it out as the man screamed in agony, feeling his power drain from his body. The Pandavas left him there and took Draupadi away.
The war was over.
Draupadi's mercy towards Ashwathama at such a time is evidence of the purity of her heart. She saw beyond her own pain and forgave Ashwathama his crime of killing her children for the sake of his mother Kripi.
She also, even in the midst of her grief, prevented her husbands from committing a bad deed. She did not want them guilty of killing a Brahmim. She reminded them of their guru Drona and protected Ashwathama.
Draupadi's heart was so big. She thought of everyone.
Much later when Draupadi was asked what hurt the most about losing her children she replied that they died in their sleep. "If they'd been awake my brave sons would have remembered Krishna's name and faced death. Those who remember the Lord at the time of death are granted salvation from this material world. But my children were asleep so they couldn't do that. They couldn't remember Krishna. That is what hurts the most."
Draupadi's grief was not selfish or focused on her own pain. She thought only of her children and of the fate of their souls.
We can learn so much from Draupadi's story. From her compassion. From her love. From her intelligence. Her capacity to forgive was without doubt her greatest strength.
She was Krishne, Krishna's dear one. An inspiration to us all.
Go here for the next Mahabharat post.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Researching the next project
I'm on a quest.
I'm trying to do research for my next writing project, a major endeavour that I can't say much about because I'm superstitious and don't want to jinx it. Plus I want to be mysterious and sultry and keep you guessing!
Suffice to say that in order for me to do the research necessary I need a copy of an ancient Sanskrit manuscript. And I need it translated into English.
It's practically impossible to find.
But I'm on a quest. Impossible is a word that doesn't exist for me. I've got mystical sages to guide me and a prophetic sense of omen interpretation. I also have a bookstore twenty minutes walk from where I live.
I will chant my magical mantra to the people in the bookstore: "I want this now!" and I'm sure the manuscript will appear. The bookstore is a kind of portal in which rare and fantastical things are transported from one secret place to another. Speak the right mantra and you can find anything.
What are you talking about? Of course it will work! Haven't you ever been on a quest before? You have to have a magical mantra. "I want this now!" might seem like a frivolous chant to you when there are plenty of very serious and powerful mantras in the world that great teachers and sages share with us. However, "I want this now!" seems to work very well for me in that particular bookstore. So I'm going with what works.
I won't be going to the bookstore at the moment because I have to go to the beauty parlour for a head massage. No, I'm not procrastinating. Every girl on a quest needs good hair because you never know when the hot knight might turn up with a shining magical sword ready to kill the dragon. Never mind that there are no dragons on this particular quest. Just go with it.
This is serious business, people. This Sanskrit manuscript is very important to the success of my next project. It has the power to enlighten the whole world. Or maybe just me. Whatever.
I'm going to find it. Just as soon as I get my head massage.
I'm trying to do research for my next writing project, a major endeavour that I can't say much about because I'm superstitious and don't want to jinx it. Plus I want to be mysterious and sultry and keep you guessing!
Suffice to say that in order for me to do the research necessary I need a copy of an ancient Sanskrit manuscript. And I need it translated into English.
It's practically impossible to find.
But I'm on a quest. Impossible is a word that doesn't exist for me. I've got mystical sages to guide me and a prophetic sense of omen interpretation. I also have a bookstore twenty minutes walk from where I live.
I will chant my magical mantra to the people in the bookstore: "I want this now!" and I'm sure the manuscript will appear. The bookstore is a kind of portal in which rare and fantastical things are transported from one secret place to another. Speak the right mantra and you can find anything.
What are you talking about? Of course it will work! Haven't you ever been on a quest before? You have to have a magical mantra. "I want this now!" might seem like a frivolous chant to you when there are plenty of very serious and powerful mantras in the world that great teachers and sages share with us. However, "I want this now!" seems to work very well for me in that particular bookstore. So I'm going with what works.
I won't be going to the bookstore at the moment because I have to go to the beauty parlour for a head massage. No, I'm not procrastinating. Every girl on a quest needs good hair because you never know when the hot knight might turn up with a shining magical sword ready to kill the dragon. Never mind that there are no dragons on this particular quest. Just go with it.
This is serious business, people. This Sanskrit manuscript is very important to the success of my next project. It has the power to enlighten the whole world. Or maybe just me. Whatever.
I'm going to find it. Just as soon as I get my head massage.
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