Ranjit Kulkarni's Blog, page 11

On Teachers and Teaching

Swami Vivekananda on Teachers and Teaching:

It is an insult to a starving people to offer them religion; it is an insult to a starving man to teach him metaphysics.

The whole gist of this teaching is that you should work like a master and not as a slave; work incessantly, but do not do slave’s work.

I base my teaching on the great Vedantic truth of the sameness and omnipresence of the Soul of the Universe.

We should see that the teacher does not teach with any ulterior motive, for name, or fame, or anything else, but simply for love, pure love for you.

Find the teacher, serve him as a child, open your heart to his influence, see in him God manifested. Our attention should be fixed on the teacher as the highest manifestation of God; and as the power of attention concentrates there, the picture of the teacher as man will melt away; the frame will vanish, and the real God will be left there.

The condition necessary in the teacher is that he must be sinless.

With the teacher of religion we must first and foremost see what he is, and then alone comes the value of the words, because he is the transmitter.

In the teacher of spirituality, purity is the one thing indispensable; we must see first what he is, and then what he says.

You may take up any one of the prophets or teachers as your guide and the object of your special adoration; you are even allowed to think that he whom you have chosen is the greatest of the prophets, greatest of all the Avatâras; there is no harm in that, but you must keep to a firm background of eternally true principles.

In the teacher we must first see that he knows the secret of the scriptures.

That soul from which this impulse comes is called the Guru, the teacher; and the soul to which the impulse is conveyed is called the disciple, the student.

When the sun rises, we instinctively become aware of its rising; and when a teacher of men comes to help us, the soul will instinctively know that it has found the truth.

A man must follow the tendencies peculiar to himself; and if he gets a teacher to help him to advance along his own lines, he will progress.

Without faith, humility, submission, and veneration in our hearts towards our religious teacher, there cannot be any growth of religion in us.

The teacher who deals too much in words and allows the mind to be carried away by the force of words loses the spirit. It is the knowledge of the spirit of the scriptures alone that constitutes the true religious teacher.

The teachers whose wisdom and truth shine like the light of the sun are the very greatest the world has known, and they are worshipped as God by the major portion of mankind.

You will not find the highest knowledge and the highest wisdom anywhere until your heart is ready for receiving it and your teacher has come. And when that divinely appointed teacher comes, serve him with childlike confidence and simplicity, freely open your heart to his influence, and see in him God manifested.

Only those who have attained to spirituality can communicate it to others, can be great teachers of mankind.

None can teach you; none can make a spiritual man of you. You have to teach yourself; your growth must come from inside.

There is no other teacher to you than your own soul. Recognise this.

***

Dhritarashtra: Have the Cake and Eat it Too

Now it so turned out that the barren Khandav Prastha was turned into a prosperous Indra Prastha by the rule of Yudhishthira and the Pandavas. To commemorate that and to establish the supremacy of Yudhishthira, a grand sacrifice, the Rajasooya Yagna, was organised. In an act of goodwill, the extended royal family of Hastinapur was invited for the event. Bheeshma was extremely pleased and attended. Dhritarashtra due to his blindness did not travel. Duryodhana attended hoping to see his cousins in misery.

What they saw there blew them away. While Bheeshma returned full of joy, Duryodhana returned burning with envy and anger.

What Dhritarashtra might have thought was the end of the story for his son to rule Hastinapur in peace turned out to be the start of another. And a very bad one.

From all accounts, Dhritarashtra tried to convince Duryodhana that he had everything he needed. He had a big army, all royal pleasures, servants at his beck and call, all that a king could wish for. What was he short of? Why should someone else’s prosperity make him feel less prosperous? He rationalised but to no avail. On the contrary, he faced counter questions from Duryodhana. How can a king sit in peace when his biggest adversaries are doing so well? You must be a really unambitious, spineless, egoless good-for-nothing to feel that way. And even if you feel that way, I will not be happy to be in that situation.

Dhritarashtra allowed himself again to be manipulated. Duryodhana pushed all the right buttons, and pulled the right triggers. He said that the only way for Hastinapur to be equal to Indraprastha was to defeat Yudhishthira in a gambling match.

This was a shocking proposal even to the attached father. He knew in his heart that it was the wrong thing to do. He bought some time to take the counsel of Vidur and Bheeshma, both of whom told him to avoid the match and refrain from going anywhere near that proposal.

But in the end, he went ahead and allowed it. He portrayed it as a friendly game. The blind attachment to his son’s happiness again prevented him from acting the right way, though his mind and intellect discerned that it was not right. He went ahead with the wishful thinking that, at worst, nothing much will come out of it, and at best, it would be an opportunity for Duryodhana to usurp Indraprastha.

It was a rigged match as expected. All rules were flawed and in favour of Duryodhana and Shakuni. All through the match, Dhritarashtra acted helpless. But whenever Duryodhana won something, he eagerly asked, “Has the kingdom been won? Has Yudhishthira been won?” and eventually, his eagerness crossed the borders of shame when he asked, “Has Draupadi been won?”

The brazenness and utter shamelessness of the event met its resistance in the form of stringent protests from Vidur. Everyone in the assembly asked Dhritarashtra to stop the game much earlier but things came to a pass when the disrobing of Draupadi was attempted. Dhritarashtra heard the strong vows of Bhima to kill his sons, and perhaps out of fear than out of righteousness, he realised that things had gotten too far.

Draupadi was eventually saved by the Lord Krishna but after that she chastised the assembly for have allowed something as audacious as the public disrobing of the royal daughter-in-law.

Dhritarashtra probably realised that it was time for him to redeem himself and in an act that did redeem some of his inaction, he went ahead and told Draupadi to ask for three things that he could do for her. She asked for her husband’s freedom and their weapons in addition to her own freedom. She did not ask for the kingdom, but, in a voluntary act of goodness, Dhritarashtra declared the game null and void, and returned the kingdom to the Pandavas. The blind king had, for once, seen the light.

But alas, for the attached, even after seeing the light, it turns out to be more like a flash of lightning that goes away. It is like a temporary torchlight that shows you the map, but when you have to take the steps in your journey, they fall back on their attachments leading them astray.

Duryodhana in private was livid. He had zero regrets about what he had done, and felt that his plan had worked, if not for the unnecessary and untimely goodness demonstrated by his father. You spoiled everything, he scolded Dhritarashtra. You snatched my happiness, he added. I was on the verge of it, he said. The blind king was manipulated again. On seeing those cracks, Duryodhana said he could still make things work, if only Dhritarashtra invited Yudhishthira again for just a single bet. A bet in which the side that lost would go on a twelve year exile followed by a one year incognito exile.

Any sane man, after seeing what had happened, would have found this outrageous. But not Dhritarashtra. The light he had seen faded and the darkness of Duryodhana took him over. In an act that was the limit of attachment to a pampered son, King Dhritarashtra called Yudhishthira again for one last bet. There are no prizes for guessing who won. But this only goes to demonstrate to what extent a man can be blinded by his attachments.

Well, the Pandavas did complete the terms of exile holding themselves responsible, to an extent. For Dhritarashtra, after thirteen years, it was time again to call them and give them their rightful kingdom back.

Bheeshma and Vidur advised him then to hand over their share to avoid any further complications. But again Duryodhana had other plans. Dhritarashtra knew what was right but still instead of overruling his son, he played doting father to him again.

When the Pandavas were discovered after the war of Virata at the end of their exile, instead of inviting them to take their rightful kingdom, Dhritarashtra sent them a wily, underhanded message. It suggested that if they were used to the forest life, he did not mind them continuing that way. He said that he was aware they were peaceful people who did not like conflict and therefore, he was sure that they would not bring about bloodshed on the Kuru dynasty by unnecessarily insisting on being rulers. As it is, they were used to a life of renunciation, so why should they desire anything else? A wily king had tried to again brush his son’s deeds under the carpet.

Despite Yudhishthira firmly saying that they are Kshatriya princes who need a kingdom, there were no signs from Dhritarashtra of getting their share back. That was when Krishna intervened and went as the peace messenger. He requested Dhritarashtra to give the Pandavas their rights and that they were willing to settle for even five villages. But Dhritarashtra played victim this time. I understand what you say Keshava, he said, but I can’t convince my son. Krishna laughed and reminded him that you are the emperor of Hastinapur, the most powerful kingdom of Bharat. If you act powerless, what should others do? This is your last chance to avoid war, he warned. It was then that Krishna showed his Virata Rupa so that Duryodhana gets a glimpse of who he is dealing with. Moreover, he also gave Dhritarashtra divine eyes, on his own request, to see His Virata Rupa too, so that he can act based on that.

But Duryodhana, after a few moments of genuinely wondering if Krishna indeed was God, dismissed it as a play of his mind, coupled with a magician’s tricks. Seeing Duryodhana dismiss it and stuck on his demand for the full kingdom for himself, Dhritarashtra also didn’t act. He begged Krishna to be merciful, but his attachment to Duryodhana did not allow him to accept the peace proposal.

The final war of Kurukshetra was inevitable and, among other things, Dhritarashtra and his blind attachment were responsible for it.

The final instance before the war of how a man’s mind gets blinded by attachment was when Dhritarashtra spoke to Vidur after Krishna had left. Vidur insisted that Dhritarashtra could still, if he so wanted, avert the war. But Dhritarashtra was blinded again. If a war and the destruction of the Kuru dynasty is in my destiny, then want can I do? he asked Vidur. The wise Vidur reminded him that words like destiny are not to be used when you don’t act when you still can. Destiny is what happens even after you have done what you could, Vidur told Dhritarashtra silencing him.

You can’t have your cake and eat it too.

***

Cup of Joy: Short Story

The cup stood in his sight. Right in front of him. Waiting for him to lift it. Here in front of his eyes. Victory at Last.

He lifted the cup amidst all those who watched with eagerness. He lifted it with glee. This was an experience he had been waiting for. He glared at it lest it slip from his grip. It was a cup that he had wanted to lift for such a long time. He glared at it with wonder with a sense of disbelief.

In all the euphoria surrounding him, he did not forget the pains of getting here over the past twelve months. He had made it here after so much effort. And so much luck. He knew it might have been otherwise. That this day might have never come. He thanked the Almighty for his mercy.

He could sense sweat forming on his forehead. A few drops of tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. His wife, his son and his family were waiting to celebrate his win from a distance. The faces of his near and dear ones swelled with pride. His friends, some of whom, had given up on this dream ever coming true, only a few months back, felt a sense of shame on their thoughts. Some of them clapped with a sense of vengeance.

Sure, he was a fighter. But he was filled with humility on this day which he had never imagined would come.

His mouth and lips quivered as the cup rose as he lifted it and got it closer to his mouth. He looked with contentment at the new arm that had replaced the one amputated after that accident last year. Taking a sip from the cup he had lifted with excruciating effort for the first time, he cried out, “My Cup of Joy.”

***

Certainty and Order

A person who is 6 feet tall is taller than another who is 5 feet tall. 90 kg weighs more than 70 kg.

A bank balance of 5 Lakhs is more than a bank balance of 25,000. A distance of 100 km is more than the distance of 25 km.

You get the drift. A lot of things in this world can be measured. But many can’t be.

Is the sunset of Havelock island more beautiful than the sunrise of Bali? Is the experience any worse or any better?

Is the food at an Indian restaurant tastier than the pasta at a Cafe? Is the ambience any worse or any better?

Is a painting by an artist better than the poem by another poet? How does it make you feel?

You get the drift. A lot of things in this world cannot be measured. But many try to.

In this world that desires certainty and order, and when there is demand for the measurement, some proxies are created.

So we track popularity. reviews. photos. number of views. All proxies that lose the moot point. But because they are there, there are scores. And because there are scores, we use them. And because we use them, they keep on getting tracked even more. With more proxies.

And so we go with the scores. It’s a proxy, nothing more, nothing less. We still can’t be sure if the sunset is better or the food is tastier or the book of poetry will move us.

***

Five 2nd Editions, Five New Book Covers

A book launch is overrated. It takes a lot of energy and if you expect to put a new book into a new orbit due to just a good launch, your expectation won’t be met. It takes a few years, maybe a few decades. Despite that reality, even now after nine full length books, a book launch makes me uncomfortable. It is not due to anxiety about the book itself.

But a launch feels uncomfortable because, I am telling people to add one more thing into  their reading list, an act of trust and faith and some kindness. It is so much better to be discovered than to be launched.

So this is not exactly a book launch message, but a message about five new creations hoping to be discovered. Five New Editions of Five Books already published. Five Newer revamped versions with Five Newer Covers.

The contents of the books are not entirely new. You will find some older stories, some rewritten, some edited, some new, some moving from one collection to another. The new thing is that all the stories in the 2nd edition of all the five books are curated around a particular theme for that book. The titles of all the five books remain the same. You will figure out what the individual themes are from the subtitle and the book cover for that particular book in the image.

So here they are. The Five 2nd editions of all my Five short story collections with Five New book covers. Out in the world now.

Available in Kindle and Paperback. You may consider checking them out here.

Or in your country’s Amazon.

***

Chaman Tiklu: Short Story

He knew what it meant to be the background. He had spent his whole life there.

“Your job is to fill the background, while the artist delivers his performance,” his directors had always told him for the past thirty years.

He was the rioter in the mob, the spectator in the stadium, the vendor in the crowded market, the shopper in the mall, the audience in the concert. If he got lucky, sometimes he got to become one among the gang of goons who get bashed up. In that case, he got a dialogue. Or if his stars were really bright, he was cast as an obscure relative in a wedding who speaks a few lines and cracks a few jokes, and dances with the hero’s friends, too.

He was the quintessential extra. The real, unseen background without which no film is complete, but that which no one notices.

He often thought about his life spent as the background with his glass in hand in the evenings.

He sat alone in his dark living room waiting for the night to fall. He liked to sit in the dark. He never switched on the light in the evening. He seemed to like it that way. He stared at his dinner table.

A half-eaten plate. A tumbler that had spilt over. He often wondered what he had achieved in his life, filling the backgrounds of other people’s stories.

But today was different.

Today he wanted to go to sleep early so that tomorrow came fast. Today he didn’t drink, and he completed his dinner early. The dinner table was clear. Except for a printout of an email.

He had received the email today. Someone from some magazine was interested in interviewing him. He didn’t know how she had found him out. He didn’t know why she wanted to interview him, of all people. But he didn’t care. For the first time in his life, someone had shown interest in interviewing him. That alone was enough. The how and why didn’t matter. He was thrilled to bits.

He got up early the next day and got ready for the interviewer to arrive. The doorbell rang at 10 AM.

“Sir, I am from Youth Tribune,” she said. He had never heard of it. But how does it matter? It was time for his fifteen minutes of fame. “I had booked an appointment for an interview with Mr Dev….,”

“Oh yes, yes.. I almost forgot,” he replied, like the stars he knew. They always did this to the press, forever appearing busy, at first. “I was about to start something. How long will you take?”

She hesitated and stepped back a little. “Sorry to disturb you Sir. I came a bit early….”

“Oh.. it’s fine. Otherwise, umm, come in, have a seat,” he added, opening the door fully.

“Sir, around thirty minutes, if you don’t mind. Or I can finish in ten minutes if we don’t have time.”

“No…No problem.. I will.. we will.. you know.. find time, as much as you, umm.. as possible.”

He welcomed her in. She was in her early twenties, wearing jeans and a spaghetti top. Her hair was tied, and she carried a laptop bag on one shoulder, and a notebook and pen in the other hand.

Along with her was another youngster, who had a microphone and a video lens attached to a mobile phone with him. They got themselves ready with the equipment.

Dev went inside to get ready like he used to before any shot. But this time, he took extra care to look his best, because he knew he was not the extra. He was not the background. For once, he was not the one waiting after getting ready for the shot. Someone was waiting with the camera for him.

“Sir, can we start?” she asked.

“Yes, all set. Is the shot ready? I mean – are you guys ready?” he asked. She nodded and got it rolling.

For the next twenty minutes, she asked him questions, and he wholeheartedly answered them. Here was someone so interested in the life and times of an extra, he constantly felt. He had never felt happier in front of the camera. After general questions, she then came to his specific roles.

“Sir, which is your most memorable role?” she asked.

For the past thirty years, he must have been in hundreds of films. Every week, sometimes every day, he wandered to the sets of a new film. How was he to tell her that for an extra, there is no role as such? He is an unnamed cog in the wheel. Most of the times, he just stood there while the camera rolled past. If lucky, sometimes he got to perform an action. If incredibly lucky, sometimes, he even got a dialogue or two. Very rarely did he get in the same frame as the hero.

He could count such roles on his fingers, over the years.

“Sir, any memorable role?” she repeated, interrupting his reverie.

“There are so many of them,” he replied. “I was just thinking.. It is tough to choose one.”

“But still.. there must be one,” she insisted.

There, indeed, was one. He remembered it clearly. It was from a film many years back. He had played the role of the main sidekick of the villain’s right-hand man. He had been on the sets for an entire month. That had been his lucky break. He had appeared in at least ten or fifteen shots.

“Well, one of the memorable ones was that of Chiman Tiklu,” he said, reminiscent of the role.

“I am sorry Sir. Chiman Tiklu? Was it a comic role?” she asked, suppressing the laughter.

“No, no…,” he smiled. “I was the villain’s main man,” he replied. She was visibly impressed.

“Wow, that’s amazing. It must have been exciting, isn’t it?” she exulted.

Dev remembered that getting bashed up by the hero and his flunkies wasn’t exactly exciting. On top of that, there were so many retakes and he had to fall so much that he had to rest his back after the end of that routine.

“Oh, yes. It was great fun, now that I think of it,” he replied. She made a note of it in her notebook.

“And any other?” she asked with avid interest.

Dev had another role in a TV serial off late that he remembered. It was of the role of the priest performing prayers at a funeral in a church. But he didn’t mention it. She would laugh more, he felt.

“Oh so many of them,” he started. “A priest at a funeral, a doctor giving the good news, a vegetable vendor that the heroine’s mother buys from, a dancing relative in a wedding, the list goes on and on….,” he told her all about them. To his delight, she noted the details of all of them.

Dev hadn’t felt so elated in many days. Or years, perhaps. He loved the attention.

After she left at the end of almost forty-five minutes, he spent the entire day telling his former extra colleagues that someone had interviewed him. His lifelong desire to be famous had been fulfilled.

Youth Tribune published his interview in their issue next month. His granddaughter saw the magazine as it was circulated in her college. She came running that evening to his house with the magazine in hand. She was all excited. Her hero’s interview was in the magazine, she told everyone she met. She cut out the interview and it occupied the pride of place on the desk of Dev and his family.

She also sent him the video link to his interview online which he watched with pride, and promptly forwarded to everyone he knew. Everyone called him and congratulated him that evening.

After many years of working as an unknown extra, Dev was finally happy that he was famous. His lifelong desire, albeit for his fifteen minutes of fame, had been fulfilled.

On his 70th birthday later that month, his granddaughter declared to everyone present, “My grandpa is world famous.” All the guests were proud that someone in their circle had been interviewed.

After everyone left, his granddaughter silently sent a thank you note to the editor of Youth Tribune for acceding to her request. Dev was now the hero in his own story.

He started switching on the light in the evenings.

***

On Truth

Swami Vivekananda on Truth:

Man is not travelling from error to truth, but from truth to truth, from lower to higher truth.

Love, truth, and unselfishness are not merely moral figures of speech, but they form our highest ideal, because in them lies such a manifestation of power.

And what is truth? That I am He. When I say that I am not Thou, it is untrue. When I say I am separate from you it is a lie, a terrible lie. I am one with this universe, born one.

The soul passing through its different stages goes from truth to truth, and each stage is true; it goes from lower truth to higher truth.

That is the Truth; the infinite strength of the world is yours. Drive out the superstition that has covered your minds. Let us be brave. Know the Truth and practice the Truth. The goal may be distant, but awake, arise, and stop not till the goal is reached.

He who is true, unto him the God of truth comes. Thought, word, and deed should be perfectly true.

It ought to be remembered that quarrels about religion arise from thinking that one alone has the truth and whoever does not believe as one does is a fool.

Let everybody work out his own vision of this universe, according to his own ideas. Injure none, deny the position of none; take man where he stands and, if you can, lend him a helping hand and put him on a higher platform, but do not injure and do not destroy. All will come to truth in the long run.

Truth is strengthening. Truth is purity, truth is all-knowledge.

As soon as the disciple is in a position to grasp this truth, the words of the Guru come to his help.

When a teacher of men comes to help us, the soul will instinctively know that it has found the truth.

To learn this central secret that the truth may be one and yet many at the same time, that we may have different visions of the same truth from different standpoints, is exactly what must be done. Then, instead of antagonism to anyone, we shall have infinite sympathy with all. Knowing that as long as there are different natures born in this world, the same religious truth will require different adaptations, we shall understand that we are bound to have forbearance with each other.

Each religion, as it were, takes up one part of the great universal truth, and spends its whole force in embodying and typifying that part of the great truth.

The clear light of truth very few in this life can bear, much less live up to. It is necessary, therefore, that this comfortable religion should exist; it helps many souls to a better one.

The truth has to be heard, then reflected upon, and then to be constantly asserted.

Fight and reason and argue; and when you have established it in your mind that this and this alone can be the truth and nothing else, do not argue any more; close your mouth.

***

What is Good?

Life used to be simple. You go to a bookstore and walk wherever you want, pick up whatever you want, and buy whatever you find interesting.

The same applied to music stores (are there any real music stores anymore), or cinema halls.

Or to grocery stores. Or to clothes stores. And to food outlets.

It doesn’t seem to be the same anymore, wherever you go, whatever you do. Especially in the digital world. The digital world apparently promises endless opportunity to everyone. Anyone could write a book and post it to Amazon. Or anyone could make music and post it to Spotify. Or you could make a product and open an e-commerce store. Or cook something you do very well, and supply through a food delivery app.

But now, there are the deciders in the middle. It started with being some kind of help to let you choose. Like the salesmen in the clothing malls that used to direct you to the brands and sizes and fittings you wanted, and then to the trial rooms.

So, it’s not that simple anymore. The deciders tell us what is good now.

This one is good, because many people say it is good. Or that one is good, because people like you say it is good. Or another one is good, because you yourself said something like that was good. And so on. and so forth.

More and more of the deciders are now programs. They decide not based on what is good for you necessarily, but what is good for those who programmed them, perhaps.

So then you have millions of books and thousands of songs and hundreds of dishes that may be good, but no one ever looked at, because the deciders never said they were good. There may be no agenda, or there may be. It may just be simpler, easier, better business sense. What started as a help to decide what is good is no longer just that.

So, the question is who decides what is good? And is it good for you? Can you even get yourself into a position to decide what is good? Is it even possible to get a good needle in a haystack?

***

Dhritarashtra: Weakness and Attachment personified

Despite being born blind, Dhritarashtra was trained along with Pandu but wasn’t able to use weapons necessary for a king. Therefore, when the time came to appoint a heir to Hastinapur, Bheeshma turned to the wisdom of Vidur the third brother, who recommended that Pandu be anointed to the post. It was no surprise to anyone as such and was willingly accepted even by Dhritarashtra. He had the physical strength of a hundred thousand elephants but even he realised that it won’t be appropriate for Hastinapur if he were to usurp the throne. As it turned out later, after a few years, he became the king by proxy when Pandu retired to the forest. Even then, he realised that he wasn’t the real king as such. Issues related to mental cobwebs about being blind and hence not being given the throne, weren’t big problems for him till then.

His biggest problems arose a few years later in the form of his increasing attachment to his eldest son Duryodhana. That blind attachment spread more darkness in his life and that of Hastinapur than the actual blindness. That turned out to be his biggest weakness. His weak personality when faced with that attachment made frequent capital of his blindness, and apparent helplessness.

If the story of the birth of Dhritarashtra was fantastic, then that of the birth of his children is even more so. The timing of that also set the tone for Duryodhana’s arguments for being the rightful heir to the throne.

It turned out that Gandhari was pregnant and the son she would give birth to was expected to be the eldest in the next generation. That provided some hope to Dhritarashtra that, perhaps, his son would be the next king legitimately, especially because Pandu had retired to the forests and had no children till then. But Gandhari’s pregnancy lasted a long time, by some versions, almost two years. She got weary and tired of it, and, in the meantime, Kunti got pregnant and delivered Yudhishthira. Gandhari, out of frustration, hit her womb in a fit of anger, and a lump of flesh came out of it. Ved Vyasa was instantly approached for his counsel. He split that lump into one hundred and one smaller pieces and stored them in separate vessels for some sort of gestation. After a year, from the first vessel was born Duryodhana, and over due course of time, the remaining ninety nine sons and one daughter Dushala were born.

Now it so happened that when Duryodhana was born, there were major bad omens and signals of an inauspicious event having happened. Ved Vyasa and other learned scholars interpreted that to mean that this particular son would cause the destruction of the entire Kuru clan. They advised Dhritarashtra to get rid of that son and focus on the remaining offspring for the good of the kingdom. It was not as if he had a small number of those, so might as well give the bad omen up. But he neglected that advice and insisted that he and Gandhari keep the son and raise him with due care. This was the start of his excessive and what turned out to be blind attachment to this son.

Even with the birth of Yudhishthira, Dhritarashtra may not have felt that Duryodhana had any threat to succession as Yudhishthira then lived in a hermitage and didn’t quite train to be a king. Hence Duryodhana was raised as a pampered child with an unparalleled sense of entitlement. And Dhritarashtra and his attachment kept increasing despite the tantrums of his son.

The turn of events after the death of Pandu led to a situation leading to the return of Kunti and her sons. While on the face of it, Dhritarashtra welcomed them, his mindset was exposed for the first time when the time to appoint the heir to the throne came. Bheeshma, Vidur and Drona provided their counsel and came to the conclusion that Yudhishthira was the right heir, both from the point of view of being the eldest son of Pandu (on whose behalf Dhritarashtra was supposed to be managing the kingdom) as well as from the point of view of a suitable virtuous and wise character. Dhritarashtra couldn’t disagree with them but kept oscilating till Vidur forced the issue. When pressed, Dhritarashtra declared Yudhishthira as the heir only to regret it when Duryodhana reprimanded him, a sequence that repeated itself all his life.

This suppression came to the fore again when Duryodhana came up with his plan to send the Pandavas to Varnavrat. Dhritarashtra very well knew that something was amiss without knowing the details when Duryodhana indicated that he was planning to send them there for ever. Dhritarashtra went to the extent of encouraging the Pandavas to have a nice time at the fair and fun times at Varnavrat. When the news of the fire at Varnavrat came up with the proof of the burnt bodies of a woman and her five sons found, Dhritarashtra expressed sorrow on the face of it. But neither did he order any royal investigation into how a fire in which a queen and five young princes perished happened, nor did he question Duryodhana privately on what happened at Varnavrat. It was almost as if he was happy to brush it under the carpet and live with the benefits that such a development offered, while still calling it an unfortunate mishap in public.

To that extent, while he was not driven with the evil desire to end the Pandavas like Duryodhana, his tacit approval and, literally, turning a blind eye to whatever happened, were due to his innate desire to see his son ascend to the throne of Hastinapur. In a short while after the Varnavrat tragedy, Dhritarashtra also anointed Duryodhana as the heir to the throne, saying that with the Pandavas no more and he getting old, it was important for the kingdom of Hastinapur. Well, it was a needless urgency on the wrong things, especially after he had kept oscillating while appointing Yudhishthira. In the process, he didn’t realise the complete disregard he ended up giving to his duties as a king. They were overtaken by his extreme attachment to being a father of, unfortunately, a wicked and scheming son.

While it looked like things were all set, little did he know that the Pandavas were alive. It was only later that the news came out and that too in a manner that almost brought his true wily colours out in the open.

The event was the swayamvar of Panchali, for which princes of all leading kingdoms, including Duryodhana were invited. A messenger returned with the news that Draupadi had been won by the Kurus leading to Dhritarashtra celebrating that Duryodhana had won her. But after a few moments, the messenger clarified that he had been won by Arjuna from the Kuru dynasty. This was a double whammy. Not only did it break the news that Arjuna and presumably all the sons of Kunti were alive, but it also conveyed that he had beaten Duryodhana to bag Draupadi as the daughter-in-law of Hastinapur. Dhritarashtra turned pale and, for a moment, almost turned sad. But on realising that everyone was watching, and in response to Bheeshma and Drona’s elated reaction, he pretended to celebrate. The Pandavas are alive, he declared in public and avoided complete embarrassment.

But his inner feelings couldn’t be hidden when it came to thinking of doing what next. The wily father that he was sent a half hearted message to the Pandavas. Neither did he wholeheartedly invite them to Hastinapur nor did he openly indicate that their sudden appearance was unwelcome. If left to himself, he might not have done much beyond these basic greetings.

But it was Bheeshma, Drona and Vidur whose counsel intervened again. Bheeshma told him what was the right thing to do. He said that the Pandavas were equal stakeholders in Hastinapur and should be welcomed with open arms and hearts. Vidur, on the other hand, with his wisdom, knew what triggers would work with Dhritarashtra. He told him that the Varnavrat episode was being seen with suspicion by the people of Hastinapur and to maintain his hold over it, he had no choice but to show that there was no conspiracy behind it. The best way to do that was to share the kingdom with the Pandavas.

Dhritarashtra’s problem had never been to know what was the right thing to do. His problem had always been of actually doing it. And what stopped him every time from doing it was his attachment to his son, wrapped in a weak personality, aggravated by his physical blindness. So while on paper, he agreed that Bheeshma and Vidur were right, and declared his commitment with vehemence, when confronted by the wicked, aggressive and manipulative ways of Duryodhana, all of that came to nought. He was like the proverbial dog that barked but did not bite. And the same thing happened when it came to sharing the kingdom.

Dhritarashtra did welcome the Pandavas and Draupadi to Hastinapur. He did split the kingdom into two. On paper, he coronated Yudhishthira as the king of one half. The problem was what that other half was. It was a province called Khandav Prastha which was a sparsely populated, barren region in the forests. Dhritarashtra half heartedly offered that to the Pandavas, while everyone watched the complete unfairness of it.

It was again the weak king driven by his blind attachment to his son who had done it. It was probably his way of ensuring that once and for all, the Pandavas get their share and leave the real kingdom for his son to rule in peace. Little did he know that when virtue touches stone, even that turns to gold, especially with the Lord on the side of the virtuous. And for the vicious, there is no end to which they can’t fall.

***

Noise: Short Story

He sat in his room at home in the dark. All alone. In solitude. The noises he heard everyday were about to start. And they did. On the dot. At the precise appointed time.

The noises never started all at once. It always started with a couple of voices. Then as time progressed, it always grew into a crescendo. There was a plethora of voices that he heard today. Some were clear, some not much. Some had soft tones, some with harsh tones. Some familiar voices, a couple of new voices. All adding to the noise.

Till a year back, whenever he heard those voices, he felt like he had to pay attention. He used to feel compelled to hear them out. Sooner or later, it would so happen that a voice would get too close to him. It would call him out. It would push him to do something. Now he had grown used to neglecting the noise. But it was not always easy.

Today, he waited with bated breath, hoping that the noises stayed away. He wished that none of those voices that he hated would come any closer. He yearned that none of those persistent, known voices would order him into doing something he didn’t want to. That the noise didn’t spur him into needless action.

He prayed that the voices end soon. That they leave him alone in peace. And like clockwork, they did. The noise always ended. The voices always stopped. At the scheduled time.

He took a deep breath for a couple of minutes in relief.

He watched his calendar. It was time to enter another room of noise. He smiled and thought to himself what a blessing remote meetings and the mute button were, ever since he had started working from home. And he clicked the button to join his next one.