Ranjit Kulkarni's Blog, page 8

A Dog���s Life: Jigneshbhai and Swami

Swami told me and Jigneshbhai about his last apartment association meeting over coffee last weekend.

“A lot of people complained about the stray dogs that made life difficult”, he said. “They claimed that they occupied parking lots in the basement, barked and ran after children,” he added.

“Yes, that’s true, right?” Jigneshbhai poked.

“Yes, they are right. They said the stray dogs rummaged through the wastebins creating a mess, and most of all, made the area dirty by pooping around wherever they went,” Swami added. “They were vehement that we needed to take some action.”

“Hmm.. and you are in the association, right?” Jigneshbhai nudged Swami, as I sipped my coffee. “So, what did you do?”

Swami stared at us sheepishly as he started reporting the chain of events. “The secretary suggested that I and some members go and talk to the representatives of the canine community.”

“Sounds like the right step to take,” Jigneshbhai remarked, and teased, “So you did go and talk, isn’t it?”

I calmed Swami on seeing his piqued look. I prodded him to continue his narration.

“The stray dogs were aggressive,” he started.

‘���But we are the original sons of the soil,��� the dog leader claimed. ���It is we who have been living here for generations before you guys encroached upon our land,��� he asserted vehemently.’

‘���Yes, sir, but you must understand that now we have the occupancy certificate, and are legal owners,��� I tried to rationalize with them.’

“Wow,” Jigneshbhai sneered, but Swami continued. He had got into the thick of things now.

‘���Who gave you that certificate?” an elderly grand-dog questioned.’ ‘We may not have any certificates, but me, my grandfather and his grandfather were all born on this land. By sheer birth, we have rights over it,��� the grand-dog put their case forward.’

Swami took a pause to sip on to his coffee. “I felt a wave of compassion go through my heart. Maybe I had tried to get legal too early,” he told us. “Another member pulled me back.”

“Yeah, law should be last recourse,” Jigneshbhai sniggered. But Swami was relentless.

‘���Maybe they are right. We should not be too aggressive,��� that member whispered in my ear.’

“I felt he had a point too.” Swami said, while I nodded my head amidst Jigneshbhai’s amused grin. Swami continued, unabated. “So I changed the tone of my conversation.”

‘���Yes, Dog Uncle, we agree. But let bygones be bygones. Just like you worry about your families, we also have families that we care about. And your children sometimes get aggressive with ours. Tell me, is that fair?��� I asked.’

“That tone lit a candle of peace in the hearts of the canine community,” Swami claimed with pride. “The grand-dog and the leader dog then murmured something amongst themselves and came forward.”

‘���Ok. Let us fix play timings for your children and ours. Though before this generation of yours, we used to play together in coexistence,��� the leader dog reminisced in the past. ���But times have changed, and we have to change with the times. Is it only about the play times?���’

Swami’s face was now flush with relief in remembrance of the breakthrough he had achieved in his canine encounter.

“I felt I had a toehold in the negotiations,” he said, looking at us, and added, “The other members also smiled seeing the agreement. So I put in another of our complaints in.”

“You always get your timing right,” Jigneshbhai’s sardonic voice broke in. Swami paused, but I egged him on.

‘���Not just that sir. Some wayward members from your community make a mess of our waste,” I surged forward, “and then we have to get it all cleaned up,��� I said. ���We request them to wait outside for their food. Some compassionate members from our community will get them food at prefixed times. Is that a workable solution?���’

“I put my best negotiating foot forward,” Swami reported to Jigneshbhai.

He was expecting a nod of appreciation on his newly acquired skills, but Jigneshbhai sipped his coffee nonchalantly. That nod never came. Swami looked at me. I looked back with a favourable smile and signaled him to continue.

“It looked like the canine community found it satisfactory and nodded their heads,” Swami declared. “That���s when another member from my apartment pulled me back again.”

‘���The last point is about the poop,��� he muttered.’

‘���One final point Sir. How do.. I��� umm..�� say this?��� I hesitated, searching for the right words.’

‘���It is about.. well.. the open.. umm.. what���s the word.. open defecation.. that your community still resorts to.. I must say this is extremely embarrassing, especially when we have visitors and the first thing they see is���, you know��� it doesn���t make a pleasant sight���as you would���,���’

“I tried to put the point across without hurting them,” Swami said, “but a young dog cut me short.”

‘���Well, we know.. This is a point we have raised in the past too, with your government authorities��� he angrily barged to the front and surprised me and my delegation. ���You have cut all the vegetation. That was our go-to place. What else do you expect? Where are we supposed to go?���’

“That dog clearly was irate. A senior dog tried to calm him down,” Swami seemed to have developed canine sensory skills.

‘���Sir, yes, I understand.. But still .. you can���t spoil our premises, that too every day,��� I said. I didn’t want to back off from what was clearly a sensitive topic.’

Swami was now passionately thick into the helm of his canine affairs.

‘���We don���t want to spoil anything. We are peace-loving, clean members of society. But you left us with no option. You have to arrange for us,��� the senior dog said stubbornly, nudging his leader.’

“I and the other members of our delegation looked blankly at each other,” Swami told us.

‘A known dog lover member came to the rescue,” Swami said. ‘���We are here to solve problems. How can we help?” he asked.’

‘The dog leader now walked ahead. ���Well, you can, if you want to,” he said with a secretive smile.’

‘���Ask your government,��� he continued. ���Build toilets for us. Why can���t we get toilets? Aren���t dogs a part of Swachh Bharat?���’

***

For more funny and not so funny stories from urban apartments, check out the collection 2 BHK for Rent: Urban Short Stories from Keshav Kunj Apartment

The post A Dog���s Life: Jigneshbhai and Swami appeared first on Ranjit Kulkarni.

A Dog’s Life: Jigneshbhai and Swami

Swami told me and Jigneshbhai about his last apartment association meeting over coffee last weekend.

“A lot of people complained about the stray dogs that made life difficult”, he said. “They claimed that they occupied parking lots in the basement, barked and ran after children,” he added.

“Yes, that’s true, right?” Jigneshbhai poked.

“Yes, they are right. They said the stray dogs rummaged through the wastebins creating a mess, and most of all, made the area dirty by pooping around wherever they went,” Swami added. “They were vehement that we needed to take some action.”

“Hmm.. and you are in the association, right?” Jigneshbhai nudged Swami, as I sipped my coffee. “So, what did you do?”

Swami stared at us sheepishly as he started reporting the chain of events. “The secretary suggested that I and some members go and talk to the representatives of the canine community.”

“Sounds like the right step to take,” Jigneshbhai remarked, and teased, “So you did go and talk, isn’t it?”

I calmed Swami on seeing his piqued look. I prodded him to continue his narration.

“The stray dogs were aggressive,” he started.

‘“But we are the original sons of the soil,” the dog leader claimed. “It is we who have been living here for generations before you guys encroached upon our land,” he asserted vehemently.’

‘“Yes, sir, but you must understand that now we have the occupancy certificate, and are legal owners,” I tried to rationalize with them.’

“Wow,” Jigneshbhai sneered, but Swami continued. He had got into the thick of things now.

‘“Who gave you that certificate?” an elderly grand-dog questioned.’ ‘We may not have any certificates, but me, my grandfather and his grandfather were all born on this land. By sheer birth, we have rights over it,” the grand-dog put their case forward.’

Swami took a pause to sip on to his coffee. “I felt a wave of compassion go through my heart. Maybe I had tried to get legal too early,” he told us. “Another member pulled me back.”

“Yeah, law should be last recourse,” Jigneshbhai sniggered. But Swami was relentless.

‘“Maybe they are right. We should not be too aggressive,” that member whispered in my ear.’

“I felt he had a point too.” Swami said, while I nodded my head amidst Jigneshbhai’s amused grin. Swami continued, unabated. “So I changed the tone of my conversation.”

‘“Yes, Dog Uncle, we agree. But let bygones be bygones. Just like you worry about your families, we also have families that we care about. And your children sometimes get aggressive with ours. Tell me, is that fair?” I asked.’

“That tone lit a candle of peace in the hearts of the canine community,” Swami claimed with pride. “The grand-dog and the leader dog then murmured something amongst themselves and came forward.”

‘“Ok. Let us fix play timings for your children and ours. Though before this generation of yours, we used to play together in coexistence,” the leader dog reminisced in the past. “But times have changed, and we have to change with the times. Is it only about the play times?”’

Swami’s face was now flush with relief in remembrance of the breakthrough he had achieved in his canine encounter.

“I felt I had a toehold in the negotiations,” he said, looking at us, and added, “The other members also smiled seeing the agreement. So I put in another of our complaints in.”

“You always get your timing right,” Jigneshbhai’s sardonic voice broke in. Swami paused, but I egged him on.

‘“Not just that sir. Some wayward members from your community make a mess of our waste,” I surged forward, “and then we have to get it all cleaned up,” I said. “We request them to wait outside for their food. Some compassionate members from our community will get them food at prefixed times. Is that a workable solution?”’

“I put my best negotiating foot forward,” Swami reported to Jigneshbhai.

He was expecting a nod of appreciation on his newly acquired skills, but Jigneshbhai sipped his coffee nonchalantly. That nod never came. Swami looked at me. I looked back with a favourable smile and signaled him to continue.

“It looked like the canine community found it satisfactory and nodded their heads,” Swami declared. “That’s when another member from my apartment pulled me back again.”

‘“The last point is about the poop,” he muttered.’

‘“One final point Sir. How do.. I… umm..  say this?” I hesitated, searching for the right words.’

‘“It is about.. well.. the open.. umm.. what’s the word.. open defecation.. that your community still resorts to.. I must say this is extremely embarrassing, especially when we have visitors and the first thing they see is…, you know… it doesn’t make a pleasant sight…as you would…,”’

“I tried to put the point across without hurting them,” Swami said, “but a young dog cut me short.”

‘“Well, we know.. This is a point we have raised in the past too, with your government authorities” he angrily barged to the front and surprised me and my delegation. “You have cut all the vegetation. That was our go-to place. What else do you expect? Where are we supposed to go?”’

“That dog clearly was irate. A senior dog tried to calm him down,” Swami seemed to have developed canine sensory skills.

‘“Sir, yes, I understand.. But still .. you can’t spoil our premises, that too every day,” I said. I didn’t want to back off from what was clearly a sensitive topic.’

Swami was now passionately thick into the helm of his canine affairs.

‘“We don’t want to spoil anything. We are peace-loving, clean members of society. But you left us with no option. You have to arrange for us,” the senior dog said stubbornly, nudging his leader.’

“I and the other members of our delegation looked blankly at each other,” Swami told us.

‘A known dog lover member came to the rescue,” Swami said. ‘“We are here to solve problems. How can we help?” he asked.’

‘The dog leader now walked ahead. “Well, you can, if you want to,” he said with a secretive smile.’

‘“Ask your government,” he continued. “Build toilets for us. Why can’t we get toilets? Aren’t dogs a part of Swachh Bharat?”’

***

For more funny and not so funny stories from urban apartments, check out the collection 2 BHK for Rent: Urban Short Stories from Keshav Kunj Apartment

The post A Dog’s Life: Jigneshbhai and Swami appeared first on Ranjit Kulkarni.

A Dog’s Life: Apartment Stories

During my last apartment association meeting, a lot of people complained about the stray dogs that made life difficult. They claimed that they occupied parking lots in the basement, barked and ran after children, rummaged through the wastebins creating a mess, and most of all, made the area dirty by pooping around wherever they went.

The secretary suggested that I and some members go and talk to the representatives of the canine community.

“But we are the original sons of the soil,”  the dog leader claimed. “It is we who have been living here for generations before you guys encroached upon our land,” he was particularly vehement.

“Yes, sir, but you must understand that now we have the occupancy certificate, and are legal owners,” I tried to rationalise with them.

“Who gave you that certificate? We may not have any certificates, but me, my grandfather and his grandfather were all born on this land. By sheer birth, we have rights over it,” another elderly grand-dog put their case forward.

I felt a wave of compassion go through my heart. Another member pulled me back. “Maybe they are right. We should not be too aggressive,” he whispered. I felt he had a point too. I changed the tone of my conversation.

“Yes, Dog Uncle, we agree. But let bygones be bygones. Just like you worry about your families, we also have families that we care about. And your children sometimes get aggressive with ours. Tell me, is that fair?” I asked, lighting a candle of peace in the hearts of the canine community.

The grand-dog and the leader dog murmured something amongst themselves and came forward.

“Ok. Let us fix play timings for your children and ours. Though before this generation of yours, we used to play together in coexistence,” the leader dog reminisced in the past. “But times have changed, and we have to change with the times. Is it only about the play times?”

I felt I had a toehold in the negotiations. The other members also smiled seeing the agreement.

“Not just that sir. Some wayward members from your community make a mess of our waste, and then we have to get it all cleaned up,” I said. “I would request them to wait outside for their food. Some compassionate members from our community will get them food at prefixed times. Is that a workable solution?” I put my best negotiating foot forward.

It looked like the canine community found it satisfactory and nodded their heads. That’s when another member from my apartment pulled me back again. “The last point is about the poop,” he muttered.

“One final point Sir. How do.. I… umm..  say this?” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “It is about.. well.. the open.. umm.. what’s the word.. defecation.. that your community still resorts to.. I must say this is extremely embarrassing, especially when we have visitors and the first thing they see is…, you know… it doesn’t make a pleasant sight…as you would…,” I tried to put the point across without hurting them, but a young dog cut me short.

“Well, we know.. This is a point we have raised in the past too, with your government authorities” he angrily barged to the front and surprised me and my delegation. “After you have cut all the vegetation that was our go-to place, what else do you expect? Where are we supposed to go?” he clearly wasn’t happy with the predicament. A senior dog tried to calm him down.

“Sir, yes, I understand.. But still .. you can’t spoil our premises, that too every day,” I said, trying not to back off from what was clearly a sensitive topic.

“We don’t want to spoil anything. We are peace-loving, clean members of society, but you left us with no option. You have to arrange for us. That’s because you are the ones who got rid of the trees,” the dog leader said stubbornly. I and the other members of our delegation looked blankly at each other. Some of them had pets and wondered if they should give training to stray dogs now.

“See, we don’t want tempers to rise. We are here to solve problems. We want a solution. How can we help? We would be eager to, if it is possible,” a known dog-lover asked this time. The other members and I scratched our heads.

“Well, you can, if you want to,” the dog leader said with a smile this time.

I and my other apartment members wondered what he was going to ask us to do.

“Ask your government,” the dog leader continued. “We want them to build toilets for us. Why can’t we get toilets? Aren’t dogs a part of Swachh Bharat?”

***

For more stories from urban apartments, check out my collection 2 BHK for Rent: Urban Short Stories from Keshav Kunj Apartment

The post A Dog’s Life: Apartment Stories appeared first on Ranjit Kulkarni.

Kunti: Motherhood and Devotion

 

Originally a Yadu, Pritha was the daughter of Shoorsen and sister of Vasudev, the father of Lord Krishna. But she was gifted by her father to his close friend Kuntibhoj, as he did not have any children. Hence the name Kunti, instead of the original Pritha.

Like all characters, Kunti had a lot of fantastic happenings in her life, and the earliest was in her childhood.

Childhood and Karna

It so happened that the sage Durvasa once visited Kuntibhoj. Durvasa Muni was known for his bad and unpredictable temper, and the resulting curses, especially the ones related to his getting upset due to food or service not being given as per his expectations. Kunti was given the unenviable task of serving the sage during his visit. It turned out that she did a splendid job out of this assignment. So much so, that the sage was ecstatic and in that mood, blessed her with a set of mantras. The mantras were so powerful that they could invoke any of the Devatas in front of Kunti for the august purpose of giving her a child with them as the father. In those times, boys were blessed with weapons and wealth, and girls with husbands and children. But Kunti was blessed with motherhood from the Gods if she so wished.

The teenage girl that she was then, Kunti was filled with curiosity on getting these mantras. So one fine day, she decided to test if they actually worked. She prayed to the Sun God and invoked him through a mantra, and, lo and behold, the Sun God himself stood in front of her. She felt sheepish at this apparently happy event, and told him that she was just testing things. This wasn’t meant to be a call for a child from the Sun God, so could he just neglect it? But the Sun God insisted that the purpose of the mantra was to give her a child and he can’t nullify it now. She begged to him that she is unmarried and it would lead to problems. But nothing doing, said the Sun God.

A mantra is a mantra, and there’s no going back on it. Kunti had no choice and, as a result, her first child was born out of wedlock by accident, like so many other births in the epic. This child was Karna, named so due to the inbuilt earrings that he was born with, along with an inbuilt shining armour. He was a glorious child, but due to the fear of social dishonour, Kunti had no choice but to keep the child secret and sacrifice the child by giving it away. She prayed to the Lord to take care of her child and put him in a basket that she placed in the river behind her palace.

With this, she felt that the misadventure of her youth was over and forgotten. But that was not to be. Unwittingly, she had given birth to a son who would be one half of the biggest rivalry that the epic had seen. She felt she wouldn’t use those mantras again, as she had seen their power to her own detriment.

But at that time she didn’t know that those mantras were going to be needed, and needed badly. In fact, her motherhood was going to be glorious and fantastic, as well as tragic, at the same time.

Marriage and Pandu

Kunti was married to Pandu in a swayamvar arranged by Kuntibhoj, and an arrangement made by Bheeshma. Pandu was a good king and expanded the borders of Hastinapur but by mental disposition, he was a renunciate. Kunti joined him when he retired to the forests asking his brother Dhritarashtra to run the kingdom for him. For a long time, Kunti and Pandu didn’t have any children. On top of that, Pandu ended up being cursed by Kindam Rishi which made any further union with his wives a risky proposition. Kunti and her cowife Madri made all attempts to preserve Pandu’s life by being celibate themselves.

But the question of heir to Hastinapur troubled Pandu. Moreover with the belief that dying childless closes doors to heaven, Pandu requested Kunti to beget children from the sages in the forest. But with her husband alive and fit, she refused any such arrangement. It was only after Pandu persisted that Kunti told him of the mantras and the blessing she had. Pandu was overjoyed and told her that nothing could be better than to have children from the Devatas as their sons and future heirs to Hastinapur.

In the choice of Devatas, Pandu insisted that a king should be wise and virtuous and hence, Kunti begot a child from Dharma, the God of Virtue and Justice. Then Pandu suggested that only virtue isn’t enough. A king needs to be powerful and strong, and hence, Kunti begot a child from Vayu, the God of Wind who is powerful. Further more, Pandu said that the king should also be heroic and hence, Kunti begot a child from Indra, the King of Gods and Heaven. Kunti stopped here saying that even in the practice of Niyoga, a woman is allowed to beget children only thrice from other men, and it won’t be appropriate for her to continue.

But later, Madri approached Pandu with a request for her to beget children. Pandu told Kunti if she can invoke the mantras once for Madri as well. Knowing fully well that she won’t get another chance, Madri requested Kunti to invoke the Ashwini Kumaras, and in one shot, both of them gave her sons, in the form of the handsome twins, Nakula and Sahadev. Therefore, the mantras of sage Durvasa finally found their purpose by begetting children for both the wives of Pandu, despite the curse he had been given. And while the fathers of these children were the Gods, as per the practice, they were all sons of Pandu, called the Pandavas, the main protagonists of the epic.

Life seemed to be going well with Pandu, his two wives and five children in the forests. But Kunti’s life has been a life of ups and downs. A sudden unexpected turn happened one day when Pandu and Madri had gone out for a walk and it rained drenching them. Looking at Madri, Pandu was not able to hold back his desire. Madri warned him and tried to hold him back by reminding him of his curse, but to no avail. And hence, in a moment of careless desire, Pandu met his end. Kunti rushed when called by Madri but Pandu had passed away.

Enveloped by grief and a huge sense of guilt, Madri requested Kunti to let her sit on Pandu’s pyre as union with her was his last wish. Kunti has no choice but to accept, and after begging Kunti to take care of her children Nakula and Sahadev, Madri ends her life. With such a drastic turn of events, Kunti turns back for help to Hastinapur. Bheeshma wholeheartedly and Dhritarashtra half heartedly, welcome Kunti and the five pandavas back to Hastinapur. The mother gets a home for her children and feels that her life is back on track. But little does she realise that it would mark the beginning of another tumultuous phase in her life.

Hastinapur and Motherhood

The forests seem to be safer to Kunti for her children than the palaces of Hastinapur. The animosity that the son of Dhritarashtra has towards her sons doesn’t escape the sharp eye of the mother. Bhima seems to be a target in particular when he is poisoned and is untraceable for a long time. Numerous such attempts only turn the traumatic childhood of her children into a living hell till it all culminates in Varnavat. An audacious attempt to take away all their lives fails in secret due to the wise diplomacy of Vidur. Kunti and her children escape to the forest and live undercover for many years not wanting to be recognised and returned to Hastinapur.

A lot of side stories during their stay in the forests, disguised as nomadic brahmins moving from one place to another, focus on Kunti. Prominent among them is the story of the village Ekachakra where a demon named Bakasura has troubled villagers. Kunti offers Bhima as the remedy for the villagers’ ills. The adventures of Bhima with food and his thrashing of the demon Bakasura is part of childhood folklore. Another story is the marriage of Bhima to the demon princess Hidimbi who falls for him after he defeats her brother Hidimba. She begs of Kunti to convince Bhima to not spurn her and quotes from her knowledge of the scriptures that impresses both Kunti and Yudhishthira. It results in Kunti getting Bhima married to Hidimbi and the birth of the first Pandava grandchild Ghatotkacha who plays a brave role in the final war along with Arjuna’s son Abhimanyu.

Another story is how the brothers, dressed as Brahmins, went out to collect alms everyday and one day ended up winning Draupadi and getting her home. Arjuna then says, look mother what I have got today. Kunti without turning to look says that whatever it is share equally among all five of you, hence leading to Draupadi being the shared wife of the Pandavas, despite social norms to the contrary at that time. In all these tales, Kunti plays a central role and while they appear to be minor events, they end up having a bearing on the epic in some way or the other.

On being discovered after Draupadi swayamvar, life takes Kunti and her sons back to Hastinapur only to be handed over another tract of forests as their kingdom. It is to the credit of the sons and their mother that, with the arrangement of Krishna, they convert that into Indraprastha. In some sense, the rajasooya sacrifice of Yudhishthira was the crowning glory of Kunti’s life as a mother. And the honour bestowed to Krishna at the sacrifice was the peak of her devotion. Her relation with Krishna was in some way mixed. Unlike his mother Yashoda, Kunti was aware of Krishna’s divinity due to the tales she had heard from her brother Vasudev. At the same time, she treated him like a special nephew in the role of an aunt too. She turned to him often when in help.

But the ups and downs of her life kept getting worse. The peak of Indraprastha for the mother turned quickly into the living hell of Draupadi’s insult for the mother-in-law. Her sons lost all that they had and had to go to exile. This time, Vidur requested that Kunti not accompany them as she was getting old and stay with him. Yudhishthira agreed and Kunti requested Draupadi to take care of her sons, especially of Nakula and Sahadev as per her promise to Madri.

Old Age and War

It was a mother’s true turmoil to see this turn of events, and even more so, when she knew that part of the reason for it was her own eldest son Karna, who had been manipulated by Duryodhana into friendship, and a life spent in repaying that gratitude. She had recognised Karna even on the day when he had gate crashed into the graduation of her children with particular animosity towards Arjuna. It was a mother’s worst nightmare come true. Moreover, she couldn’t share it with anyone and only the all knowing Krishna by his arrangement reduced the mother’s turmoil, albeit a little, in the final stages of the war.

The climax of Kunti’s life of ups and downs was the fight for life between her two sons, Karna and Arjun.

Before the war started, it would be enlightening to see the role that Kunti played when Krishna came as the peace messenger. He chose to stay with Vidur where Kunti stayed too. It is instructive to see that Kunti spoke to Krishna both as the all knowing Lord and her nephew in the same conversation. She asked Him why He had come despite knowing that Duryodhana won’t agree for peace. She implied that Krishna already knew what the outcome would be. Krishna said he had come so that the world knows that the Pandavas tried everything to prevent war. After that, Kunti spoke to Krishna as a nephew. She said that when you go back, please tell Yudhishthira that despite his virtuous nature, he must fight. Tell your cousin that he must not refrain from war, Kunti told Krishna which he, as a nephew, dutifully obliged.

Kunti has an important role in the last few days of the war, especially on the morning of the fight between Arjuna and Karna. She was overcome with emotion and turmoil but couldn’t speak to anyone. She was sure to lose one of her sons, both of whom were dear to her, and parts of her heart. Krishna recognised her turmoil and as part of His plan to weaken Karna mentally, he told Kunti to make one last bid to avoid the fight by telling Karna that he was her son. He told her that Karna could have the kingdom if he switched sides. Kunti is torn between her sons and decides to approach Karna.

On the morning when Karna is offering his obeisance to the Sun God, she tells him that he is your father and I am your mother. Karna is shocked and dismayed that all his life he lived as a son of a charioteer and she didn’t come forward to own him up. He felt that it was only because she was worried for Arjuna’s life that she had come to him now. Kunti tried to convince him that both Arjuna and Karna were equal to her as sons. But Karna was not convinced. She finally told him that Yudhishthira would make him king if he switched sides. Karna professed his loyalty to Duryodhana.

In his mind, he perhaps thought that if he was offered the kingdom by Yudhishthira, due to his loyalties, he will have to offer it to Duryodhana. In his heart, he perhaps knew that wasn’t right. He said he had no option but to fight with Arjuna. Kunti embraced him and blessed him. That’s when Karna promised her that she has five sons today and she will have five sons tomorrow too. He promised that he will kill only Arjuna and none of her other sons. Either Arjuna or Karna will die in battle today, he said, and left Kunti in the same turmoil that she had when she came.

At the end of the war, when the time for funerals came, Kunti told Yudhishthira to offer obeisance to Karna’s mortal remains as he was your brother. Yudhishthira was devastated and shocked on hearing the entire details, and felt himself and Kunti to be responsible for the war. He got angry with Kunti for keeping this secret and causing the war. It was in this anger that he cursed that no woman in the future will be able to keep secrets.

Suffering and Devotion

In a sense, Kunti was the main mother and female character in the epic, along with Satyavati and Draupadi. Her life was full of suffering right from her childhood when in a prank, she became an unwed mother. Later, she suffered in the forests with her husband. Widowed early, she suffered with her sons and daughter in law in Varnavat and later suffered separation on their exile. Finally, her suffering reached the pinnacle in the war when she faced the turmoil of her two sons in direct battle with each other. Eventually at end of the war, she faced the wrath of her eldest living son. For a woman and mother, who didn’t have a central role in the epic, Kunti had a life of unsurpassed volatility and suffering.

Finally, before she joined Dhritarashtra, Gandhari and Vidur in retirement to the forests, she prayed to Krishna to stay with her sons in Hastinapur, and not return to the Yadus. Krishna smiled and said He is with her sons wherever He might be, but He has to go back. He said who better than her to understand what separation is. That’s when Kunti asked her nephew for a blessing to keep her mind directed towards Krishna wherever He might be. He said despite her suffering, her mind was always with Him and that’s why she overcame her suffering.

With that blessing, Kunti retired to the forests. She was truly a glorious symbol of motherhood and devotion.

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Firebird: Review

I recently read a novel called ‘Firebird’ which is the English translation of the original Tamil book by Perumal Murugan. I had heard an interview of the author at the Bangalore Lit Fest and got interested in the book. It is translated into English by Janani Kannan.

The novel is steeped in the world of Tamil villages, customs, foods, people, gender and caste equations, ordinary life, village routines and societal norms. Therefore, while I read the English version, I cannot be certain how much of the original has been maintained in the translation. But as a non Tamil reader, I must affirm that it takes you into the world of Tamil farmers, family structures, villages, caste politics and everyday life fairly deeply.

The story revolves around the journey of a poor farmer whose life is uprooted when, as the youngest member of his family, he is left with a raw deal as part of the family land distribution. To add to his woes, he finds himself angry yet helpless when his fiery wife is molested by his fatherly eldest brother and leaves home with the condition that she won’t return till he finds a new place to settle. He then sets out on his oxen cart with a loyal, senior helper assigned by his father-in-law in search of land to set up house and farm.

The story is non-linear and keeps shifting between present and past, adulthood and childhood of the main protagonist Muthu. There are substantive roles for his helper Kuppanna throughout the journey and his wife Peruma has a constant presence in the background. There are important influences from his brothers, his parents, a number of villagers he meets, and even a grandmother of his wife towards the end. The author transports you into the real world of Tamil villages and the rural, poverty-struck, mundane life of a farmer, perhaps from a few decades back. The amount of detail in the aspects of ordinary life such as the types of clothes and foods to the intricacies of farming, woven into the story along with unsaid social and caste structures, undercurrents of village politics, unfair gender equations, tenuousness of family relationships, bitterness of language – make this novel extraordinary to read.

The first half of the novel is gripping when the plot moves fast and it seems like Muthu – the main protagonist- is on his way towards deliverance when he seals a deal for land in a village far from his native place after suffering at the hands of his own family. But the second half meanders for a long while with backstories that don’t tie up while he faces various hurdles and spends time to set up the land for cultivation. It has painstaking details on the farmer’s problems, toddy tapping and even removal of stones from his land which don’t move the plot anywhere forward. Eventually, the novel ends while he is still in that process, and the reader is left wondering what happened to the others, especially his wife Peruma and his other brothers in the village. Most of all, it is unclear whether Muthu himself has achieved closure on his search. Hence, I found the end incomplete as far as the story line is concerned.

But then, such novels are not about the plot as much as they are about the reading itself. On that front, this book kept me hooked and engrossed in the world of Muthu and Tamil village life right through. It painted a picture through words like I have not seen or known before. One does empathize with the main characters and gets involved in their desperation during suffering and optimism when a life of promise beholds. But as a reader, I remained somewhat unsatisfied at the end when I wasn’t sure of the state of the deliverance of Muthu and Peruma, the real Firebird. Despite that, just for an in-depth experience of the world of Tamil villages and a farmer’s journey that the author brings to life, Firebird is highly recommended reading.

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Packing: Jigneshbhai and Swami

Swami woke up the following day counting his blessings and realised that the tally did add to something that was not insubstantial by any means.

“We have each other for company first,” he told Jigneshbhai and me.

“And I have a boss like Raichand who gave me a week of leave on his own,” he said, recollecting the only positive feature of a not much-loved creature.

“Moreover, I have no unnecessary stress like Purno to make up for a wasted life,” he added, remembering his long-lost friend after a while.

“And no restless dreams like Ishita and Puneet to lose sleep over,” he continued, recalling the lovebirds.

“So, overall, we are in a good place.” The Sunday morning turned out to be bright and sunny even with Swami’s blurry vision.

But visions of abundance are in short supply in Swami’s head. He runs out of them quickly. After a few recollections of plenty, his eyes fall on something that is in short supply. I have realised that, unfortunately, there’s little that I or Jigneshbhai or even Swami himself can do about it. It is just the nature of things. Seeing what’s lacking is not a manufacturing defect. It’s a product feature in the case of Swami.

“But what should we carry to the farmhouse? Food, I am certain we will need to carry, at least some of it,” he started his list. “Shridhar Mama might have a cook but I am not sure.”

“Maybe you can check with him?” Jigneshbhai teased him knowing that another encounter with Shridhar Mama was not Swami’s preference.

“This time you should call him,” Swami retorted with a wink. It was one of the rare occasions when he understood Jigneshbhai’s sarcasm.

“I need my coffee in the morning, so I will carry it. Should we take some idli batter?” Swami asked. Jigneshbhai saw the funny side of it, but Swami didn’t find anything odd with this proposition.

Among the many things towards which Jigneshbhai has a minimalistic attitude, packing was high on the list. Hence, the idea of packing all and sundry was alien to him.

“Why not carry some milk and some sambaar mix? Perhaps even the idli cooker?” He countered Swami’s proposal. This time Swami didn’t get the sarcasm. One catch in a day was enough for him, shooting his lifetime average through the roof.

“That will be too much. I don’t know if we will have a fridge there to store milk. And the cooker is too unwieldy to carry,” he rejected the claim on plain logical grounds.

“Hmmm, then what about your breakfast?” Jigneshbhai teased him further.

There are few things in life as precious as his idli sambaar breakfast for Swami. With an expression on his face that demonstrated the ultimate sacrifice that he had been called upon to make in the interest of convenience, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, one can’t always get everything in life.”

Jigneshbhai and I sighed in appreciation of the great idli breakfast sacrifice by the food martyr.

“As an alternative, we can carry some cheese and bread with us, so we can have sandwiches, if we need to,” Swami found a replacement consolation for his breakfast sacrifice. Jigneshbhai and I wondered whether Shridhar Mama’s farmhouse was so deep in the middle of nowhere that we had to prepare so much. But neither of us had the wherewithal to find out.

“Alright, sounds good,” I said in agreement.

“What else? Clothes and personal stuff?” Swami meanwhile started his list.

“Yes, obviously we can’t skip that,” Jigneshbhai said.

“And maybe some cards or games?”

“Perhaps, I can carry some.”

“Maybe some books to read?”

“Not a bad idea.”

“And don’t forget music for the car journey. I have a collection.”

“Okay.”

“By the way, I need to check my car for petrol and tyres.”

“Alright.”

“Maybe I will get it serviced on Monday.”

“Perfect.”

“One more thing struck me. Should we take my driver Puttuswamy?”

“No need.”

Swami’s brain was in overdrive already. Jigneshbhai tried to get it into lower gear by his monosyllabic single word replies. But when a rocket reaches a certain escape velocity (isn’t that what they call it when they launch space missions?), then gravity cannot pull it down. It has a self-sustaining power that lets it move ahead. Swami’s packing rocket had reached that escape velocity. Jigneshbhai and I were mere observers from earth watching it fly. And he wasn’t done yet.

“And, by the way, pack the toothpaste and toothbrush and all the toiletries last,” Swami’s standard operating procedure for packing continued.

“I pack it all together and every time I wonder if I have packed it or not and then search for it everywhere. And then I realise I have packed it. And then on the day of the journey I have to unpack it again as I have to use it. And then on the journey, I wonder if I repacked it or not. And so I ask my hotel to give me a set. And finally, when I reach midway into my suitcase after a couple of days, I find it – there it is hiding all the while.”

Phew! Yesterday we got tired after Shridhar Mama’s pompous talk. And today the same talking genes in his nephew tired us again with an overdose. Swami spoke like a man who, after losing his voice, suddenly rediscovers it and realises that there’s a limited time within which to use it before it will go again.

“Okay, got it,” Jigneshbhai and I complied, and mentally made a note of packing our toothbrush last.

“And yes, I remembered,” Swami charged. “Do we need sports shoes? And an additional set of sandals?” he asked. Jigneshbhai and I twiddled our fingers.

“We don’t plan to go anywhere else,” Jigneshbhai said. He tried to evade the proposal to pack extra footwear.

“Yeah, but just in case,” Swami argued for a remote possibility.

“Alright,” Jigneshbhai said. His dream of a peaceful getaway was on pause. The nightmare of Swami pulling him for a run in sports shoes had shattered it.

“And if we carry sports shoes, then we might as well carry some badminton racquets and shuttle. There’s a lot of space at the farmhouse, I recollect,” Swami added.

One thing leads to another in packing. It is called the network multiplier effect.

“Hmm, maybe,” Jigneshbhai acquiesced with reluctance. His idea of minimalistic packing went out of the window.

“Yeah. And I am thinking of some basic medicines like pain spray or painkillers? And some basic paracetamol and tablets for indigestion?” It was fruitless to stand in the way of a packing tsunami.

Jigneshbhai and I stayed silent. “Don’t worry, I will carry them. We don’t want to end up with a sprain after a game of badminton, or an upset stomach after a sumptuous meal. Isn’t it?” Swami had thought of all possibilities. It was hard to argue against such a need. Everything seemed logical.

“Good, what else?” Swami asked.

“There’s more?” Jigneshbhai checked his uncharacteristic rising temperature.

“I guess we don’t need any warm clothes?” Swami had a doubt.

“We are going to a place three hours from Ghatembur. Not the Himalayas.” A man of tremendous patience, Jigneshbhai showed the first sign of some despair.

“Yeah, I know. We are thinking too much,” Swami said and dropped the idea. “But I am missing something,” he added.

“I am sure you will not miss anything. Except some peace,” Jigneshbhai said, this time with an irritated scowl.

But Swami’s head was on its own trip.

“Yes, now I remember. We need a camera. We need to create memories!” He said with a wave of excitement. Jigneshbhai tried to pour some cold water over it. “We have our phones for it.”

“But we are near nature. So, we need one good camera for some good shots. I will carry my DSLR,” Swami declared. It was another of his toys he had got and not used much later. “The amateur photographer feels professional with this toy,” Jigneshbhai had told me once on an earlier trip somewhere.

“And I will get one lens for a long shot and one for a closer one. Should I get my tripod? No, let it be.” Swami had his accessories also ready for packing.

“What else?” Jigneshbhai asked this time in a tone of despondency. “I am sure we are missing something else.” An air of inexplicable melancholy surrounded the normally cheerful man.

“Yeah,” Swami didn’t get the sarcasm though.

I had read somewhere that when a person gets a sudden shock to his peaceful existence, he goes through phases of denial and anger till he accepts the inevitable. I wondered where Jigneshbhai was in this cycle, currently.

“Sunglasses and caps, and a water bottle?” Swami said, snapping his fingers. Our friend had moved from warm clothes to heat protection.

“Okay,” Jigneshbhai had given up all hopes of recovery by now. It looked like he had now accepted the inevitable new reality of his life. He was back to his peaceful self after a brief phase of turbulence.

“That is it, I guess,” Swami finally relented. Jigneshbhai and I heaved a sigh of relief. With the packing out of the way, we were all set.

Well, the packing turned out to be a bit more stressful than expected. But Jigneshbhai and I told ourselves that once we got there, it was going to be a few days of calm, peace, and rest. That’s what we thought. In hindsight, I can now see that we were a tad too optimistic.

***

Excerpted from the book “Give Me a Break – with Jigneshbhai and Swami”. You may check it out on Amazon here

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Flying Colours: Jigneshbhai and Swami

The one thing Jigneshbhai likes is a quiet life. He is not the kind who gets restless and worked up when there is not much happening. Give Jigneshbhai his daily freedom, his daily work and his daily food, and the company of a few loved ones and friends to talk with, not all the time but off and on, and he will be happy for days on end.

So, when he called me with a lot of trepidation, which is rare for a person like Jigneshbhai, and said, “tomorrow we meet at Swami’s house”, I couldn’t stop myself from asking him what the matter was.

“Swami needs to be home as he is getting his house painted,” he replied, sounding rather colourless for a generally cheerful man.

Painting can be a fairly messy affair as all of you might know. With Swami, generally even the smallest of things can assume epic messy proportions. It was no wonder then, that Jigneshbhai was worried that his quiet life might undergo some short-term turbulence.

At the entrance of Swami’s house, we were welcomed by a bunch of chappals indicating that there were visitors before us already inside. We saw a few boxes of paint lying on the floor. Next to them were a few brushes. I could see a big can of what looked like white paint and another with some white paste. There was a big wooden ladder and lots of waste papers and plastic sheets lying on the floor. There were three people who themselves looked painted and we gathered that they were the painters. Swami had a big catalogue in his hand and was standing in the middle of this mess.

“How will pearl organza look on this wall?” He suddenly asked. Jigneshbhai and I wondered if he was asking us. We leaned forward to check the colour Swami was pointing to.

“It’s nice and sober,” Jigneshbhai remarked. “But it’s almost like that white paint,” he said, pointing to that big can on the floor.

“That’s not white paint, Jigneshbhai. That’s the primer, and next to it is the putty. They will put 1 coat putty, 2 coats primer and 2 coats paint on the walls and 2 coats putty on the ceiling,” Swami explained with finesse.

Swami described putties, primers and paint with the familiarity of idli, vada and sambar that he has for breakfast every day. I don’t know about you, but I have noticed that there is something about painting one’s house that makes one an expert in all things related to paint. It takes over your life. Swami was no exception. Primer, putty, emulsions, enamels, textures all became commonplace terms as if he had been painting houses for years.

“But pearl organza is not white. Come look here,” Swami called us. He opened a set of colour shades from his catalogue and held them up, presumably so that we can see them in the light. Apart from pearl organza, there were winter mood, oatmeal cream, eggshell mist, bone charm and various such shades. Jigneshbhai briefly whispered, “Why does white have such exotic names?” But I left his question at that for the moment. All of these shades seemed more or less like white to me and Jigneshbhai. But people who paint their houses probably get a third eye which enables them to see invisible tinges in shades that other mere mortals can’t. You have to have the eye for seeing them which is revealed to you only after you spend a few hard days of penance with putties, primers and shade cards of paint.

“See, this one has a tinge of ivory, this one has a light biscuit shade, and this one has a slight coffee shade, very light, not like our strong filter coffee but the milky coffee we get up North,” he explained with a rarely seen passion for colour combined with an often seen passion for coffee. I could sense that, given the late afternoon hour, Jigneshbhai was thinking more about real coffee and biscuits than the ones whose tinges Swami was pointing out in the colour. But he said, “Yeah you are right, so that’s pearl organza with the slight coffee shade, it’s not white”.

“Yeah it seems to have a mix of ivory and coffee shade,” I added, not to be left out. Actually, I hadn’t seen any coffee or ivory there. But it would look bad that we didn’t get it after such passionate explanation. So, some participation is a sign of decency. But it turned out that both of us were bad students of colour.

“Actually, the other one with the biscuit shade is pearl organza,” Swami corrected both of us.

Our colour vision clearly left a lot to be desired. Thankfully the real coffee and biscuits arrived, saving us any further embarrassment, and Jigneshbhai and I got some relief. We focused on the real thing and let Swami continue.

Swami’s explanations in detail continued, followed by Jigneshbhai’s single word exclamations.

“We are using luxury emulsion on the walls and premium oil enamel on the windows and doors.”

“Amazing.”

“One of the living room and bedroom walls will have texture paint. We are thinking of some shade of gold rust and roast saffron.”

“Wow.”

“One is going to be canvas and the other is going to be ragging. What do you guys think?”

Jigneshbhai and I looked at each other blankly wondering what is canvas and ragging. It was like the surprise quiz question in a class you aren’t paying attention to. Listening to this medley of colour standing in the middle of plastic, paper and paint felt a lot like ragging to us. But these were relatively minor inconveniences for Swami who was lost in the world of painting.

“See they have provided us with this visualization. This is how canvas and ragging textures will look,” Swami opened his laptop and showed it to us. He had developed a nonporousness that his walls had developed after 2 coats of putty. No amount of failure to answer questions on our part shook him from his mission.

Canvas and Ragging were names for texture paint, Jigneshbhai and I deduced.

“Wonderful technology,” Jigneshbhai remarked continuing with his encouraging exclamations. “The gold rust looks good,” I added with a tone of positivity too. This time Swami smiled indicating that I had got the colour right.

Our interest in visualization triggered further explanations from Swami. As I said, he was a man on a mission.

“On every texture we get 3 colours, 1 base coat and 2 topcoats,” Swami began. We thought he had finished but clearly he was not yet done. “So first they put the putty, then the primer, then the base coat. Then the topcoats are put in a manner that the output is textured. Like this,” he showed us and opened a demo video.

Swami told us the recipe for textured paint with more gusto than the recipe of his favourite death by chocolate sundae. It almost sounded like one brownie at the bottom, then add vanilla ice cream, finally topped by layers of hot chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Or probably Jigneshbhai and I were just hungry.

We watched the demo video with as much keen interest as we could muster at that late stage of Swami’s painting education class. Our approach was similar to students paying sincere attention in the hope that the professor will finish the lecture fast. One eye on the class and one eye on the clock waiting for the bell.

It seemed to have paid dividends because Swami closed down his laptop after the demo video ended. Jigneshbhai knew that lecturers get it. He was an expert at giving the right signals. Jigneshbhai and I had finished the coffee and thought it was the right time for us to make a move. We told Swami who agreed, sounding satisfied with the paint talk and our attention so far. We started walking to the door. Swami got his car keys and joined us on the way out.

Jigneshbhai and I were happy that Swami was joining us, so we can now have our regular coffee at our regular cafe. The wealthy old man and Deja must be waiting, I told Jigneshbhai. We thought we had come through with flying colours. That’s when Swami announced, “Guys, I think we have some time. Let’s go to the curtain store now as I need to choose matching curtains for the new wall colours.” He must have been truly encouraged by Jigneshbhai’s and my attention in his class as he added, “It won’t take long, now that you guys have also seen the colours.” As we stepped out, he told his wife that she needn’t worry, as his friends will help him make the right choice. The presumptions that friends make, Jigneshbhai and I thought, but let things be, for the moment.

So that was that. I told you that Jigneshbhai was right when he worried about turbulence in his quiet life.

***

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A Mahabharata Primer: Review

I have read a lot of books by a friend Sharath Komarraju, who writes both fiction and non-fiction primarily around the Mahabharata. He has read and written all kinds of things on the Mahabharata.

Many years back, I think it was when he launched his first book on Hastinapur, as a simple promotional tool, he wrote a small book called ’51 Lesser Known Tales from the Mahabharata’. It still is one of the best books for newbies to the epic and to his style of writing. Subsequently, he ended up expanding these 51 tales into some kind of Omnibus of over 2000 tales over three volumes, and also some specific collections around characters (both male and female) in the Mahabharata. Plus there are some FAQs or analytical collections in a question and answer type – again on the Mahabharata. Basically, he is a veritable treasure of knowledge on the epic.

But as a primer or an introduction, two of his books, 51 Lesser Known Tales and Interrogating the Epic are good starting points. Remember that he writes about the Mahabharata mainly from the perspective of it being a story or literature, rather than it being history. So it is fairly dispassionate about characters and events as they unfold, sometimes making fun of the fantastical happenings in the epic that some readers attached to the historical or reverential aspects of the epic might find offensive.

Here are my reviews of these two of his books: (51 Lesser Known Tales, and Interrogating the Epic).

Nice collection.

Found some nice stories well written for today’s times with the author’s voice intact. Nice reading for those interested in Indian mythology.

Analytical.

Analytical questioning of the epic, which has many fantastic events anyway. Sometimes it makes for funny reading, sometimes serious, often times it gets convoluted. But overall a refreshing read if you have an open mind.

 

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Who do you work for?

A few years back when I was pursuing corporate goals, I was told that I need to post on LinkedIn regularly twice a week for it to work. Only then will there be recognition of my knowledge and expertise as a consultant, they said. I need to blog or write or post something or keep commenting to seal it. It doesn’t matter what I post, as long as there is a base volume.

When I turned author, they said the same thing about Amazon and Instagram. You should post your book covers on Instagram and make sure that the reviewers comment or like or repost them. They said as an author, I should make sure I churn out work and have enough reviews for others to notice my books.

Then I was told I should have a website. The SEO consultant said I should post articles there that should have keywords so that it is indexed in search engines. And that I should have a regular monthly budget so that there will be links or something to my website.

I tried all of the above at different phases of life. None of it worked – for me at least. Or maybe I didn’t do it long enough. Or maybe I didn’t spend enough. I never tried to figure out why it didn’t work.

The only thing that I persisted with was blogging and my website, not due to any SEO keywords, but simply because I liked it.

Somewhere down the line of this brief journey, I started wondering who was I working for?

When I was in corporate, I felt like I was working to build a reputation – and for no reason. Clients never came looking at my LinkedIn, nor did jobs come based on LinkedIn after a point. Whenever they came, it was when they had a specific need that I met perfectly. And then, after they spoke to me, some of them went and checked my LinkedIn. Nothing more, nothing less.

And as an author, I never found a single reader who chanced upon my website while searching for something to read. Or a reader who went to Amazon looking for something to read, and because I turned up in some search, went ahead and bought my books. Most of my readers went to Amazon or my website after someone had told them about my writing or books or they had read something I had written somewhere that triggered their interest.

I wondered that if everyone is trying to establish their reputation with LinkedIn posts, and everyone is on Instagram or Amazon or with SEO establishing some keywords to get searched on, who is everyone working for?

Is everyone working for the algorithm? If that is the case, won’t the algorithm stop working? I never got an answer.

But either because it didn’t interest me or because it didn’t work on me, I decided not to work for the algorithms. I decided it is best to work for yourself, and not chase any reputation or readership directly. Let it come if it does, and if it doesn’t, I might as well enjoy working for myself and get better at the craft.

I experienced a new enthusiasm and commitment dawn within myself when I decided to work for myself. That is the biggest upside of not working for the algorithms. And somehow, a small bunch of readers found my writing interesting. So, now I work for myself and those readers. It is far better than working for the algorithms. I now have the answer to the question: Who do you work for?

***

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Aparokshanubhuti

Note Extracts from my reading of Aparokshanubhuti by Adi Sankaracharya:

Such treatises as aim at serving as introductions to a more advanced study of a system of philosophy are generally known as ‘Prakarana Granthas’. Besides giving an outline of the system, each of them emphasizes some one or other of the main features. Aparokṣānubhūti is one such little manual, which, while presenting a brief description of Vedanta, deals specially with that aspect of it which relates to the realization (Anubhuti) of the highest Truth. Such realization, unlike the knowledge of objects through sense-perception or inference, is an immediate and direct perception of one’s own Self, which is here indicated by the word Aparokṣa.

The central theme of the book is the identity of the Jivātman (individual self) and Paramātman (Universal Self).

Only the pure in heart should constantly and with all effort meditate upon the truth herein taught.

It is only at the last stage when the knower and the known merge in the Self-effulgent Ātman, which alone ever is, and besides which nothing else exists, that the culmination is reached. This realization of the non-dual is the consummation of Aparokṣānubhūti.

The four preliminary qualifications (1) (the means to the attainment of knowledge), such as Vairāgya (dispassion) and the like, are acquired by men by propitiating Hari (the Lord), through austerities and the performance of duties pertaining to their social order and stage in life.

Ātman—In this ever-changing world there is one changeless being as witness of these changes. This permanent ever-seeing being is Ātman.

The seen—This comprises everything other than Ātman, such as objects of the senses, the senses, the mind and the Buddhi.

Abandonment of desires—Previous impressions that are lying dormant in the mind as well as the contact of the mind with the external objects give rise to desires. To abandon all desires is to dissociate the mind from these two sets of stimuli.

Turning away completely from all sense-objects is the height of Uparati, (1) and patient endurance of all sorrow or pain is known as Titikshā which is conducive to happiness.

While practising Shama and Dama there is an effort to restrain the mind’s outgoing propensities. But in Uparati the equipoise of the mind becomes spontaneous and there is no further striving to gain it.

Implicit faith in the words of the Vedas and the teachers (who interpret them) is known as Śraddhā, and concentration of the mind on the only object Sat (i.e. Brahman) is regarded as Samādhāna.

When and how shall I, O Lord, be free from the bonds of this world (i.e. births and deaths)—such a burning desire is called Mumukshutā.

Mumukshutā—This is the fourth Sādhanā. With this the student becomes fit to make an enquiry into the highest Truth, i.e. Brahman.

After a person has attained the tranquillity of the mind through Sādhanās, he should strive hard to maintain the same by constantly reflecting on the evanescent nature of this world and withal dwelling on the highest Truth till he becomes one with It.

Knowledge is not brought about by any other means (1) than Vicāra, just as an object is nowhere perceived (seen) without the help of light.

It is ignorance or Avidyā which has withheld the light of Knowledge from us.

It is only when we make an enquiry into the real nature of this Avidyā that it gradually withdraws and at last vanishes; then alone Knowledge shines.

Who am I? (1) How is this (world) created? Who is its creator? Of what material is this (world) made? This is the way of that Vicāra (2) (enquiry).

I am neither the body, (1) a combination of the (five) elements (of matter), nor am I an aggregate of the senses; I am something different from these. This is the way of that Vicāra.

I am neither the body—This body has its origin in insentient matter and as such it is devoid of consciousness. If I be the body, I should be unconscious; but by no means am I so. Therefore I cannot be the body.

The only thing that we are directly aware of is our own thoughts. The world that we see before us is what our thoughts have created for us.

As I am also the One, the Subtle, the Knower, (1) the Witness, the Ever-Existent and the Unchanging, so there is no doubt that I am “That” (2) (i.e. Brahman). Such is this enquiry.

When I say, “I know that I exist,” the “I” of the clause ‘that I exist’ forms a part of the predicate and as such it cannot be the same ‘I’ which is the subject. This predicative ‘I’ is the ego, the object. The subjective ‘I’ is the Supreme Knower.

Ātman is verily one and without parts, whereas the body consists of many parts; and yet the people see (confound) these two as one! What else can be called ignorance but this?

The nature of ignorance is, however, fully revealed when one confounds the subject (i.e. Ātman) with the object (i.e. the body), which have nothing in common between them, being opposed to each other in all respects.

The luminosity of Ātman consists in the manifestation of all objects.

How strange is it that a person ignorantly rests contented with the idea that he is the body, (1) while he knows it as something belonging to him (and therefore apart from him)

I am verily Brahman, (1) being equanimous, quiescent and by nature absolute Existence, Knowledge and Bliss. I am not the body (2) which is non-existence itself. This is called true Knowledge by the wise.

I ’, the Self or Ātman, is Brahman, as there is not even a single characteristic differentiating the two. In other words, there are no two entities as Ātman and Brahman; it is the same entity Ātman that is sometimes called Brahman.

When a person makes an enquiry into the real nature of this external world he is led to one ultimate reality which he calls Brahman. But an enquiry into the nature of the enquirer himself reveals the fact that there is nothing but the Ātman, the Self, wherefrom the so-called external world has emanated. Thus he realizes that what he so long called Brahman, the substratum of the universe, is but his own Self, it is he himself.

The ‘I’ (Ātman) is without any change—In happiness or misery, in childhood, youth or old age, Ātman, in spite of many changes in the body, remains the same; else how do we recognize a person to be the same man again and again even though his body and mind have undergone a thorough change?

Fear has its root in duality and imperfection and can be overcome by him alone who realizes non-duality and thus attains to perfection.

When duality (1) appears through ignorance, one sees another; but when everything becomes identified with the Ātman, one does not perceive another even in the least.

The Shruti (1) in the form of the Bṛhadāraṇyaka has declared that this Ātman, which is the Self of all, is verily Brahman.

When everything in this world is in a state of flux and is changing every moment, what is it that sees these changes? Vedānta declares that it is Ātman, the conscious principle, that witnesses all these changes, itself ever remaining unchanged and unaffected by the Gunas that work these changes.

The knowledge of Ātman means only the removal of names and forms that are superimposed upon It through ignorance.

When one realizes that Ātman alone is, and nothing else exists, ignorance with all its effects, such as the delusion of the body and the like, ceases to exist for ever.

The body, mind, intelligence and the like have their existence only in ignorance and therefore cannot exist when the latter is entirely destroyed by Knowledge.

This illusory world has Brahman as its substratum which is hidden from one’s view on account of ignorance. But when one realizes this Brahman by removing ignorance, one is no more deluded into seeing the phenomenal world which, like all other illusory things, vanishes completely before the knowledge of the truth.

Those who do not know the highest truth argue that if ignorance with all its effects is destroyed by Knowledge, how does the body of a Jnāni live, and how is it possible for him to behave like ordinary mortals? They, however, fail to see that it is they who, being still in ignorance, see the body of a Jnāni and speak of him as behaving this way or that, whereas the Jnāni himself never sees the body at all, as he is ever established in Ātman. To convince such persons the Shruti brings in Prārabdha as a tentative explanation for the so-called behaviour of a Jnāni.

Now, for the attainment (1) of the aforesaid (knowledge) I shall expound the fifteen steps by the help of which one should practise profound meditation at all times.

The steps, (1) in order, are described as follows: the control of the senses, the control of the mind, renunciation, silence, space, time, posture, the restraining root (Mulabandha), the equipoise of the body, the firmness of vision, the control of the vital forces, the withdrawal of the mind, concentration, self-contemplation, and complete absorption.

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