Truth In A Battlefield

(My favourite chapter in Gita is Chapter XI , which describes Krishna's Universal Form. I go back to it again and again. Krishna helped His friend Arjuna in many ways, but the greatest help He provided, was the granting of the vision of His Universal Form. It was this, which finally convinced Arjuna to fight. As I battle against my own nature, I seek His help too)

Sweating profusely, mouth parched, the mighty Arjuna stands in the battlefield. The Gandiv has fallen from his trembling hands. Arrayed on both sides of the battlefield, are those, he holds closest to his heart. Grandfather, gurus, uncles , cousins , friends of his youth and childhood. Now, he would have to unleash his fearsome weaponry against them. Kill them and watch them die painful deaths.

My predicament is not as terrible as that of Arjuna, yet I suffer too. I am a prisoner of my mind, locked in by illusion. I run after a thousand desires but my thirst never quenches. I toss helplessly on the waves that rise in my mind. Waves of joy, sorrow, love, hatred, anger, jealousy,greed, repentance. I am tormented by fears and wracked by worries. I dance like a puppet to the play of emotions.. How long will you watch me make a complete fool of myself, Dark Lord of Vrindavan? Will Your play never end?

With the effulgence of a thousand suns , the splendorous form towers into the sky. Adorned with garlands , anointed with heavenly perfumes , armed with divine weapons, He appears before the awestruck Pandava prince. Countless worlds, suns, moons and stars swirl within the immeasurable vastness of the God of Gods. Millions of faces, hands and bodies stretch into the distance. There is no beginning, middle or end. Gods and sages are entering Him with folded hands, singing hymns of peace and praise. All the sons of Dhritarashtra, all the kings and warriors are hurtling into the terrible jaws. Some are stuck between the teeth with their heads smashed. As rivers enter the sea, as moths enter the flame. so are these men entering the blazing mouths, only to be destroyed. Krishna, the Primeval Lord, straddles the space between heaven and earth.

Arjuna holds his bow with a steady hand. His doubts dispelled, he knows now, what he has to do. He knows that he can neither kill nor be killed. He just has to do what his Kshatriya dharma tells him to do. He has to kill those who have already been killed by the Lord , as all powerful Time. He is an instrument, one of the innumerable beings who are constantly arising from and merging into the Absolute Bliss.

Grant me the Celestial Eye, O Lord! Reveal Your Truth to me. So that, like Your beloved friend Arjuna, I too, can break free from my self inflicted misery.

An Old Story, Well Loved

The story, 'The Three Hermits', by Leo Tolstoy, has stayed with me through the years. It is based on a legend, current in the Volga district, in Russia, and apparently has a historical basis. The island, where the three hermits are said to have lived, exists in the mouth of the Dvian river. I have recounted it so many times to my children and friends and yet each time, it causes a lump in my throat and moisture in my eyes. This little story brings out clearly the distinction between organised religion and spirituality, which wells up straight from the heart. It expresses the power of the simplest of all prayers - 'O Lord, have mercy upon me' and the wonders that can be wrought by it. Sri Ramakrishna has also advocated the use of this prayer, and it is the prayer, closest to my heart.

The Three Hermits

A Bishop was sailing from Archangel to the Slovetsky Monastry, when he overheard a group of pilgrims, pointing towards an island in the distance and talking. On enquiring, they told him about the three hermits , who lived on the small island for the salvation of their souls. Intrigued, the Bishop decided to visit them and was rowed to the island. As they neared the shore, the Bishop saw three old men: a tall one with only a mat tied around his waist, a shorter one in a tattered peasant coat, and a very old one, bent with age and wearing an old cassock -- all three standing hand in hand.

When the Bishop got down from the boat, the three men bowed. He gave them benediction and they bowed still lower. He asked them about their methods of seeking salvation, the prayers they used and the tallest one replied that they knew only one prayer, "Three are ye, three are we, have mercy upon us." The Bishop smiled and said that that was not the right way to pray. He would teach them the way in which God, in His holy scriptures, has commanded all men to pray to Him. He then began teaching them the Lord's prayer "Our Father, Which art in heaven."

The Bishop spent the whole day, teaching them the prayer, making them repeat it again and again till they finally got it right. It was evening, when he took leave of the men and they all bowed down to the ground before him. As he left in the boat, he could hear the voices of the three hermits, loudly repeating the Lord's prayer. After some time , the island disappeared from sight, and only the water, shimmering in the moonlight could be seen all around.

As the Bishop sat on the deck, looking out at the sea, he saw something radiant moving towards the ship, at great speed. When the apparition came closer, he saw to his amazement, the three hermits coming along, hand in hand, gliding on the water.When they reached the ship, they began speaking in one voice, "O servant of God, we have forgotten the prayer you taught us and have hastened to ask you to repeat it."

The awed Bishop shook his head,"Dear ones,"he said humbly,"continue to live with your old prayer. It is not for me to teach you."

And the Bishop bowed low before the old men. They turned and went back across the sea and a light shone till daybreak at the spot where they were lost to sight.

Three Poems

My father passed away suddenly in July,1991. This was my first encounter with death, upclose. As was common in those days, I got the news only after five days, through a telegram.The phone was not working in the Mumbai monsoon. I had gone into a strange mode after that, which remained with me for a year.Though outwardly, I lived a normal life, the feeling of transience always remained with me, the feeling that everything around me was temporary. Then, suddenly, the muse descended on me and I ended up writing a few poems. The peculiarity about these poems is that they were not thought out at all and were written in one go. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the muse departed and maybe that is all for the best!

THE MOTHER

The other day,

I read in the newspapers

Of how a young mother

Had dug her nails

Into the tender neck

Of her newborn

And drawn out the lifeblood

The life that had grown

For nine long months

In the dark warmth of her womb

The life that had grown

For nine long months

In the soil of her own flesh and blood

I wondered what made her do it

What evil forces of anger, hatred or despair

But then I learnt that it was a girl child

The third that had been born to her

The woman had known

That she had failed

Yet again

That she had given birth

To another woman

A woman who had no right

To live, to breathe, to partake of Nature's bounties

Her very existence

On God's earth

Was a crime, for which

She must forever repent

The only atonement was

To bring forth a man child

Into this world

For then and only then

Would her miserable female life

Find some worth

But this wretched mother had failed

Again and again and again

Her blind fury

Had fastened on the tiny throat

And she had watched in numb despair

The trickling of her own lifeblood

The throttling of her own womanhood

-----------------------------------------------

THE COMPANION

We walk together

You and I

My faceless companion

You were a silent witness

When I entered the world

A squirming, screaming little lump

Of humanity

You smiled indulgently

At my first faltering steps

And then

As time went on

Life in all its many colored hues

Enchanted me, ensnared me and convinced me

Of my invincibility

But, even then

You wait and watch and bide your time

And then, one day

On a lonely path

I feel your touch

Upon my shoulder

Taken unawares

I turn and smile

For you, Death

Are my friend

Your name strikes no terror

In my heart

Because I know

That whatever begins

Must always end

And that, you and I

Will walk together

Hand in hand always

On the tightrope between

Mortality and Immortality

----------------------------------------------------

THE MIRROR

She spends long hours

Before her mirror

And listens to its flattering tales

She drapes herself

In rich finery

Colours bright and gay

She paints her face

And hides behind it

The sullen emptiness

Of her day

Krishna Plays Holi

This is one of my favourite bhajans. I'm not sure who the composer is, probably Mirabai or Surdas. I find the imagery beautiful and a great truth has been expressed in a few lines of exquisite poetry. I have attempted to translate it for the benefit of those who do not understand Hindi, but as is the case with most translations, it does'nt come close to the beauty of the original.

Kaisi Hori machaai Kanhai
Acharaj lakhiyo na jaai
(The Holi you played, O Krishna,
is truly wondrous to behold)

Ek samay Shri Krishna Prabhu ko
Hori khelan man bhaai
(A time came, when the Lord Sri Krishna
desired to play Holi )

Ek se Hori mache nahi kabahu
Ya te kari bahutaai

Yehi Prabhu ne theheraai
(Holi cannot be played by One alone,
And so He created many)

Paanch bhoot ki dhaatu mila kar
Ant pichkari banaai
(By combining the five elements
His 'pichkari', He made)

Choudah bhuvan rang bheetar bhar kar
Nana roop dharaai
(Filling it with fourteen colours of the world

Myriad forms, did He create )

Prakat bhaye Krishan Kanhai
Kaisi Hori machaai....
(And thus appeared Krishna Kanhai )

Paanch bishaya ki gulaal bana kar
Beech brahmand udaai
(Gulaal (colour) made of the five vishaya(materials)*

Into the universe, He sprayed )

Jin jin nain gulaal padi woh
Sudh budh sab bisraai
Nahi soojhat apnaai
Kaisi Hori machaai....
(All those eyes which caught the gulaal
Lost all sense
Of their true identity)

Ved anit anjan ki silaka
Jisne nain me paai
(All those who received the kajal
Of the Vedas in their eyes)

Brahmanand jiska tam naasyo
Soojh gayi apnaayi
(The ecstasy of Brahman destroyed their darkness
Their true selves, they found )

Hori kachu bani na banaai
And Krishna could no longer play Holi with them

Kaisi hori machaai Kanhai .....

* paanch bishaya means objects related to the five senses and the negative emotions which arise from them - 'kaam', 'krodh', 'lobh', 'mad', 'moh' ie. desire, anger, greed, arrogance ,attachment.

A Prison, A Courtroom And Oneness

In 2003, I happened to borrow a book from a friend and discovered Sri Aurobindo. The book was Satprem's 'Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness.' Since then, Sri Aurobindo has become my refuge, someone to whom I turn, when life confuses or threatens me or whenever I have questions to ask. He is the Guru, through whom Vasudeva speaks to me.

I reach out across a hundred years to where he sits alone in his tiny, windowless cell in Alipore jail. Arrested for conspiracy, in May 1908, he has been awarded the most horrific of punishments, the solitary confinement. But, then it is here that he has found God, his beloved Sri Krishna. The tiny cell has metamorphosed into a serene ashram in a forest.

He speaks to me of his experiences there. "I looked at the jail that secluded me from men and it was no longer by its high walls that I was imprisoned; no, it was Vasudeva that surrounded me. I walked under the branches of the tree in front of my cell but it was not the tree, I knew it was Vasudeva, it was Sri Krishna whom I saw standing there and holding over me his shade. I looked at the bars of my cell, the very grating that did duty for a door and again I saw Vasudeva. It was Narayana who was guarding and standing sentry over me. Or I lay on the course blankets that were given me for a couch and felt the arms of Sri Krishna around me, the arms of my Friend and Lover... I looked at the prisoners in the jail, the thieves, the murderers, the swindlers and as I looked at them I saw Vasudeva, It was Narayana whom I found in these darkened souls and misused bodies."

The trial lasts six months. Sri Aurobindo is locked everyday, in an iron cage in the middle of the courtroom. It is from here, that his voice echoes across time , "when the case opened... I was followed by the same insight. He said to me,"When you were cast into jail, did not your heart fail and did you not cry out to me where is Thy protection? Look now at the Magistrate, look now at the Prosecuting Counsel."I looked and it was not the Magistrate whom I saw; it was Vasudeva, it was Narayana who was sitting there on the bench. I looked at the Prosecuting Counsel and it was not the Counsel for the Prosecution that I saw;it was Sri Krishna who sat there and smiled. "Now do you fear?" He said,"I am in all men and I overrule their actions and their words."

Throughout his trial, Sri Aurobindo sits silently, his head bowed, not uttering a word.

God is not outside His world. He did not 'create' the world, He became the world.The Upanishad says: "He became knowledge and ignorance, He became the truth and the falsehood... He became all this, whatsoever that is." In Sri Aurobindo's words, "The dumb and blind and brute is That and not only the finely mentally conscious human or animal existence. All this infinite becoming is a birth of the Spirit into form."

On May 6,1909, after a year spent in jail, Sri Aurobindo is acquitted. The main witness against him, whose testimony would have resulted in a death penalty, is shot dead in jail by two revolutionaries.

But the Voice still speaks to him: "Remember never to fear, never to hesitate. Remember, it is I who am doing this, not you or any other. Therefore, whatever clouds may come, whatever danger and sufferings, whatever difficulties, whatever impossibilities, there is nothing impossible, nothing difficult.

It is I who am doing this."

On Ruhaniyat and Washroom Queues

We attended Ruhaniyat (the sufi and mystic music fest) recently held in Bangalore and the experience was pleasant enough. It was organised outdoors, with coconut trees providing a backdrop to the stage, a welcome change from a stuffy auditorium. The folk singers from Rajasthan sang Mira bhajans and those from Madhya Pradesh were Kabir panthis. They were common people, with brightly coloured pagris on their heads and their music was so lively and exuberant that even Mira's pain of being separated from Krishna seemed infused with joy.One Kabir song ,'Tu Hi Tu'(only You) went somewhat like this -'You are small in the ant.You are big in the elephant. You are the mahout, who sits on the elephant. You are the thief, running away and You are the cop in hot pursuit'. Listening to the spiritual music of our land, made me realise all over again how spirituality here seems to be all pervasive, woven in the fabric of daily life and a constant joyous celebration. It is not confined to sombre places of worship and their caretakers. I was moved to tears on several occasions, especially by the singing of Parvathy Baul. Her voice had that special something , which cannot be defined. She provided her own music, with her ektara, dugdugi and anklets and the twirling of her long jata (dreadlocks) as she danced was mesmerising. She sang a Bengali translation of an Akka mahadevi poem which went like this - 'O Purush(man) ,seeing my well formed breasts you are attracted, but I am neither man nor woman.The only man for me is Chenna Mallikarjuna'. In her introduction, she explained that men saints usually describe women as 'big maya' and this was a woman saint's perspective.
We can get a taste of her music on her homepage.

http://www.parvathybaul.mimemo.net/

After about two hours, we got a ten minute break and I went in search of the washroom. There, I saw a curious scenario. There was a long queue, before the women's washroom while there was none before the men's. The men were just coming and going. Somehow, this seemed rather unfair. After I had waited for some time, in the seemingly unmoving queue, a lady loudly proclaimed, "After waiting for so long, there is no way I am going back." This, sort of broke the ice, and conversations began to be initiated.The lady before me, turned around and we commented on the mystery of the men's loo having no queue, and what could be the possible explanation. Some ladies ahead of us, discovered that they shared a common place of origin, Delhi and the conversation became really animated. Information give and take began in earnest and invitations to visit were also extended. The program had restarted in the meantime and we could hear Kachra Khan and his group singing in the background.

The women exchanged smiles. We helped each other wash our hands after we discovered that the taps were operated by footpumps (similar to foot operated sewing machines). The waiting time at the women's loo, had brought a totally disparate bunch of women, who, a little while ago, were not even aware of each other's existence, together. For a few moments, before we all went our own way, we shared something warm and human, something close to friendship. And I marvelled once again at the magic of female bonding. Let the men have their queue-less washrooms. Long live the Sisterhood!

Rishikesh, in my memories

I was born in Allahabad, grew up in Rishikesh and so my association with Ganga has been quite long. My parents moved to Rishikesh, in the early sixties, when I was just a toddler. It was pretty much a one horse town, then. My mother told me that she cried when she first came there.There were monkeys all around and coexisting peacefully with them was a major challenge of our daily life.They snatched away clothes from our washing line and we had to think up innovative ways of getting them back.The temperature dipped below zero in winter.The only source of entertainment was a rickety cinema hall, where movies released, not days or months but years after releasing in other parts of India. No wonder, my young mother despaired.

I have an early memory of sadhus celebrating Durga puja in one of the numerous ashrams there.They were doing the dhunuchi naach(dancing while holding clay pots with smouldering fire in both hands) to the beat of dhaak and I danced along with them.The bhashan(immersion of the Durga idol) was done in Muni-ki-reti,which was then just a sandy stretch with shacks, along the banks of Ganga. The Himalayan foothills ,the trees, and the beat of the dhakis in the swiftly falling darkness at twilight created an ethereal and deeply melancholic atmosphere as we bid farewell to the Mother.

We later shifted to Virbhadra, a few kilometres away from Rishikesh. My parents worked in IDPL, a public sector unit which manufactured antibiotics.It was plagued with all the illls which generally plague PSUs and has shut shop long ago. The Ganga flowed nearby, in all its pristine glory. An ancient Shiva temple graced its banks. Shiva is said to have started his Tandava from this spot.The temple had murals of Daksha yagya on its walls. A mela was held there on every Shivaratri. A few steps away, was a picturesque Swiss cottage,where Mira Behn, an associate of Gandhiji(originally Madeline Slade,an English woman), lived for some years.It was one of our favourite haunts. The area was overgrown with bhang plants and we heard stories about people losing their mental balance after consuming the bhang leaves. Snakes abounded, including the poisonous varieties like king cobra but in all the twenty years I lived there, there was never an incident of anyone being bitten.

We had the opportunity to meet many sadhus and holy men but somehow I was never very impressed by them. Shivananda Ashram had many highly qualified doctors from different parts of India, who had retired from worldly life and were doing charitable service. I had gone there once when Sri Anandamayi ma had come. Devotees, from all over the world, thronged in hundreds. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings. She was in samadhi, though I could not understand that, then. A group of her devotees were in charge and issuing statements on her behalf like 'Ma has said that no one should leave without eating' and so on. Eyes open,unblinking and unfocused, she sat still, amidst all the commotion around her.

In 1972, Alaknanda (a tributary of Ganga) flooded and the Ganga at Rishikesh was swamped with sand.Thousands of fish choked to death.The water-in-take point for our colony was filled with sand and our taps ran dry. So, schools and factory shut down and every man, woman and child was called upon to do 'shram daan' (voluntary labour). Off we went with buckets and spades, formed long human chains and threw out the sand. I was thirteen and this was heady stuff for me.

Many film units came there, to shoot scenes on Ganga. As there were no decent hotels then, they were put up in our colony guest house. Big and small Bollywood stars would descend on us and our placid flow of life would suddenly be churned up. Amitabh Bachchan, Hema Malini, Rekha, Manoj Kumar and Rishi Kapoor were some of the notables.The presence of the film people was somewhat incongruous in those environs. Bachchan would zip around our narrow colony streets in a white PremierPadmini. Because of their erratic schedules, damage to property by fans and because some of them decamped without paying their phone bills(those were the days of booking trunk calls), this practice was discontinued in 1976.

Familiarity breeds contempt and so I always wondered why hordes of tourists descended on Rishikesh throughout the year.I shifted base after my marriage in 1982. After decades of living in big, crowded metros,now I sometimes long to go back. The fear, that the Rishikesh of my memories no longer exists, holds me back.A precious gift, Rishikesh has given me is that from a very early age, I have seen and met many people there, whose lives were off the beaten track. Good or bad, right or wrong, is a matter of opinion, but they had the courage to break the mould.

About Aamir Khan and Howard Roark

As expected,'Ghajini' has broken all box office records.Though I don't particularly go for action flicks, this time, I made a beeline for the theatre, along with the hubby , son and millions of other Indians.The reason being, of course, Aamir Khan.He has established himself as a sort of ISI mark in the movie world.We can safely shell out money in the multiplex, knowing we will get our full paisa vasool.

His career path is fascinating. He is the Howard Roark (one of the main protagonists in Ayn Rand's 'Fountainhead') of the Indian film industry.

About a decade ago, he was like any other Bollywood star,churning out several movies a year but then he put on the brakes .I remember watching an interview on Doordarshan,where he was asked about this and whether he felt insecure about money.He then replied that he did'nt live a high maintenance life and earning big money was'nt his aim in life.In fact, he lived in his parent's flat in Bandra at the time.He wanted to do work he believed in.He was only in his early thirties then, a time when economic security is a priority for most people. Success is notoriously fickle in the film industry and a few flops are enough to send a star into oblivion.So, deciding to do only one film at a time must have taken a whole lot of courage.

And see how it has paid off! He now works on his own terms and only on projects which excite him. In an industry, known for its camps and godfathers, he strikes a lonely trail.He doesn't accept awards or dance at functions, much to the chagrin of his peers. He took a break of four years after 'Lagaan', a thing unheard of, for a top star.He doesn't need to kowtow to the almighty media people.For a long time, he ignored the press as he was miffed with them for some reason and yet his films were blockbusters.Even his promotion for 'Taare Zameen Par' was much more low key than other big releases like 'Om Shanti Om' etc but the film did great business on sheer word of mouth. He has turned all Bollywood norms on their head and yet he rules the box office.

His hair styles promote and build up anticipation for his movies, months before they release. This again, is possible, only because he does one film at a time.

From what I read in newspaper reports, he is making an enormous lot of money too. He takes a percentage of the profit of his movies as his remuneration and that comes to a huge amount. He gets astronomical sums for his endorsements too(probably because he brings his 'stamp of quality' to the products he endorses). So by doing fewer films,he hasn't lost out on money either.

So by cutting down on his output, and by following his heart where his work was concerned
Aamir has become a unique phenomenon in his chosen field.

It is said that a slave has one master but an ambitious man has many. Anyone, who can help fulfill his ambition is his master. Aamir is self confessedly highly ambitious and yet he appears to be free! At least much more free than his counterparts seem to be.

He has opted out of the rat race and yet beaten all the rats at their game.

His success deserves to be studied in business schools. In India, at least.

Getting Started in Blogosphere

I am a homemaker and a mother of two who are on the verge of flying the nest.Just had my 50th birthday.

In the Vedic period, I guess, it was around this age ,that people opted for the 'vanprastha ashram'.This was the third ashram or phase of life,succeeding 'Brahmacharya ashram'(student phase), and 'Grihastha ashram'(householder phase).'Vanprastha' literally means 'going to the forest'.The householder gradually relinquishes his responsibilities and rights in the household and allows the younger generation to take over, while he and his spouse move into a more contemplative mode of life.This phase precedes the last one- the 'Sanyas ashram' or the 'phase of renunciation' and is the mental and physical preparation for it. The fruit ripens and gradually disconnects from the branch of worldly life.

I can't say ,the idea doesn't appeal to me right now. It made a lot of sense dividing the human life in these four distinct phases.Would have eliminated many conflicts and power struggles within the household,all those 'saas-bahu' scenarios.People would retire to the solitude and peace of the forests, assimilate their life experiences ,contemplate and meditate. They would have the opportunity to associate and learn from sages who lived in those verdant environs.They depended on Ayurveda for curing their ailments so even that aspect would be well taken care of in the forests.

All this does appear rather tempting to me at this point in my life!An escape,a sanctuary from the humdrum daily existence, the same old routine of life which goes on and on,the never-ending cycle of chores and duties.

So here I am ,taking my first steps into Blogosphere, the modern version of the unknown forest,a world beyond my own small one.For a few hours everyday,I am planning to escape into this world and there is no knowing what I might find.So here goes!