The Black Truths of Kali Yuga: A Dying Monsoon and the Drowning of Honesty

 **22 July 2006**

The heat and humidity are terrible despite the early promise. The monsoon has disappointed thus far. The dreary evenings are intolerable. Perspiration seems to be the most common phenomenon among humans.

Paddy growers have started growing seedlings. The fate of their paddy lies in the life-giving kisses of the showery maiden. The plants now sag down in the warm, smelly pools of water around them, for which their patrons work so hard.

But it is a peculiar phenomenon. For the second year running, we have had hamlets in the desert state of Rajasthan being swept away by flash floods.

So we have started to bear the consequences of climate change.

Let us see where we go from here.

A time, perhaps, will come when all the multi-hued, beautiful, sweetly tantalising, sensationally certain yet uncertain aspects of nature will remain only in the words and pictures of the past.

Unhindered, almost natureless, we will run amok in naked shamelessness on the barren and bland terrain of our disarmed, lopsided, skewed stampede.

We will appear as aliens on the face of the Earth.

We are indeed taking ourselves on the path of alienation; to become aliens.

Those strange, heavy-footed aliens will be unrecognisable.

And in all this gloomy heat, the black truth of *Kali Yuga* strikes.

And I feel terribly gloomy.

These are bad, black times with their big, black truths.

One black truth has now hardened its position. It is taking such a concrete shape that maybe, in the immediate future—or even presently, barring the rarest of rare exceptions, meaning that the last nails in the coffin are yet to be hammered down—it will be perfectly unshakable, inviolable.

This black truth goes like this:

However hard and deep your roots in honesty, truth, integrity and constitutionality, you stand a futile chance of succeeding in your pursuit if you are pitted against a higher authority.

The tools of the game are such that they can be used through underhand manoeuvres—which the superior force does exemplarily—while you are left just a skinny dog battling for your life in the dangerously stagnant waters.

The truth and uprightness of your cause cannot act as your life jacket.

They act as drags, as dead weights, to pull you down into the pits of misery.

The vibrations of negativity are so light now that they take you into the air.