Dharma enwrapped with adharma

 

There is a beautiful episode in Ramayana. Sri Ram looking for Sita Mata finally reached the southern coast of India. There was a vast chasm of the sea separating his monkey army from the mighty Ravan’s bastion, Lanka. There were two choices for him to get back his wife: First, through persuasion if possible; second, to wage a war if that was the last resort left. As a righteous man, Sri Ram sent his ambassadors to persuade the Lanka king and return Sita Mata without unnecessary bloodshed. All options were nullified by Ravan’s ego and pride. So war was the only option left.

Sri Ram faced a daunting task of erecting a bridge and fighting Ravan’s mighty army. Before starting on such a huge test, it was thought befitting to seek divine intervention in his favor by performing an elaborate puja and other rituals. It involved performing a yajna to propitiate Lord Shiva and seek his blessings. Only Ravan, the best Vedic scholar and a Brahman, was suitable to conduct the rituals and the grand ceremony. To Sri Ram’s council of war advisors and other allies it was totally outlandish to seek the priestly duties from one’s enemy. They were shocked and surprised to hear the Ayodhya prince’s intention to have his enemy as the officiating priest for the ceremony. They were but mere mortals having a typically defined sense of one’s enemy, of seeing one’s opponent in binary colors only. But Sri Ram, an evolved soul with enlightened self, saw a persona in totality. He could see one’s utility above the boundaries set up by the ego and pride. He could see the littlest star of light shining in a dark personality. 

Hanuman flew with the message. The proposal was met with much consternation, guffaws of laughter and thunders of anger in Ravan’s council. Everyone expected their powerful king to spit on the proposal and insult the carrier of such a preposterous scheme. They were shocked when the Lanka king looked serious and gently agreed to the invitation. Ravan, the proficient Vedic scholar Brahman, was no ordinary being. He well understood that as a Brahman he was duty-bound to accept the proposal to officiate a yajna ceremony. He himself was great in his own ways beyond the strict confines of arrogance and pride through which we know him usually. Even at his worst with his pride, arrogance and haughty demeanor he remembered his duties as a Brahman.

So here was Ravan surprisingly at the puja venue to officiate and conduct a ceremony meant to seek blessings for the victory of his enemy. His role as the conductor of those rituals and ceremonies demanded a flawless approach, an approach that should not be allowed to be tainted by his other self as the head of the army that would be fighting against Sri Ram’s soldiers. So he gave his best as the officiating priest of the ceremony conducted to get Lord Shiva’s blessings for victory in the impending war.

Ravan expertly inspected all the arrangement and found something missing. ‘You have made the arrangement quite nicely O Ram. But there is something very important missing. As the host of this ceremony, you cannot install Lord Shiva’s idol without the company of your wife. As per shastra edicts, however high and mighty a person is, he cannot perform this ceremony without his consort,’ Ravan explained the missing link required for the successful performance of the rituals.

Sri Ram, the ever-poised and mentally balanced sage warrior, kept his composure and thanked the great scholar for his pious sense of duty in his role as a conductor of ceremonies. ‘O Lanka king, you have righteously followed your duty to make it a flawless arrangement and pointed out the thing that needs to be attended to. Now kindly suggest a solution to the problem because it also is part of your duty,’ the graceful Ayodhya prince gently said with a smile.

Even in the face of war with his rival Ravan knew his dharmic duties and suggested a solution. ‘I shall arrange to get your wife here for the successful performance of the ceremonies. But you have to give a word that she will be allowed to be taken back to Lanka after the puja is over,’ Ravan said. Sri Ram agreed to it.

So all the arrangements were made and the great scholar Brahman expertly conducted the ceremony. The flawless performance meant that Lord Shiva would be blessing Sri Ram’s army with victory. Moreover, as the chief officiating priest of the grand ceremony of exquisite rituals it was Ravan’s duty to bless the puja host with victory. To Ravan it was a challenge to fulfill his dharmic duties as a priest even if it meant blessing his rival with victory. ‘Vijayi Bhava!’ Ravan fulfilled the last of his priestly duties. To him it was nothing short of victory in the game of ceremony proposed by Sri Ram. The great Brahman in him knew that he was cursing himself with a defeat by blessing the enemy with a victory.

Ravan was now convinced that he would be killed in the war. Such mystical levels of puja to earn the blessings of Lord Shiva would surely bless the puja host with victory in the war. On top of that he himself had to bless the host with victory. One more puzzle faced him. As the officiating priest he was duty-bound to accept some dakshina from the host. He was in a dilemma. As a rich, proud king he had been a giver of charity all his life. But now he had to adopt the role of a humble Brahman receiving the charity from the puja host with full humility. Taking any material wealth would have wounded his pride because he had even imprisoned Kuber, the lord of wealth. But he had to perform this duty as well. As the officiating fees for the puja performance he asked Sri Ram to respectfully stand near him while he took his last breaths in the battle. Later, when Ravan was dying on the battlefield Sri Ram kept his word and respectfully stood by the mighty Lanka king. The victorious Ayodhya prince stood there in utmost humility and paid respects to the departing soul. His supremely balanced self didn’t show any trace of pride and haughtiness that we usually see in victorious kings and princes. No wonder, we worship him as Bhagwan.

From this episode we can say that there is no absolute evil, there is no perfect darkness in a persona. Ravan, whom we portray as the symbol of all-pervading darkness, had his own light of truth and duties deep inside his soul.

We are part good, part bad. We have to keep lighting the lamp for the good in us, to help it maintain its righteous glow. And we have to keep fighting against the darkness of the bad in us. This is the war of the soul to attain a righteous self. After defeating the enemy within, we have to emerge victorious and reach home, triumphant, like the great prince Ram coming back to Ayodhya after winning all the wars. Then we are entitled to light lamps in celebration of conquering the darkness. Then it’s the festival time for the soul liberated from the darkness of fears, hate, anger, jealousy, judgments. Then we become the rulers of the kingdom within the sanctified precincts of the soul, our very own Ayodhya.

The warehouse-type buses of the past

 

We have surely added to our convenience with the years advancing on the path of material progress. I vividly remember our times as students at the nearest town—for senior secondary schooling and later college education—during the nineties of the last century. There were smatterings of roadways buses plying on the potholed road. Those were big, rattling metal godowns meant to carry the passenger cargo crammed from floor to the ceiling. It would start with full occupancy of seats from the originating station in the neighboring district. As it moved towards the destination, it would absorb dozens of students, old, young, laborers, government servants, women, men all awaiting anxiously at the rural stations along the road.

The buses were sturdy brutes and angrily chugged ahead with the passengers numbering many multiples of the normal seats. The seats meant for two people would have four passengers squeezed tightly. The aisle would have people stuffed like farm sacks. People would squeeze into the foot spaces between the seats. There would be brawls and even fights. The lecherous and lusty ones took advantage of the crowded situation and freely molested the girls and women in that stuffed environment. And long after you thought there wasn’t space even for an ant inside, you had scores of people hanging from the footboards of the doors, just their toes stuffed into the maze, one leg hanging loose and the hands clutching at the window-side pipes, grills or whatever came handy to avoid a fall and getting crushed to death. And there were still more people waiting on the upcoming stoppages. Then people—mostly students—would get onto the roof and many clung to the backside grills. There would be hardly any space left for the conductor to move up and down the aisle for tickets. It was miraculous how did they even squeeze through at all. Those bus rides carried a very high fatality rate for the shirts and trousers.

On the way to our destination town, our village was the second last stoppage, so by the time the barely visible bus under the human assault reached our station, we, at the most, had some distant possibility of climbing either to the roof or clinging to some little square inch of space among the legs on the footboard. Most of the drivers—fearing the coming apart of the vehicle itself—would just speed past, leaving huge plumes of angry smoke in our face. The most capable ones ran after the bus to catch any little chances as it slowed down near the speed bump. The second in skill and strength grabbed at any inch of space on the railings and footboards. And the odd ones like me who carried the weight of books in their bags and an injury idea in the mind would wistfully look on and get late for the classes. I remember so many bus rides, my toes precariously perched on a few inches of space on the footboard and clinging to the window-side iron pipe with all strength. But there would still be someone who would try to cling to you at the last station before the destination. So reaching the town in one piece was a successful day at schooling.

For most of the students it was a fun outing. The majority of them played cards, gossiped about girls, fought gang wars over girls and smartly planned their love-lust journeys while lounging in the parks and lawns. The youth was still pretty untamed. There were bloody fights over ego hurt in love. There were belt assaults over cinema tickets. Everyone thought he was Dharmendra or Amitabh capable of wooing a girl and squashing the rivals.

The girl students were outnumbered five to one by the boys. Short on supply, more in demand. Each girl had multiple suitors. Just receiving a casual look by the girls was taken her willingness to engage in an affair. Then a blind pursuit would follow. Those were the days of fights for love, love letters, clandestine meetings in some friend’s room, scandals and more.

Most of the students would while away time and started gathering at the bus stand in the afternoon, waiting for the girls to arrive at their booths for the buses to their routes. It was a big, buzzing love station, secret signs, winks, hidden flying kisses. There were many who had their hearts crushed for a girl from a different bus route than their home places. So they would accompany the flower like bumble bees on her route and returned late in the evening to their places after a hard day at youth’s callings. Books and studies lay at the far end of the scheme. And the girls who managed to graduate in all this pandemonium were the pioneers indeed.

The unknowable void

 Anything can be written, thought, felt, analyzed, interpreted about an empty page. Its emptiness is the limitless, infinite womb of creation. Its nonbeing is the soul of the entire substance of being. The word is an echo of the wordless. The noise is a mere chiming announcement on the timeless clock of silence, intimating the eternal presence of silence. The manifestation is a mere indicator of the presence of the eternal, unknowable void.

Neelkanth (Indian roller)

 Evening meditation of a neelkanth (Indian roller).

A meditative neelkanth...not for salvation, of course...just for fish...most of us also meditate with lots of fishy stuff in the mind😃

The birth of full moon

 टुकड़ों टुकड़ों में बटे अपने मन से देखूं तो विचार और भाव। धीरे धीरे उगता चांद। सुंदर और अद्भुत। उस विराटतम अद्भुत सौंदर्य की एक झलक।