Course Reading Feedback

I truly believe that Ganesha Goes to Lunch by Kamla Kapur should be required reading for this course. It is just too good not to be.I really feel that students in this course who did not get a chance to read it are missing out, and in effect doing a disservice to themselves. It was the most well written, most powerful reading I did all semester. It builds perfectly off the Ramayana and the Mahabharata and lets us get to know the gods and goddesses in such a more intimate way than we would otherwise. I absolutely believe that it is worth two weeks of the class' time to read through and learn from. For me, it was the perfect final reading to synergize everything I'd learned over the semester and grant me a deeper understanding of Indian mythology and philosophy of living.

Portfolio Index

My first Portfolio Story, Bhagiratha's Resolve: The story of a man with impeccable willpower and earth-moving patience, and his journey to find peace for his ancestors.

The second story in my Portfolio is entitled Battle of Wills. In it, we delve deeper into the past of Viswamithra, the sage who taught Rama at the beginning of the Ramayana, as he attempts to send a selfish king to heaven before his time and prove once and for all he is a superior sage.

The third story has two parts. First is Arjuna's Gifts Part 1, where Arjuna receives a powerful gift from each of the Gods to use in his upcoming battle with Karna.

Next, a tale of three princely brothers who stumble upon a mischievous water sprite who asks each the same puzzling question: "What are Good Fairies Like?"

A wise king embarks upon a quest to carry a goblin across a graveyard for a mysterious monk. Along the way he is forced to answer the goblin's riddles. Will the king come up with all the right answers and keep his head? Or will the goblin manage to trick him? Is there some nefarious plot behind the king's quest? Find out all that and more in the two-part Riddles of the Goblin King!

Finally, the capping stone to my portfolio, The Gods of India and the World Today, where all the gods we've learned about this semester meet across a round table to discuss what should be done about the current state of the world.

Week 14 Storytelling: Reincarnation

Author's Note:

First of all, thank you to everyone who voted for my portfolio in the top 5! It means a lot. 

Anyway, I decided to get a little experimental with this one, try my hand at something new. I've never written a first-person story before, so I thought I'd give it a shot. I also used a journal entry format, which I have not used before. Like I said, I got experimental.

I was inspired by Kapur's Ganesha Goes to Lunch, and more specifically the seen where Guha is brought back to life by Shiva. He is transported from the Land of the Dead to the World Tree, which reincarnates him back into his body. I changed a few details here and there, but that's the basic arc. Without further ado,

Reincarnation: 

I was twenty-one years, seven months, thirteen days, and six hours old the moment I died. I'd go back and count the seconds, but even given infinite time there are just some things I can't bring myself to suffer. Counting the hours was maddening enough. But what else do I have to do here?

. . .

I'm in a place, I've decided. It's not just nowhere. Well, I mean it is nowhere--total darkness, the great all-black, the void. But it's not Nowhere with a capital 'N.' I'm definitely someplace. A place of total and utter nothingness, but a place nonetheless. 

. . .

Today I found a crack. The narrowest, most imperceptible ripple in the fabric of this place. It is the first 'something' I've seen since the lights went out. Ha. Never thought I'd be so excited over 'something in someplace' but here we are. 

. . .

The more I nudge it, the more I think I can open it up. I don't even know if that thought makes any sense, or what I'd be opening. Or what's on the other side. But I think I can do it.

. . .

I was twirling the rift, as I've come to call it, idly tody, as I've been ever since I found it. It soothes me, the hint that I may not be completely alone in the place. Anyway, I was twirling my finger in it, when my finger passed plain through to the other side! And I felt it. I mean, really felt it. The first thing I've actually touched since I been died. The rift doesn't feel like anything. But this? It was soft, that's the first thing I noticed, nearly sponge-like. Crumbly and delectably warm. I don't know what's out there, but I'm going through. See you on the other side.

. . .

It's dark here too. But not nearly the same as the void. Here, there is still the notion that light exists. If not here, then somewhere. Something tells me it's above me. I don't know how or why, but I know that's where I have to go.

. . .

I dig. I don't have time to do much else. When I'm not digging, I'm sinking. Like I'm being buried alive in the stuff, though that's not the proper word for it. I guess I'm being buried dead. 

. . .

It's dirt. It's taken so long to remember, been so long since I last saw it, but it finally hit me; It's dirt. The thing I first touched through the rift. The thing I've been digging through for an eternity. It's dirt. It's all dirt. This entire existence, whatever twisted reality neighbors the void, it's all just dirt. I would laugh if I thought I could open my mouth without swallowing lungfuls of loam.

. . .

Every day I dig a little higher.

. . .

I did it. I broke through. The first thing I noticed, being on the surface, was how cleanly my limbs sliced through the air. The air. I can breath again. My lungs rise and fall in the most wonderful imitation of life. How is this possible? Where am I now?

. . .

Behind me is the biggest tree I've ever seen. No, the word 'tree' doesn't do it justice. When I say tree, what do you think of, an oak? A conifer? Palm? This is none of those, nowhere even close. And yet it is all of them. It has branches. It has roots. It's leaves are galaxies and its trunk is all of time and space. It is the trinity of the divine. Lord Shiva forms its roots, upside-down, his hair curling into the dirt to transform its formless potential into raw energy. Brahma sits upon him in a rigid stance of deep meditation, forming the trunk of the magnificent World Tree. It is by his hands that the transformative energy of Shiva is molded into life. Creation itself., Vishnu burgeons over them all. He is the roof of this strange world I find myself in. The branches of the tree. It is his shade which preserves creation. It is from his leaves which sprout the many myriad galaxies. The fruit he bears are the many countless worlds of creation, each harboring life in its own way. Some even sprout societies, with individuals and hopes and dreams, who suffer and celebrate, whose lives play out in the blink of a cosmic eye. 

The Tree of Life by Alex Gray. He is one of my favorite artists, and I though his painting was fitting

The three gods of the Brahman's divine trinity say nothing to me. But I somehow know, all the same. I am to pick one of the fruits and take a bite. The decision is not so hard. Though there are fruits beyond number, there is one in particular which calls to me. It is the most delightful shade of blue, with here and there swirls of vibrant green and wispy trails of white. It tastes of home. 

. . .

The next thing I remember, I forgot it all and was born anew. The world is very bright. I hear myself crying. 

Week 14 Reading Diary: Rosencrantz and Ramayana

Well, since I totally forgot to do a reading yesterday, I went ahead and did my Tuesday reading of Ganesha Goes to Lunch today.

First of all, I loved the short allegory-type fables at the beginning. The one about the snake and the hermit, I just love the little punch at the end. Made me crack up. i could definitely see myself elaborating one one of these tales, most likely from the snakes POV or something, some twist on the events.

But the real pleasure this week was reading the Ramayana from a totally new perspective: the side characters!

Ever wonder what that guy in the back is thinking?

What Kapur is doing with the Ramayana really reminded me of the play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, which told the story of Shakespeare's 'Hamlet" from the perspective of two of the most minor characters. ALthough the entire epic of the Ramayana is not retold here, we do get a more in depth look at the motivations and backgrounds of several of the side characters, from Rama's Brother Lakshmana to Gautama and his wife and even a character I did not even remember from the epic, Guha.It was all just too cool. I really did enjoy reading about Guha and his special way of worshiping Shiva. I found him to be such a compelling character. I may decide to write about him in the future, we'll see.

Week 13 Storytelling: One Small Step for Man . . .

"Engage maximum thrust," Captain Armstrong said under the thrum of booster jets, the constant raucous snare of jet fueling burning a thousand gallons a second just beneath their feet. "Leaving atmosphere in 5 . . . 4 . . .

"3 . . .

"2 . . .

The crew of the Garuda emerged headlong into the weightless void of null gravity, the edge of space, frontier of the unknown. "1968 is gonna be a year for the history," Aldrin hollered, slapping his knee through his space suit. The others all called him 'Buzz" due to his choice of haircut. "Can ya believe it? First man in space!"

"Second," corrected Captain Armstrong. "Your chair is a foot an a half behind mine." He grinned.

"And even though my seats behind yours, Buzz," Sally taunted, "I still get a title of my own. Sally Ride, the first woman in space." She mimed her hands like a ringleader announcing the main event and punched Buzz playfully in the shoulder.

"Oh, so Krishna and I just get the short end of the stick, huh?" He turned back to check on the final member of the four man team. "Krishna, how ya doin' back there?"

"I believe I will live," Krishna said calmly. "I do wish I had a window seat, however. How is the view from up front, Captain?"

Armstrong turned to regard the universe ahead of them. It was blank. No stars, no galaxies, not even the faintest hint of the sun.

"Wha-" Buzz stammered behind him. "Who turned out all the lights? Captain, how are we supposed to go to the moon if we can't even find it up here?"

"Sally, get Houston on the phone. I need to know if there's a scientific explanation for this, some reason you can't see the stars in null G. I don't know, maybe the light needs an atmosphere to go through, like sound. It's go to be something."

Krishna took that moment to speak up. "Oh, there is an explanation, Captain. Though I do not think your scientists will be any more wise to it than you are."

Sally turned around in her seat, no easy feat while wearing a thirty pound enviro-stabilized space suit. "What are you talking about, Krishna? You know something we don't?"

Krishna spread his hands placatingly. "This is not my first life, Sally. I know many things you all could not possibly remember from all your thousands of previous lives on earth."

"What're you--Captain, what's he talking about?" Buzz shifted back and forth in a desperate search for guidance that was not to be found.

"Krishna, what's the meaning of this? As your captain I order you to explain yourself."

"You are my friend, Captain, and so I will do so. You see, this world is not as you think. All the earth exists as the dream of fair Vishnu, who lies asleep, alone in the primordial ocean of darkness. Everything you know is his dream, and exists solely between his ears. Oceans, mountains, grasslands, cities and houses and neighborhoods, your despised boss, your dearest friend, your beloved soulmate, all are but a dream for Lord Vishnu. We are all but figments of his imagination. The stars and nebulae are his thoughts, which drift intangibly above our heads. The sun and moon are his eyes. The wind is the breath from his great lungs. In his throat do all the sounds of the world originate, in his heart the pulse of the cosmos."

"Well that's all great and all," Buzz said, "but what the hell's it mean for us? Where are we? Vishnu's bunghole?"

Sally snickered, but the captain and Krishna remained staid. "If we all exist inside of Vishnu, the God of Preservation and Harmony, then . . ." The captain's eyes grew wide. "Then we must have just flown straight out his mouth."

En mass, the crew hysterically unbuckled from their seats and crowded tot he window. "It's no good," Armstrong declared. "We can't see anything from this angle. Buzz, turn us around."

"Roger, Captain."

As the Garuda slowly spun on its axis, Neil and Sally held hands and craned their necks to see. There was no light, wherever they were, and eventually Armstrong had all but given up hope of ever seeing the earth again, or Vishnu, or whatever they were looking for. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. Sally was crushing his hand in her grip. "There," she said, her voice somewhere between a gasp and a whisper.

And Neil saw it all at once. The enormous form, no more than an outline, a suggestion, barely glimpsed beside the dark of void. But it was unmistakable; a man. The silhouette of a man more massive, more all-encompassing than Neil Armstrong had ever thought possible. It towered larger in his mind than any thought he'd ever had. It dwarfed his own sense of self and made him feel like little more than a speck of dust in the wind.

Vishnu dreamin' up the universe

Buzz fell to his knees and prostrated himself with the awkwardness of a pock-faced teen at his first dance. "Lord Vishnu!" he cried, "I'm sorry I never prayed to you before, I just--I just never knew!"

Krishna strode over to him and placed a delicate hand upon his shoulder. "There is no need for that, friend." Krishna then removed his helmet, revealing his true form. His skin was such a vibrant blue it made the captain homesick for an earth day's sky just to look upon him. He was a beautiful man, too. Neil felt a pang of jealous arise to see how Sally looked at him.

Krishna produced a slender flute from somewhere within his suit and began to play. The music was unlike nothing Armstrong had ever heard. The melody instantly slowed his heart rate and cooled his nerves. It sounded as if it were coming from both inside and outside the ship, though he knew that couldn't be right.

Suddenly the ship lurched and the crew was slammed to the side. All except Krishna, who remained playing with his feet firmly planted in divine balance.

"What in blazes . . .?"

Neil looked out the window to see it completely obscured by . . . "That can't be!"

Outside, the window was completely obscured by Vishnu's palm. The enormous celestial god whose very mind contained all of existence was grasping their ship in his own monstrous hand. By his divine grip, the Garuda was dragged effortlessly across the vastness of space and back into Vishnu's mouth. Back to everything Neil had ever known and loved. Back home.

Author's Note:

This story was inspired by my reading of Kamla Kapur's Ganesha Goes to Lunch, more specifically by the story "Out of Vishnu's Mouth," in which a wise old sage accidentally falls out of Vishnu;s mouth and into the primordial ocean, where he is saved by Vishnu's great bird companion, Garuda (the name of the ship, here).

I wanted to put a more modern spin on the story (if 1968 is modern). I chose to set the story up as a test flight from 1968 (not really historically accurate as the first man to go to space arrived in 1961, but whatever) starring all the most famous American astronauts--Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Sally Ride. And, you know, since this this an Indian Epics class, I also included Krishna.

I felt like I had to step out of the box a little with this one. Kapur is jst such a great writer that I felt there was no way to improve on the stories she's already told, so I decided I had to change it significantly enough to where I felt like I was still creating something new.

Week 13 Reading Part B: Ganesha at Last

In my continuation of Ganesha goes to Lunch things have finally started to heat up, as Ganesha makes his appearance.

I was a little surprised, if I'm being honest, as to the differences between this and Sir Edmund Charles Cox's recounting of the events, which seemed quite different last week. In this version, it was Shiva who cut off Ganesha's head, while in the other version it was someone else who had a curse upon them. And that is just one of the many differences I've noticed. Personally, I prefer this version- the characters are so much more richly motivated and the plot is much tighter and more coherent- but it does make me wonder how much artistic license Kapur is taking with the original tales.

But even if Kapur is making up more of this than he is retelling verbatim, I still prefer his recounting. I mean, his descriptions are just so beautiful, and his characterizations of the gods make more sense to me than any other I've read. Especially Shiva. Shiva;s personality has always been clouded in mystery from all the different sources I'd read about him this semester. In Kapur's version, this paradoxical nature is very intentional, and indeed he even plays off it for dramatic effect. Shiva is just a much more compelling and believable character in the way the Kapur describes himself, and I find myself fascinated with him, even though I thought that I would be most interested in Ganesha's character (the reason why I picked the book up in the first place)

Family Portrait: Shiva, Parvati, and Ganesha

Week 13 Reading Diary A: Vishnu of the Pervasive Illusions

For my reading this wee I chose Ganesha Goes to Lunch by Kamla K. Kapur, and let me just say:

WOW. This is the best reading I have done for this class. Not only is it superbly written on a sentence-by-sentence basis, but the stories themselves are so rich and full of wisdom. I am really resonating with this piece. The only thing is, it's so long! I've had to extend into the grace period just to finish my Tuesday reading (I'm a slow reader so it's taken like 4 hours to finish Part A).

My favorite parts so far have been about Vishnu and illusions. The way that Vishnu incarnates Narada into a new body may well be the most beautiful piece of prose I have read in weeks. And the lessons to learn from these stories are quite sagely, especially the story about falling out of Vishnu's mouth; really palpable stuff!

Vishnu's Mouth; AKA the gateway to the known universe

 I actually wish I owned this book!!

Week 12 Storytelling: The Gods of India and the World Today

All the gods of man and beast gathered round the table--no mere fabrication of wood nor stone, but rather a finite surface of the infinite, the limitless boundaries of the three sacred realms distilled upon its surface, radiating outward in perfect detail. The earth, the heavens, and all which lie beyond were etched upon the surface of the table fine enough to see every atom of creation, and all playing out in real time as the mortals toiled below in their oblivious lives.

It was the playground of the gods.

The closest thing I could find

"You all know the reason why I have called you together this day," said Vishnu, seated at one of the three heads of the table. "The world of man is in disarray. It is fragmenting. Men speak of building walls, of separating themselves from their kin. They allot more in the pursuit of warfare than in the pursuit of knowledge. They bicker among themselves over giving shelter to refugees, healing the sick, teaching the young. And yet all the while the select few pile their riches behind closed doors. Plumes of noxious smoke cloud the skies, islands of plastic refuse clog the oceans, and still the mortals turn a blind eye.

"What is to be done about this, brothers and sisters? I am known as Vishnu the Preserver, but even I am flummoxed with these mortals. It seems that in order to preserve their world, we cannot preserve their species."

A chaotic buzz erupted across the universal table as the gods broke into argument among themselves.

"Silence!" Lord Shiva's tone could brook no argument. "I am the Lord of Destruction and Transformation. These humans have long outlived their mandate, if you ask me. They grow and consume as if unaware of their very transience upon this world. I say, they should be punished for their insolence, reminded of their fragility. The earth should be wiped clean of any trace of their blasphemous existence."

That only served to ramp up the heat of argument. Voices flew across the table without regard for who sent them or which poor soul might receive the brazen indignations therein. The festering air of derision was only becalmed by the great trumpeting of an elephant's trunk.

"Brothers," said Ganesha, the source of wisdom, "sisters. Please. Can you not see that by arguing so, we are no better than the mortals? We have not yet heard from Brahma, who created the mortals and their world in the first place. As a parent oversees the growth of their offspring, so too must Brahma weigh in on this issue."

"Wise words, old friend," Brahma said. The Lord of Creation cleared his many throats. "It is true. I have love for these mortals and the world they have made for themselves, as a parent would their children. But I also have sorrow in my heart to see what has become of them, to see how they treat my other creations. I have created such willful beings . . ." Brahma turned inward and spake no more, lost in thought.

"I side with Shiva," said Kali. "Only death can bring everlasting peace."

"Well, I side with the humans," said Lakshmi, wife of Vishnu and Goddess of Prosperity. "They have shown themselves to be nothing if not resourceful. Look at all they have accomplished. Should they be punished for their successes?"

"If their success occurs at the expense of my oceans," said Varuna.

"But they're getting better," said Vayu. "They are beginning to harness my winds for power."

"And my sun," said Surya.

Finally, Indra, the King of the Gods, weighed in. "The yoke of leadership was thrust upon me eons ago. I think I know a thing or two about what it means to lead. The problem is not with the humans themselves, but rather with their leaders. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Believe it or not, it was a human who came up with that one. Brothers and sisters, If you should so deem fit, I could incarnate into their world to lead the mortals down the path of holy righteousness myself.

"No," said Ganesha, ever the voice of wisdom. "That will not change the humans' hearts. The change must come from within themselves."

"He is right," assented Lord Vishnu. "I have heard what you all have to say and have come to believe that the world has no need of gods any longer. They do not need Lord Brahma to create; they have their ingenuity for that. They do not need myself to preserve; they have their own conscience. And they do not need Lord Shiva to affect transformation; they must awaken to it themselves. It is up to the humans to make their world a better place, for themselves and for their fellow creation."

And one by one, the gods left the universal table.

Author's Note:

I see this as the capping stone for a long and enlightening semester of studying the Indian epics. I have learned so much about the gods of ancient India, and I wanted to tell a story that synergizes my learning with real-world relevance.

I tried to give every god their own voice, no matter how nominal their appearance. I tried to use as many of the gods we've learned about as possible, but there are just so many it would be impossible to include them all. I really wanted to describe their appearance too, and I think I could have had a lot of fun with that, but there just wasn't enough room to include much more than dialogue.

Really, this piece is about the message, which I think is pretty self-evident. I wanted to craft a social commentary on such wide-reaching issues as global warming, the Syrian refugee crises, Trump's wall, and even the occupy Wall Street movement. And most importantly I wanted to capture what each god's opinions on the global issues would be. I hope I was successful in that.

The personalities of each god were more or less derived from Sir Edmund Charles Cox's Krishna and Other Gods reading from this week.

Week 12 Reading Diary B: Gods and Goddesses

This reading was the real reason I chose Cox's Krishna and Other Gods for my reading this week. I have always been fascinated by Indian mythology, and was craving the chance to learn more about the other gods.

I did find it interesting that each god/goddess was presented to us through a story of their exploits. SO far [at the time of me writing this] my favorite has been Indra's. Indians sure do love their epic battles between good and evil, don't they? But I must say, the imagery of Indra firing red lightning bolts, backed by flaming storm warriors, all attacking a billowing storm cloud fortress is just tantalizing!

Yeah this is when you know you f**ked up

I was also immensely fascinated by the Soma entry. Soma actually factors into my novel, so it was very very fascinating seeing the ancient Indian perspective on it. For those that don't know, Soma was an ancient drug that gave people hallucinations and psychedelic visions. The interesting thing is that no one in modern times knows the plant from which it was derived from. The Indian mythology explaining all of this (how Soma came to earth from the heavens, but went on to anger the gods and incite a war only to be banished from earth by Brahma) was a mesmerizing rendition of historic fact.

Also, that story about Brahma was just about the most funny thing I've ever read for this class. It starts out all cosmic and mystical, and gives this huge sense of all powerfullness to Brahma and his wife. And then he holds a sacrifice, and she doesn't want to show up before the other gods' wives and she has chores to do around the house, so Brahma gets impatient and get Indra to find a new wife for him. Then Brahma's wife gets pissed and curses everyone. It's just such a contrast to the beginning of the story; totally humanizes Brahma to the point of comedic effect. I loved it! hahaha

Week 12 Reading Diary A: The Life of Krishna

For my reading diary this week, I decided to read Sir Edmund Charles' Tales of Ancient India, Krishna and Other Gods.

Krishna was a fascinating character for me in the Mahabharata, and I was interested to learn more about his story. And boy did I!

I loved the parallelisms (and stark juxtapositions) drawn between Krishna and his archnemesis Kansa. Starting from each of their births, one where the earth grieved and the other where it flourished. They were literally born to be at eachother's throats. Usually, I am not such a fan of the fight of good vs. evil, I much prefer morally ambiguous characters and gray zones, but here I think it totally worked.

However, there was never much worry about Krishna losing. Kansa was a wimp compared to Krishna, who was literally performing miraculous feats of strength since birth. Speaking of, I really enjoyed how Krishna spent his youth as a cowherd. It sort of reminded me of the humble nomadic origins of an earth-mover like Ghengis Khan, who also rose to overthrow an empire. But unlike Khan or Rama, Krishna does it while still half a child.

Krishna, putting the beat down on Kansa

That's another thing that struck me about this piece. Krishna is freaking BRUTAL. Like . . . bloodthirsty, metal, fist-bangingly brutal. He kills a giant elephant with his bear hands, then proceeds to literally stomp Kansa into slush. As a 12 year old boy he literally curb stomps the king into oblivion. Holy cow-herd!

Week 11: Famous Last Words

This week was very relaxed, both in this class and my other ones too. I wrote waaaay too much for my storytelling last week, and so decided to split it up into two weeks, so I hardly had to write anything this week! (Just had to go through my 2,000 word story for typos).

Right now my biggest concern for this class is not packing in as many stories as I could into my portfolio. Professor Gibbs is really helping me out in my writing, and I love developing my skill, so naturally I want as much feedback as possible on my various stories. I want to pack my portfolio.

A visual representation of how I want my portfolio to look

So, next week I have decided to upload part one of my 22 Goblins story, and add in a link or something to part 2. That way, it is like have both parts in my portfolio and still leaves me space to add another creative work in later weeks.

My biggest problem in this class is actually OVER-writing. I uploaded a story to my portfolio (Part 2 of Arjuna's Gifts) and did not even realize it was over the thousand word limit. The story just had so much fast-paced action that when I read it over it seemed to go by so quickly it never even occured to me it was so long! And then, to make matters worse, my 22 goblins story was TWICE the word limit!!

I'm just trying to pack so much into more stories that it kind of gets away from me I guess. Editing down is certainly a useful skill to have as a writer, so maybe I'll try to work on that more. But there's just no way I can slash my baby in half- I love her too much!

Week 11 Reading Diary: Goblins Twelve-Fourteen

So even though I already wrote my storytelling over Ryder's Twelve Goblins last week, I am going back through the Goblins I missed, and if one sticks out enough to me I'll probably go back and add it to my already ridiculously long story!

Goblin Twelve: Man, I must really be getting the hang of these. I totally predicted the wise king's answer. It was the Brahman who was responsible for his death. He should have been paying attention and noticed the snake venom falling into his food. I don't always agree with the king, but here I do 100%. This would have been a very good story to include in my storytelling post.

Was it the Hawk's fault for killing the snake?

Goblin Thirteen: This was a cool story, but it ended much too happily for me. It also raises some interesting questions which the goblin never even thinks to ask, like 'If the thief became reformed by Shiva's hand, is he still the same man the merchant's daughter fell in love with?" That would have been a much more poignant question than, "Did the thief laugh or weep?" The goblin's question ruined this one for me.

Goblin Fourteen (My favorite number): Again, I did not like the king's answer, though I understood it. I think the problem here is with the convoluted story in general. I mean, Moon's character isn't really necessary for anything other than ending the story in this sort of unsatisfying way. If Master-mind had pretended to be the Brahman's son and married the princess, now THAT would have been a great ending (in my opinion). Much more satisfying.

Week 10/11 Storytelling: Riddles of the Goblin King

Author's Note:

Okay, so I apologize for the length of this one right off the bat.

This week I read Ryder's Twenty-Two Goblins. For those of you who don't know, the text is about a king tasked with carrying a goblin back to a monk. But of course, there's a twist; along the way, the goblin entertains him with twenty-two different stories. At the end of each story, the goblin asks the king a riddle, which he must answer or his head will explode.

So you'd think I would choose to write about one of the twenty two stories; I thought so too. But the most fascinating aspect of the story for me was actually the main part with the King, the goblin, and the monk. That's the part I wanted to explore.

So I did just that. Instead of twenty two stories, I just picked the three I liked the best. I elaborated on certain details and summarized the rest. The stories as presented here are much shorter than they appear in the actual text (so go read it!), and I changed some details around as I saw fit.

The goblin's final story remains unanswered in the original tale. That didn't sit well with me, so I spent a day mulling over the riddle and came up with an answer I liked.

Because of the sheer amount of story I wanted to cover, my writing became quite long (sorry, not sorry). I have taken the liberty of splitting up the narrative into two parts, each fairly close to a thousand words. Don't worry, you'll know when you reach the end of part 1.

Enough rambling!

Riddles of the Hidden Goblin

To King Vikrama, the gnarled ficus looked like any other fig tree he'd seen. The King kicked idly at its base, waiting for his guest to arrive. Why the monk chose the cemetery for their meeting spot, he would never know. The soil here was old and decrepit, and made weak sustenance for a tree. The trunk shook and rattled under his kicking and dropped a few figs onto the graves beneath its branches. The King picked one up and split it open with his blade.

Spooky graveyard fig 

"You will find them quite delicious, I assure you" said a voice from behind.

Vikrama turned to regard the chubby tantric monk, Vamachari. Unlike most ascetics, Vamachari did not seem to favor the vow of a sparse diet.

"The fig you gifted me this afternoon contained the biggest sapphire I've ever seen," King Vikrama explained. "I had to be sure."

"Oh, this is the tree from which I plucked that fruit, most assuredly, Your Majesty."

The King held up the normal fig in defiance and beckoned the monk to explain himself.

"You underestimate my talents, Your Grace. One must be well versed in the tantric rites to coax the tree into surrendering its secrets."

"Teach me."

"I most certainly can. The Jewel Bloom Mantra is really quite simple, when you get down to it . . . But, and there is a 'but,' I must ask a favor of you in return."

"I swear to grant it, whatever boon you might seek."

"Very well," said Monk Vamachari. "Journey deeper into the cemetery. There you will find a tree, very much like this one, only with a body hanging from the lowest branch. Do not fret for this particular lost soul. Bring him here to me and I will teach you the incantation and you shall have jeweled crowns and rings the rival of all your peers."

And so King Vikrama undertook the tantric monk's quest. Soon he came across the tree the monk had described. He cut the dead man down and heaved him onto his back.

"Hey hey hey, what's the big idea?!"

King Vikrama shrugged off the body and drew his sword. "Who goes?" he shouted.

"I should ask you the same thing!" said the voice again. "Who are you, huh, wise guy? Thinks he can just waltz into my home and act like he owns the place?"

"Your . . . home?" The King squatted beside the body. The dead man's jaw was hanging ajar, and inside it Vikrama thought he could make out two glowing red eyes. "Goblin! You're a goblin, inhabiting the bodies of the dead and playing tricks upon the living!"

"How very clever," the goblin said. "Someone deserves a medal. I am actually the King of the Goblins, I'll have you know. Ryder's the name. Now if you could kindly put my home back on its branch and be on your way. Honestly, I was just starting to get the place the way I wanted . . ."

"Oh, no," said the King. "You're coming with me." And he scooped the body back onto his shoulder and carried him off.

"Fiend!" the goblin shouted. "Vandal! Let go of me! You're taking me to that wretched Vamachari, aren't you?"

The King gave no reply, so the goblin began chanting, working his blood magic.

"There!" Ryder barked from within the dead man. "A curse upon you! Since you are oh so very wise, I have imparted a curse on that brain of yours. You must listen to each of my stories. Then you will answer each of my riddles. If you cannot answer, your brain will burst into a thousand pieces, each of which will occupy a different dismal corner of this world. Hahaha!"

The King said nothing, for there was no need. He understood.

Ryder, from inside the corpse's throat, cleared his own. "Long ago there lived three monks who were all in love with the same woman. They were brothers, see, and brothers have similar tastes. The woman loved them each in turn, and could not decide which brother to marry.

"Ah, but fate decided for her. She was struck with a terrible illness and fell dead. Aggrieved, each brother handled the loss in his own way. The first brother built his home on top of her ashes and pledged never to leave her side for as long as he lived. The second brother pledged to see her safely to the afterlife, taking her bones to the Ganges to purify them. The third brother set out to wander the world in search of a way to bring her back."

"And what do you know? He found it!The Necronomicon, a magical book he stole from a powerful hermit. He used the book to resurrect his love and all three brothers rejoiced. But oh, wise King, which brother ought the woman to marry, the first, the second, or the third?"

King Vikrama dwelled on this for some time. "The first," he finally said. "The second brother did as any monk should, and purified her spirit. The third left her when she died to wander the world. Had he not discovered the book, he would have moved on. But the first brother vowed to never leave her side. He gave up everything for her: his freedom, his life, even his soul. He is her true husband."

"Bah! Beginner's luck," Ryder hissed. "Riddle me this! Long ago a king such as yourself came about a powerful demon while hunting alone. In exchange for his life, he promised the demon that he would grant him any sacrifice he desired. The demon requested the king bring him a seven-year-old boy, pure of mind and body. He also requested the boy's parents hold his legs and hands while he gorged. Pretty sick stuff, eh?"

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End of Part 1 

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"So the King scours his kingdom in search of such a boy. He offers gold, titles, and lands to any parents who will come forward. Eventually, he finds just such a family and they all return to the demon's cave. The boy's mother takes his hands, his father holds his feet, and the king stands above him and calls to the demon. And the demon sees this and is pleased.

"Now, what does the boy do? Does he cry and beg for his life? Does he pray to the Gods for salvation? No! The boy takes one look at all this and laughs! He laughs so true and so deeply that the demon feels ashamed and retreats back into his cave. The king too feels shame, and crowns the boy king in his stead. His parents are so guilty they run into the cave after the demon in the hopes he might eat them instead.

"My question is this: Why did he laugh? Just what was so funny?"

King Vikrama scratched his chin. This was harder than the previous. "Because he realized the absurdity of it all." He finally understood. "The King was willing to sacrifice a child to save his own life. The parents too were willing to sacrifice their son to better their own lives with wealth. And the demon, he too was afraid to lose his life, and had to eat the souls of children in order to avoid death by spiritual starvation. Out of everyone, the boy was the only one who did not fear death. He was the only one willing to sacrifice his life. When he realized this, he could only laugh, and the others became ashamed."

"My, but you are a clever one." The goblin sounded like he was fast becoming annoyed by the King's answers. "But my last puzzle story will stump even you! Not even I know the answer to it!"

"Long ago there was a King, and a Queen, and a beautiful Princess. But the King was betrayed by his advisers and killed in a nefarious plot. The Queen and her daughter escaped to the woods and wandered in search of safety to the edge of the kingdom. Now, two hunters, a Father and Son, soon came across their tracks. The Son said to the Father, 'Now see, there are the women for us. I will marry the one with the small feet, and you the large. Since Mother died, you have been terribly lonely.' The Father agreed, and together they set out in search of their brides.

"They soon discovered the Queen and Princess living in a cave in the forest. Even unwashed and clothed in brush, they were beautiful, so the hunters married them on the spot. But alas, the Princess, though very beautiful, had feet like an elephant. And her Mother, though her beauty was refined with age, had the delicate feet of a shrew. And so the Father married the Daughter and the Mother married the Son. So I ask you, wise King, when each married couple has children, of what relation will they be to one another?"

The King thought on this for a long time. He thought and thought and could not puzzle it out. Would they be siblings? Cousins? Aunts, uncles, half-brothers or half-sisters? Vikrama's head began to spin.

"Aha!" Ryder chortled and sneered inside the dead man. "Stumped are you? Prepare to have one doozy of a headache!"

"Wait," King Vikrama said. "I have an answer for you, goblin. The children of the father and daughter and the children of the mother and son would be friends."

"Friends? I guess you weren't as wise as I thought! Relations, dummy. You misunderstood the question."

"I understood perfectly well," said Vikrama. "The children would doubtless grow up very close. Whatever their familial ties, they would be related most closely by the bond of friendship."

"Drat!" The goblin crawled out of the dead man's throat. "Why isn't your head exploding? Could that mean . . .?"

"He's right."

Vamachari stepped out from behind the fig tree. Vikrama had been so distracted by the goblin's stories, he hadn't even noticed they'd arrived back at the start. He caught the goblin by the the throat and threw it down in front of the tantric monk.

"You have done me a great service, Your Majesty."

"And what of your promise? Teach me the spell, Monk."

"Oh, it really is quite simple. Believe hard enough, and the jewel will be there."

"What? That is no answer. Teach me the spell, Vamachari!"

But the chubby monk ignored him. Vamachari instead grabbed the goblin's head and pulled his mouth open, reciting an ominous mantra under his breath. He stuck one leg down Ryder's throat, and then the other. Soon, impossibly, he was up to his sizable waist down the goblin's gullet.

Open wide!

Vikrama could not believe his eyes. Instinct told him to grab his sword. "What madness is this, Vamachari? Explain yourself!"

"I will explain nothing!" The tantric monk had now completely disappeared down the goblin's throat. "Soon enough I will be the King of the Goblins, and then even you will be nothing but my royal subject! The whole world will become my kingdom!"

Unluckily for the future King of the Goblins, King Vikrama was fast on his feet. He ran up to the tiny, convulsing creature and he punted Ryder with all his force against the trunk of the fig tree. He held out the palm of his hand and a single fig fell into it, as he knew it would.

He believed.

The king jammed the fig down Ryder's throat, much to Vamachari's muffled protestations. The goblin sputtered and began to choke. The sapphire that was lodged in his windpipe was too large to swallow. It blocked Ryder's throat and choked the life from him. Monk Vamachari was trapped inside the goblin's stomach with no hope of escape.

"And thus to false priests and meddlesome creatures," King Vikrama declared, plucking a fig from the tree and taking a bite. "You were right. It's delicious."

Week 10 Reading Diary Part B: Goblins 18-22

Same as before,

Goblin #18: I think my favorite part about this is the little boy, who is willing to sacrifice himself. He appears within in the context of the story to be very wise, but to me his actions are stupid. I don't think that's a strong enough reason to sacrifice your life, but I think I could spin this story in a cool enough way.

Goblin #19: Super predictable and melodramatic. Like Romeo and Juliet if the characters died of heart break instead of poison. The King is spot on in his assessment, don't grieve over someone who never loved you.

Goblin #20: Very intriguing concept at work here, like a factory-style conveyor belt of resurrection. So who is responsible for the finished product? The last worker in the chain, who had full understanding of what the product would be. I like it.

Goblin #21: While the story was cool for this one, the goblin's question, and especially the King's answer, disappointed. AN old man body swapping with a day youth raises so many moral questions the goblin could have asked. But instead he focused on a particular small detail that the king could easily explain. No twist. No surprise. No bueno.

Goblin #22: Ah man, I was really interested n hearing an answer to the goblin's great puzzle. Too bad not even the King could come up with one. Maybe if I write about this I'll think real hard and try to solve the riddle.

All in all, I think I was more interested in the narrative with the goblin, the monk, and the king than any of the individual stories. This will be an interesting storytelling week.

Week 10 Reading Diary Part A: First Three Goblins

For my reading this week (and possibly next week too) I chose Ryder's Twenty Two Goblins. Each goblin tells a different story. I'll break down my thoughts/feelings according to goblin number.

Source

Introduction: WOW! I am loving this story from the very start. A mysterious monk who gives the King jewels hidden in fruit every day and who sends him on an eery quest to retrieve a hanging body? Yes please. There is a goblin who lives in the body? Oh yes, yes that is just so cool.

First Goblin: I identify very strongly with the prince here. I've definitely had that moment of lost connection with a girl who I didn't know how to find again. And the signals she used were so intricate! I never would have been able to untangle the plot. I also really liked the ending. The story was entertaining enough, but bringing in the question of guilt in the end, and the King's answer- just brilliant!

Second Goblin: It's a rare thing that a story can change your mind. I would have answered the goblin's question by saying the man who brought her back to life with the magic book should get to marry her. That only makes sense to me. But the King's answer totally changed my mind. When Coral died, the third monk left and wandered the country side. Only the first monk stayed true to Coral, and sacrificed everything just to be with her (even if it was only her ashes) until the end of his days. That's true love. Powerful stuff.

Third Goblin: What the Heck! The King had just given such an insightful answer to the previous goblin, and then he says this sh*t?! "Occasionally there are bad men here and there, but women are usually bad. We hear about many of them" Not cool, dude, not cool

I have an idea for how to write about all of these stories at once. I'll have to see how tomorrow's reading turns out and whether any particular goblin story grabs me.

Week 9 Storytelling: "What are Good Fairies Like?"

"It's all the Sun Prince's fault," complained the Moon Prince. "If it weren't for him and that conniving mother of his, Father never would have exiled us in the first place." The Moon Prince crossed his pallid arms, his craggy bald head fuming in the midday heat.

"Come now," said the Star Prince. "This isn't an exile. Father sent us into hiding until such a time when one of us can succeed the throne." The Star Prince, ever in contrast to his half-brother, had skin like a midnight sky and a nebulous twinkle in his eye.

The Moon Prince gave his half-brother a flippant scowl. His own milky grey eyes narrowed when he said: "And who do you think we have to thank for needing to be hidden away, like a dirty little secret? If the Sun Prince's mother weren't so intent on installing her own son as king we would be able to live at court without fear of finding a dagger in our backs. We are the king's eldest. It should be you who succeeds him, by rights."

The Star Prince sighed and shook his head gently. "The issue is more complicated than all that, brother," he said. "For one, father promised the queen anything her heart desired on the day the Sun Prince was born. She wishes for her son to be king. It is not such a dishonorable wish."

"It is a wretched thing," griped the Moon Prince.

"Even so, his mother's character does not reflect on our brother. He has been nothing but kind to us. He even volunteered to join us in hiding, not fully grasping the situation. Oh, but he is innocent, brother, don't you see? How can you despise him so?"

"Bah," said the Moon Prince. "Where is our brother, anyway? We sent him out for water hours ago."

At that very moment the Sun Prince had just come upon a verdant pond, the first source of water he'd encountered in miles of overgrowth. The forest was a lush and plentiful place, yet most of its water was kept tucked away in roots and crevices.

The Sun Prince knelt beside the pond and examined his reflection in the water. His hair had a platinum sheen, his skin a coppery glow, but even so the grit and grime of life in the forest was beginning to set in. He missed his mother and father and the life he'd had at court. But he loved his brothers too greatly to part with them.

And he was parched. His bone-dry tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth in thirsty anticipation as he produced his gourd and drew it up to the water's surface.

Yet just as he was about to fill his gourd, a frog croaked in defiance from the middle of the pond. The Sun Prince studied the bizarre creature, his head tilted in confusion. The frog sat perched upon the waters surface like a fallen leaf. Before the Sun Prince had time to puzzle out this strange occurrence, however, the frog croaked again and began to rise. The water beneath the creature swelled and bubbled upward. The Sun Prince dropped his gourd when he realized the water had begun to take the form of a woman's face, as though it were trickling down her features as she emerged from the pond-though there was no woman, and the water never ceased its downward flow. All the while, the frog sat perched atop the liquid form.

"A water sprite," the Sun Prince stammered.

Source

"Yes," the sprite said through the frog's rasping voice. "And this is my pond you are defiling. If you wish to drink from my waters, you must answer my question first. I have but one."

The Sun Prince bowed deeply and said, "I am sorry, truly. I did not know. Ask your question and I will answer it as best I can."

"What," croaked the frog, "are good fairies like?"

The Sun Prince thought about this for a moment and finally said, "A good fairy is kindly in word and deed. A good fairy is pure in heart."

"Wrong," declared the water sprite, and the frog opened its mouth and shot its tongue across the water, pulling the prince in and swallowing him whole.

Hours later, the Moon Prince came across the pond in search of his brother. He was very thirsty, and was relieved to find the water source. But when he knelt to drink, the water sprite appeared before him and asked its question.

"A good fairy?" the Moon Prince retorted. "A good fairy knows when to keep its mouth shut. A good fairy is a leal subject to its rightful king."

"Wrong." And the water sprite swallowed him up.

Finally, the Star Prince arrived at the pond. By this point, the hour was late and the sky was awash with the dance of constellations untold. When the water sprite appeared before him and asked its question, the Star Prince did not answer right away. He sat beside the water's edge in contemplation.

"It is you who has disappeared my two brothers," he said finally. "I do not know what a good fairy is like, oh water sprite, but I know that it is certainly not like you."

At this, the water sprite began to laugh. Not the frog, but the water form itself, like the gurgle of a stream, youthful and mischievous.

"That is . . . correct," she said, and the Star Prince's brothers floated up to the surface of the pond.

The Princes filled their gourds with enough water to get them far, far away. Never again did they return to the pond of the water sprite. Though they did not know it then, that was the evening upon which their father, the King of the Heavens, passed on to the kingdom of his namesake.

Long years ahead, the Star King, as he would later come to be known, oftentimes found himself thinking on that fateful night at the pond of the water sprite. It always came to him late at night, with his queen resting peacefully beside him and his most trusted advisers, his half-brothers, asleep in their own chambers across the hall. But sleep would rarely visit the Star Prince. He would pass the nights in silent reflection, in stoic meditation. And sometimes, just sometimes, the question would drift across his mind like an incessant decades-old itch begging to be scratched:

"Just what are good fairies like?"

Author's Note:

This story was based off of the Princes and the Water Sprite, from the Jataka Tales as inscribed by Ellen C. Babbitt.

I changed several components from the original story. Some of this was simply streamlining. Instead of starting the story off in the capital city, I gave the information of the Sun Prince's Mother, the Princes' exile, and the Sun prince tagging along as backstory, instead of showing it all actually happening.

In the original story, there was no description given for any of the princes or the water sprite, so I had complete creative control over those. I tried to have each Prince's appearance embody their epithet and I tried to make the water sprite both mysterious and whimsical (and a little threatening).

But probably the biggest change I made was the Princes' answers to the question. In the original, the Sun Prince answered that good fairies are like "the sun and the moon," the Moon Prince answered "like the sky above us," and the Star Prince answered, "The pure in heart who fear to sin.The good, kindly in word and deed."

As you can see, I flipped this on its head. I wanted to have each princes answer tell us something about his personality. The Sun Prince is innocent and kind-hearted, so in my story he is the one who gives the Star Prince's original answer. The Moon Prince is self-entitled and jealous and he brushes aside the question. The Star Prince is wise, and sees through the water sprites question to realize that no matter his answer, the water sprite is not a good fairy and is going to eat him anyway. The water sprite is tickled that he realized this, and so decides to let him go.

Week 9 Reading Diary: Jakata Tales Part B

Same format as last time:

The Wise and the Foolish Merchant: This one was . . . eh. The whole beginning bit was pretty unnecessary if you ask me. It should have started with the foolish merchant meeting the demon on the road. From there it was more entertaining.

The Elephant Girly-Face: Another flop. And this one had such a great name, I thought it HAD to be good. But it fell flat. I mean, it's essentially about an overly-impressionable elephant, which would be fine if that elephant actually did anything, but that's allll it's about.

What I imagine Girly-Face looked like

The Banyan Deer: Yeah! I liked this one pretty much from the first line. The imagery of a golden deer with jewel-like eyes was simply captivating. And then to see his sagely actions and selflessness, truly inspiring tale!

The Princes and the Water Sprite: This one certainly got the inspirational juices a'flowin'! Now, if I chose to write on this one I would have to change a lot. And I mean a lot. But the basic essence of the story really got me thinking creatively. The star, moon, and sun princes. The water sprite. The riddle. I may very well write on this one.

The King's White Elephant: That was hardly even a story. The elephant coexists peacefully with the carpenters. They have an idyllic setup. Then the elephant gets bought the greedy king. Then they live happily ever after. Sorry, what?

The Crab and the Crane: Ha! This story is like what would have happened in the Alligator and Monkey had the Alligator been smart about it. That Crane truly was a sly one.

Why the Owl is not the King of the Birds: Man, I realllly wanted there to be a good twist ending to this one. I just love the idea of all the birds meeting together to decide which species will be their king. Could make a great story. But essentially it boils down to the Crow calling the Owl ugly and flying off. What a let down.

Week 9 Reading Diary: Babbitt's Jataka Tales Part A

I thought that, as my reading this week (Babbitt's Jataka Tales) is segmented into multiple short fables, I should go ahead and write the reading diary as I go along, so I don't forget about my impressions of certain stories.

The Monkey and the Crocodile: LOVE this one. The monkey had me laughing and reveling in his cunning. "I forgot my heart back in that tree-" classic. I'm not sure how I could spin this into my own story, but I thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless.

How the Turtle Saved his Life: Man, these stories are just too good. I could definitely see myself elaborating more on this one: specifically how the child princes mistake the turtle for a demon and the different suggestions for how to kill it. I could have a lot of fun with this story.

The Turtle who Couldn't Stop Talking: Wow, such a great (and absurd) image with the turtle flying between the two geese. I would love to start off a story with something like this. It could be a fun opportunity to experiment with plot structure.

I mean, It just looks plain silly

The Ox who won the Forfeit: I like the concept here. If I were retelling it, I would probably switch the POV to the Ox's. I'm a taurus myself, so I think it would be fun to write from a bull/ox's perspective.

The Sandy Road: Not too much to say about this one. Didn't enjoy it as much.

The Quarrel of the Quails (Great Name): I appreciated this one, but it didn't really speak to me. The moral was clear, and the wise quail leader was enjoying to read, but nothing really stood out.

The Measure of Rice: I liked the direction (I thought) this was heading. That being said, the ending felt like a let down. It simply lacked the wittiness seen in the Monkey and the Crocodile.

The Foolish, Timid Rabbit: Again,The ending of this one did not jive well with me. But the beginning was great. It made me want to stop reading and start writing right then and there. The beginning of this one gave me the most inspiration of any of these stories, though I think if I wrote on this one, I'd have to change the ending.

Future Reading Options

Out of the four main topics, the tales about heroes, heroines, visionaries. and adventurers most interests me.
I think that after all these long epics, I'm in the mood for something short and light-hearted. Along that vein,  think I want to check out Babbitt's Jataka Tales. Buddhism has always interested me, and I think it's time I branch out from the Hindu tradition. That'll be my plan for Week 9. With so many different stories, there is sure to be one that strikes a chord with me and gets my creative juices flowing!

Jataka Tales

The second story that really caught my eye was Ryder's 22 Goblins. I love a good riddle, and the idea behind the story just seems so rich. I had no idea there were goblins in the vedic tradition! Depending on how much I like that one, I may even decide to keep reading past week 10!

Blog Design

My blog is about as standard as they come. I don't pretend to be good with computers, by any means, but even I should be able to figure out how to add a little 'pizzazz' to my outlet here.

The first blog that caught my eye was the Lexicon of Lore (Lauren's Blog). I mean, how freaking awesome is that banner. I don't know how she got that sweet type or got it in her theme, but I'd really be interested in doing something similar. Different name and font though, obviously.

Second was Madison's Blog. There's a lot to talk about here, from the awesome background to the great color coordination, but honestly what most caught my attention were her labels. I have yet to see anyone with labels at the top of their blog before. Plus, they're arrange din such nice, neat, professional-looking blocks.

Lastly, I went to the Temple of Doom (dun dun dun). Wow. I mean, really: wow. Madison B has the best blog of any student I've seen. I don't know what kind of technical wizardry she employed to craft such a cybernetic paradise, but it is stunning. I think I lack the technical skill to pull of such a feat, but I'm sure I would be able to mirror at least one or two features!

Timing My Time a Little More Timely

This semester has been all about me doling out what time I have, torn between the things I love and the things I must.

Me Currently 

As many of you know, I'm working on a novel currently, and I can tell you that it is a huge time sink! If it were up to me, I'd put all my creative energy into it and there would be nothing left for anything else.

But, alas, that is not the reality we live in. I have to parcel out my time and creative energy to things like this school. This semester has been different than most of my previous ones. For starters, I have never had an online class before. This semester I have two. And on top of that, they are both very creative in nature (Indian Epics and Screenwriting). As a result, my personal writing productivity has fallen. On a plus side, however, I can really see my writing improving, and you all are partially to thank for that. keep it up with all the great comments!

My schedule is working for me. I'm just going to keep on keeping on. Look for my name in Barnes and Noble on day!

Famous Last Words: Week 7

Seeing as I am not going to do a storytelling this week (for reasons I will discuss in this post), I thought this would be a great time to rack up some extra credit.

This week was very different from previous weeks for me, in part because of the drastically different nature of the reading I chose: Kaurava Empire Volume 1. I mean, what a fresh and interesting take on Indian Epics. And not only just the sci-fi feel of it, but the fact that the hero actually dies in the end, and the man who kills him feels remorse in his hollow victory- these are themes left totally untouched in the canonical Ramayana/Mahabharata.

The Kaurava Empire Volume 1

But, and there is a but, this reading did not inspire me. I loved it, don't get me wrong, but I don't feel like I have anything to add. In a sense, I don't fell that I can 'twist' the story in a way that will leave me feeling satisfied, especially after the last two weeks of storytelling.

My stories for week 5 and 6 were a joy to write. They tie together directly and I am really proud of both of them. If I wrote a story this week, I feel that I would not live up to these prior stories due to my lack of strong inspiration. When I read Arjuna's tale of gathering the God's weapons, I immediately knew I HAD to write about it. And then when I finished that story, I knew that next week I wanted to write about him putting these weapons I had crafted to use. There was a strong desire to write. I don't feel that for the reading this week.

But, these things come in cycles. Whatever the reading is for next week, I'm sure it will get my creative juices flowing!

Week 7 Reading Diary A&B: Back to the Future

For my reading this week I decided to knock out both halves of the Kaurava Empire Volume 1 in one day.

And I have to say, I was blown away. I did not know what to expect with this one (I must admit, I definitely judged the book by it's admittedly awesome cover) and boy was I intrigued from page 1.

This graphic novel took a totally alien approach to a two thousand year old text; it transplanted it to the distant future of sci-fi space battles and laser guns. It had never even occurred to me that something like this could be done, much less HAD been done!
The creativity behind this work was palpable. Most notably, the concept art was stunning. I think that more than anything is what won me over. I simply could not look away from the brilliant designs of the characters I thought I knew.

May I present epic space Bheema, for your enjoyment

And let's talk about the story. The graphic novel took a little mentioned character, Abhimanyu, and gave him the center stage. His character reminded me of Rama a little bit with just his sheer invincibility. I thought Arjuna was the strongest mortal in the Mahabharata, but boy was I wrong. Abhimanyu is even stronger (according to this reading)!

And that's why it BLEW ME AWAY when he died. Even though I knew it was coming from last week's reading, I had nearly forgotten it (Abhimanyu was such a side note to the main story). Wow, that seemed to very unlike the other indian epics we've read so far. To build up this all-powerful antagonist and then to just kill him off, and have the murderer be an inferior warrior who doesn't even feel the glory in his death? Poetic. Powerful. That was such a moving scene. 

Storytelling Week 6: Arjuna's Gifts Part 2: Brothers of Sun and Storm

Note: If you have not read Part 1, you might want to do so before proceeding (though it's not totally necessary to understand what's happening here)!

The chariot wheels spun and crackled against the gravel underfoot. Shriveled tufts of shrubbery crunched beneath the relentless charge of the horses. The whip cracked like a pine in a hurricane, and Uttara let out a half-hearted,

"Yah!"

But Arjuna could hear the fear in that nasally cry. He didn't blame the prince, of course. Ahead, his cousin's legions were massing, a darkling storm of leather and metal sweeping across the scrubland. The front lines bore quills like a rearing porcupine, spears and halberds and javelins ready to meet Arjuna's charge. The army was herding the countryside's cattle towards a cliff. Men on horseback killed any stragglers of the herd. By the looks of it they enjoyed their work.

"Despicable," said Arjuna. "Cattle are sacred. To think my cousin would stoop so low . . ." He shook his head.

Arjuna was clothed as himself again, a dazzling sight after his past year in disguise. His coppery skin reflected the sunlight almost as brilliantly as his armor and silver head band. His quiver rippled with a powerful aura like waves of heat upon a scorched desert basin.

"We must make haste, Prince Uttara. Charge into their midst that we may lay them to waste. I don't care if they recognize me or not. For once, my brother Yudhistira is not here to restrain me. I am eager to test out my new powers."

Uttara made a whimpering noise and whipped the reigns. When Arjuna could see the whites of his cousins eyes, he fired.

His first arrow tore through the horde of soldiers like a heat-seeking missile, masterfully skirting the gaps in the crowd to find its mark. Arjuna's arrow struck Duryodhana's pocket through his pleaded leather battle skirt. Instantly, heavy gold coins filled his cousin's loins, overflowing his pants. Surprised, panicked, Duroyodhana turned tail and fled. But he was so weighed down by the coins spewing from his pockets that his horse could no longer support him, and he was forced to make his escape on foot. Weighed down by the pounds and pounds of gold filling his pants, his pace was laughable.

And Arjuna did laugh, as he notched another arrow. Duryodhana's army seethed around the chariot, surrounding them on all sides and blocking his next shot at his cousin. Uttara said: "Arjuna! Arjuna, whom will you shoot first?! Surely the men you can't hit will kill us while you ready your second shot. Oh, woe is me!"

But Arjuna had no need for a second shot. His arrow lurched straight ahead, and in its wake spawned a roaring river, suspended in the air like a liquid serpent. Into this watery corridor Arjuna's chariot charged. It was carried faster by the sheer force of the rapids than any horse could hope to pursue.

They were stopped abruptly when an immovable mass stepped into the river's flow. Arjuna, sensing the imminent crash, leapt out of the moving chariot, contorting backwards in the air and landing on his feet. The chariot, however, was not so lucky. It splintered into a thousand splinters against the gleaming golden obstruction. The river was brought low, no more than a gurgling stream now.

Standing atop it, his fists poised mockingly on his waist, Karna let out a deep, sadistic laugh. "Look how your puny chariot fares against my golden armor, Arjuna. You shall fare no better. Ha! Just look at your poor chariot driver! His own mother would not even recognize him. Ha!"

Karna, in his golden armor

Arjuna regarded the broken body of Uttara. His fists clenched. His jaw tightened. He had never before felt this kind of inner rage.

"Karna," he spat the name. "You will pay for this, and for what you did to my wife. You are no brother of mine."

Arjuna dropped swiftly to one knee and notched his arrow. Karna did the same.

The son of the sun fired his shaft with terrific force. Merely the twang of his bowstring alone was enough to send up a mighty wind. The gust blew through Arjuna's hair, but even then he did not fire a return shot of his own.

Only when Karna's arrow was right in front of him did he make up his mind. He fired, though his arrow missed Karna by a longshot, launching off to his side . . .

And straight into Uttara's back. The prince gasped, his soul burrowing back into his body, returning from the Kingdom of the Dead. He was beaten, he was bloody, but he was alive.

"Uttara! Take Karna's chariot and go after my evil cousin!"

Upon hearing this, Uttara shook the confusion from his head and looked at Arjuna with wide eyes. "My lord! You . . . you're injured!"

Karna's arrow had lodged its way directly into Arjuna's shoulder. Blood was beginning to pool at his feet. He winced through the pain and shouted, "Just go! I'll be fine. This battle has been fated for many years."

Karna let Uttara have his chariot, choosing instead to face his opponent upon even ground. He towered ten feet over Arjuna's head, and was as wide at the shoulders as Arjuna was tall.

Without use of his shoulder, Arjuna dropped the bow, instead favoring his scimitar. Karna held up a scimitar of his own, thrice of the size of Arjuna's, and a golden shield in the shape of the sun.

Their first clash sent up sparks so bright that the army behind them had to avert their eyes. They could only hear the blades rattle against each other, the brittle scrap of metal on metal, the grunts of the two champions locked in fiercesome battle.

Arjuna feinted left then ducked into a forward roll, slashing at Karna's side. His expert arm made easy work of Karna's resplendent armor, and the giant roared of fury and pain. Karna slashed back wildly like a red-eyed bull, yet Arjuna slipped every one of his attacks, delivering precise counter-blows to Karna's ribs, spleen, and underarm. Soon enough his opponent was in tatters. Blood ran slick and sticky down his golden breastplate, rent as it was.

"Enough!" Karna shouted. "I was saving this especially for you, brother." Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a spear in the shape of a thunderbolt. "A gift," he said with a sinister grin, "from your father, Indra. Unlucky for you, it has fallen into my hands."

Arjuna backed away, forgetting his scimitar in the dirt. It would do him no good. He broke into an all-out sprint toward his mighty bow, Gandiva, but it was still so far away.

"Ha! Don't think that's all. Onto the only weapon that could ever kill you, I will imbibe the Brahmastra, that legendary astra said to extinguish all life. Now die, brother!"

And Karna flung the legendary spear with all his might. It hurtled through the air with the uproar of a thousand thunder strikes. The hairs on Arjuna's neck stood up. Though his back was turned to it and he could not see the prongs, Arjuna felt the scorching hot plasma singe his skin. He heard the battle-cry of the four-headed god Brahma. It was nearly upon him now.

With speed only befitting the mighty son of the King of Gods, Arjuna ducked and rolled over his bow; retrieving, notching, and firing off an arrow in the blink of an eye, and all while reciting the legendary gift of Lord Shiva: the Pashupatastra.

Pure destructive energy, red and black liquid death, surged out of his eyes and throat and finger tips, twisting its tendrils around the arrowhead and blasting out in front of it in a massive burst of raw destruction. It was not hot. It was not cold. It was the absence of all being, void.

Karna's Brahmastra was swallowed instantly and without struggle. Karna readied himself to withstand the impact, his shield raised, his back to the setting sun. His father, Surya the sun God, took pity on his child and for a single moment all the power of the sun was focused onto one spot, bracing his son against Arjuna's all-powerful shot. It was enough to stop the Pashupatastra, but not enough to save Karna's life. The destructive blast devoured him and left no trace of the warrior behind. But the blast went no further.

Arjuna breathed a sigh of relief and slunk down to the ground, exhausted. He could not move his arm, and was pretty sure he'd dislocated his injured shoulder by firing off that last shot. Despite himself, he laughed.

The sound of wheels crunching, growing louder. Arjuna looked up, squinting against the sunset. The army had fled. Only one lone chariot remained on the field of battle, charging towards him. He was too tired to fight, so he waiting for whatever fate might bring.

Moments later Uttara came riding up in Karna's chariot, with Duryodhana dragging behind him, bound in chains. His cousin was crying. He left behind a trail of gold coins in his wake.

Author's Note

I loved writing my previous story so much I decided to continue! This time, we see Arjuna put to use all the astras he learned last week. I had to go back and change one to make it fit, but I think it turned out really well.

This is a reworking of the scene were Arjuna charges in with Uttara (the cowardly prince) to fight against Duryodhana's whole army. The story was pretty vague about how he did it, so I thought it could be really fun to elaborate. Plus I was dying to put to use the powers I came up with last week.

I changed A LOT from the original story. I had to get rid of Arjuna's duel with Drona for length reasons. I decided it would be cool, but ultimately nothing of much importance comes out of that conflict. Narayan also really glosses over Arjuna's first major fight with Karna, so I decided to fuse this part with the actual battle with Karna at the end of the story. I also tried to improve that battle. Instead of Karna foolishly (and anti-climatically) forgetting how to use his ultimate trump card, he remembers it and Arjuna is forced to cope. I felt like this made the whole battle a lot more epic and a lot more fun for me to write.

Bibliography:

Narayan, R.K. The Mahabharata: a Shortened Modern Prose Version of the Indian Epic. 2013, the University of Chicago Press.