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.

Reading Diary Week 6: Skirmishes and Battles

Oh man, thing's are really starting to heat up in Naryan's Mahbharata!

Finally getting to see Arjuna unleash the weapons he gained last week (which I wrote my Storytelling post over) was great to see. If nothing cooler happens in the next reading, I will more than likely do my next storytelling assignment on this skirmish. I think it would be a great way to tie together my story from last week, and I just think it would be too much fun!

But, alas, bigger things are on the horizon as we prepare for the upcoming climactic battle for the kingdom. I can't wait to see what kind of developments happen in this battle. Arjuna will surely beat Karna, but I'm looking to forward to their fight most of all (Arjuna is my favorite character)

Sooo looking forward to the upcoming battle

Also, it was hilarious that Arjuna posed as a eunuch servant in the women's chambers!

Thoughts about Comments

Since week 1, I have been blown away by the appreciation and support from all of your lovely comments. Honestly, it warms my heart to know that someone enjoyed my writing. So thank you all for making me feel like a real writer.

Gushy feelings aside, I think what makes a comment useful is when it raises questions or pokes holes. When someone has a linger question of 'what if...' after reading one of my stories, I want to know about! Those kinds of questions can bring about great things in the revision, and let me see my story from a different perspective. Then, sometime people will deconstruct my story and point out its flaws. This can be equally helpful for the revision process, as it lets me see clearly what's working and what isn't.

So I suppose the perfect comment (which I strive for in my commenting on y'all's stories) would be one that offers equal parts praise, critique, and individual thought.

Storytelling Week 5: Arjuna's Gifts Part 1

Author's Note:

This one was a ton of fun to write!

For my storytelling this week, I wanted to do something different from what I had already done. I was instantly attracted to the scene in the Mahabharata where Arjuna receives a weapon from every God through his meditations. However, I was worried it might be too similar to my previous stories involving mediation. So for starters, I changed the style of mediation to better fit a warrior like Arjuna.

Secondly, I used a lot more creativity on this one. It's quite different from the original story. For starters, I streamlined it a bit, so instead of Arjuna meeting every God in the course of his meditations, he meet them all in one place. I also shifted the order of his meetings as well. I used Wikipedia to read traditional descriptions of each God, then made up my own based on what inspired me the most. I tried to make each God's appearance impart a sense of wonder, one that also fits with his or her domains and specialties.

I had a lot of fun crafting all the powers too. You'll have to stay tuned for Part 2 when Arjuna actually gets to use them all in battle!

Arjuna's Gifts:

Arjuna stole into the forest glade with his bow drawn and ready. His senses were alert, his mind still and sharp as his arrow. Arjuna liked to think of hunting as inverse meditation. Instead of focusing inward, he made a habit of flinging his awareness out to every rock and tree, constantly aware of every minute change in his surroundings.

Aware of nothing but the forest around him, Arjuna forgot himself. He was the gentle susurrus of rustling leaves, the creak of boles, the scurry of woodland creatures, the beating of a monarch's wings.

A new sound materialized in the forest so suddenly it jolted Arjuna back into his own person. An arrow whizzed past his ear, so close the feathers gave him carpet burn along the cheek.

Laughter pervaded the glade as Arjuna crouched and held his bow in ready defiance.

A hunter stepped out from behind a shroud of foliage, clad in naught but deer hide and leaves. He was laughing haughtily. His skin was a brilliant pale blue.

"And who are you," said Arjuna, "to test my might? I am the sun of Indra, and no mortal wields a weapon better than I."

"I suppose I should be thankful I am no mortal, then," said the hunter.

Arjuna lowered his bow, confused. Then his lips twisted in horror as the hunter's form shimmered like a mirage. The surrounding forest melted away even as the hunter grew taller. Suddenly, in place of the hunter, Arjuna found his entire field of vision taken up by the blue-skinned, many-armed Lord of Destruction, Shiva.

Arjuna fell instantly to his knees and began prostrating himself.

"Arjuna," boomed the Lord of Destruction. It sounded like his voice was crackling from within the bowels of a bonfire the size of a continent. "You have been chosen to receive the gifts of the Gods. Recite the Pratismriti and claim your sacred rights."

Arjuna did so, and instantly found himself in the grandest palatial court he had ever seen. Massive purple pillars stretched for as far as the eye could see, seemingly into infinity itself. In place of a ceiling, galaxies and nebulae drifted lazily above his head. The gods were assembled before him.

He could not bow low enough. Suddenly he felt naked and vulnerable against their all-powerful energy.

Yama stepped before him and Arjuna locked eyes with the God of Death. Yama's eyes were like slitted windows, and through them Arjuna could see into the lives of a thousand men and women. He watched each of them die, the moment their lives were snuffed out in real time, each separately yet somehow all together in a single instance. Arjuna clutched his head and nearly cried out of sheer loss.

He did not look up from the floor when Yama finally spoke. "Arjuna," said the God of Death, "you have killed before. You have seen firsthand the devastation wrought by your arrows. For you, I give a different sort of gift." Yama extended his open palm. "An arrow which brings its victim back from my kingdom. Use it sparingly, and only in moments of deep regret."

Yama blessed him and faded away.

Next came Varuna, the God of the Celestial Ocean. He rode in on the back of a Makara, and elephant-dragon with the mighty tail of a fish and fins of peacock feathers. Varuna's earrings were two deep jugs of water, each pouring seamlessly into the other, arching over Varuna's head like a crown of sprouting waterfalls.

"Arjuna," said the God of Water, "you have already received one gift of mine, when I strung a thread across the crescent moon and pulled it down for you. Gandiva, the moon bow, fits well into your hand. I am pleased. You already have my favor; now take this." And Varuna held out his open palm. "It is an arrow most special. The fletching is made of waterfalls, and a roaring river will spread in its wake."

Varuna blessed him and faded away.

Next came a huge palanquin supported upon the backs of ten thousand slaves. It was larger than most castles, wrought of mahogany and gold with opal inlays. Upon it, atop a cushion woven of threads a single atom thick (for an astronomically high thread count), was the fattest God Arjuna had ever seen: Kubera, of the round cheeks and heavy pockets.

"Arjuna," said the God of Wealth, "you are a prince of great means. Your home is a glittering jewel in the heart of the desert, your riches nearly as innumerable as my own. But there is one treasure of which you still lack." Kubera extended a pudgy palm forward. "It is my gift. Take it. Simply strike a pocket with this arrow, and it will overflow with endless gold coins."

And so it went. From every God and Goddess assembled, Arjuna received a great and powerful gift to use in the upcoming battle.

Finally, it was Lord Shiva's turn. The God of Destruction came before him and said, "Arjuna, you have received gifts from us all, and so it falls to me to give you the greatest amongst them. I have no physical object to impart, for that is the essence of destruction; it cannot be encapsulated in any form of creation. But with it, you shall hold the power to destroy the very universe. Behold, I give you the power of Pashupatastra. Merely invoke its name, and its destructive power shall surge through your mind, eyes, throat, and bow. The power to destroy any and all forms of creation. Use this gift only against a foe of tremendous power, when all your other gifts have failed you and your hope has left you."

Arjuna, fully infused with all his godly gifts

Arjuna bowed deeply, praying to each and every God who had visited to him. He bowed a hundred times, a thousand, and by the time he was done, he looked around and found he was alone in the celestial court.

Behind him, the palace doors swung inward, and a blinding light swept into the vacuous court. A silhouette stood in the doorway.

"My son," said the King of the Gods, "I have long awaited this moment."

Arjuna could not believe his eyes. It was Indra. At last, his father stood before him.

"Come with me, my son, and I will give to you your final gift. The gift of drink and dance, of song and celebration. Come my son, and I will show you the gift of eternal joy. Come and look upon Heaven with your own eyes."

And Arjuna went.

Link to PART TWO

Bibliography:

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

Several Wikipedia Articles:

Yama
Varuna
Makara
Kubera

Week 5 Reading Diary: Here a Weapon, There a Weapon

Welp, never mind. Karna is a prick. I no longer want to see him have a redemptive arc, I want to see him get his butt kicked. I think it will be Arjuna who will fight him, while Yudhistira takes on Duryodhana. I don't know who Bhima will fight, but I'm sure it will be epic! (He's one of my favorites)

I mean come on, what's not to love?

I won't lie though, this was the hardest reading for me to finish. Maybe it was because I was sick today, but that dice game just went on and on ... and on! I get that they were trying to say gambling is bad for you, but really, you had to do it twice? 

Luckily, things started getting interesting again when the brothers were exiled. Receiving a magical spell-weapon from each God? Wow that's freaking awesome. Spoilers, I will probably be writing about that for my storybook this week. I may have to skip ahead in the book to see what each weapon does, though. 

I read Narayan's Mahabharata 

Week 5 Reading Diary: The Sixth Brother

So far, this is both very similar and altogether different from the Ramayana. This week, I read Narayan's Mahabharata. 

Here are some thoughts:

I really like the concept of the five close-knit brothers, each having a different God as a parent (although the twins have the same father, and are pretty forgettable overall). And lets not forget about Karna. He's actually my favorite brother, I think. Raised by a poor charioteer, and the sun of the son? Yes please. He reminds me of a Hercules-type figure. He never went through and of the guru's training like his half-brothers, yet he gives off the vibe of being just as capable as they are. So far in the story, he's fallen into bad company, but I hope he gets a redemption.

Karna, the son of the sun

The training and the ceremonial display of fighting prowess (crashed by Karna) really gave me some great inspiration!

Week 4 Storytelling: Battle of Wills

Author's Note

I'll be honest, I did not like Viswamithra's character as portrayed in the reading I did this week, Amar Chitra Katha volume Vishwamitra: The King Who Became An Ascetic.

I found him to be overly egotistic, aggressive, and power-hungry. Initially, he seemed very wise and sage-like in the Ramayana, so I was interested in reading more about him. He seemed a little stern, but certainly not as power-obsessed as he was portrayed in the Amar Chitra Katha.

However, there were certainly segments to his story which caught my attention. Namely, his battle with Vashista and when he created a new heaven for a selfish king. I think I could have made sage-on-sage battle pretty cool, with the spells and danger, but ultimately, I did not have enough dramatic conflict to really capture me.

This story, however, has all that. Our hero is not someone who we initially root for. He is doing a morally questionable task for morally questionable reasons. Viswamithra wants to send King Trisanku to heaven solely so that he can prove how powerful he is, while Trisanku wants to go to heaven before he even dies, simply because of his own selfish reasons. Multiple sages and even the Gods have already denied Trisanku entry, citing his moral ineptitude. But that does not stop Viswamithra. Stubborn, aggressive, and ultra-competitive, Viswamithra promises to get Trisanku into heaven no matter what.

Battle of Wills

The yogic circle of candles and incense spiraled in a brilliant mandala. Trisanku, the fallen king, huddled meekly in the middle of the sacred circle. He looked so alone, and so unspeakably ugly squatting there on the dirt. His skin was grimy, covered in ash, his hair unkempt, his cheeks shallow. Viswamithra could see his bony frame beneath a taut layer of sooty skin. He was an untouchable, the lowest caste.

Viswamithra pitied the man. Trisanku had once been a powerful king, before that terrible, no-good sage Vashista and his sons had transformed him into an untouchable. Viswamithra hated Vashista. He'd humiliated him. Twice. That short-sighted fool, he thought bitterly as he recited the ceremonial mantra, calling upon the aid of the Gods. That self-righteous moron. Mark my words, Vashista, I will surpass you. 

He would start with Trisanku. Vashista had ignored the king's plea. Viswamithra was determined to aid the king at any cost. I will do what you cannot, you pious prick. 

He clasped his hands in prayer and channeled his spiritual power into his throat, imbibing his words with divine energy. He could sense his voice carrying out over the heavens. With a final syllable, he raised his hands to the sky and shouted, "Gods! Hear me now! Accept this man, King Trisanku, into your heavenly realms! I command you!"

He waited for a moment in ever more frustrating silence.

"Bah," Viswamithra exclaimed. "The Gods are testing me. Testing you, I mean."

The king looked crestfallen. "I appreciate that, lord sage, but look at me. Vashista and his foul sons have turned me into an untouchable. I am shunned by my family, my kingdom, and now even the Gods have turned their backs to me. I fear that I will never reach heaven in this current body of mine."

Viswamithra slapped the sooty king. "Do not fret, fair Trisanku, for I shall send you to heaven myself if I have to."

Trisanku looked up at him in shock. Then he smiled through his grungy beard. "Oh thank you, thank you, wise Sage Viswamithra!" He began kissing Viswamithra's feet. His grovelling made Viswamithra feel good, like a proper sage.

Viswamithra had cultivated a massive reserve of spiritual power over his many years of intense meditation. He could feel it stirring within his psyche, a vast ocean of holy energy, swirling through his chakras, spreading behind his eyes and the palms of his hands.

With a single flick of his holy finger, Trisanku began to rise. As he rose, the ash and soot sloughed off his body, and steadily his features regained their former regalness. As the king rose higher and higher, Viswamithra felt his energy slowly trickling away, sand through a sieve. But still, he had so much more within him. Who's the superior sage now, Vashista?

With a surge of his sagely power, Viswamithra hurtled the king skyward. He lost sight of him among the clouds, but he could feel the tug of the king's weight on his chakras. Further. He pushed, expending even more power, and finally he felt the weight lighten. Trisanku had reached heaven. All thanks to me. Not the Gods, not Vashista, but me. 

But the clouds above him parted, and there he saw the king's limp body, no more than a speck against the sky, plummeting downward. Infuriated, Viswamithra redirected his energy to his eyes, and instantly the world took on a sparkling, ethereal quality. He could see heaven in the sky above. His spiritual sight allowed him to see the heavenly gates, and all the gods assembled before them. They stood side by side, arms crossed, heads shaking. The answer was a resounding "no."

Viswamithra became enraged. How could the Gods refuse me, the holiest of sages? All the spiritual energy he had amassed, all the prayers he had given them, and still they deny him? This was an outrage.

He caught Trisanku in the air and rocketed the king back upward with the invisible force of his will.

The Gods met him with a will all their own. Their power was formidable, a barrier strong enough to cause great thunderclouds to amass overhead. Viswamithra fought against them, pouring his vast reserves of energy behind his will, propelling the king upward mile after mile, then foot by foot, and finally every inch became a grueling battle.

Viswamithra felt his precious energy draining out of every orifice in his body. He began to feel like a sponge being squeezed beneath an elephant's foot.

Enough! 

He let the king fall, trying to think of a way to fulfill his word. I am a sage. I keep my promises. I help those in need. I am the best. 

He sat down in contemplation, crossing his legs, clearing his mind, and searching for inspiration. He began collecting what was left of his spiritual energy, as King Trisanku continued to fall.

It came to him like a lightning bolt. A Vajra. He gathered up all the energy that remained to him, concentrating it into its purest form. It became so blindingly bright inside him that he had to open his eyes for fear that he would be blinded and never be able to look inward again.

He saw Trisanku falling. A few seconds more, and the king would be no more than a royal puddle on the ground.

Viswamithra called forth his great well of energy. The torrential ball of pure spiritual power engulfed Trisanku, warping the very air around him, bending reality inside itself like a ball turning inside-out.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it dissipated, leaving behind a spherical hole in the world.

"Be at peace, my friend," Viswamithra uttered in prayer, exhausted from the effort. "If the Gods will not accept you into their heaven, I hope that you will find salvation within the heaven that I have created for you. Enjoy your eternal paradise, and know that Viswamithra keeps his promises."

Viswamithra stayed in meditation for three more years before he moved or spoke again. He was too drained to do much else. He had expended the last of spiritual power (and then some) to create a new heaven in the sky above, and to send Trisanku there. It would take many years of intensive austerities to regain all he had lost, but he was determined to grow stronger still.

I will surpass you, Vashista. 


Image: Indra and Viswamithra fighting over Trisanku: source

Week 4 Reading Diary 2: The Power of Sages

One thing that really interested me in the Ramayana, and in Indian mythology as a whole, is the god-like power of holy men, the sages. Sometimes they even seem to be more powerful than the gods!

Continuing my theme of discovering backstories for characters of the Ramayana, I decided to read the Amar Chitra Katha volume Vishwamitra: The King Who Became An Ascetic.

Now, from the Ramayana, I already knew Vishwamitra began as a powerful king, but I did not realize just how vain and egotistic he was. I assumed he decided to become a holy man after growing weary of the good life, sort of how Siddhartha Gautama did. But I was wrong. Vishwamitra decides to became a sage solely because he wants to obtain the highest spiritual powers, just so he can prove his superiority to Vashishta, who humiliated him over a cow. That's right, a COW.

In the process of becoming a sage, Vishwamitra gives up his lustful ways, his family, and even his temper in the end. But he never gives up his thirst for power. In fact, when he finally manages to become Vashishta's equal, he rubs his face in it and then the story ends. I don't feel like Vishwamitra had any kind of real character arc, or at least one that was satisfying. He is still just as stubborn and egotistic and power-hungry as before, only now he is one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

Pretty much sums it up: The Power of the Sage

I mean, really. I am curious why sages are so completely overpowered. Even as a weakling sage, Vishwamitra manages to oppose the gods and CREATE HIS OWN HEAVEN. What does this say about Indian culture and beliefs? It is almost as if they revere the sage more than the gods.

Week 4 Reading Diary 1: Ravana's Many Unrequited Loves

For my reading this week, I decided to read the Ama Chitra Katha graphic novels. For my first volume, I chose The Lord Of Lanka.

The Rise and Fall of a Demon King: source

I thought it would be especially poignant to read about the life of the Ramayana's main antagonist, from birth until death. My initial thinking was that it would elucidate more about his character, and perhaps help me to understand his final, almost redemptive, moments.

Ultimately, this was only somewhat true. I enjoyed seeing Ravana's rise to power, and seeing that his lustful ways were in fact a permanent character trait, however I don't feel as if I have gleamed any greater insights into who Ravana is.

I mean, he fasts and cuts off nine of his heads, and for this Brahma awards him with immunity from Gods and Rakshasas. Okay, I guess. But the whole part with Shiva did not make sense to me. I mean, why would Ravana revere, (fear?) Shiva so much in the first place? Shiva clearly can't harm him, so it seemed out of character for Ravana to become so submissive.

I did really enjoy seeing Ravana's many unrequited love affairs. I thought it was especially enlightening to see his interaction with Vedavati. She was briefly mentioned in the Ramayana, as was Sita being found in a field as a baby, but I never would have imagined that Vedavati reincarnated as Sita! That was like an Aha! moment.

Week 3 Storytelling: Hanuman's Escape

Author's Note:
I took this storytelling opportunity to expand upon a moment in the Ramayan that I felt was glossed over: Hanuman's Escape from Lanka. This seen got me so excited, as Hanuman is one of my favorite characters, and I was disappointed it did not receive more attention from the author. So here is my version of it:

Hanuman's Escape:

The veil was wrenched from his head. He saw before him a palatial court of gold and jewels, sparkling so bright it agitated Hanuman’s light-deprived eyes. He’d spent the last day and a half in a cell, a sack pulled taut over his eyes. The canvas veil was actually a ship’s sail, Hanuman suspected, for no other material would be able to wrap around his might head. After all, he had altered his stature to over a hundred feet tall. 

Yet still, Ravana’s court dwarfed even him. The marble pillars were thicker than redwoods, the throne fit for a herd of elephants to sit upon. All of Ravana’s demonic court had assembled to see him, Hanuman, the prince of the monkey kingdom, brought low. All according to plan, he thought, trying not to let his grin show.

“Silence!” Ravana hushed the crowd. Hanuman found that he could hardly bear to look upon the King of Demons. When he tried, his vision became blurry, and it was as if Ravana had a thousand arms, a thousand shifting faces, all displaying the same malevolent glower, all directed at him. Hanuman could see the hatred in his thousand eyes.

“You,” Ravana quaked. “Monkey. Ye who would lay waste to my great and magnificent kingdom. Who are you, to think you could get away with destroying my gardens?”

Hanuman could not stop himself this time. He smirked as he said, “The better question is, who are you? For all I see before me is a dead man and a court of ghosts.”

“Insolence!” Ravana lurched upright, standing opposite Hanuman now, a bolt of lightning materializing into a golden trident in the Demon King’s hand. Hanuman could feel the heat of it even from this distance.

He tread carefully. “Your grace, the words which leave my mouth are not my own. I am but a messenger of Lord Rama, and the words I speak are his alone . . . you big dumb idiot.”

Some amongst the crowd dared to snicker, and were struck dead by a single glance from one of Ravana’s many heads. The King of Demons paced the chamber, his intricate obsidian armor clattering against the golden floor, brows furled in sadistic thought.

“Indrajit,” he said finally. “It was you who captured this foolish monkey. I trust my son will make his death as painful as possible. I want his head delivered to Rama in a box.” He returned Hanuman’s vanishing smile with one of his own, terrible and twisted. “And I shall have Sita kiss his apish forehead before the box is sealed, so that Rama may see what has become of her.”

Hanuman had not planned for such cruelty. Oh Vishnu, what have I done? I should not have played such tricks on this vile monster.

“Brother, I beg you to reconsider,” said one of the gentler-looking demons. “In your extreme magnanimity, surely you must see that one cannot slay a messenger sent in good faith. It betrays all the laws of Gods and Demons.”

“Hmmm. Yes, Vibhishana, perhaps you are right. Though I care not for the Gods laws, I cannot disobey the laws of my fellow demons and still call myself King.” Turning, he addressed the gathered crowd. “I am too forgiving by half, I know. But rest assured, my brothers and sisters, this monkey shall pay for the damages he has inflicted upon your homes. Indrajit! My son, see that this giant buffoon’s tail is padded with cotton, soaked in oil, and set ablaze! So that he does not catch cold on his long way back to Rama’s embrace. He is a messenger, after all.”

Hanuman kicked and squirmed against his restraints, but no matter how large he tried to make himself, the strange metal would not break. He could not enlarge himself out of this problem. In the meanwhile, Ravana’s orders were carried out in painstaking detail. He was brought back to his dark cellar and his tail was padded and soaked. Indrajit smiled, forked serpentine tongue licking his scaly lips, and threw down the torch with glee.

Hanuman shrieked as his tail sparked to fiery life. He needed a way out. His mind was locked in a race with the inferno climbing up his leg.

And then it hit him. He knew what he must do. Hanuman shrank himself down to the size of a grape, appearing as nothing more than a firefly to Indrajit’s eyes. His shackles clattered to floor, and Hanuman grew again, this time a thousand thousand times bigger than before. His massive frame broke through the jail walls.

He stood atop Ravana’s glittering capital like an elephant over an anthill. His tail was still ablaze, but he laughed at his own pain and sprang into a somersault. He flipped and spun through the city, changing his size as he went to confuse his pursuers. The fire sprouting from his tail, now an inferno large enough to rival the sun, now small enough to be dwarfed by an ember, swept over the pagodas and palaces of Lanka. That night the city burned, and the flames spread high enough to singe the very clouds above. 

Arsonist Hanuman: source

Bibliography:

The Ramayana, A Shortened Modern Prose Version of the Indian Epic, R.K. Narayan, Penguin Books, 2006

Week 3 Reading Diary 2: All's Well That Ends . . . Okay I Guess

As the title suggests, the ending of Narayan's Ramayana was both my favorite part, and the most infuriating end imaginable. I was engrossed for the epic battle scene in Lanka. Monkey's vs. Demons, the apocalyptic siege of a city of splendor. It was everything I wanted in a final battle. Rama and Ravana clashed with a fury of arrows and magical spells, a real page-turner.

Rama vs. Ravana: source

And then . . . Rama turns into a prick. He makes Sita put on her makeup before he sees her, he greets her in public, refuses to live with her even though she did nothing wrong. Maybe it's just my cultural bias, but seeing Rama sit idly by while Sita jumped into a fire, distraught with the idea of living without him, was sickening. Rama was never my favorite, in fact I found him to be a bland/boring character, but this legitimately made me dislike him.

Still though, besides their reunion, it was everything I wanted in an ending, and it even surprised me. I was not expecting Rama to treat Ravana with such compassion in the end. My one gripe with Narayan's style, however, was that it was more telling than showing. There were moments I wanted to see described in more detail, and which I was really curious about, that I felt were glossed over. I've decided to write about just such a moment for my storytelling post this week . . . stay tuned.

Week 3 Reading Diary 1: Monkeying Around

This felt like a little bit of a side mission in Narayan's Ramayana, after the cliffhanger from last week. Don't get me wrong, I'm loving this look into the politics of the monkey kingdom, I just feel like Rama does not have the sense of urgency I would expect. I mean, his wife has just been kidnapped. It seemed like he had a more visceral response upon their first meeting (and subsequent separation) than after this tragedy.

The moral ambiguity of Rama's controversial battle (massacre?) of Vali was strangely compelling. I was not expecting such grey areas in an ancient text. Usually morality is very clear-cut black-and-white in these sorts of things, so this part in particular fascinated me. The author seemed aware of this controversy as well, and I'm sure even his contemporaries questioned this passage, and he included much of those critiques in Vali's final moments. Even still, Rama's justification seems weak to me, and perhaps that is intentional, to be seen as a learning moment, or a low point in the hero's journey, perhaps?

Rama looking on as Vali fights Sugreeva: Source

Regardless, I am all aboard Hanuman's adventure! I wish the story didn't gloss over this as much. Like when he discovered the magnificent subterranean city--I wanted more details! How did he use his powers to escape? Why was the Goddess imprisoned? Who were the prior occupants of the city? So many questions left unanswered . . . I'm definitely considering doing my storytelling assignment over this one . . .