Don't Kill Him!

Sillhouette of Trees During Night
 by Unsplash via Pexels

Omar looked at the boy. His boy.

He had to shake that thought since he couldn't keep referring to him as his boy anymore. Not with the decision was forced to make. There would need to be action now, the community demanded that Kabir's life be ended.

The boy was watching television, the dim glow lighting up his face, and he was enjoying the show. Omar smiled softly at him. Life shouldn't have to be this complicated, should it? When did society come to this, that termination of a life was required simply because one thing about a person displeased a few in the community? It was like walking on egg-shells these days, careful not to offend anyone in any way: don't forget to smile while holding the door open for the neighbor lady, be sure to tip 35% or risk whispers you're dissenting from societal norms, mail out your Christmas cards the day after Thanksgiving, don't forget to include a picture of the smiling family, with the dog's lips cleverly pulled back into a smile also, careful to use fishing line to help the dog grin, a trick that everyone knew at this point, but must be conformed to regardless of the fact that everyone was in on the joke. Keeping up with the Joneses', isn't that what it was called back when Omar was a kid? Now it was a suffocating, stiff, inflexible lifestyle required by society in order to maintain your home within the city. He supposed he could become a hermit, living in the woods like those who refused to conform, but he wasn't outdoorsy enough for that. He and his boy... No Stop that Omar -- you must stop saying that... you and the boy would starve to death in the first few weeks if you could even track down water after the first few days. Sigh.

I've got to take him to the woods, I suppose, and leave him there. He'll probably die, but maybe not. At least I'm not killing him outright, thought Omar as he continued mulling over his options. The sacrificial lamb, the one that is required by the higher-ups to appease the masses. Kabir, his boy... no Omar, remember: the boy... had made a lot of people uncomfortable lately. Making people uncomfortable was no longer tolerated in today's society, and so finally the straw that had broken the camel's back had come: Kabir had sought out a guru. A guru. "We're Muslims!" thought Omar loudly, clicking his tongue without even realizing he was doing it, so that Kabir turned from the television to look at him. Omar gave an uneasy smile, then a small shrug, and Kabir turned back to watching his show.

The trouble had started because we are Muslims, in fact, continued Omar in his own thoughts. When we found Kabir inside of an abandoned home in our neighborhood, days after we had gotten back from our honeymoon, we couldn't believe it. Who would leave a helpless little child in here? Omar's wife Noha couldn't stand the thought, and so they took him home. People had accused them of hiding a premarital pregnancy, but they didn't care. Noha had been radiant on her wedding day, and anyone that said that she could have been eight months pregnant was lying to themselves! But still, people accused them of having a baby too soon after marriage. Although it certainly started everything, the real problem came when they took the child to the mosque to seek a name for him, as was custom. The local imam consulted the holy texts, and then distraught, said he would get back to the couple. That was strange. After their imam had consulted a few other imams, mild discontent began to spread throughout their community. The name the holy texts kept presenting was Kabir, a name of God. "We can't name this child such a sacred name of God, for a child to be called the Incomparably Great!" All of the imams together had told them. "Well, what are we supposed to name him? We're keeping him, so give us a name."  retorted Noha and Omar. Everyone grumbled, but obligingly, they had let them name him Kabir.

Now, however, Kabir was twelve, and seeking religious instruction. Except, he wasn't seeking instruction from the imams in the religious classes, no, he was following around a guru in the early morning hours, repeating after him, "Hari Ram, Hari Ram, Hari Ram." Ram was definitely not one of the names for the God of Islam. Worse, Kabir was writing songs, and encouraging people that the god of Hinduism and the god of Islam were all the same thing. This kid had practically torn a rift through the community the size of the Thar desert in Rajasthan.

Omar had loaded Kabir up into their family Subaru and told him he wanted to show him a bit of nature's beauty: the moon was supposed to be really big tonight. They got to a secluded spot, parked the car, and walked a little ways into the forest. Kabir had complete trust in Omar, for Omar was his father who had raised him, and now no fear whatsoever was resonating through him. Omar told him to sit down, and wait, and then Omar began to walk away. But as he turned, essentially sacrificing his only son, his oldest, his cell phone began to ring. Bizarrre, there shouldn't be any reception out here.... Kabir cocked his head sideways, thinking the same thought as Omar. How is this possible? Omar answered the phone, out of habit, worried it was a work call. "Kabir is a child of God, and he is destined for greatness! Return with him to your home, continue to raise him as your own and all will be well for you and your family!" boomed the voice through the phone. Omar laughed at the voice, shocked at what he had just heard, but it confirmed his deep-seated belief that disrupting the current status quo of societal rigidity couldn't actually harm them too much, could it? No, he'd let Kabir rock the boat and see what would come. Omar would protect him, if he could. He told Kabir to get up, look at the moon, and then they calmly walked back to the car together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: Kabir was an Indian mystic, poet and saint who lived around 1400 AD (speculations place him around 14th-15th Century). One of legends surrounding Kabir sugges that he was discovered as a child abandoned near a body of water by a couple that was returning home from their honeymoon (some say he was born of a lotus leaf). The couple risked a ruined reputation, knowing people would think they had conceived before marriage, but they didn't care: here was a perfect little child, abandoned and left to die, so they decided to raise him as their own, in the Muslim faith. The story about his name coming from the holy texts was controversial because it was one of the names of God from Islam: Immeasurably Great. The story suggests that this is an unacceptable name for a child, perhaps because he was 'born' into this middle-caste family. Kabir was renowned for seeking out a Hindu Guru (which is another legend that historians have doubts about), Swami Ramananda in Varanasi, and composing songs and poems urging his followers to follow God, which was the same God, whether you found him through Hinduism, Islam, Sikhism or any other form of religion. Some critics say that he encouraged his followers to abandon traditional religion and seek only the path of righteousness.


I was intrigued that he was found near a body of water, almost in a nest of reeds -- this seemed strikingly similar to the Christian imagery about Moses. However, Moses (Musa) is the most frequently mentioned character in the Koran, and the stories do overlap between the two religions, so it's interesting that a more 'modern day' figure like Kabir would have a similar personal history likened to that of an Old Testament figure. Moses, like Kabir, is destined by God to become great. This also reminds me that Abraham is asked to sacrifice his first born son, Isaac, to God, as a test of his faith. Kabir's father was going to sacrifice Kabir, leaving him in the forest to die, when a voice "came out of the wilderness" telling him that Kabir was a child of god, and he was destined for greatness. Kabir's father decided to keep him and continued to raise Kabir, who did become a prolific religious teacher and leader through his holy songs, poems and bhajans. I wanted to modernize the tale, and hoped that I was able to do so, while still retaining some of the more mysterious historical events of Kabir's childhood.

Kabir, memorialized on an Indian Postage Stamp, 1952
Image from Wikipedia

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More Info on Kabir 

• Kabir was famous for writing Kabir's Bijak, and Rabindranath Tagore of the 21st century translated 100 Poems of Kabir into English, which was published in 1915.
• My Reading Notes from the Amar Chitra Katha comic book about Kabir from the Visionary Series can be found here. The Volume on Kabir is vol # 623, and can be checked out from The Bizzel Library on OU's campus.
• A brief overview of Kabir's life can be found on Wikipedia.

Story: Let this be the end.....

Barefoot

Soordas' fame was growing. He was gathering moderately large crowds around him now, and he had even been given an ektara (stringed instrument) to help create music for Lord Krishna. The crowds swelled when he began his morning songs for the day, sometimes even beginning to form before he was ready to start the day's Bhajans, or holy songs, that he crafted lovingly as the words and stanzas that formed into harmonious melodies drifted out of his mouth. He had taken to this artistic lifestyle quickly and easily, as if nothing else in the world was arranged so perfectly for him.

Today, though, the crowds who came to watch and sometimes participate in his artistry would be a problem. It was time to move. The dream had been clear: Lord Krishna was instructing him to go away from his camp and onto the untrodden paths. He had taken refuge and commenced his daily work under this tree, far away from his family home, for long enough. He had acquired moderate fame for his devotion to Lord Krishna, that he displayed twice daily when he poetically crafted and sang his holy songs. The fame was not what Soordas sought, however. He had two aims: to sing the most beautiful song to Krishna that Krishna had ever heard, and to be granted an audience with Krishna. And last night, finally and unusually, Krishna came to him in a clear, bright, and was he remembering correctly.... damp dream? He couldn't shake that feeling of sogginess that overwhelmed him in the dream.

He readied himself to move, rising from his sleep in the third watch of the night, alongside the morning birds who began their earliest callings. He gathered his two belongings, his one copper bowl that he used for drinking, eating, and bathing with, and his ektara, his instrument that helped him sing his devotion. He rose, and slowly, slowly, began to make his way out and away from the tree. Back straight, head up, feet shuffling, he started out to find the path where no one else would be. 

After stubbing his toes quite a few times, many scrapes on his arms from low-hanging and wayward branches, and a few days' worth of accumulated sunburn, Soordas had finally made his way into a forest. He felt a path beneath his feet and the cool shade of the trees had been a welcome relief. After two days journeying into the forest, he could feel himself getting parched. The Krishna devotees had not discovered him yet, to his satisfaction, but he missed them now, as usually he could ask them for a bowl of water to quench his thirst. No help would find him here, in this lonely and deserted forest. He had been careful to sing very quietly as he walked, so that no villagers working in the fields would hear his songs and abandon their work to join him in praise of Lord Krishna. No, he had managed to solitarily escape away from humanity, with their distractions, and awkward noises, and questions, and gasps when a particular line of a song was too beautiful. Despite the hunger and the thirst, Soordas was glad, for he could focus on his adorations to Krishna without any hindrances in his way. 

He shuffled forward, contemplating the dream Krishna had granted him, confident that he would find his Lord soon enough. The dream had been vivid, bright, and full of light. Perhaps he would find the location on the other side of this dark, heavily shaded forest. Suddenly, he stubbed his toe... no, his whole foot! He had jammed his whole right foot into something very hard, vertical, and quite stone-like. Soordas lurched forward, his momentum thrown off. He had expected to find the ground soon enough, his hands outstretched before him, but instead, he kept tumbling, tumbling, tumbling down.... splash! The blind bard had managed to fall right into the depths of the well, the fool! Alone, in a deserted forest with no passersby to hear him, he would surely die in here. The blindness he had been born with would be the very thing that brought him directly to the end of his life, what a disgrace, he thought. After everything he had overcome despite this failure his physical form brought him, alas, his lack of sight would be the ultimate failure to him. It would bring him death before he could meet his Lord Krishna. The dream had been clear: Krishna would come to him in a bright place, not in the darkness. 

So he began to sing, welcoming Krishna to take him to his next life as speedily as Krishna could. If not Krishna, then Yama. Let the god of death bring him a swift end, for he did not want to contemplate how long he might be in this dreadful well. No, it was better to focus his last devotional songs on Krishna, thought Soordas. At least he might attain one of his life's aims, to sing the most beautiful song to Krishna that Krishna had ever heard. And so he sang, and he sang, and he sang. Day and night and day and night and day and night for seven long days, wondering when his body would fail him and he could pass from this life onto the next. But this was not to be Soordas' end...

~

Author's Note: Soordas was a blind bard who achieved lots of fame in India, as an almost saint-like figure, for crafting holy songs to Lord Krishna in the 15th Century. His name means "Servant of the Melody" or "Slave of Song," and he is said to have written a hundred thousand songs of devotion. Especially famous is his magnum opus, the 'Sur Sagar' or 'Ocean of Melody.'  His devotion to Krishna was renowned particularly because he was blind. A few miracles surround the story of his life, one of which was only briefly mentioned in the Amar Chitra Katha comic book Soordas: The Blind Bard where I read about him. He fell into a well, early in his career of devotional singing to Krishna, and a week later Krishna rescued him out of the well. He continued singing and creating his devotional songs, seeking to again find Krishna any way that he could. I wanted to surprise the reader with the fact that Soordas was actually blind, so I tried to keep it hidden while highlighting other sensory inputs throughout the story. I also found it interesting that Krishna implored him to move away from the safety of where he had set up camp under a tree and to go seek him in untrodden areas... Wouldn't that be difficult for a blind person all alone without any aide? I attempted to allude to that question with my story as well. 

The Reading Notes I created for this ACK (volume 613) on Soordas can be found here. 

Story: All Around Me

Ghosts in the Forest
by bluesbby on flickr

I am reborn. I have a new lease on life: I am woman. I am strength. I am power. I am Motherhood. I am energy. I am cosmic energy. I am primordial cosmic energy, the greatest energetic force that this Earth and her inhabitants have seen, nay, will see. I am ALIVE.

Her previous physical form, Mirabai, had thwarted death. Banished to the river to kill herself for shaming her husband, she had been saved at the very last moment. Revived, re-invented, a new woman. 

Power. Sheer power, with the free agency to do with it as I please. What is my purpose now?

She began to float away from the river, and closer towards the forest. She was not destined for anywhere in particular, rather, she was feeling out this new form she had and wondering at its capabilities. She explored, she meandered, she experimented with this visceral power. After many days of using her powers on nothing but trees, or leafs, or playing with fire, she ultimately determined that she was being useless in her new powerful form. 

Enough. This is not what this change was given to me for. I've idled away my time for nothing. Here, look, a lonely aesthetic in the woods. I shall nudge his fire back into life. Aha! There you go ascetic, yes, that was me. No, no, you can't see me, don't look around for me like that, I am not visible to you. Oh, I'm not audible either? What if I shout very loudly LIKE THIS! Oh, no, that didn't work either? What if I nudge you to move your encampment to a safer grove over here, where the Rakshasas likely won't find you as easily......... That's right, there you go, now you've got the idea. Pick up your few pieces of encampment and move over here to this grove. MOVE, I SAID! I'll even restart your fire for you..... Bravo! Good move! You may not see me, or apparently hear me, but you certainly felt the force compelling you to move to safety! Well, that's the proper use of this power then: imposing upon humanity what is good for them. 

And then a glint twinkled in her eye, akin to the very first inkling she had when she realized the magnificent power she held within her. 

Imposing on humanity what is good for them.....

She thought maniacally. 

I can save the humans from their own stupidity! I can salvage the rivers, the oceans, and the atmosphere from the brutal trashing it has received from negligence! I can settle peace between the warring tribes! I AM POWER! 

She set off to wield her influence upon anyone whom she could find. But, alas, No! She quickly stumbled upon a problem! She could only wield her power among places of nature it seemed: forests, rivers, oceans, atmosphere (clouds, rain, sun). 

No, this still isn't working! I'm so frustrated! Why won't my influence move people here. What was it about the mendicants of the forests that made it so easy???  ARRRGGHHH.

It took a few more days of attempting to persuade humans to doing her bidding, but she soon learned one key element to her new form.

Ah, I see. I can only influence those who are seeking the primordial cosmic power. *SIGH* Humans are some of the most stubborn creatures.....

And so Radha, The Great Divine Mother, used her influence of power to those who sought her in the forests, those seeking by the riverbanks, and those on the ocean in need of some change of winds. She helped poured down the rain when they asked for it, she helped bring the sunshine when the monsoons were overwhelming the people and their crops, and she attempted to right the world through the only instrument she had available to her: influencing humanity. 

Author's Note:

Thoughts or words spoken out loud are in this typeset.

Narration is in italics. 

This week I was inspired to write about Radha, who is the divine companion to Krishna. I only learned about Radha because I was reading an Amar Chitra Katra comic book about Mirabai, a saint who gave her heart to Krishna. Village people, upon hearing of Mirabai's escape from death and subsequent musical worship to Krishna said, "She is Radha reborn!" I had to go research Radha, and this led me to dwelling on the idea of the primordial cosmic energy that moves throughout the whole earth, like a Great Divine Mother. I wanted to create some sort of mental back story to flesh out Radha more, and I tried to incorporate a ghost theme, since we are fast approaching Halloween. Everything mentioned above, outside of the reincarnation of a "new woman" and being called "Radha reborn" is of my own creation.

Radha: Radha in Sanskrit means fortunate and successful. Almost always depicted as the goddess next to Krishna, she is considered to be the embodiment of Shakti herself, the original goddess, and the embodiment of the female creative powers, sometimes referred to as "The Great Divine Mother", and she is the primordial cosmic energy that moves throughout the whole earth. 

Shakti: power, primordial cosmic power. In Sanskrit, it is from the word Shak, which means "to be able."

Krishna and Radha 

seated on a terrace

Brooklyn Museum

Story: Indra's Emabarrassing Interference

Now the spectators all began to whisper in hushed tones, for fear of being overheard by any of the gods above who were looking down on the tournament. It was well known among the mortals that Vayu, the god of the winds, who was notably in attendance today, could easily sweep up the words uttered out of one's mouth and swirl them on his wind, immediately bringing the words to his ear to hear what was spoken. However, the excitement could not be contained, and the onlookers  yet whispered to each other the recent development that was now unfolding at the Pandava Brother's tournament.

"Who is this boy that comes to challenge Arjuna? At his very own tournament, no less! What could he possibly have done?" whispered a nearby villager who was in attendance.

"Shush, shush, shush," hushed out the friend. "See how the gods have all come to attend today. Something must be in the cards of fate, and they're here to watch it all unfold."

"Yes, friend. But look! This challenger is bathed in golden sunlight, see how he glisten and glows. Oh, but it is sadly all that surrounds him now. If the the gods have assembled in the stairs of the clouds, why have none other than Surya chosen to shine some favor on him, the challenger?"

"Ohhhhh! But, look, now, at Arjuna! Swathed in a perfect, hazy fog at his feet, a foreboding cloud above! What a cloud! Dark grey, ominous, it fills the whole sky behind him, delineating immediately in a sharp line between him and the challenger. What a thing to witness. Oh, but that silly multi-colored bow in the sky just above him! Poor boy, he hasn't been able to shake it for his whole youth? Tsk, Tsk. I'm quite surprised Drona didn't teach him how to conceal it, at the very least. How embarrassing for it to be out and shining for all to see at such a moment as this!"

"Oh, I know!" exclaimed the villager. "How could Drona not have done something about that ridiculous bow! Remember what happens to it when Arjuna becomes enraged, or embarrassed? Hahahaha, they say that it morphs into some puerile little thing, useless to him, it's rumored. I hope the challenger says something to incite him so that we can see if it really does morph. That would make today entertaining, for sure."

"It.... morphs? Into what? Do tell!" replied the friend.

Just at that very moment, the two challengers were beginning to circle each other preparing for the battle dance, and a hush fell over the crowd. The dark grey cloud above swirled in the sky, mixing with the sunlight, creating an eerie sight, like two mixed paint colors swirling together who have initially refused to mix just yet. The two challengers began to dance around each other, and only visible, inaudible to the onlookers, the challenger spoke something to Arjuna. At once, Arjuna's cheeks flushed, his steps to the dance of the battle quickened, and the cloud above him rumbled. The rainbow above swirled into a circle, spun, lifted up through the cloud, invisible to those below, gaping at what they were now seeing.

"It's happening! It's really happening! It's going to morph! And, we're here to see it!" giggled excitedly out the villager to his friend.

Rushing down in galloping steps, out through the cloud, down on a surfboard of wind he galloped and landed just beside Arjuna. Arjuna, not realizing that his emotions had been read by his father, Indra, now looked at the tiny blue pony next to him. The circling battle danced stopped. The little blue pony, with the rainbow tail and mane shook out its rainbow hairs in a defiant battle stance, as if saying "I am here Arjuna! I am here with you to fight!" As the pony's eyes blazed at Karna, the challenger, the rainbow lightning bolt, a brand from his creator, Indra, on his rear blazed up brightly, shining out a rainbow from his rump.

The crowd went dead silent. Not a foot shuffled, not a garment of clothing rustled, not a breath could be heard. Until finally, a booming laugh came from Duryodhana.

"That pony is shooting a rainbow out its arse," he cried! It was not really out the arse, but rather out of the brand on the rump region, the onlookers observed, but laughed loudly at Duryodhana's mockery.

Vayu, the wind god, favoring Karna for the battle, amplified Duryodhana's words using the wind through some conch shells as microphones, so that no one failed the hear the words of Duryodhana.

Everyone waited breathlessly for Arjuna's response, but their minds raced. How could Indra shame his son, Arjuna, with this pitiful little rainbow pony? How could Drona, having instructed Arjuna all these years, failed to teach him how to conceal such an embarrassment? Why was Indra meddling in his sons affairs? What would Arjuna do? Would Karna even bother to fight both Arjuna and the pony, or wait, laughingly, until the pony was morphed back into a multi colored bow, the typical embodiment of Indra's weapon?

"Father," seethed Arjuna to the heavens above. "Use him as you will, but this is my battle to fight today."

The pony heard the whistle from the clouds, shook his mane and tail in disagreement, but begrudgingly closed his rainbow bolt projector, and galloped back on the wind, through the dark ominous cloud above Arjuna. Within a few seconds, the typical, arching bow of colors sat over Arjuna, however, more at a distance from him this time.

Silence maintained its presence over the crowd, but pleased that the battle could be fought on more equal terms, the onlookers turned their rapt attention back to the two competitors to see what the gods had fated to unfold today.

~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:  I created this little vignette to add to the story of Karna and Arjuna's battle from page 131 of the Mahabharata, as retold in Myths of the Hindus and Buddhists, by Sister Nivedita and Ananda K Coomaraswamy. 

 I was struck by the idea that Arjuna was Indra's son, and a rainbow arched over him during the battle between Karna and Arjuna, which began at the tournament to feature the Pandava Brothers' skills they had learned under Drona's training all of these years. The rainbow is said to be Indra's bow, one of his weapons, and I simply aimed to create a story around the rainbow, still relating to the tale of the Mahabharata, but adding an extra side story in. I couldn't help but incorporate some features from My Little Pony, as we recently attended a birthday party with a My Little Pony Birthday theme. 

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Gif Information: Rainbow Dash, Uploaded by Hooman on https://derpibooru.org/986323.

Story: He Only Knows The Scales

Photo of the Scales of Justice, London
copyright by Chris Downer

Yama walked around swinging his scales to and fro, whistling as he sauntered along. The moon was full, and most of the animals were sleeping in this second quarter of the night. He had recently decided that he would make a journey away from the hinterlands towards a city -- yes, some large city, he thought to himself. Perhaps he would even turn from a night owl to a day bird!

"I'm tiring of just the same old things sitting atop my scales, and reading the same, boring karmic results. It's all the same, and no one is ever happy of their number. Alas.... perhaps I can try my entrepreneurial luck and be of some use in the city. Surely there is some need there."

So, Yama journeyed on towards Delhi. It was the biggest city he could think of within a reasonable distance -- not so far as to take many years to wander there, but not so close as so his friends in the hinterlands to hear word back about what he was up to there. For, if he started a business, and perhaps it failed, he did not want news spreading back to them so quickly.

As Yama approached Delhi, he began to observe all the peoples running to and fro. He could find no good use for his scales, for they all appeared the same as those near to the hinterlands: some good, some bad, some in between as far as the weight of their karma was concerned. Sighing, he wandered further into the heart of Delhi, not realizing he was coming into quite a wealthy part of town. He sat down on a curb with a loud thud, and stared, head perched on his hand, wondering what use he could be of the people to this city besides weighing out their karma. As he sat, he began to notice a trend: All these people were fat! How on earth had they gotten that way?! Didn't they know that a hard day's work was what was best for them? What had happened to their bodies? Those bodies should still be lean from working the wheat fields and sowing the crops. As he looked around, he was reminded that he was no longer in the wilds of the back country, but instead in the heart of a city, where, he supposed, people have found new and innovative ways to while away their days. But, they've gotten fat while doing it. Aha!

I shall weigh their bodies, not their karma! Thought Yama excitedly. He wanted to test his theory, before setting out on a completely new business adventure, for taking a sample of the population would most likely yield useful results. He approached a fatter man with a furrowed brow, who seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in the shouting match he was pursuing with his rickshaw driver. "Um, sir, hi there," said Yama. Quite startled, the rotund man went slack jawed, stammered a bit, before his mouth began to quiver. "Ya.... Ya... Ya.. Yama? Who are you here to weigh? Me or the rickshaw driver? Surely it must be the rickshaw driver, for he has just now performed the most unrighteous deed by trying to charge me double the fare! See how he brings bad karma on himself, surely you want to weigh his karma!" The rickshaw driver just stared wide-eyed at Yama, hoping beyond all hope that Yama was here for the stingy rotund man, not for him. While everyone knew that Yama could appear before you at any moment and take note of your karma in your present life, no one actually wanted to partake of that in their lifetime. No, it was far better to wait until the end of one's life, so that the scales could be weighed, and straightaway you were sent into your next physical form, without the dread of thinking about what you had spent your whole last life doing.

"No, No, No, not your karma this time," replied Yama, boring immediately of the thought. "I've a new idea for my scales... step on. I promise not to reveal to your karmic number until you've passed on for your next life. ...... Yes, Yes, Yes, I'll tell you then, but not now, don't stammer so much and don't worry, just get on, would you?" He gently urged the rotund man to step on. "Oh, Snap, son! What have you done to yourself?! You weigh nearly a tonne!" Yama gasped.

"A Tonne?!" the rotund man replied. How can that be? No one human ever weighs a tonne. Now, I've never been weighed, but it's not said that that is a normal number! A few kilos, sure, but not a tonne! I'll have to go home at once, and scold my wife for cooking so much and making me eat her delicious food. Argh!" said the old man as he stepped off of the scales.

"Yes, Yes, of course it is your wife's fault," Yama said, rolling his eyes. But the wheels were already turning in his head. If no one truly knew of their bodily weight like this rotund man said, then surely people could come clamoring to him to find out! He would be the talk of the town, and everyone would want to get on his scales then! No more grudgingly plopping people onto the scales while they were scared stiff less in regards to the karmic score, no, now they'd be shoving people out of the way to get weighed! Perfect! Yama's entrepreneurial fire was roared inside of him as he envisioned the perfect little, well, let's be honest, huge, sparkling in gold, shop that he would set up. A whole new adventure was here to entertain him.

Author's Note:
Previously to reading R.K. Narayan's the Mahabharata, I can only ever remember encountering the god Yama as the terrifying, bloodthirsty, rips-bodies-in-half at the sight of them, god of death (typically of the Tibetan variety). In this version of the Mahabharata, Yama lures the 5 Pandavas to a lake, so that he might test them. He allows no one to drink from the lake until they have answered his questions, despite their great thirst. In the end, the last one alive is his son, Yudhistira. Yama tests him in his judgment and justice, and finally decides that he is worthy and has passed the test. He revives all of Yudhitira's dead brothers as reward.

I decided to take this new, enlightened, somewhat softer version of Yama and create a story around him. As I pondered the idea of the scales, and that they weigh justice, I thought about what else scales typically weigh: weight. Why not modernize Yama and have him think of a new job for his scales, since he's probably tired of weighing only Karma all the time! That's where the origination for my invented tale about Yama started from.

Yama, The God of Justice

Tibetan depiction of Yama, the God of Death.
Notice the necklaces of skulls he wears.                  

Story: Beware of Seeds!

I ate a seed!
Tshirt by Andrea Robison
of DJammarMaternity on Etsy.
~~

And as the young girl was playing near the Yamuna river, her grandmother was heard to be scolding her, 'Be sure to keep your mouth closed, child! You never know what will jump inside and get to your tummy and start growing!"

The little girl groaned, rolled her eyes at the old woman, and continued dragging her stick on the bank of the river while she lifted her skirts with her other hand and carefully moved each ankle through the mud and waters. 

Just up ahead was her father, Vyasa, son of her Grandmother, Satyavati. He was perched on a rock a quarter distance between the bank of the river and the center of the river, legs crossed, with his body angled just so, as to conceal the tip of the rock altogether, giving the illusion of hovering above the moving river. The girl grinned, knowing that her father was fond of illusions and creating mystical moments out of nothing. To any passerby, surely it would look like he was levitating, but she knew this trick of her father's and grinned at the secret shared between them. 

As she approached her father, he squinted one eye closed tighter so that the other eye might pop open to see her. "Tell me, what does your Grandmother warn you from this time?" he asked his beloved daughter.

"Oh," sighed the girl, "Nothing out of the ordinary, except that today she keeps telling me the River will make something grow in my belly. Is this true, father? I know only girls grow things in their bellies, but did the river ever make you grow anything in your belly?"

"No," laughed Vyasa, "Not in my belly, no, but take heed of your Grandmother's advice, for she knows what she is talking about." The little girl lifted an eyebrow at her father, inviting him to entertain her for a few moments with one of his stories. He was always telling her stories, and she could lose entire afternoons completely immersed in the adventures of his characters.

Just as he was about to begin, a large, blue rainbow fish swam past the ankles of the girl, catching her and her father's eye with its metallic and shiny scales. 

Rainbow Fish

"See," said Vyasa, "There are many beautiful things in this river that would love to lead a charming little daughter of mine away from me," he began. "But how can a fish take me away?" Asked the little girl, satisfying her father by asking the leading question he was looking for.

"Because the fish's blood is in your blood, sweet girl! It is your ancestry! Has your Grandmother never told you that she was born out of the belly of a fish? It is true, and a twin was found in the belly of her mother with her!" The little girl squinted at her father, not sure if this was a true story, or another one that he was making up. 

"Now, how does a pair of twins, a boy and a girl, no less, get inside the belly of a fish?" he asked. This time, the little girl remained silent, waiting for the answer. "According to your Grandmother, a seed was spilled over the River, and the girl fish was playing in the water one bright afternoon, when just as she was splashing about, laughing happily, in plopped a seed, which went straight to her tummy and began to grow!" exclaimed Vyasa.

 "Remember how your Grandmother is always warning you to never eat the seed of a watermelon, for fear that you'll grow a watermelon in your belly? That is exactly what happened to her mother! And out popped your grandmother, Satyavati, and her brother. Well, the seed of a different sort, but the point remains the same," he admitted. 

"Now, my little daughter, do you want to carry around a big, giant belly the size of a watermelon? Or, as big as two happy babies? You know how the bellies of the wives swell just before they add a child to their family."

The little girl squinted at her father. It was true, she had seen only a few women with swollen bellies just before they acquired a son or a daughter for their family. She'd never seen how big a belly got when it carried two babies, though, and that thought scared her. And a watermelon! How big they are! How would one ever fit inside of her belly? And how would it get out?! No, she thought, she didn't want to carry around a big belly, and then have a watermelon come out, although it would be tasty. She certainly didn't want two babies coming out, for although sometimes they were cute and fun to play with, mostly they just cried and slept a lot. All the babies she'd ever gotten to play with wouldn't leave their mothers, and she didn't want to have to worry about what to do with babies when she was trying to go out playing in the River. 

She clamped her jaw shut while she contemplated if her father was telling the truth, this time, or not. 

He cocked his head and simply watched her. 

She gave a quick, small, nervous grin, to convince her father that she knew he was just spinning stories again. But as she walked on in the Yamuna River's waters, from that day forward, she made sure to keep her mouth tightly clamped shut. 

~~

Author's Note:  I took a small character from the Mahabharata, Satyavati, and retold her birth story. She was in fact born from the belly of a fish when a king dropped his semen into the river below (there are differing accounts as to whether he was flying above or he sent an eagle with his semen meant for his wife who was flying above the river and dropped it). It fell into the mouth of a fish, and she bore twins, a boy and a girl, the girl being Satyavati. I wanted to use it in combination with our own western stories of warning to children, that one should not swallow seeds, for fear that they will grow that fruit in their belly. Vyasa, mentioned in my story, is in fact the son of Satyavati, and he is the iconic storyteller of the Mahabharata, so has a very important, real-life role as an epic storyteller that I also wanted to include as factual in my version as well. 

• I took inspiration for this story from Page 6 of R.K. Narayan's Mahabharata (2013 edition), and filled in the missing details using Satyavati's Wikipedia Page.

Below is a little more backstory on Satyavati, which sets up the characters for the Mahabharata.

Santanu woos Satyavati by the River
painting by Raja Ravi Varma

 Satyavati was the second wife of King Santanu, who together had two sons, Chitrangada and Vichitravirya. Chitrangada dies, and Vichitravirya is to be King, but he is too young to take the throne just yet. King Santanu's son from his first wife, Bhishma, acts as Regent to his little brother, Vichitravirya, and he finds three wives for his brother. Vichitravirya dies, leaving no heirs to the throne, and Satyavati begs Bhishma to continue the lineage by having children with his brother's wives. Bhishma has vowed to a life of celibacy, and so cannot, so Satyavati proposes another option: that her unknown-until-now first born son, of questionable origins, Vyasa, take the act upon himself to continue the lineage. He does, begetting sons, of whose sons will then war against each other, setting up the character premise of disputing cousins in the Mahabharata. 

Narayan Dreaming, Vishnu Awakening

Wengenn in Wonderland
by Queenie Liao
from boredpanda

And when Narayan had first come into being, he briefly looked around, and then he slept.

Like all brand new children, unused to their new environment, planet Earth, he began his wake/sleep cycles as any infant would: short bursts of awake time with somewhat longer stretches of sleeping time. Awake, sleep, awake, sleep, with no regard for regularity. 

Unlike other child deities, however, when Narayan slept, he was the god Narayan and the whole world ceased to be in existence when his eyes were closed. When he awoke, he was the god Vishnu, and the whole world started the cycle of life, and of being, anew again. So it was, that the whole world and the birth/rebirth cycle was dependent on the sleeping patterns of Narayan/Vishnu.

This was troublesome, for as young gods grow, their sleeping patterns change, as all young children's sleeping patterns do. For the first few thousand years of Narayan's life, most of the world was left in darkness and the lifespans of all other living creatures was frequently cut short. (It is why today we have barely any recollection of the dinosaurs and those prehistoric men that roamed with the woolly beasts.) But soon, Narayan entered the phase of his Terrible Two-Thousand's -- that great, dreadful time when deity children refuse naps, refuse to go to bed, and refuse to sleep. 

This upset the normal rhythm of the world, and her inhabitants, and Kings and other living creatures soon began to live for hundreds, sometimes even a thousand years, before Narayan would finally sleep and reset the world again. During these awake phases, the Kings were able to  build great cities, pyramids, and monuments,  one that is even remembered to this day: Babylon. It was through the long period of time where human beings could erect for themselves something of greatness to honor their abilities and show off their intellect. The other gods watched on lazily and without worry, as these humans attempted to reach the heavens with their greatness, for they knew that soon, Narayan would enter into his teenage years, and a great long sleep would come, shutting the world into darkness for a time. 

As sure as even today the night sky comes faithfully to give us rest, Narayan entered into his Teenage years and slumbered. He slept long, he slept heavy, and for seemingly impossible lengths of time Narayan continued to snooze on as his body grew and he adjusted into his adult form. The world, today, briefly remembers this time period as the Dark Ages, that time which was lost to us and collective knowledge slipped away. 

It was during one of these Teenage years' awake periods that Vishnu, in his awake form, became somewhat self aware, and thus, aware that the world's birth/rebirth cycles seemed to be in sync with his own sleep patterns. He sought ought his best friend, who was ever by his side, Brahma, to seek confirmation in the observation. "Yeah, man, like, everything on the Earth ceases to exist when you sleep, Man... It's a little weird. You're just now realizing this?" Brahma confirmed to his friend, incredulously. 

Vishnu, armed with this new information, began to regulate his sleeping and wake cycles, for he was close enough to adulthood that he was able to control these things. He cut out caffeine, worked out regularly, got massages at night to help him sleep (thanks to his beautiful masseuse, Lakshmi) and created for himself a routine of waking Vishnu and sleeping Narayan.

And so, in this modern day, we have regularly spaced lifespans, a general understanding of the flow and rhythm of time and the length of days allotted to each of us, and a limit to the time we are allotted to grow, and expand, and share our wealth of knowledge with each other. 

Vishnu and Lakshmi on Shesha Naga,
from Wikimedia Commons

Author's Note: I learned about this fact of Narayan while he was sleeping/ Vishnu while he was awake from 7 Secrets of Hindu Calendar Art by Devdutt Pattanaik via Video Book form on YouTube. (Which is a great series, by the way! The Video Book format really makes it more digestable.)This chapter and episode was called "Narayan's Secret."

In it, it spoke of the world ceasing to exist while Narayan slept, in which he was Narayan, and the world coming to life again when he awoke, in his Vishnu form. I simply overlayed this story to the story of the world, attempting to link up historical markers with wake/sleep cycles as patterns of sleep of a boy who is growing to his adult form. In the traditional image of Narayan, goddess Lakshmi, his consort, is usually rubbing a foot, he rests on a Shesha Naga, and attached to his navel like an umbilical chord is the god Brahma, who sits on a lotus tree. I incorporated these characters into my version of the story as well.

The Secret Shared by Mount Mainaka and Hanuman

Hanuman, a street print purchased in Delhi, India.

   With the monkeys and the bear filled army gathered round, great Jambavan told to all within earshot the tale of Hanuman's birth and his birthright.

   "Born of the Wind God, Vayu, were ye, Hanuman, to your mother Anjuna, when she was in labor with you among the mountains. And as you grew, your friends were the mountains, the trees and the forest. You had no fear of the Sun, but thought it to be another fruit in the sky for your pleasure. Oh, Hanuman! You were convinced it was in reach for you! How merrily you learned to spring forth then,  youthful Hanuman, when you were reaching for the Sun -- 3,000 leagues you taught yourself to reach. So, what then, is 100 leagues across the sea to Lanka, when as a young boy you taught yourself to leap 3,000? Remember, Hanuman, that it was you who befriended the mountains, and the forests and wanted the Sun for yourself. The Ocean, then, is a friendly Ocean, and surely she, too, will befriend you in your journey to Lanka. Fear not the creatures in her depths, but ask her to aide you in your righteous and noble journey. For you, Hanuman, this journey was designed, and it is why you are aligned with Sugriva in Rama's task to retrieve Sita to her rightful place beside her husband. Gather yourself, Hanuman, and race forward to gain back that which is rightfully Rama's!"

   The monkeys howled and began jumping up and down, clapping, and stomping their feet. The youthful among them raced to a forest grove a little ways off, and began leaping into the trees and back down, as their excitement for Hanuman rose into a swell that overtook the army. The bears moaned, raised onto their back haunches, front paws in the air clapping, and snorted their snouts in approval.

    Hanuman, being reminded of his birth and who he was, gathered himself together: he wove tight his inner strength in his core, sparked the fire of success in his mind, stomped his feet to warm them up for the journey ahead and roared with all his breath the great howl of a howler monkey. The army roared and cheered back their approval. Confidence gathered, Hanuman wheeled back up the mountain Mahendra just behind them that overlooked the ocean. Prepared for the hard task ahead, and his innerself aflame with the knowledge that this was a task he alone could complete, he shook the mountain, preparing his body for his leap. Muscles taught, he bounded down the mountain, feet spinning as fast as flames, tail afire with the speed from which he went, past the army on the shore and over onto the Ocean waters he spun. He was not sinking, in fact he was making as good of speed over the Ocean as he was over the land. Using the waves as footholds to push off of, he pressed on towards Lanka.

   On his way, however, he began to grow tired. For the wave-like footholds he thought were giving him advantage in moving forward were in fact slowing him down. His might pushed through the water, instead of responding to and pushing off of a hard surface, such as a mound of land or tree limb, as he was accustomed to. "Oh, this shall be harder than I expected," thought Hanuman. "Jambavan was wrong... I am a friend to the land dwelling places, but I am no friend to the Ocean, and she is no friend to me." As the spark of confidence in his mind faltered, so too did his feet, and his pace slowed.

   Knowing there was a strange new creature in her midst, the Ocean had been watching Hanuman curiously. He was not diving down into her waters, but was merely brushing her surface. She was accustomed to creatures swimming down into her depths, and enjoying the feel of the play of movement among her inner waters, and she changed her waves to play with Hanuman's feet, washing this way and that in unexpected directions. It was to Hanuman's hindrance, in fact, that she did this, but she did not know that he was about the hard and noble task of reaching Lanka to rescue Sita. Inferring that he was in fact tiring, and not understanding her playful methods, the Ocean grew worried for Hanuman, and called to Mount Mainaka to come and give rest to the land creature who had lost his way amongst the top of her waters.

    Mount Mainaka responded happily to the Ocean's bidding, for she had been banished from roaming about where she pleased on the landmasses, but had been given free reign to move as she desired among the Ocean and her friends. The Ocean rarely called for her, so this time when she did, she came quickly. Hearing about this lost Hanuman above the waters, Mount Mainaka raised up under Hanuman's feet and moved with him as he continued traveling forward, for he did not realize that land had suddenly sprung up underneath him where water should have been.

    Finally, as Mount Mainaka matched Hanuman's speed, he realized he was no longer pushing against moving currents and difficult water, but that he was in fact back up on land again. "It has not been 100 leagues, yet" Hanuman wondered out loud to himself, "How then, are my feet finding solid ground again?"

   "Hello Hanuman! How have you been all of these years? It's been so long since I have seen you! We used to play together when you were little, do you remember? It's so good to see you, but tell me, what are you doing out here away from land's edges and on the Ocean waters?"

   Hanuman, thinking to himself of Jambavan's words that he is a friend to the mountains, and to the trees, besought Mount Mainaka for assistance in reaching Lanka. For he was growing weary, and his legs were feeling heavy.

    And Mount Mainaka, pleased with being reunited with an old friend who has grown to adulthood and now aims to achieve a noble deed, agreed to help Hanuman by carrying him on her Mountaintop, through the waters, and over to Lanka so that he may retrieve the beautiful Sita.

Author's Note: This story was an adaptation of "Hanuman's Leap", a translation from Myths of the Hindus and Buddhists by Sister Nivedita, available in the Public Domain Edition of the Ramayana.


   Sugriva's monkey and bear army is downtroddn, for they have searched the lands and cannot find the beautiful Sita, whom has been taken from Rama. They cannot go over the waters to the island of Lanka where they have been told she is kept, and they are unsure of what to do next. Then, Jambavan tells Hanuman that he is capable of traveling the 100 leagues over the sea to Lanka when all the others will tire and grow weary. An ocean dwelling Rakshasi does come to take Hanuman in the original telling, but I ommitted that to play up the interaction between Hanuman and Maint Mainaka. In the original, Mount Mainaka rises up to give him rest in her forest and on her lands, offering fruits for him to replenish hi energy with. Hanuman ignores Mount Mainaka and continues on his arduous quest towards Lanka. Having read some backstory on Mount Mainaka's boon to be granted the ability to travel where she wishes, but only in the Ocean, and having been banished from traveling where she wishes on land, I thought it would be a more interesting tale to see the interactions between Mount Mainaka and Hanuman. I leave it as a secret between them that she, Mount Mainaka, was in fact the one who got Hanuman across the sea to Lanka, which is my own addition to the story.

Story: Ganga and Her Forgotten Makara

Goddess Ganga aboard her Makara

~

Goddess Ganga, O Goddess Ganga,

Come down we weep.

We’ve spent thirty thousand years,

And now must pass Yama into his sleep.

Our successors will try to possess you, Sweet one,

What will it take to bring the waters’ blessing,

When will you come?

Bygone ash’s sins remitted and Moksha they desire,

For not just the ashes of mine but, too, Bhagiratha’s family lies in the pyre

Pour down the lustrous waters of your goddesship

From Heaven, through Shiva’s head,

 so as Mother Earth you may not tip,

Come down, sings Bhagiratha, heaping austerities at your feet,

Flow freely through this world, lest not arrogance you keep.

Tis arrogance indeed, as think you, swift you’ll come,

Straight from Brahmapura down to Earth summarily, tarrying none.

Shiva, o Shiva, help to save our souls of this world,

We need the goddess Ganga, but not her damage and arrogance that doth swirl,

Through his tangled jata, he slowed her path for years,

Austerities anew were supplied, Bhagiratha to Shiva’s ears.

When at once he disentangled her, and now freely Ganga may travel,

Oh, but alone she does not go, her companion aims to plans unravel,

Finally, She’s here they shouted! But what’s that beneath her seat?

Down, too, comes another, swaying tail but lacking feet. 

For hails her peacock tailed sea creature, Makara,

Choosing a path to wind wearily, downward through the Himalaya.

We’ve been called down to these lands, Makara to the Ganga spake,

But, where, said not they, is the path that we should take.

Shall we stay in the peaks, or to the valleys shall we flow?

We’ve spent years in Shiva’s hair, seeing ne’er any doe,

Let’s travel here, and twist back there, searching for a few fawn friends,

Or rather, to the Ocean, where I may swim with some Indic dolphins.

I’ve a mind of my own, free from Brahmapura’s heaven are we,

Let’s show them our greatness, you and me, to all these people let’s go see,”

But Goddess Ganga seethed with anger, in arrogance she did brew,

“I shall grant the people waters to heaven, but only I, and only just a few”

For on her path, the fantastical Makara she steered,

Ignoring tandem reverence, for her own glory she sought to be revered.

Through the peaks and valleys, and down the Indus way,

She glided til the Ocean lay just beyond this bay.

Tis but an auspicious few who can dip themselves in her waters,

Cleansing away their sins, seeking new karma they acquire,

For in her crafty cunning, as she wound her way throughout,

Cleansing peoples just enough so that others would clamor and shout,

"To the Ganga I must go! Why did she not come my way?"

The peoples whom now flock to her on that Kumbh Mela day.

Ganga ignoring the words of the Makara, together they descended,

Remember, do the people, of the goddess and her creature?

No, only the cleansing waters, is the chiefly remembered feature.

But hastily she guided the sea like beast, back to its resting spot

Where the waters are filled with myth and monsters, remembering people there are not.

Stay here, O Makara, slipping into the dark and deep oblivion,

No one shall remember you, only for my glory, will I the people's heart win.

And she left the Makara down there in the depths, forgotten, o forgotten,

While she hastened to the Underworld, Makara’s memory hath she smotten.”

Modern day Ganges River, taken in Haridwar by Jeevan

Author's Note: I crafted this tale of how Ganga and her Makara descended to the earth from the heavens, based on this retelling by John Campbell Oman (1894) in The Great Indian Epics, which can be accessed from the Public Domain Ramayana: Bhagiratha and Ganga. 

Bhagiratha comes from a long line of rulers, each ruling about thirty thousand years, who have tried numerous times and failed to bring down the cleansing waters of the goddess Ganga. Finally, it is Bhagiratha who, through severe and strict austerities, is able to get her released from the heavens. He happens upon 60,000 of his dead relatives' ashes, and wishes to be able to send them to heaven through the holy waters (the Ganga). He seeks the help of Shiva, as well, so that Ganga does not comes down to forcefully to the earth and destroy it, but Shiva despises the arrogance Ganga has in her power to do this, and so traps her in his tangled dreadlocks for a few years to slow her down. He does not release her, however, until Bhagiratha again performs strict austerities to him, asking him again to release her. Finally he does, and she descends. However, I noticed that in painted art form depictions of the Goddess Ganga, she is frequently seated above her Makara, who is her Vahana, or vehicle. There is no mention of the Makara in Oman's retelling of the tale, so I included it in my version, playing up the arrogance of Ganga so that instead of people remembering the both of them, Ganga and Makara descending from the heavens together to bring the holy waters, people will only remember Ganga -- which is mostly true to this day. Until I did some digging, I had never heard of the Makara being associated with the goddess Ganga either.

The Goddess Ganga is the mythological embodiment of the River Ganges and its waters, which are considered holy and sacred. If one goes the the waters and dips themselves in, their sins are remitted. If ones ashes are sprinkled in the waters, they are able to attain heaven. These practices occur in India on the banks of the River Ganges even today.