[Draft] An Indian Sysiphus
In the Sandipani Ashram, the baby Hayagriva grew a pair of wings, and before anyone could make sense of what was happening around, the horse flew away in the slowly darkening orange sky.
Homo Hierarchicus
It was the first birthday party for the only child in the Mehta family. The family had waited for thirty years for the first child to arrive. And as if Lady Luck finally had decided to shower love on the family, it was a male child. The liberation was now certain! Mehta’s family, in unison, uttered, “Moksha,” in their sweet and soft voice.
Mehtas made Sunil feel special as Sunil gave the baby his name, Turiya—the Fourth State.
As soon as Sunil stepped out of the building in the garden area, he turned to the left, where many were standing with ceramic plates in their hands, waiting. Father Mehta pulled Sunil away towards another smaller gathering near a bamboo mandapam, saying, “That’s for the executives; this one is for the staff.”
“Have we not learned any lesson from the catastrophe that visited and mauled us globally?” Sunil spoke in a muffled, inaudible voice. On the auspicious occasion, he didn’t want to politicize the issue.
Coincidentally, his brother called while he was returning home to pack for his trip to Bhopal to spend a week investigating an 11th-century Shiva temple, the Bhojeshvar Temple. The call was about his brother’s recent trip with his sons to the wedding of his first employee, Shikhar.
Wedding at Shikhar’s Home
Sunil’s brother’s business was inordinately dependent on Shikhar. Had it not been for Shikhar’s hard work, Sunil wouldn’t have known what his brother would have been doing. Shikhar was known in the interior decoration space as the master craftsman, and because he had learned his craft with Sunil’s brother, Shikhar ensured that he was around through all the ups and downs of the market. Many lucrative offers came his way when the business was down, but Shikar didn’t succumb to any temptation.
Shikhar’s daughter was getting married, and wedding preparations were in full swing at his house. Shikhar had even borrowed money because he knew that Bhaiya, Sunil’s brother—his anna-data, would be coming to his home for the very first time.
Sunil had heard a lot about Shikhar and his hard work, and he always carried some gifts for him when he visited his brother. Shikhar was like a family member. And Sunil had no idea what caste Shikhar belonged to.
Cities, anyway, veil and erase many identities; in the city, one could bear not to care about identities, but in a village setting, people eat identities to survive and to create meaning in their lives.
When an acquaintance learned about Sunil’s brother’s plans to attend the wedding of Shikhar’s daughter, he called him, “Bhaiya, I hope you will join me for snacks before you head for the wedding.”
Sunil’s brother informed the person on the call that he would not be able to join him for the snacks. What he heard next was something that he was not ready for.
“Bhaiya, I hope you are not planning to eat at Shikhar’s house. Don’t do that.”
“And why not?” Sunil’s brother quipped, showing his irritation.
“Shikar is a dusadh. Bahut kaand ho jayega, Bhaiya [Bhaiya, it will be quite controversial if you eat at Shikhar’s home].”
The acquaintance relentlessly tried convincing Sunil’s brother not to eat at Shikhar’s home. And Sunil’s brother, being who he was, was now more determined to ensure that he ate at Shikhar’s house. He also ensured that he went there with his sons.
Sunil heard the story of his brother’s courage with some pride spread on his face.
Sunil had no clue about dusadhs. The only thing that he knew was that they were marginalized and poor. He had not encountered a single dusadh besides Shikhar in his life. That would soon change on the train he was about to board.
A Politician in the Train
At the train station, it turned out to be a struggle for Sunil to get inside his coach. Many had turned up to meet a politician, who had also come to the station with an entourage of acolytes. Sunil, after the train started to move, took a sincere look at the politician. He was probably the tallest politician that he had met. There was a streak of peace and tranquillity on his face.
Had he not told him about his corporate background, imagining him in sophisticated corporate wear would have been difficult. Before he became a white-clothed politician—the colour of choice for any or all public leaders in India—he explained with great enthusiasm his ancestral occupation: we were the guardians of the villages, the first defence against any external and, at times, internal threats; my ancestors were the ones who helped India preserve the seed of Bharat. We are called ‘dushad’, derived from ‘dusadhya’—the ones who can’t be defeated. We were the ones who helped Clive in the battle against Sirajudallah. Imagine India not getting the British rules! Our life would have been very different.
Sunil could have confronted the politician and corrected him that the British didn’t take India from Muslims but from Marathas. But Sunil could sense that it was not the right time for any debate. Sunil listened with the Himalayan patience. The impassioned speech about his ancestral occupation alerted Sunil not to disturb the flow state the local politician was in. The politician never introduced his name, and Sunil didn’t feel like asking, letting the identity of the local politician hang like a haze over his cognition. After some time, he became quiet, impressed with his own speech, and fell asleep and started to snore.
When the local unnamed politician was snoring, leaving Sunil stupified with his own ignorance about his native land, Sunil clicked his picture and searched for him on the internet. Nothing meaningful appeared in the search.
The new train, a poor copy of the modern Chinese marvels, was running with abandon in the lush green fields full of wheat outside. After some time, it was hard to tell who was moving and what was still.
After some time, the sound of snoring around him turned musical, and Sunil felt as if the nameless local politician was chanting the mantra of ‘soham’ while asleep. Sunil closed his eyes while the earth rotated away from the sun, changing the colours of the sky like a chameleon. Sunil focused his attention on the sound of ‘soham’ emanating from the body of the local politician.
In his meditative state, Sunil felt like he was sitting in the lotus posture in front of some form of divinity. Deep in his trance-like state, Sunil felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Doctor Sa’ab, open your eyes. I am not feeling very well.”
“I am not a doctor. Should I ask those who were with you to come and be here?”
“They wouldn’t be able to help me; even you can’t help me. I felt lonely and wanted some company.”
Sunil was utterly out of his trance-like state and all ears for the local politician. It was pitch dark outside, and some lights moved past the speeding train like fireflies. The story that he heard from the local politician was slowly ripping his heart out.
While the heart-rending story was being recounted, a slim figure stood in the passageway looking at Sunil carrying a baby horse behind her. After scanning his face, the figure moved and hugged Sunil. It was Priya, the fire-brand student leader from his college days.
“I knew that it was you when I saw you at the railway station, but I was not sure. I walked all the way from my carriage, almost ten dabbas away. If you don’t have much luggage, please come with me.”
The coincidence and the baby horse were both shocking for Sunil. Sunil was meeting Priya after 16 years. An uncanny series of coincidences—Sunil knew that the time was trying to teach him something special. Here was someone Sunil never took seriously except her beauty: her politics, her insistence on problematizing development, her colouring everything with caste and the dialectics of oppressors and oppressed.
The story that an unchristened politician shared with him was tearing his hridayguha asunder.
The attack of arhythmic palpitation had opened his mind, hiding disappointments with his life and his station in life to Sunil. The politician felt as if his end was near when the palpitation of his heart took him by surprise.
Sunil was filled with a deep sense of gratitude; the story and the circumstances in which the tale oozed out before him helped him learn about his country and its people. The coexistence of untouchability couched in the relationship of love and affection—a tough circle to square.
A Sysiphian Task
The politician was coming after spending time with his daughter. What he witnessed at her home horrified him.
His daughter knew what he loved to eat in the morning. She had prepared, with extra care, a three-egg omelette with a smattering of fried jeera and green chilli and served it with sauteed white mushrooms.
His daughter brought the breakfast to the dining table that he himself had set up. Before his daughter could tell him anything, he walked to the patio and invited her visiting mother-in-law to come and join him for breakfast.
The middle-aged lady came, spit on the china, and slowly walked away on her arthritic legs. Feeling stupefied, the politician didn’t know how to respond. His first thought was that the lady must have felt disgusted by the sight of the non-vegetarian food on the table. His son-in-law was a fine man with progressive ideals; after all, he had married his daughter, who belonged to the scheduled caste.
With his eyes slowly getting filled with tears, the local politician said, “I didn’t say anything to my daughter. She herself was meeting her mother-in-law for the very first time. I quietly finished the breakfast and told my daughter that I had to leave immediately to address some emerging urgent issue in Ujjain.”
The politician looked clueless about his daughter’s life and how it was going to unfold. But what he said next made Sunil think hard: “Doctor Sa’ab, to live with unanswerable questions without having experienced deep love is to live the cursed life of Sysiphus!”
Sunil didn’t get the point of the politician addressing him as ‘Doctor Sa’ab.’ When Sunil told him, the politician smiled and told Sunil that he looked like a research scholar, which is why he assumed that Sunil might have a Ph.D.
“Anyone who belittles others lives an absurd, burdensome life,” I feel bad for those who belittle others.
A Father’s Will
Priya had a baby horse behind her. What was she doing with a baby horse? Before Sunil could understand why Priya was carrying a baby horse, the politician asked Priya to come and sit near him.
“Meet my adopted daughter, Priya. She has placed this Apple iWatch on me. She must have got the message that I was not doing well.”
Priya, the daughter of the politician’s best friend, had no one left behind after her family was butchered by the Naxalites. Expecting such fate, her father had left the will that she be given to the politician as a guardian when something happened to his family. There was a weird feature in the will left behind by her father. Priya was to get a baby horse from the Kurukshetra region of Haryana after she turned 33 and was to leave the baby horse in the Sandipani Ashram in Ujjain. Priya was on the way to Ujjain when she received a message on her iWatch that the politician was suffering from some kind of cardiac issue.
No sooner did her watch ping than the baby horse started to make a horrendous noise, waking up all the passengers in her dabba. To sooth the horse, Priya had taken it out of the cage and decided to walk with it to the location from which the alert message was coming.
The politician was not aware of the content of the will, and he was equally surprised to find Priya with a baby horse.
The politician looked at Priya and inquired quietly what was going on. Why was she with a baby-horse?
“Dad has written that a baby horse was going to rescue the Veda from the patal-loka and instructed me to buy one and deliver it to the Sandipani Ashram the day I turn 33.”
“Priya, but you don’t turn 33 until March, 3. We are in the month of April.”
“Uncle, my birthday, according to the Indian Tithi (Calendar), is tomorrow. Anyway, I agree with my dad now, after he is no more, and I am a bit more informed about the Indian Knowledge System. This whole ritual of celebrating one’s birthday, according to the Gregorian calendar, needs to change. I was getting to celebrate the birthday of my father once every four years until I learned about the Indian calendar.”
Hayagriva, A Baby Horse
With Priya on his side, the politician looked more assured.
Aboard the speeding locomotive, amidst the blur of landscapes and the hum of conversations, was Hayagriva, a baby horse.
Born to a family of nomadic breeders who traversed the vast plains of Rajasthan, Hayagriva was no ordinary foal. His coat glistened like the golden sands of the Thar Desert, and his eyes sparkled with an innate curiosity. He was accustomed to the open skies and the freedom of the open plains, but fate had brought him to the fast-paced world of Indian railways.
As the train jolted forward, Hayagriva’s wide eyes took in the flurry of activity around him. Passengers shuffled past, casting curious glances at the unexpected equine traveller. Some whispered excitedly, while others simply stared in disbelief.
Hayagriva, however, remained unfazed. With a playful toss of his head, he explored his new surroundings with boundless curiosity. His ears twitched at the sound of vendors hawking their wares, the aroma of spicy chai mingling with the scent of fresh samosas. He watched as families settled into their seats, children chattering eagerly as they peered out of windows at the passing scenery.
Despite the confined space of the train compartment, Hayagriva adapted with ease. He found solace in the rhythmic sway of the carriage, his hooves tapping in time with the gentle rocking motion. He nuzzled against the hands of curious passengers, earning affectionate pats and gentle strokes in return.
As the train hurtled forward, Hayagriva’s presence brought a sense of vismaya (wonder) and delight to those onboard. Children laughed and played, their eyes alight with joy at the sight of the friendly foal. Adults, too, found themselves drawn to the gentle creature, their worries momentarily forgotten in the presence of such innocence and beauty.
For Hayagriva, the fast-moving train was not just a mode of transportation but a journey of discovery. With each passing mile, he soaked in the sights and sounds of his surroundings, his spirit as boundless as the vast expanse of the Indian landscape.
So, amidst the chaos and clamour of the Indian railways, Hayagriva found his place between the columns of berths where Sunil and the politician were sitting facing each other.
As the train thundered onwards, carrying its eclectic mix of passengers towards their destinations, Hayagriva remained a steadfast reminder of the magic that awaits those who dare to embrace the journey.
Priya, enjoying her guardian’s stupefied state, hugged him and placed herself comfortably near him.
Just to be sure, Sunil again asked Priya the name that she had given the baby horse.
“It’s Hayagriva.”
Sunil told her that he had never heard such a name before.
“How could you, Sunil? How could you?” the politician responded. “Indians are like the Hanuman that we worship; we are cursed to forget our story and our strength when we need them the most.”
To satiate Sunil’s curiosity, the politician explained how the Indian state policy didn’t allow religious education in any of the state-financed educational institutions. Then, he explained the story of Hayagriva to both Sunil and Priya. Lost in the story, no one noticed when Hayagriva, sitting at their feet, fell asleep.
When Sunil noticed that the baby horse was making the same sound of ‘soham’ that the politician was making when he was sleeping, he didn’t know what to make of the similarity. He could not muster the courage to share his thoughts with Priya or the politician. Feeling by now discombobulated by a series of coincidences, Sunil fainted and fell on the sleeping Hayagriva, taking everyone by surprise.
Priya immediately pulled the bottle of water out of the old politician’s carry bag and sprinkled a handful on Sunil. Sunil immediately stood looking dumbfounded. He didn’t know what really happened. Priya thought it was dehydration.
The Bhojeshvar Temple
Sunil was on his to meet an archaeologist who had studied the famous Bhojeshvar Temple of Bhopal. The politician was on his way to the Mahakala Temple in Ujjain, and Priya was to Sandipani Asharam in Ujjain.
Only those who have never experienced love in their lives are the ones who belittle others.
Vikramaditya’s Throne
The politician was going to find out how to get rid of the Vetaal, the ghost of Portuguese Casta, and free the Indian realm of its pernicious shadow.
Sandipani Ashram
As all three were about to enter the ashram with Hayagriva, Sunil thought again of what the politician had told him in the beginning.
“Doctor Sa’ab, to live with unanswerable questions without having experienced deep love is to live the cursed life of Sysiphus!”
Sunil, after cogitating over the import of what the politician had told him, understood why the series of coincidences converged at the place where the gods were once taught.
“Is there any antidote to the curse that Sysiphus had to live with?”
“Indeed, there is. But for that, Sysiphus would have to take birth in this land of ours.”
Sunil didn’t understand how being born in this god-forsaken land with unparalleled poverty and disorderliness would have helped Sysiphus. He raised his reservations with the politician. This time, Priya took up his query.
Priya explained to Sunil how India allowed men and women to become divine by teaching them the virtue of forgiveness. In India, Sysiphus, with the right kind of training, would have learned how to neutralize Zeus’s curse by first forgiving his own very self and also by forgiving all the transgressions of Zeus.
Priya then recounted 20 virtues of a divine soul from the Bhagavad Gita.1 2
With that hope, the politician was visiting the Mahakala temple—the temple dedicated to the concept of the Great Time that devoured time itself. He wanted his daughter to transcend time. He wanted his daughter to be like Priya, free from the gazes of small men and women making themselves find meaning in their inane lives by belittling others.
It was also the time for Sunil to renew his commitment to helping a man like Shikhar resist social pressure. Sunil knew that Shikhar tested his brother’s foundational humanity, and Shikhar also knew what Bhaiya was doing by his small step of defiance.
In the Sandipani Ashram, the baby Hayagriva grew a pair of wings, and before anyone could make sense of what was happening around, the horse flew away in the slowly darkening orange sky.
[….TO BE CONTINUED]
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Disclaimer: Nothing I have written here is set in stone. I am putting these ideas to start a conversation and bring people to discuss and debate the issues captured here. Give me feedback, and it will help me learn. I will keep updating this article.
https://www.holy-bhagavad-gita.org/chapter/13/verse/8-12
1. Amanitvam: Humility or not seeking recognition; 2. Adambhitvam: To be without pride; 3. Ahimsa: Not causing pain to other living beings; 4. Santi: Tolerance in the face of insults; 5. Arjava: Uprightness and straightforwardness; 6. Acaryapasana: Unreserved and unmotivated service to the Vaisnava spiritual master; 7. Sauca: Purity, both internal and external; 8. Sthairya: Steadfastness on the path of righteousness by one who has accepted it; 9. Atma-vinigraha: Control over the body and the senses which uncontrolled hinder the realization of the Atma or immortal soul; 10. Vairagya indriyartha: Renunciation of sense objects; 11. Ahankarah: Relinquishing false ego and identification of the physical body as the self; 12. Dukha-dosa-anudarsanam: Dispassion by pondering the misery of samsara or the perpetual cycle of birth and death in material existence; 13. Asakti: Equipoise to the relations like wife, sons and other loved ones; 14. Anabhisvanga: Remaining even-minded to what life gives, whether evil or excellence befalls one; 15. Sama-citta: means to avoid both happiness or distress by temporary external circumstances; 16. Avyabhicarini bhakti: Unwavering, unalloyed loving devotion to the Supreme Lord Krishna and realizing the Atma in all living beings; 17. Vivekta- desa-sevitam: Fondness for performing austerities in solitary places; 18. Aratir jana-samsadt: Indifference to mundane topics and mundane association; 19. Adhyatma-jnana nityatvam: Always interested in spiritual knowledge and self-realization; 20. Atma-tattva: Knowledge of the immortal soul within.