[Draft] Thinking about Rishi Ashtavakra on Valentine's Day!
The book on Rishi Ashtavakra induced in her such exultation that the very next morning, Magan booked her ticket to India and left Norway, Knus, and her kids behind.
Magan was ready to leave India. She had enough of squalor and celibates around her. And it was at that vulnerable moment in a university campus in Lucknow, Rishi Ashtavakra once again forced his way in.
Icy-White Village in Iceland
It had happened to her before. She was living in rural Iceland with only ten families in the whole village, surrounded by the icy-whiteness far away from any city. Most of the villagers were depressed by the seasonal affective disorders, and she was left all by herself with almost no friends. Knus had refused to move with her with their two tender kids, staying behind in Oslo.
Missing him and her children intensely and working hard, keeping at bay all the advances for intimacy by older and married men, one day, she gathered herself to get into a book that her Indian friend had given her. The book had given her such exultation that the very next morning, she booked her ticket to India and left Iceland, Knus, and her kids behind.
By the time she reached India, her plan to look for Rishi Ashtavakra had vanished after meeting Manish on the flight sitting next to her. Manish’s idealism sucked her into his orbit. After disembarking, she hopped into Manish’s car and moved to Bahariach with him. She had no clue by then that it was in that region that Rishi Ashtavakra had spent most of his life. She would learn about the history of Bahariach many years later.
How had five years passed, she didn’t notice. Manish had taken a position with a local university after his failed experiments with education, and she had moved in with him to Lucknow. She could sense that Manish was no longer into her. It was a moment of reflection and brooding about her journey that she realized and then wrote in her notebook:
What most think of love is not what it is. Love is about our ability to be in love with one and all. Love does not discriminate! And love can’t be person-specific! If love is mere person-specific, it is not love. But we all would like to think of our intense needs of some other as love.
Meeting Young Celibates
The following day, she met three of Manish’s students with whom she had seen Manish play ping pong. They were ambulating around the soaking sun.
They had never talked to Magan, so they were startled when Magan invited her to join her on the bench around the flagpost. Manish had once informed her about some students who were super sincere and celibate. Magan had not met with anyone living with the vow of celibacy. She was curious about the young man. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Magan came to the point.
“On many occasions, I have seen all three of you hanging together. Are you all celibate?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“How did you come to such an extreme decision? Do you know what you have decided not to experience?”
“No, Ma’am. I don’t need to. I fully trust my ancestors and the insights that they have bequeathed to us.
[work on this conversation….]
The Squalor of Indian Cities
The conversation moved away from celibacy and love to the ugliness and squalor of the Indian cities. Why were Indian cities so poorly managed? Why are Indians not punctual? For Magan, it all boiled down to the experience of love.
Magan noticed one of the students looking a little depressed. After probing his condition, she found that a few girls had complained that they found his gaze full of lust! Magan thought about her friends and herself back home, and how any attention from men they would have found welcoming. She mumbled to herself, “Poor kid. Indian women have turned into the most imprisoned women in the world….gee…and this is the land of spirituality? Such blatant contradiction!”
All three students heard a part of what she had mumbled and, in unison, asked her to explain.
“Let it go. I was talking a little louder than I should have.” Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she started to fiddle with her phone. Many times, all that is needed is a tiny trigger. The news title felt like the nipple of a mother ready to feed her baby: The World Needs Love. Hallmark is Cashing In.
It was then she realised that it was Valentine’s Day that she was talking about love and thinking about loneliness with three young celibates. And that realization made her tumble into her memory reminding her of a Valentine’s Day thirteen years ago.
OM after Rasmalai in Oslo
The year was 2015. The day was again fast approaching, the day of profession and expression of love. Flowers were there in the grocery stores and at many corners along the highway in Oslo. The businesses had made it impossible to forget that it was Valentine's Day. Magan that day was assigned to the ER room in the local hospital, and it was there that her Indian colleague visiting from Connecticut presented her with a gift-wrapped book. She had hardly noticed him and was completely oblivious that he was into her.
“I saw you meditate in the staff room one day. I felt so calm just watching you meditate.”
“That was the first and the last time I meditated. A patient that I was close to had died, and her death had left a hole in my consciousness.”
“Yes, I know.”
“How?”
“The patient died because of my mistake. I had intubated her incorrectly. I came to apologize and invite you for dinner if you had no other plan.”
Remembering that day, Magan said, “It was my birthday. Good that I didn’t notice; I wouldn’t have been nice to you.” Talking to Sunil, Magan felt he was a tad different. She found him uncannily attractive and invited him to join her for a fancy dinner that an American pharma firm had arranged for her.
“Is the dinner from the Pharma company X?”
“Yes, I have been invited there too. I can’t go. You know, that’s how these pharma firms implant their medicine in you. It’s against my professional code of conduct.”
It was news to Magan, but she could feel Sunil’s idealism.
“Ok, then, the dinner is on you. Let’s go. Take me to the Indian restaurant; I have been planning to go there for some time. Remember, I might not do very well with spices, and you need to guide me with the menu.”
Magan loved her foray into Indian food, especially the paneer tikka. And could believe that eggplant could taste so nice; she saved the mashed eggplant dish for her lunch the next day. However, the best part was the texture and the taste of ras-malai sprinkled with saffron; nothing had prepared her to savour a flavour like that. Her system was in shock.
“I know that I was an Indian in my past life; herself a little surprised; that was the only explanation that she had.”
Sunil was taken aback by Magan’s reactions; he had no idea that Magan would like Indian dishes and dessert so much. Magan was not ready to let go of anything Indian. Before Sunil could collect himself, he was at Magan’s place.
When Magan asked Sunil to do OM with her, Sunil put the yoga mat in the living room and sat down in the lotus posture. Magan came back in her nightgown and was astonished to find Sunil deep in meditation. She sat on the couch, waiting for Sunil to get up. Sunil got up after an hour, saw Magan sleeping on the couch and left her apartment. They never met again, but the book that Sunil had left with Magan became precious to her; she would carry it everywhere without opening it.
Magan, after moving to Iceland away from Knus and her kids, read anything and everything about India. She had learned to make ras-malai at home and had become a celebrity in her village. And then, one day, after sharing her story about Sunil and rasmalai with one of the senior doctors at her clinic, she could summon the will to open the book and read it, and the very next morning, she found herself on the flight to India, the land of Rishi Ashtavakra.
Manish, the passenger sitting next to her on the flight, hadn’t heard of anyone called Rishi Ashtavakra. But, he found her fascinating and respected her for having the courage to listen to her inner voice.
Barabanki’s Parijaat Tree
Parijaat tree in Barabani is believed to be the only tree that was ever brought all the way from Heaven.
In botanical terms, PARIJAAT is known as Adansonia digitata and has been kept in a special category because it does not produce either its fruit or its seeds, nor can its branch cuttings be planted to reproduce a second Parijaat tree. This is a unisex male tree, the botanist says, that there is no such tree anywhere else to be found.
And it was below the tree that Magan heard about the connection between Baharaich and Ashtavakra. And then it all made sense to her…she slipped into a trance-like condition thinking about the way her life had unfolded after reading the Ashtavakra Gita. At that moment, she even became curious about her name. Why was she Magan, not Megan?
Drive to Bahariach
Hardoi
Baundi Shukla
The curse to Jai and Vijay by the four rishis—Naraad, Sankaadi, etc. Hardoi…no one was allowed to pronounce the sound of ‘r’ because it was in the word of ‘Hari.’
[….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.