Are you a book re-reader? Tell us about a favourite you have read many times.

Guilty as charged on the book re-reading aspect. I always end up reading any book that I buy at least twice.

“If one cannot enjoy reading a book over and over again, there is no use in reading it at all.”

― Oscar Wilde

And on that count, the books that I have read the maximum number of times, would have to be ‘The Godfather’ and ‘Harry Potter’ series. I have written about both these books, plenty of times in this blog.

‘The Godfather’ has been and will be my most favourite book ever. I must have read it at least a few times short of 100. :) It heralded my reading into the dimension of serious and better books.

I started reading the Godfather when I was laid up in bed after a very eventful appendicitis operation. With nothing to do and not being able to climb the stairs to my bookshelf, I had asked mom to pick up books and give so that I could at least read. Until then, my repertoire was only filled with Sidney Sheldons and Mary Higgins Clarks. Reading ‘The Godfather’ was a revelation. The character and their arcs, the strategies and the mind games, and the final few chapters were simply mind-blowing. And the best of all, MICHAEL CORLEONE. For the longest time, he haunted my dreams ;-). The minute I think about Michael Corleone, the first words that come to my mind are “the delicious icy chillness that filled his brain”. Phew!! Enough said. Michael Corleone, the fictional character, will always be my top most love! :) :)

About the Harry Potter series, enough has been written in this blog about how I started reading the series and how it has influenced my life. Whenever I tell people that one of my favourite series is the Harry Potter series, I am almost always met with a sense of scepticism. Probably they think that it’s a kids’ book. Or that since its fantasy, it is no way connected to our world. Or maybe it has been portrayed as “a book about magic”. Lot of life lessons in there, subtly hidden as part of the overall storyline. Its written much better here, by this blogger.

If you haven’t read either of the books, please do. You will definitely like them, if you read them with an open mind.

I guarantee it! :)

Sahadeva - The Mahabharata Chronicles #3

I have fallen here. Lying down in the dark, caught in the crevices of the vast Himalayan ranges, half-buried by snow. It’s only a few more hours before this test is over and Yudhishthira and the dog finish their climb to ascend Swarga.

I knew this was coming. JUST LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE.

As soon as Draupadi fell, I was anticipating my turn. Next will be Nakula, my twin, followed by Arjuna and then Bheema. Just the canine and eldest brother will not fall. That is no ordinary dog, in case you didn’t realize. That is the God of Dharma, Yudhishthira’s father. He loves testing us so. This is not the first time he has done this. And I am sure Yudhishthira knows this. He is a perceptive one, my brother. He always was.

For the better part of my entire life, I have been quiet. Never to utter a word, until I was spoken to. Never to offer my opinion, until I was asked so. But it wasn’t until father’s death I became so. 

But today, I wish to speak. Because I know now that it doesn’t matter. There is none here who can hear me and none to chastise me if I speak so.

And so, I state my story. In my words.

                                                                              [Pic Couresty: http://molee.deviantart.com/]

My name is Sahadeva. I am the youngest of the Pandavas, son of Madri and Pandu; twin brother to Nakula. We are known as Madreyas, sons of Madri, much like Kunti’s sons were called Kaunteyas. I was born in the forests, where my father Pandu was residing after being cursed to live a life of celibacy. Mother, confided in us later that Nakula and I were the children of Ashwini Kumaras – the gods of sunrise and sunset, the physician gods. I learnt that all of us – the sons of Pandu – were offspring of Gods. It filled me with a sense of importance, thought I can’t really say why.

I loved growing up in the forest. Father, who used to tell us all stories in the evenings, always made me sit on his lap. I was the only one who had that privilege, by virtue of being the youngest. I used to listen to him wide-eyed, of the stories of rishis and sadhus, devas and asuras. I imagined us fighting a war against the asuras and winning it for the devas. But of all the things that father told us, I remembered this one thing very clearly. It seemed a little odd then, but no one questioned him why. He told us to consume his brain after his death. He said that this would give us immense knowledge and make us all wise and astute. I realized later that it was a premonition that he had had, because a few days later Father was dead. And Mother died along with him, blaming his death upon herself. Nakula and I were left stricken until Kunti-ma took us into her fold. From then on, we were known only as the Pandavas, sons of Pandu.

The day that Father died, was the day that I was reborn. At his funeral, I had seen a line of ants scurrying away with what looked like his brain. I could only hear Father’s words clearly resonating in my head. Not one to hesitate and unknown to the rest; I caught the ants and ate the pieces they carried. It was in that instant, I LEARNT EVERYTHING. All that had happened, all that was happening and all that was going to happen. And in my haste, while I was running back to tell the others of what had just transpired, I ran into HIM. HE was in disguise of course, but I saw through it because now I KNEW everything. HE knew that I knew and extracted from me two promises. One to never speak of this to anyone. And the second to counter a question with a question. I, of course understood the reasoning behind it. Immense knowledge had the potential to ruin everything and the cycle of Karma would be hindered. To this day, I don’t know whether this was prudence or folly. In return, as a favour for extracting such a heavy promise from me, I asked HIM to be on the side of the Pandavas as long as we were righteous and adhering to Dharma. HE smiled benignly and agreed.

Father’s death and the subsequent events had brought in me a sea-change and I was no longer the cheeky kid I was. It wasn’t a sudden change. And it wasn’t just any change. For now, I could only talk in my mind. And even when I knew what the future held, there was no way in which I could let others know of what may befall them. The fire at Varnavrata, the attempts on our lives by our cousins, Draupadi’s marriage to all of us, the exile, her humiliation at the sabha, the war that was to come… every single event that would occur!! To say that this was hard would be putting it slightly.

Personally, one of the hardest trials to endure was Draupadi’s humiliation at the sabha. Like the rest of my brothers, I was smitten by her as well and I was the one she would turn to when she wanted to pour out what was troubling her. She couldn’t say so to any of the others and I knew how best to play the part that she expected out of me. I comforted her. I lent her a listening ear. And I always reassured her patiently, that she would be at peace when the tribulations were over.  

I knew that the root cause for all this was right in front of me. I knew I would be the one to bring about his death and because this was meant to happen by my hands, that fateful day at the sabha, I declared so. I swore to thrust the sword that I was adept at handling into the man who was sitting clad in black robes, rolling a pair of dice, chuckling to himself. People were surprised, for I was known to be the meek one. I wasn’t as flamboyant as Bhīma or as gifted as Arjuna. I wasn’t even as loquacious as Nakula or as virtuous as Yudhishthira. I was considered by most to be unremarkable, because of my silence and my inconspicuous persona. It was an act that I had refined because it helped me observe the surroundings and helped me blend into the background as unobtrusively as possible. But the oath that day in the sabha to kill Shakuni, helped me release a little of the burden that I was carrying - the heaviness of the promises I had made, that were weighing on me. And so I did. On the eighteenth day of the war, I did what I vowed. I plunged my sword into his body and stared into his remorseless eyes.

For eras to come, people would talk of this, even call it my moment in the sun. They would talk of this as the highlight of the life that I lived, of the ordinary existence that many believe I tolerated.

For not many know of my story.

I am Sahadeva, the last of the Pandavas and the least known.

You may call me gentle and wise. Yet you may not know of the burden that I bore.

To realize what really was, powerless nonetheless.

Of knowing everything however disallowed to speak out. Of seeing everything yet enforced to accept.

I am Sahadeva, the last of the Pandavas and the least known, and yet… I am the one that knows it all and the one who sees it all.

Devavrata - The Mahabharata Chronicles #2

He lay on his bed of arrows, fashioned very kindly by one of his grandsons, the so-called best archer in the world. He was tired. Of this mortal life. Of all the burdens that he had borne. It had not been a pleasant few days. Then again, he supposed a curse would have to play out like this. But it would soon be over. This pain. This suffering. And the mental agony. But for that he would have to wait it out a while longer.

He couldn’t wait to get back to his world. The realm of Vaikuntha. The world where he was Prabhasa – one of the eight Vasus. Slated to live out his life as a mortal, for the transgression of trying to steal the divine cow, Nandhini, for his wife. In retrospect, he figured it could have been much worse. His brothers were luckier. They were released from the mortal life, as soon as they were born for having been just co-conspirators in the offence. Him on the other hand, he had to live this out.

Gifted man, he was. He who could remember all his previous lives. He who was given a boon by his father that he could choose when he wanted death to embrace him. A boon that he did not know to label whether as a curse or a blessing. And so he waited. Until Uttarayana. Until the glorious Sun turned his journey northward. The most auspicious time.

And while he waited he remembered his lives. This mortal life especially.

In this life, he was Devavrata.  The eighth-born son of King Shantanu and Goddess Ganga. His was a very colourful childhood. Brought up amongst the residents of the river of which his mother was reigning sovereign, he was taught very many things by its varied inhabitants. By the time he grew into a strapping young man, he was aware of much more than others his age. He understood the language of the flora and fauna that surrounded them, he had his own way of communicating with his mother, the river-goddess and he was admired as one of the most knowledgeable and level headed lads around. He was initiated under Bhargava Parashurama, for training in weaponry and combat of war. And then, he was introduced to his father. The father for whose happiness, he took upon a vow of lifelong celibacy. The father who bestowed upon him, the boon of choosing his time of death.

[Pic Couresty: http://molee.deviantart.com/]

The shocking vow that he undertook earned him another name – Bhishma, He of the terrible oath. This was the name that the world knew him as, though more often he was affectionately revered as Bhishma Pitamah. Pledged to serve the ruling king of the dynasty that he was a part of, he had lived a long life. The kingdom had flourished under his administration, but the cracks in the family legacy deeply left their scars. Some had healed. While the others had just faded away because nothing could be done about them. However, there was one that had been reopened today. At the battlefield. His hour of reckoning.

Amba.

The fiery outspoken princess of Kashi. The woman whose tenacious gaze had disconcerted him. He could sense in her a wilfulness that he admired. It wouldn’t have been easy. To stand up in the testosterone-filled sabha and speak out her mind. Yet she had done that. And in spite of that, he had abducted her along with her sisters, for his brother. But on the way back, when her stubbornness had abated a bit, she had started telling him about Shalva, the one who had usurped her heart. He had listened, non-committedly, wondering what made such a feisty girl such as herself, fall for someone so conventional. But he hadn’t let the thoughts take root. Instead, with a benevolent gaze and a confused mind, he had helped her onto another chariot and set her on forth to where her heart was trapped. He had thought it would be the last time he set his eyes on her. Only, she had come back, in a state of shock, having been sent away by Shalva, who refused to accept her, citing the fact that he had lost to Bhishma, while trying to rescue her and it still rankled him.

Amba had come back to the Kuru palace and beseeched to him, to give her an answer for her predicament. He had in turn entreated to his brother, who originally was supposed to marry her. His brother, now happy with his two wives (sisters of Amba), had refused as well, insisting that her heart lay elsewhere. Amba had again beheld him with her resolute stare, demanding an answer to the question. He on the other hand had no answers. She then, as a last resort had asked him to break his vow and marry her. So that she may have a little bit of dignity restored. He had refused, stating that he couldn’t break his vow. Not even for her. She had then blamed him. For the situation that she was in. For the situation he had landed her in. But there was no way that he could help her. She stayed on for a while at the Hastinapur palace. He let her be.

However, she had succeeded in making him uneasy. Disturbed even. With her fierceness. With her aggressive nature. With her hatred towards him, the loathing which grew over time. The intensity of which had one day, led to her proclaiming that she would be the reason for his downfall, before she left the palace for places unknown. She had reappeared, once with his master, whom she had begged to fight him. The fight went on for a few days, before master and disciple decided it was to no cause. Her fury had then been unleashed. She had raved and ranted like a mad woman, berating him and then as suddenly as she had appeared, she had left. Some time, later he heard that she had killed herself, in order to be reborn to bring about his ruin.

Over the years, he thought of her sometimes. Without any rhyme or reason. A sentence spoken here, a word heard there, a particular stare felt from a corner. He still felt guilty. But the guilt was reduced by reasoning that he had still kept his vow. But sometimes, just sometimes, he couldn’t help wonder. What it would have been to live with her. His determination and her spirit. His calm nature against her fiery temperament. His toughness versus her resolve. But it wasn’t meant to be.

He had seen her again today. At the battlefield. His hour of reckoning. Phoenix like. Reborn from the ashes.

He was the only one who recognized her. Still the smoldering stare. Still the hatred emanating for ruining her life.

The others only knew about her. They knew her now as Shikhandi. He on the other hand, KNEW her. KNEW what she was. And how she came to be who she was now.

This time, he accepted it, laying down his arms. He was done here. He wanted no more of this life. He did not a see a point in it. So he had let his grand-son shielded by her, pierce him with his arrows. He had seen the accomplishment in her eyes. The cry of triumph, worded silently. She was appeased now. As was he.

No more blame. No more guilt. No more remorse.

And so now he waited.

And while he waited, called upon the thousand names of his redeemer. Sri Vishnu Sahasranama – Bhishmena Kathitha. Vyasena Grathitha.

Yagnaseni - The Mahabharata Chronicles #1

Yagnaseni they called her. The one born out of fire. The virtuous one. The one whose fate was linked with the harbingers of change. The one who was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing to the people and curse to her father. Or so she had been told. She had heard that when she arose in front of him, he “blessed” her with unhappiness, sorrow, misunderstandings and strife for the better part of her life.

There wasn’t much that she remembered about her birth. All she had felt was a searing heat from the flames that were licking around her and then a sudden thrust out of it. She had almost fallen out of the fire, much rather being born out of it, much like an after-thought of the GODS.

                                         [Pic Courtesy: nisachar.deviantart.com]

Daughter she was, to the famed king – Drupad. Princess of Panchal and twin sister to the Crown Prince, her brother, Dhristadyumna, who had stepped out of the fire, gracefully and leonine like as desired by her father. She who was endowed with a heart-shaped face; skin that shone like burnished copper, lustrous hair that fell down to wide hips that swayed when she walked and a pretty smile that framed her luscious lips. She who the world called the most beautiful. Her childhood, she remembered, was bound by rules and bogged down by actions that befit a princess. She chafed at the shackles that restrained her and craved for a freedom that was only heightened by the curiosity that played around in her mind. Questions that remained unanswered. Or ones that were answered with other questions.

And the one, who did that the most with her, was the one she considered as her soul mate.

Her Govind. The one who affixed her with the female form of his own name – Krishnaa – the dark skinned one. Friend, guide, philosopher and roguish imp all rolled into one. The one she always turned to when in strife, in sorrow, and the first one she shared with when in joy, in delight and in revelry. The one who gave her support and the one who quietened her ever-questioning mind. The one who knew her best. The one who wanted the best for her. The one who told her to reject Karna.

Karna. King of Anga. Loyal friend to the scion of the Kaurava clan. Cherished disciple of the Rama with the axe. Famed archer rumoured to even best Arjuna. Son of a Suta.

The first memory she had of him, was that of him seated in the competitor arena for her swayamvar. She remembered that moment like it had just happened then.

Skin that shone like he was drunk on the rays of the sun. Well chiselled and marked body. The warrior stance. Strong arms. And his eyes. The gaze that was steadfast yet with raged with an intensity that made them come alive. Eyes those were flecked by golden flames.

She recognized the fervour that burned in his eyes and his belly. The passion to prove to the world that he was here to accomplish great things. She knew that was what it was because the very same fire burned within her. He had looked at her just once. Glanced rather. She felt taken in by his intent look. Felt the quiver of butterflies in her tummy. The gaze that stripped her naked, yet cloaked her with a protectiveness that she hadn’t felt before, all in the span of a single moment. This was unlike anything that she had felt before. This was a thousand times stronger than any flickers of infatuation that she may have felt. Ten thousand times even. This was a raging blaze. In that one glance that they had shared, she had known that he was the one for her. And yet she had rejected him. Except without knowing why. On the basis of the fact that he was a charioteer’s son.

Because HE told her to. Because she trusted in HIM blindly. Because HE knew her best. Because HE wanted the best for her. Because HE told her to reject Karna. Her Govind.

But now, standing in front of the entire Kuru clan, shamed, dishevelled and disrobed, she couldn’t help wondering. Did she make the right choice back then? Is this what was BEST for her?

Here she was, married to the illustrious, almost godly Pandavas and not one of them could save her from this mortification. Would Karna have let this happen to her? Would he have just sat there, head bowed, with down-cast eyes, unable to bear the humiliation that was being meted out to her? Somehow she didn’t think so.

Sure. He was standing on the OTHER side now. He was the one who had provoked the vile Dusshasan to do what he just did. He was the one who called her unchaste. He was the one who stood there mocking at their plight. This was his vengeance and her come-uppance for the way she had treated him at her swayamvar. It didn’t justify in any way that what he was doing to her was much worse than what he could / would / may have felt. And yet she saw a hint of remorse in his eyes. For the words that he spoke. For the way he had behaved. And as much as she wanted to hate him with her entire being, she couldn’t bring herself to.

And she realized that in some way, he knew it too. That he was aware of the consequences of this. And that even though he may have had a choice, he couldn’t bring himself to make it. That in some way he anticipated the repercussions. Morbidly even looked forward to it.

And so she forgave him. Forgave just him. For the dastardly act that he was being a part of. For the terrible violation that had just been enacted out in the palace court for all and sundry to see.

For now SHE knew what was coming.  The purpose of HER birth. The very reason for HER existence. She was slated to be the harbinger that would cleanse the world of the vileness that inhabited it.

Perhaps, this was the way it was meant to be.

Perhaps, this is what happens when a shard pierces the heart.

That one sliver coursing its way through the entire system.

Taking along with it all that brought down to this moment.

This very moment. Where it all ends. And where it all begins.

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Disclaimer: This is solely my viewpoint and a fictionalized attempt on my idea of what Draupadi may / may not have felt. Written on the basis of inspiration by articles and stories and books that I have read on this subject and legends that suggested she may have loved Karna and events that transpired in the Mahabharata. I do not claim this to be true in any way. J