This journey has been relieving. I have done all that I set out to do. I came for a larger purpose, to start writing once again. It has been too long, and I have been scared of something. Fear is a gripping thing, and it has defined a lot in my life. My closest friends know how much I fear some things. When I think about the thing I fear most, my palms sweat, and I begin speaking at five times my normal pace. ...
There is some justice in reading Markandeya’s rendition of the Ramayana, recited to the Pandavas, as I sit in Hampi. A large part of the Kishkinda Kanda is supposed to have occurred here, and I remember the stories that my grandfather told me about how Hanuman was born on Anjanadri Hill. I read of Yudhishtira’s answers to the questions posed by the Yaksha and somehow, I lost myself for the first time since I began reading the Mahabharata. Reading the story of Savitri and Sathyavan, the episode of Droupadi’s abduction and the subsequent rescue, I feel the Pandavas’ pain. It must be hard to stick to Dharma when it seems to fail you. ...
As I read the Mahabharata today, a British lady came up to me to ask me about Hampi. She was wondering if the heat had something to do with global warming. I assured her that it has always been this hot here. It’s why Krishnadevaraya built so many pushkarinis, and why the landscape is filled with mantapas for weary travellers to rest as they walked in the hot sun. ...
Wherever I sit down in Hampi, I can’t help but ask myself if once, a long time ago, Krishnadevaraya walked past this very spot. I wonder if I have walked along paths he liked to walk through, I wonder if he could appreciate the poetry of sitting under a tree to read the Mahabharata. The Mahabharata is daunting in scope. I sat under this tree and read of the lament of Damayanti as her husband Nala forsook her in the woods. I read how Bhima scolded Yudhishtira for being weak willed at the dice game. And I cheered as Arjuna fought the Trymbaka Karpadin himself, the Great Shiva, to prove his worth. ...
How we ruin ourselves. Mankind has always fallen flat on its face when faced with the questions of Dharma. Dharma isn’t difficult to comprehend, adharma is just easier. Then, did the maharathas of the Mahabharata know Dharma? As I stand at the edge of the temple, I read out the names of the sons of Dhritarashtra to the wind, those sons of Kuru found adharma easier. I read of Arjuna’s exile, and his interpretation of Dharma. I read of the son of Dharma himself, as he gambled away his wealth, his brothers and their wife, Krishna Panchali, to the wiles of the Prince of Gandhara, what then was his interpretation of Dharma? ...
This land belongs to the monkeys. It is theirs to frolic in, it is theirs to own. We have somehow faltered here, and they know it far better than we. The wind blows my hair into my eyes, it cries out, howling like a dog in the distance. Perhaps it really is a dog, perhaps Dharma is watching me read the Mahabharata here. Or perhaps it is Vayu, listening in as I read how his son Bhima kills the demons Hidimba and Baka. ...