Life Seen Through Crystals of Bangles

The Crack Remains Forever

The myriad hue of lac bangles lay spread before us in a small road side shop of a bangle seller. It was a small shop and what attracted us to the shop was the seller who had coal burning in a small angeethi and he was holding bangles on the slow heat of the charcoal. We stood wonderstruck outside his shop as it was first time that we saw this kind of treatment meted to bangles! Previous to it, we had seen bangles only suitably displayed in counters of big shops or the small carry along counters of small time bangle sellers. I wondered, why he was doing it to the bangles? Why to subject these bangles to such a torture? I stood outside hi shop and enquired him of the reason for this. Smiling perhaps at our ignorance, he replied, “to suit the customers’ wrist size”. Still not able to understand what he meant by this statement as for me we select the bangles as per the size that fits our wrist and not vice versa. What he was doing made no sense to me. You select the colour and the design of the bangle and he would make it fit your wrist. Amazing. I found it disgusting as well. I just thought of people who bring about changes in others to suit their requirement instead of choosing the one that suits them the best. How inhuman indeed!

Little did I know that the bangle seller would be teaching me so many lessons of life that nobody else could teach me. Mesmerized, we walked inside his shop which was just an enclosure of 5’ by 5’. Sitting cross legged on the floor of his shop, surrounded by myriad bangles of different colours and shapes, I reflected on the similarity between these and human life. How people first look for the best qualities that they would like to have in a person and then bring about changes where they want, but do they ever understand the difficulties that a person undergoes in bringing those changes. Perhaps I never would have understood it had I not seen the lac bangles being heated on slow fire and then put on a wooden roller to make them of the proper size. Such a torture to fit a wrist.

I bought a lot many bangles, though I rarely wear them but they looked so inviting that I just had to go for the buy. I bought many sets for my elder daughter. I asked my little one to select a few for her as well but she refused point blank. Bangles had no place in her wrist or life, she claimed. But I pestered her as she may not find another opportunity to make a selection from such wide variety. And was “selection” not a prerogative for each of us. Finally, she settled for a pair of white bracelets that had closely set white crystals set on them. It was a beauty. But as she has very delicate and slender wrists, they were a size too big for her. The bangle seller assured us that it was no problem as he would make it fit her wrists. So we sat in his shop and watched him do the job. He put one bracelet on slow heat to warm it a little and then with a swift swirl cut a piece out of it. I was shocked as I had not expected him to cut a piece and had just waited him to heat the bangle and then make it of the requisite size. I felt cheated as if I had been responsible for cutting a very vital part of the bracelet from it and had done the unpardonable act. I wanted to know why he had done such cruel act of cutting. Smiling back at my question, he said, “don’t you see that the crystals are set so closely on this pair and even if I heated it, how would they be fitted on a bracelet of a smaller size?” And further added, “It had to be cut, there was no other solution at all.”

Is it not what life is all about as well? One makes adjustments even at the cost of personal humiliations and pains to suit the demands but sometimes a portion has to be cut off and cast away to make it fit LIFE? Such a great lesson came to us in the desert land from a bangle seller who had never been to a school, had not read the Alchemist, the Fountainhead etc., but had lifetime of experience giving him the substance. It was indeed a revelation for us in the desert that colours and crystals helped us to unscramble. Life is to move forward and to do away with a part that makes your moving ahead a hindrance. One must make adjustments but not beyond a point and then the only way out is to cut the piece apart.

Self Realization and the Valkyries

Like Valkires, searching for our “self”, we moved the desert land. The eternal and universal quest for a human being is to find a meaning to his life, this realization dawned upon me in the desert lands where we two, like Valkyries, searched a meaning for our existence and finally learnt to forgive the past and start believing in the future.

The sand all around spattered with colourful hues of oranges, reds, greens gave a mystic charm to the ambience of the desert as if making a balance between vibrant and dull shades of colours. How true indeed. Was it not like life where the happiness and sadness both balance each other. But was it not the reds, yellows and greens etc. that made impact on the viewers’ mind than the dull sand colour that abounded? How could I not understand this truth? It is the happiness that brings colour to our existence and what makes us memorable to others. No one would be able to remember you if your life, like a desert, would be plain and colourless!

To live our life the way we loved, was the goal worth striving for and not to rue about missing something which was not even worth missing. A visit to the desert land, the land of sand dunes and vibrant hues, was a lesson and experience worth carrying a life time. Like two Valkyries, we both roamed the sandy outskirts of the small villages and tried coming on terms with what life has brought us to. It was an experience to enjoy rides on a horse cart, a jeep, full to the brim, like the favicol advertisement. The markets where people sell merchandise still carrying a good-natured smile; the women who despite being suntanned had an innocent and capturing rawness in their expressions—everything capturing our fancy! It was a place where language was no bar at all to reach out to others. Smiles and expressions did all that language had to do. We started experiencing something changing inside us or were we already in the process of changing?

            Like young girls, we laughed over silly matters till our sides ached and did all that we would shy away from doing back home. It seemed as if we had forgotten to laugh but somehow it came without making much effort. With nothing much to do, we did all those things that make us human. Raiding the small town markets to search for the colourful odhnis and bangles was one such pastime. It seemed as if all the colours of life had found a place in small cloth shops where colourful cottons spewed every corner. Searching for the colours to suit us, we almost raided whole of the market. Can such seemingly small matters give you what big things in life cannot? Why were we doing it—to get a thrill or to imbibe a change in pattern of our lifestyle? I don’t know. But what I understood outweighed all such options. We were doing it to find joy and to break up a pact with the past. We still had an ardent desire to look towards the best in life that was to come. And all this was done to look forward to future that still carries in its womb the secret to our happiness.

It needed not only breaking away the pact with the past but also bringing to surface intense hate that we carried. I had always believed  that I cannot carry such an intense feeling of hatred for anyone but how wrong I was! To believe in your future, you have to get rid of the hate that you carry. But how to, is the big question. Can I really get away from the intense negative feelings that I carry or just freeze them in some corner of my being? I had no answer. I could see at least the truth of having this feeling which I thought I was not capable of having for anyone. So if today I realize the fact that I can have such a feeling, tomorrow may be I get relieved of the same as well. Who knows?  Coming on terms with the negative feelings was the first step for getting rid of them.

The next step was much easier and could be followed. Breaking way the pact was another lesson that needs to be implemented by all those who want to start their life afresh and this is what we did. Watching the sand being blown from the place where it had settled complacently believing in the permanence of its being, revealed the truth of life where the only driving force is the life force. But can mere displacement of sand dunes from one place to another deprive it of its existence? No way. How foolish we had been! We learnt a great lesson. Such displacement makes the sand stronger. Does it not get rid of all that was useless in its being. All the superfluous gets away with the strong currents of the wind and what remains is the essence of the sand. Rather it gets the requisite strength to make a new place as its own and more so as getting displaced was not a choice that the sand dunes exercised. When it was not a choice or free will, why to rue over it? And more importantly when it makes you stronger in the process by getting rid of the clutter that gets stored on the way? A great self-cleansing process at work! Breaking away the pact is an important rule towards starting a new life. Break away from all such happenings of the past that pull us backward instead of ushering to a bright future. Who wants to be pulled back and to what extent? Standing in the dull and dry locale of the desert land, we watched the sand dunes being carried away as such was the force of the storm. But how long did the storm last? Not very long. And after that there was a lull all around. A kind of peacefulness enveloped everything. The sand dunes still stood, at a different place maybe, but with head held high and much stronger than their earlier existence. The storm was no where to be seen. If such is the destiny of sand dunes, why should they be afraid to face the storm and when they understand that it is their existence that would remain for all times to come. We suddenly were filled with a feeling of awe towards nature and its lessons. Such a big lesson of life came to us in such a simple manner. We felt light hearted and initiated towards the long standing demand of breaking the pact.

But all said and done, it is not easy to break the pact. It requires the entire life force that was used in creating it in the first place. It made us wondering if there is something more to our existence in this world than what, short sighted as we are, care to look at? The truth dawned upon us with the help of small incidents taking place around us everyday, which we would have overlooked, had we not been in a mental state where each incident is related to the big mystery called Life. The bangle seller’s simple philosophy of work was a lesson that no teacher or book of philosophy could ever teach one in a class room. The poem by Blake that says “we destroy what we love” seems central to the theme of the life as well…

 

The Second Coming:A Personal Realization

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Travelling back the memory lanes, I recollected the feeling generated in “the mother” inside me when my son was born. The day is significant as this was when my son, a small bundle of joy, came to our life and also because I found a stronger bond which connected me to my daughter. When I was groaning in intense labour pains, my two years old daughter, not fully understanding what was happening, started to cry at the top of her voice. She cried so much that even today I am able to hear all those heart wrenching cries. She was in pain as I was in pain. She was being supportive to me as I try to be supportive to her today. But she didn’t understand all that happening to me but I am in a position to see all that is happening to her and this makes the difference. She cried as I was crying. She wanted me to understand that her empathy was with me at that stage. Such was, rather still is, a very delicate unnamed bond between us that sometimes words are not needed at all to convey certain feelings between us. In fact, I came to know of this bond that very day. She was sheer uncontrollable. All efforts, by all people, were futile to control or pacify her. Anger, love, greed nothing mattered to her except her mother’s cries. I was in dilemma. On one hand a new life was about to come and on the other hand an existing life so much in pain. I just don’t know how I controlled myself from running and embracing her to my bosom.

A new life came out and there was a joyous feeling all around but my eyes searched for my daughter who was still crying, though loud wails were replaced by sobs. She was brought to me and wonderstruck though she was with a new creature present beside me but what she focused on, was her mother. We held each other close and she stopped crying though sobs would come out intermittently, uncontrolled. Such a scene preceded the birth of life that brought happiness to us. I still can see her, thumb in her mouth, tears straining her cheeks, sobs making whole of her small body convulse! This picture came to my mind recently when I saw her in pain. And recently, once again I was reminded of the same old feeling of hurt, pain and anguish and the same cries and sobs.

But was it not just natural that pain and cries always precede a new life? I am sure that it announces something great at hand. Something good is about to come, something that will make us forget all the pain and the suffering. When I ask her today whether she remembers having cried so much that day—she carries a blank face as she doesn’t seem to carry even a slight trace of her anguish. How good indeed. It is matter of time and life will come to the same old pattern, rather it already has.

But all this pain signifies that something new is bound to happen. It is definitely the second coming, a life worth waiting for. All those feelings of hurt and pain that seem paramount today, would no more be even remembered when a life full of promise and happiness would be found. It is the second coming.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

At every step of my life I could relate to these lines in various manners and could see the reason for the turmoil and unrest that precedes any thing well bound to happen. How prophetic the lines are for all!

 

 

 

 

From Respect to Reverence

I was getting late. I had to catch a bus at 8-30 which would take me to Hamirpur and then I would further walk 2.5 Kms to reach the college where I taught. And where were my sandals? I have always been very careless when it comes to managing my things and often spend time searching for them, but searching for my sandals was too much. I was particularly biased towards these pair of sandals as they were the black leather sturdy ones and I needed this pair only. I had to walk for about 1-5 kms through the meandering path studded with big slippery stones and only this pair had proved to be most effective for this daily running.

But where were they? I was really worried to think about them. Had somebody taken them? I came down to my Father-in-law’s room and found him sitting quietly bending over something. Now it would have been too much to ask him for the whereabouts of my sandals and more so as everyday he would be so critical of their condition.

I am not only very careless with my things but am careless about the condition they are in. And my sandals were in deplorable condition. I would run like a village goat over the dust ridden path everyday, in my hurry to catch the bus and would follow the same routine back home too. My sandals as well as my feet would be full of dust. In the evening, we had a custom to wash our feet in hot water and that would get my feet neat and clean but no such luck for my poor sandals. They would be covered in dust and the next day, once again, they would be put to same rigorous exercise.

Coming near to my father-in-law, I found that he was polishing something and a closer look made me shocked. There, in his hands, were my sandals, mocking at me, proudly shining with a new Cherry Blossom look. Forgetting about getting late, missing the bus or the college, I ran to him and cried loudly embracing my father-in-law.

That was the moment that the respect that one has for elders transformed to reverence.

And to think that how afraid I was of my father-in-law when I got engaged to my husband, looks like a fabricated dream. KS would tell me about how strict his father was a disciplinarian to the core. Working as a Deputy Superintendent Police had added further to the aura of authority that almost all fathers-in-law seem to carry in our culture. The sound of his voice, so clear and loud, made it authoritative. The stories and anecdotes how the village people would not pass through our courtyard when he would be sitting out during his yearly vacation, further made me afraid of him. But the real meeting was something that no one expected. I became his most favoured daughter-in-law, rather more of a daughter. I remember how he would share all his dreams, plans and even fears etc. with me. He would sit beside the earthen hearth (chullah) and keep the fire aglow while I cooked the food; something that he had never done. So much so that when KS had to share or ask something with his own father, I would be the mediator! My mother-in-law sometimes grumbled over the change that she had observed in his behaviour but he sincerely believed that daughters-in-law when come to another home need love more than anyone else.

Being an Army Personnel, shining footwear was one of his weaknesses and this was the reason he would tell me everyday to polish them. But as I was overtly occupied with many jobs and was also careless about the condition of my sandals, he took them away that day to polish them.

Though we were very close to each other and I respected him from the core of my heart for being the person he was but polishing one’s daughter-in-law’s shoes, is something unheard of in Indian culture!

I cried a lot as I was reminded of my own father who would polish our shoes every Sunday and we would line up our shoes in front of him. But a father-in-law doing this for me was something that made him closer to me from any other being. Tears rolled down my eyes and I kept on crying, “Why did you do it?” and the answer that came pat back, was “are you not my own daughter?”

It was the day that our relationship grew so strong and remained so till his demise. I don’t know why this episode came to my mind today. He taught me a great lesson that instead of demanding respect from others, try to earn it.

Who Stole Away the Laughter from my Life?

The laughter is snatched away

the ruthless pain and grievance

masked behind a fake smile

encasing the inner turmoil

is killing my very being

everyday. 

How long would I carry

the burden of duality?

Of enacting a role

that I put on

like a lended robe

of a happy-go-lucky person

that once I was in reality.

I pretend to live

when life is a living death

my dignity, my words

all are questioned

by my own people

who instead of the honesty

and courage of owning

the truth

make it look distorted.

And

an innocent relation in progress

and the life itself is aborted

before being given a chance

to live and survive

and fill the world

with laughter and smile.

 

Wake Up Call

These lines just came out while travelling in a train. The insensitivity of the husband towards his wife was really intolerable for me. I wanted to give his toothbrush in his hands if this would have given some respite to the poor woman whiojust jumped to do her wifely duty, without complainig. Some manliness indeed and that too when so many people watched your authority.

When she lay peacefully

Breastfeeding your son,

You wanted toothbrush

With paste applied

To be supplied

In your hands!

Were you blind to

Silent pleas in her eyes,

Her protesting body

Her suppressed sighs

And you claim and vouch

To know her well

With conceit and pride

Would everyone tell

She is my wife

Mother of my son

My soul mate my bride.

Such a male pride

For someone who

Loves and cares

Would never ever bare

The injury to her soul

When in love you play foul.

Wake up man and learn

To appreciate her sacrifice

She makes without protest

As she is the wife.

Red, Blue, Black and Green Inks…

Never did I realize the power of the green ink! I knew that red ink was the ine to be afraid of as it was the colour that my teacher marked my papers with and a red ciircle would announce a mistake! I was afraid of red colour as it signified danger to me. Blue was the colour, I wrote my papers in and would keep on changong from royal blue to black blue to do my best so far the presentation was concerned. Now a mature person (only I think so) I use black in my Parker pen to write with, as this is the colour that I like the best. But it is never pure black, the colour of the parken black ink comes out on the pages a slightly dark grey! I evaluate the papers of my students with black colour pen so that they do not develop a sense of awe for the colour red. And I use black so that they know and understand a big lesson of the life that it is the grey colour that they must be wary of! It is the zone which has your own people who have turned from white to grey and you don't even understand that they are not to be trusted. The deaadliest zone of all the colous! But green is the colour that signifies power. Whatsoever may be the mode of your writing or the colour of the ink that you use–it is the green colour that makes the decision. This is the colour that owershadows all rational/irrational pleas. I understand the power of the green colour but am not in a position to use that colour in my pen. I wonder who made this convention of using green colour for persons at the helm of the affairs? Is it a unwritten code of conduct that we have started to follow without looking for the rationale behind it? And more important is the question–what stops us as individuals to use green colour in our pens?

What makes me Proud of being a Himachali

I travel a lot and most of the time by night buses. But do I feel insecure while traveling in Himachal? Never. I find traveling alone quite safe. I talk to strangers en route and have made many friends during such journeys. I take all this for granted and never think about it much. But when people ask me how safe it is to travel alone during night times in Himachal, I wonder at the stupidity of the question as we have come to take certain things for granted and respecting women is one such thing.

This feeling was substantiated at a place much far off from my home state. I had gone to
Bangalore to attend a seminar on “Sexual Harassment at work places”. The organizer of the course, Dr. Rana, in his inaugural address talked, in general, about the occurrence of such crimes against women and the states where the occurrence was very high.Delhi topped the list and some other states, too, were not lagging behind in crime against women. I sat listening to the well documented reports. Dr. Rana asked all the participants to applaud the state that was very respectful towards women and guess the name of the state—Himachal!

I was really elated as in the entire group of 35 participants from all over the country I was the only one to represent Himachal. I stood up and thanked him. He further explained that the people still valued morality  and simplicity of life made Himachal still honour its women. I shared with the group some good things about Himachal and how safe it is for women. It is so safe. People respect you and help you out of their way. You can stay in the home of any stranger for a night if that is the only way out to you and you will be safe with your honour and money. Can anyone think of such a life anywhere else?

Back home from
Bangalore, I had three days to attend Swami Ramdev’s Yogsadhana camp that was in progress. Swami Ramdev was all praise for the people of Himachal. He admired the way people dressed up, the way they spoke and conducted themselves. He acknowledged that though he had traveled all overt he country and had interacted with many a people, he had not found such simplicity at any other place.So much so that he said jokingly that even the police in Himachal seem to be so polite and simple “seedhe-saade” as they don’t have to deal with hard criminals. Thank you Swami Ji.

Now two such remarks for Himachal and its people, coming from two entirely different sources cannot just be a coincidence. These have substantiated my conviction that it is the quality of life that maters and not the quantity that you have in your life. I am proud to be a Himachali!

 

Hidimba the unacknowledged Heroine of the Mahabharata

The Gita Press Gorakhpur’s the Mahabharata has beautiful black and white sketches inserted in the text itself and it adds manifold to the charm of the epic. I would look at the pictures and read the text along with to get pleasure out of my reading. One particular picture that I still carry in my memory is of Hidimba, the Rakshsi. I used to watch the pictures intently as in one she would be looking ferocious and in another she would transform herself into a coy looking beautiful damsel. This transformation at will was what made me awestruck and somewhere deep inside me I carried a desire to have such power in my hands!

I always perceived, like multitudes of other Hindus, believing upon mythic stereotypes that Hidimba, a ferocious looking demoness, transformed herself into a bewitching beauty the moment her fancy was captured by the physical charms of Bhima, the powerful son of Kunti. In my imagination I would see her transform into a beauty the way Cindrella would be transformed into a beauty, and how would I envy her. In case of Cindrella, at least our sympathies lied with her as we wished for her to be happy and as such this transformation brought about a relief to us. But is case of Hidimba, it was a trickery to trap a gullible prey, not for eating it up but for getting carnal pleasure to relish his beauty.

So Hidimba seemed like a predator to me whereas Bhima was a prey. I sympathized with all Pandava brothers and their mother Kunti, an old hapless widow, who had to give away her son to the carnal whims and fancies of a rakshasi!

And then my visit to a temple dedicated to Hidimba made me wonder as why people would worship a Rakshsi? I was further in for strange revelations when I tried finding more about the temple and its deity.

Hidimba Devi temple stands in the midst of a sacred cedar forest near the town of Dunghri at the verdant foot of the
Himalaya mountains.  The sanctuary is built over an enormous rock that juts out of the ground, worshipped as a manifestation of Durga, the "Hill Mother" or goddess of the earth.  The temple was constructed in 1553 by Maharaja Bahadur Singh, who made a promise to the Hidimba, deity of the Mahabharata epic.

The interior of the temple is occupied by the large rock and contains no useable space except for the ground floor.  Curiously, a rope dangles from the ridge that is said to have been used to hang victims by the hand, who were then swung–bleeding and bruised–over the large rock in the presence of the goddess. However, the goddess herself is represented only once in a three inch tall brass image. Though I was wonderstruck but this didn’t change much the earlier image that I carried about Hidimba though honestly speaking a fissure had developed in my mind about what I perceived to be true.

I would have carried the same image and also transpired the same to my children as well had it not been reading rewritings of the Mahabharata along with a close reading of the text as well. What an average reader finds objectionable in the demeanour of Hidimba is her frank invitation to a male to have a relationship with her as such a desire coming from a female is something against the Indian sensitivity. Females have always been conditioned in the society to downplay their desires especially the ones dealing with sexuality.

A close reading of the epic made me aware of the hard fact that what a woman can do to another woman. Hidimba fell in love with Bhima and like a frank and innocent Hill woman had the honesty to acknowledge her love in the plainest possible language. Bhima, the faithful son, could not muster courage to accept it and finally the girl requests Kunti to help her. She has a firm conviction that being a woman Kunti would be able to understand her plight. I remember that as a young girl I was really full of admiration for Kunti as she allowed her brave son to spend some time with Hidimba, the Rakshsi! So considerate of her!

But later on when I came to know of the real reason behind her approval, I was disgusted. It is again Kunti’s firm guidance and far-sighted statesmanship that is depicted in the Mahabharata where she approves of Hidimba’s infatuation for Bhima. This approval is based on her being conscious of the need for allies in their forlorn condition. Kunti, therefore, orders Bhima:

You know Hidimba loves you…Have a son by herI wish it. He will workfor our welfare. My son.I do not want a nofrom you, I want your promisenow, in front of both of us. (157.47-49) 

It is absolutely clear from the above lines that Kunti as a far-sighted statesperson, uses Hidimba as a tool to provide them with a powerful son to be used in war against Kauravas. The epic shows how right and prophetic Kunti had proved to be. Ghatotkacha, the fruit of this union, proves to be very useful for them during the exile, and later as Arjuna’s saviour from Karna’s infallible weapon at the cost of his own life.

When Kunti, along with her five sons, decides to leave the forest, she does not, even for a second, think about Hidimba. What happens to Hidimba? She is left in the forest all by herself. With no male relative to look after her and carrying Bhima’s child in her womb, the proud Hidimba does not cry and plead. She accepts her fate. But could Kunti not be a little sympathetic? Was it because Hidimba came from a different culture? A non-Aryan woman and without any coffers to promise at that. The only thing that she could give them was her only son, Ghatotkacha, to be sacrificed in the Mahabharata war. Ironically Ghatotkacha, the eldest of all Pandava progeny is used as a prey in the war and his proud and brave mother sends him to the war without ever complaining of the injustice having been meted down upon her.

I was able to appreciate why Himachali people have erected a temple dedicated to her and worship her as reigning deity of Kullu valley. The annual Rath yatra during the Kullu Dussahra does not start till Hidimba Devi’s chariot leads the procession. At least the people of Himachal have tried to undo the injustice done to this proud, unsung heroine of the Mahabharata.

I feel humble even to think about the kind of sacrifices that this unacknowledged heroine of the Mahabharata has made.

 

Dharma: The Most Ambiguous of All Words

  I raise my arms and I shout—but no one listens!From dharma comes success and pleasure;why is dharma not practiced?  (The Eighteenth Book:Heaven: 50, 62)

                                                                                                                        

Dharma is the word that is most commonly used by all and sundry to escape from the responsibility of owning what needs to be done in a specific situation. It is a shield that saves us all from situations that call for taking a side. In the name of Dharma, we shy away from acting as we should. Is it not our Dharma to abide by what scriptures say? But what do our scriptures say? What is written about Dharma and what is actually practiced in the name of Dharma is really not compatible. It is the same as preaching one thing and practicing another. Does it mean that there exist two sets of rules—one that apply to “us” and the second that apply to “others”. If an ordinary mortal resorts to such double standards, we criticize the person no end but when the same is done by the mythological figures of our great epics, no one questions their deeds as they are the ones beyond criticism. My reading of the Mahabharata brought me to question certain such situations. The conduct of certain characters under such critical situations, revealed through the choices they made, brings to surface the difference between what they say and what they actually resort to.

Kunti, the mother of the Pandavas, is thought about a woman who was married to an impotent man and she attracts the sympathies of the readers for being faithful to her impotent husband. She is depicted as a faithful wife who would go to the extent of praying to different gods to bless her with children at the command of her husband. She fulfilled this task for the perpetuation of the Kuru lineage and for no other reason. The images that come in front of my eyes while thinking of this act is very pure and innocent. A pious looking woman, fresh after taking her ritual bath, making entreaties with folded hands to god. The prayer on her lips is what her husband her commanded her to pray—“Grant me a son.” B. R. Chopra’s tele serial helped me to further substantiate this image when a light or halo would be shown entering her womb and lo a child in the making would be implanted. I really wonder why my rational self could never bring me to question the truth of such a representation. In fact the moral conditioning is so strong in many a cases that even to think in a human way about these characters seems derogatory. I could never bring myself to question the truth and derogate our most revered mythic characters. How wrong I was. It was the close reading of the epic that brought to light the reality that how human all these characters were, just like me and you, apt to error. There is a very apt shloka in the Mahabharata that shows Kunti, when seen in the light of another choice that she makes, as an ordinary woman who had different rules for herself than what she had for others.

When Kunti, as commanded by her husband, gives birth to three sons Pandu is ecstatic. Like a greedy man Pandu displays “the more the better” attitude in the Mahabharata and doesn’t seem to put a stop to this psychological fatherhood. Perhaps like all Kuru kings he also had a strange streak that in spite of being weak procreators; they wished to have strong progeny in large numbers. But the “wise” Kunti refuses bluntly reminding greed crazed Pandu of what is lawful according to the scriptures, which she seems to know quite well:

The wise do not sanctiona fourth conception, even in crisis.The woman who has intercoursewith four men has loose morals;the woman who has intercoursewith five is prostitute. (123.83) 

Her advice is worth appreciation and Kunti must have earned all my respect had I not read another incident of the epic in great details. Kunt, the wife had some rules, as prescribed by Dharma but the same Kunti in the role of mother just forgets about all those rules. It is sad but true that when it comes to your prospective daughter-in-law, all Indian mothers start behaving like Kunti. The Hindu society would have been wonderful and the greatest had there been not much difference between what we preach and what we practice.

Kunti had a choice to implement her advice at another point when her inadvertent and innocent (?) remark makes the Pandava brothers wonder as to what to do. Kunti had told her husband that begetting sons from more than four men would make her be called a prostitute. But she herself is more than ready to make Draupadi to face the same stigma.

Is it not questionable that such a wise and dharma knowing woman like Kunti who herself gives this advice to her husband, makes her own daughter-in-law, who is young and vulnerable, to marry all the five brothers and as a result be called a public woman in the assembly by Karna.

I am really sad that a dharma knowing woman like Kunti failed to take a firm decision when she could show that there was no difference between what she preached and what she practiced. Had she done what was expected as per dharma, the Mahabharata would have been a different story. Could she not have the same dharma and same set of rules—same as she applied to herself as she did to the other?

But how could it be? Was she not a mother-in-law and in this role her sons’ future was all that she could think of?