Dharma: Decoding the Epics for a Meaningful Lifeby Amish Tripathi Part 1

सुस्वागतम्...

Dharma: Decoding the Epics for a Meaningful Life

by Amish Tripathi 

Audiobook by Li Books

INTRODUCTION

Both of us, brother and sister, had a unique privilege in our upbringing. We were immersed in two worlds.

The first was Bharat, this blessed land whose ancient roots sink deep and from which we seek inspiration. We were raised in a deeply traditional household steeped in our culture, religion (primarily Hinduism, but also Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism), scriptures and rituals. Our paternal grandfather, Pandit Babulal Sunderlal Tripathi, was a Sanskrit scholar who taught maths and physics in Kashi, at the Banaras Hindu University. Our maternal grandmother, Smt.Shankar Devi Mishra, was a teacher in Gwalior and also a scholar of scripture and tradition. The long shadows cast by these two remarkable individuals continue to influence our family. They keep us rooted.

There was also another influence, of India, a land playing catch up with the world, with modernity and Western-style liberalism, in pursuit of which it often imitated the UK, and later the USA. Our parents were raised in a Hindi-speaking milieu, both at home and in school. And they suffered for it. Lack of proficiency in English was a debilitating limitation in getting good jobs and achieving career progression, especially in an economy laid waste by socialist policies. Our parents decided that their children would not endure what they had. We are four siblings, and we were all packed off to the most elite educational institutions of the time. It was a stretch, since it was way beyond their social and economic means. However, our mother was determined, as she said, to ensure that her children grew up around the angrezi-waalas, so that we would not ever be intimidated by them. It was especially important to her that her children succeed in this new world.

Thanks to our education in elite boarding and day schools, we grew up with an insider’s view of the anglicized India of the time. It had its strengths. It had its beauty. It certainly had panache. But there was a subtle denigration of the Hindu way of life, which often angered us. We kept quiet though, as our mother had advised us to. She would often quote Lord Krishna to us, and one of the lessons we learned from the Lord was: ‘Pick your battles with wisdom. Fight from a position of strength.’ She also exhorted us to recognise that there is something to be learned from everyone and everything, even from those who denigrate your way of life.

So we learned to straddle the two worlds. Shakespeare in school, Kalidasa at home. George Bernard Shaw in school, Mahabharata and Ramayana at home. Johann Sebastian Bach in school, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi at home. The Bible in school, the Gita and the Upanishads at home. The Beatles and Lata Mangeshkar, both at school and home! We boisterously lived the Western life in school and fervently practised our rituals at home. Our education prepared us for life in the modern world but taught us almost nothing of our own traditions. These, we learned at home. From our elders, who kept the flame of our ancient culture alive within us.

India is the only surviving pre-Bronze Age civilisation; we are still vibrantly alive. Every other pre-Bronze Age civilisation is dead, existing only as lifeless shells within the walls of museums and academia today. Our ancestors protected and kept alive that which is most precious: our culture. Often, they did so by fighting off brutal foreign invaders. Most importantly, they passed the flame forward. From generation to generation. In an unbroken chain. We too must pass the torch forward. To the next generation.

We recall reading somewhere: ‘Traditions are not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire.’

This book is the first of many in which we reflect upon and discuss different facets of the Indian culture. Some we can learn from, some we can adapt, and some we must let go of.

We have not followed the usual, modern style of non-fiction books, which are built upon a hypothesis and then backed up with references to support that hypothesis. This style, we believe, leads to adversarial tribalism, even among scholars. This is evident in debates in which scholars often strive to prove loyalty to ‘their tribe’ and attack those on the opposite side, instead of honestly seeking the truth with an open mind. These debates generate more heat than light.

We have followed the ancient Indian Upanishadic style of conversations which present different views, even contrarian views. We have tried our best to not make the lessons we draw from these prescriptive, only suggestive. For you must make up your own mind.

You might ask, why dharma? Don’t we understand the concept by now? But dharma is quite the Scarlet Pimpernel among words. Difficult to pin down, it is invisible to the eye and confounding in the extreme. Shift the definition just a little, and it slides into another meaning. Yet, it is the universe within which Indian philosophy nestles.

Our endeavour in this series of books will be to find and explore multiple strands that lead to the dharmic centre. We have embedded these explorations in a fictional setting, with a repeating cast of characters, each of whom has stories to tell. We hope that over the years, Gargi and Nachiket, Anirban and Valli, Lopamudra and Dharma Raj, and a few others still waiting in the wings, will come alive in your minds, as they have in ours. Perhaps you will identify with one or the other, or several of them, at various stages in your own evolving relationship with the epics and the stories they tell. Our interpretations are also moored to some other, more modem interpretations of these stories. Amish’s Meluhan universe flows alongside and intersects the popular version of the Mahabharata today, to together serve as the soil from which we attempt to extract an understanding of ethics, morality, compassion, rigour, restraint, aspiration, wisdom and many other imponderables. The biggest lesson might well be that there are many paths to wisdom, and it is possible for each of us to find our fit without compromising another’s.

Lastly, it must be stated with humility that we are not experts. We do not have the brilliance of our babaji and naniji. Indeed, of your babaji or naniji either.

The flame of reflection has grown weaker in our generation. The blessings of Goddess Lakshmi have increased dramatically, but Goddess Saraswati’s grace is not as easily bestowed. And yet, this is a sincere effort. We are hoping to pass on a torch to you. Hold it aloft and run with it. And, if you find it worthy, pass it on.

Mother India is special. The only one with an unbroken chain, with roots extending back to the dawn of human civilisation. Let’s keep the flame alive. For the more we share it, the more it will grow. And all of us can benefit from ancient India’s light.

(Apoorvah kopi koshoyam vidyate tav Bharati,

Vyayato vruddhim aayaati kshyam aayaati sanchayaat.)

My Goddess Saraswati, your treasure is unique,

It grows when spent and reduces when hoarded.

*

Note: Sources referred to in the main body of the text, which is structured as conversations among a fictional group of characters, are listed in the Select Bibliography at the end of the book.

1 WHAT IS KARMA ANYWAY?

Nachiket grabbed the keys from the mantelpiece with one hand as he stuffed his mouth with the remains of an omelette sandwich with the other. His work bag almost knocked over a flower vase, which was placed on the console near the entrance. Gargi shrieked. Steadying the vase, Nachiket yanked open the door.

‘Visit Baba on your way back. You haven’t seen him for five days now,’ said Gargi.

‘Okay Bye.’

He glanced at his watch as he ran down the stairs. Ten minutes to nine. I won’t make it. Lord Shiva help me!

He jumped on his bike and revved the engine. Almost skidding on a loose tile, he spun onto the road. I’m gonna be roasted.

Nachiket Anant Sawant was a sous-chef. He worked at the oddly named Hotel Ego in Shivaji Nagar. He lived in Baner, not too far from the hotel. But Pune traffic was usually insane.

Shockingly, the road was free. He steadied his breath and settled into a comfortable ride. Within minutes, he was at the hotel. He parked his bike in the compound at the back. 9.10 a.m. Phew.

Good karma!

It was seven in the evening when Nachiket turned onto the leafy Prabhat Road. His hand flew reflexively to his chest as he passed the Ganesh temple on the side of the road. He turned into the second lane on the right and slowed as he reached the last bungalow at the end of the lane. He brought the bike to a halt in front of the rickety wooden gate. Getting off, he pushed open the gate, straightening the nameplate on the side before going through. Dharma Raj Deshpande. Nachiket smiled to himself as he parked the bike under the neem tree and stepped onto the veranda.

‘Ketu’ Aalas ka, baala? Is that you, child?’

Nachiket halted at the main door and turned his head toward the beloved voice of his fatherin-law. The old man sat on a swing at the far end of the veranda. Nachiket walked up to him.

‘Namaskar karto, Baba.’ Nachiket touched his feet, then sank into a cane chair, a sigh of exhaustion escaping his lips.

‘Tough day?’ Baba’s voice was soft.

‘Hmmm… Karma!’

‘Karma, is it? How so?’

Nachiket was nonplussed. ‘I don’t know. I just said it!’

‘Hmmm. Okay.’ Dharma Raj took off his reading glasses and leaned back, rubbing his nose.

Nachiket’s eyes fell on the book in Dharma Raj’s hand. Raavan: Enemy of Aryavarta. ‘Gargi is reading that same book. And I finished it just last week. Is that why you are thinking of karma today? What exactly is karma anyway? What was Raavan’s karma?’

Dharma Raj: ‘Very impactful, evidently. It’s been a while and we’re still talking about him!’

Nachiket laughed.

Dharma Raj: ‘What do you think? What was his karma? Was he a victim or was his life a consequence of karma?’

‘Both, maybe?’

Dharma Raj sat back, one arm stretched over the cushions at the back. ‘Hmmm .. How tired are you?’

‘Why?’

‘I was thinking … How serious an answer do you want?’

Nachiket sat up straight. His tiredness dissipated like magic. We are going to talk. Yes!

Baba read his mind. ‘Go ask Aai for two cups of tea. If possible, some bhajjis. Let’s fix the setting first!’

As Nachiket rose, Dharma Raj quipped, ‘Ana, if you can manage it, her exalted presence too!’

Nachiket laughed as he walked indoors to greet his mother-in-law.

Minutes later, he walked back and settled down on the floor cushion under the window. At his guru’s feet. ‘Tell me, Baba. What is karma?’

‘What does it mean to you?’ Dharma Raj countered.

‘Good begets good. Bad begets bad,’ Nachiket said. ‘Although that does seem like I am stating the obvious.’

His fatherin-law frowned. ‘Don’t be flippant. What is good? What is bad? Huh?’

Nachiket shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

‘Karma Is activity. Action. To do.’

‘Good and bad action, both?’

Dharma Raj was silent, as if thinking about what to say next. But Nachiket knew better.

‘All right, Ketu, tell me. Was Liu Xiaobo a good man? Of good karma?’

For a moment, Nachiket was thrown. What did the Chinese dissident have to do with karma, good or bad?

He said, ‘I don’t know. But thank God he got the Nobel Prize before he died. The man spent his life in prison for his principles, his convictions …’ His voice trailed away.

Dharma Raj smiled. ‘All he wanted to do was to rid his country of the Communist Party of China, the CPC.’

‘Yes!’ Nachiket exclaimed.

Dharma Raj: ‘Do you know that the CPC has raised more than 680 million people out of poverty in the last thirty years? How much of an impact has Liu Xiaobo had on the world, in real terms? Or even on the Chinese people?’

Nachiket: ‘So, what you are saying is, Xiaobo may not be “good” and the CPC may not actually be “bad”?’

Dharma Raj: ‘The CPC is a political party driven by one purpose only: to seek power and remain in power. In this case, over the Chinese nation.’

‘Sometimes it seems like the CPC wants to rule the entire world!’ Nachiket ventured. ‘So, judging by intentions, Xiaobo’s karma is good. However, by outcome, the CPC’s karma is better because it pulled so many Chinese people out of poverty. But what about Dr Li Wenliang then, the whistleblower? Or this Wuhan coronavirus for that matter, which the CPC has unleashed on the world, causing hundreds of thousands of deaths and massive economic destruction? They’ve pretty much wiped out their good karma points, I’d say!’

Dharma Raj continued as if he had not heard him, ‘So many organisations are more about sustaining themselves than eradicating a problem or achieving a goal. Anti-addiction centres, women’s support organisations … Ever noticed that? Not all NGOs, not the ones I admire! But many. It appears that anti-poverty and climate change efforts are best conducted at conferences these days. The fancier the location, the more sincere the effort!’

Nachiket smiled. He enjoyed his Baba’s dry wit. Sardonic, but never cynical. He could make you laugh at yourself without ever mocking you.

He said, ‘Baba, you didn’t answer my question about Dr Li Wenliang. Or the coronavirus.’

‘I don’t want to. It will take us towards socio-politics, and I wouldn’t want to do that In the absence of our wives. Leave world politics for another day.’

‘Okay.’

Dharma Raj: ‘Speaking of ineffective organisations, some of the best people I know are the do-nothing-talk-amazing types. The wonderful tribe of fence sitters’ Beginning with me! And, mind you, some fence sitters have a particular penchant for passing judgements! How long does one wait to evaluate outcomes, anyway?’

Nachiket: ‘I’m really confused now. How does one judge?’

Dharma Raj tossed his first challenge. ‘Why judge? Why not just understand?’

Nachiket: ‘But how?’

Dharma Raj: ‘By understanding karma’s relationship with dharma.’

Nachiket: ‘Woah … it’s the deep end now!’

Dharma Raj: ‘What do you mean?’

Dharma Raj was a retired police officer. A celebrated officer with a reputation for toughness and large-heartedness. Nachiket often felt as if he was being tested by him. And he was never sure whether he had failed or passed.

‘I don’t know, Baba,’ he said now. ‘I don’t know what I mean. Tell me. What is dharma?’

Dharma Raj: ‘Have you heard of Icarus?’

Nachiket: ‘Yes. James Bond. Die Another Day.’

Dharma Raj: ‘Na re! No, no! Let me tell you a story. An old story.’

Nachiket: ‘From ancient India?’

Dharma Raj: ‘No. Ancient Greece.’

‘All right.’ Nachiket leaned back against the wall. He loved listening to Baba’s stories.

King Minos rules the island of Crete, which is separated from Athens by the Sea of Crete. One day, the king secretly summons the famous craftsman Daedalus to his court. Daedalus comes to his palace in the dead of night. Minos asks him to build a complex maze, which would be a prison for the Minotaur, a monster that is half man and half bull.

Daedalus completes the task to the king’s satisfaction, and names his creation the Labyrinth. Minos wants to hide it from his wise daughter Ariadne. But Daedalus reveals the secret to her. This angers Minos and he imprisons Daedalus in the Labyrinth, along with his young son Icarus.

Daedalus knows his way out of the maze. After all, he built it. But he also knows that the king will have them killed the moment they emerge from it.

Daedalus is a master craftsman. He fashions two sets of wings from wax and feathers; one pair for himself and one for his son.

The father warns the son as he fastens his wings, ‘My son, do not fly with less energy, for you will fly too low, and the damp waters of the sea will leaden your wings. But do not fly with too much energy either. If you get too close to the sun, the wax on your wings will melt. Heed me, child, and follow my path.’

He has cautioned Icarus against both complacence and hubris. But Icarus is young and vibrant. Alive! He flies toward the sun, lost in exultation. Soon, the wings are gone, and he falls like a stone into the sea and drowns, his hands still flapping in wonder. Millennia later, it still carries his name: Icarian Sea.

Nachiket wondered aloud, ‘Why was the king secretive? He was the king, na? Who was he afraid of? Seems to me, the wise daughter had a very unwise father. Ungrateful, too. Poor Daedalus.’

‘What about Icarus? Don’t you feel sorry for him?’ Dharma Raj asked sardonically.

Nachiket shrugged. ‘Him too … But I’m distracting you. What’s the moral of the story?’

Dharma Raj: ‘Forget morals. Dharma is more interesting than that!’

Nachiket tilted his head expectantly. ‘Okay, so where does dharma come into the picture here?’

‘It’s quite simple, really. Dharma is that which holds and sustains. All life —not just human life—has an ideal expression; a best state. When a living thing is in a state of dharma, it is the way it was meant to be. The sun, the moon, the stars … They are sustained. They hold.’

Nachiket: ‘You call that simple? I’m stumped. What do you mean by the best state?;

Dharma Raj: ‘Let me put it this way. A diamond may be said to have achieved its dharma because the carbon molecules that constitute it have reorganised themselves in the best possible order. On the other hand, the molecules of coal may be seen as struggling with their karma. Coal is useful, but it’s a work in progress. Given time—a very, very long time—a diamond may be born. The banyan tree has attained its dharma; the simple weed struggles with its karma. Who knows, one day, it may bear fruit!’

Nachiket: ‘Dharma sounds very elusive, going by all that you’ve said so far.’

Dharma Raj: ‘It’s also multifaceted, and I am only touching upon one facet. You cannot translate this word into any other language. Call it the natural order, the cosmic law… When you find your purpose and rhythm in the universe, you are in a state of dharma. Even a lion on the hunt is in a state of dharma. And the hunted deer too.’

Nachiket: ‘Baba, tell me that story again. It’s the one Vedavati tells Raavan, isn’t it?’ His eyes drifted to the book on the table beside Dharma Raj.

‘Yes. So, this is what happens. In a jungle near the river port of Amaravati, an ageing lion struggles to feed his cubs. They are starving; he is starving. Then he spots a doe with her fawns in the grassland. One of them is weak, the runt of the family. On spotting the lion, the mother alerts her children, and they flee towards the treeline. But the runt is trailing. The lion —well pas: his prime—charges towards the weakling and begins to close the distance between himself and the tiny fawn. And then, something magnificent happens. The mother slows her pace, offering herself as a sacrifice until her little one can manage to get ahead. Soon she comes to a complete stop and stands still, watching her children move towards safety. The lion also halts, confused. He looks at the doe, one short leap away. He looks at the fawns, safely at a distance now and bleating for their mother. He turns and looks at his own children, emaciated and hungry… Should he kill the doe to feed his children? Or should he give her the gift of life?’

Nachiket: ‘What do you think happened next?’

Dharma Raj: ‘It doesn’t matter. Either way, it’s a conundrum without a clear solution.’

Nachiket said thoughtfully, ‘Baba, when Vedavati tells Raavan this story, she is speaking to him of dharma, isn’t she?’

Vedavati is the Kanyakumari, the virgin Goddess. According to a tradition of veneration in many parts of India, the Mother Goddess resides temporarily in the body of certain chosen girls. These girls are worshipped as living Goddesses. People flock to them for advice and prophecies; even kings and queens do. Till they reach puberty, at which point, it is believed, the spirit of the Goddess moves into the body of another pre-pubescent girl.

Ancient India is dotted with Kanyakumari temples. The Kanyakumari in Raavan: Enemy of Aryavarta is from Vaidyanath, in eastern India. Once, on the way home from Amarnath in Kashmir, her entourage stops at Rishi Vishrava’s ashram by the river Yamuna, a stone’s throw away from Indraprastha. She speaks to no one, but there is an aura about her, a kind of magnetism. Even Raavan is bewitched.

Raavan is the precocious first-born of Vishrava, the distinguished rishi. He is four years old when he first meets his Dhruv tara, his North Star. Vedavati. At age seven, already showing signs of a fearsome intellect, he starts training in the martial arts, the fine arts and the material sciences. He becomes an accomplished veena player, especially skilled with the Rudra veena. He is also a closet sadist. Arrogant, manipulative, harsh. And yet, deeply vulnerable to the Kanyakumari.

When she tells him, ‘You can be better’, fora heartbeat, he contemplates the possibility. Then the feeling dissolves in an onslaught of anger.

Dharma Raj: ‘Yes. Vedavati represents dharma; she is dharma. But tell me why you said that. Give me an example.’

Nachiket: ‘Okay. Remember the time Raavan tied up a rabbit to do that macabre experiment of his? The excitement was building inside him, his heart was beating rapidly… and then he sensed her presence. He looked up and the Kanyakumari was just standing there. Tranquil. Expressionless. She untied the rabbit, kissed it on the forehead and let it bound away. And Raavan was immobile. Transfixed!’

Dharma Raj: ‘Even the rabbit became quiet in her hands. Harmony resonates and transmits if you allow it to. As for Raavan, I don’t know if he was transfixed or just for one moment: fixed! Like the lion in the story.’

Nachiket: ‘So, if every living creature must aspire to be the best they can, would you say the planets in our universe are also in a state of dharma? The way they unfailingly revolve around the sun…’

Dharma Raj: ‘Yes. And the sun follows its dharma, its assigned role in the Milky Way.’

Nachiket: ‘And what is the dharma of the universe? Or is it the multi-verse?’

Dharma Raj: ‘Perhaps that’s beyond our understanding. But these celestial bodies have achieved a rhythm over billions of years. We must assume that they are in the state they were always meant to be in.’

Nachiket: ‘I suppose for lesser, out-of-balance beings like us, the dharmic state is out of reach for now. Hmmm?’

‘Hmmm …’ Dharma Raj nodded in agreement.

Nachiket: ‘I’m reminded of the Chinese Tao of Lao Tzu.’

Dharma Raj: ‘You’re right. Tao means “the way”, “the path”. The Chinese believe that the Tao is the source of cosmic order. It keeps the universe in rhythm and balance.’

Nachiket: ‘You know my friend Anirban?’

Dharma Raj: ‘Anirban Kothapalli. The Telugu man who married a Thai woman.’

Nachiket: ‘Yes. His wife’s name is Malivalaya. We call her Valli. Valli told us about the state of wei wu wei: doing without doing. Apparently, Lao Tzu said that anyone who realises the Tao is in a state of wei wu wei, even if it lasts for a fleeting moment. It’s effortless action, when the doer and the doing become one. Deliberate effort disappears when that happens. The doer becomes a tool of nature.’

Dharma Raj: ‘So, when Lata Mangeshkar sang Tere sur aur mere geet, she was in wei wu wei.’

Nachiket: ‘M.S. Subbulakshmi. “Kaatrinile varum geetham”. Dharma!’

Dharma Raj: ‘Maria Callas doing a flawless pirouette!’

Nachiket: ‘Nadia Comäneci on the balance beam!’

Dharma Raj: ‘Sufi dervishes whirling in a trance!’

Nachiket: ‘So, dharma lies in a state of naturalness?’

Dharma Raj: ‘Be careful. You young people love the idea of being your “natural self”. There are two types of naturalness, you know. One has to do with our animal nature. It’s instinctive, without awareness. Unexamined and childlike. We’re all creatures of habit, and habits are mechanical.’

Nachiket smiled. ‘Some habits are useful, though. I don’t get up in the morning and consciously decide which hand to use while brushing.’

Dharma Raj: ‘You have a point. Imagine wondering which leg to first pull your trousers over. But most habits are limiting. Especially the emotional patterns one falls into.’

Nachiket: ‘Like your daughter’s habit of taking offence. Being critical.’

Dharma Raj drew in a sharp breath. ‘Or yours, of indulging pain! The drama, the mood spins—classic Devdas!’

‘You’re biased, Baba!’ Nachiket complained.

‘Are you objecting to the bias or the direction of the bias?’

‘Oh, stop it, you two! You know he’s right about your precious daughter, Raj.’

They turned as a voice rang out from behind them. Nachiket’s mother-in-law walked up to him and handed him a cup of tea. She handed another cup to her husband and settled into the cane chair beside him with her favourite masala milk flavoured with saffron, grated dry fruit and jaggery.

Dharma Raj: ‘Yaa, yaa, Guruji, basaa; come, sit.’

Lopamudra cast her husband an enigmatic look. ‘Continue, wise guy.’