a game of dice

All the world’s a stage…or if we go by Indian mythology, a game board.

According to Indian mythology time can be parcelled into kalpas or eons that stand for one complete cycle of creation and destruction. At the end of each kalpa, the universe is destroyed by fire or flood only to spring back to life in the next kalpa. Each kalpa is further divided into four yugas: Kruta, Treta, Dwapara and Kali.

Kruta was the age of morality when gods and mortals lived in close proximity. The next is Treta or the age of the Ramayana where the hero occupies a high moral ground while the rest of the world struggles with good and evil. The third is Dwapara or the age of Mahabharat when heroes too have feet of clay. The final is kali – the one we are in right now – and it stands for strife and discord. At the end of kaliyug, the universe will either sink into the deep waters or burn to ashes and from its remains will rise a new world in a new kalpa.

Now the name of each yuga is also used to denote the different throws of dice in a traditional gambling game that was played in ancient India. The game is played with a dice that has four faces (like the one used in Mah Jong) and the best throw is the Kreta where the number is perfectly divisible by four. The Treta throw has a remainder of three, Dwapara two and Kali one -- when the number is divided by four. Interesting!

Marutta's challenge

Thousands of years ago, there lived a king called Marutta. There is not much that we know about his kingdom or his period of reign except that it marked a particularly prosperous time for his subjects. Marutta ruled with compassion and fair play and his people conferred upon him a greatness far beyond his mortal status.

Indra, king of the gods, was envious of Marutta’s growing popularity. And when he found out that Marutta was planning a yagna fit for the gods, he blew a trumpet. Marutta’s kula guru and the priest of the gods, Brihaspati, was to perform the yagna. But Indra warned Brihaspati that if he did take on the task, he would lose his priestly privileges with the gods.

Brihaspati valued his heavenly status far more than his kula guru duties and he informed Marutta accordingly. A distraught Marutta knew of none other who could do the yagna. He despaired at the thought of failing as a king as the yagna was meant to bring rain and a good harvest for his people.

In desperation, he sought to end his life. But Narada stepped in, just in time.

There was someone who could stand in for Brihaspati, he said. His brother, Samvarta. Plotted against by Brihaspati who was jealous of his brother’s abilities, Samvarta had left his home and had become a Naga Sadhu (naked sadhu). Narada advised Marutta to travel to Varanasi and wait outside the cremation grounds with a corpse. The naked sadhu who walked away from the body would be Samvarta, he said.

Marutta did that and as soon as he saw a thin wiry old sadhu make his way hastily away from the corpse, he knew he had his man. He followed Samvarta who was rude, abrasive and told Marutta that he wished to have nothing to do with man or god any more. Marutta persisted and finally Samvarta agreed. The condition was that Marutta would not go back on his word. Terrible times would be inflicted on the king for his decision to go against the word of Indra but, if he abandoned his venture, there would be a curse worse than hell coming his way.

Preparations for the yagna began. Marutta invoked Shiva with his tapasya and when he appeared, sought his support and blessings. With Shiva on his side, Marutta grew in confidence. Still he was ill prepared for what Indra would unleash. The weather turned against him, his people suffered, and every attempt was made to draw him away from his yagna.

The people grew weary and the gods, wary. For Indra was a mean foe and with Brihaspati on his side, there was havoc to be wrought.

As the day drew close, Marutta sent out his invitations. All gods were on the list; even Indra. The king’s advisors asked him to keep Indra away from the yagna but that would have rendered the yagna incomplete said Marutta.

The day of the yagna, all the gods arrived. Even Indra, but Brihaspati stayed away. With their wives, their vahanas and in all their heavenly splendour, the gods took their places around the fire. As Samvarta recited his mantras, the gods found themselves drawn into their spell. The yagna was a success as the offering made by the king was accepted and the gods participated in the great sacrifice.

Samvarta found his place in the world and Indra and Marutta, it is believed lived in peace thereafter.

rain and thunder

It’s the season for rain here and Mumbai is under water once again. I am resigned to a rain drenched day indoors, hoping for the sun and some cheer tomorrow. However there was another time and another place when the rain and thunder was cause for much joy as the devas vanquished the asuras amidst torrential downpour…

A long long time ago, in the kingdom of the gods, the Asuras had struck terror. They wrecked homes, burnt down the palaces and defeated the gods in every battle. They set every living thing, every home and every forest in heaven and on earth on fire.The gods were forced to turn to Brahma, their creator and saviour. Brahma asked Indra, the king of all gods to take action.

Indra agreed to battle the Asuras but he could not do that without help from Bramha and for that he sat in tapasya. Brahma, as is his nature, was pleased by his prayers and blessed him with a boon. “Dear Indra”, he said, “victory will be yours”. However it would not be a battle easily won because the weapon that would win him the battle had to be shaped out of the sage Dadich’s bones. In short, Indra would have to convince Dadich to self destruct and lend him his bones that would be shaped into the war-winning weapon.

Dadich, despite his thunderous name (or perhaps because of it, Da-Di-Da-Di is supposed to be the sound of thunder), turned out to be an easy ally. His bones were made available and Twashtri, the artisan of the gods shaped the vajra for Indra.

The vajra cleaved the skies in a flash of lightning. The sky opened up, unleashing its fury in the form of rain. The Asuras were no match for the devas who used thunder, lightning and rain to drive fear into the hearts of their enemies.

Vajra in Sanskrit is thunderstorm. It is also close in pronounciation to Vadha or Vadhar which used to mean fierce wind and now (in Marathi) means breeze. In German, the word Wetar, Anglo Saxon, Weter and English Weather -- originally all meant the same. They meant a change in atmosphere due to thunderstorm. Today weather has come to mean all states of air or climate. The vajra has come a long way...

Indra's pride

Indra was consumed by a desire to build the grandest palace of all. His recent victories against the Asuras had brought him glory and pride. It was time now to reinforce his supremacy at home and a palace built with the finest of craftsmen and the most expensive materials was the way to go. Or so he thought.
Vishwakarma, the architect of the gods was summoned and set to the task. Indra was a tough client. Not only was he a stickler for detail but he was fickle and nothing seemed to please him. Vishwakarma’s men were tired of building a new structure every day and having to pull it down by night just because Indra changed his mind. Vishwakarma realised that he would need the higher divinities to intervene on his behalf or else he would lose all his workmen and his peace of mind.
Vishnu was approached and he came visiting in the form of a rishi. An eager Indra led him to his palace where he showed off the glitter and the gloss with much pomp and fanfare. The rishi stood there distracted and an irritated Indra ticked him off for his insubordination. The rishi meekly mumbled that he had been taken up with an army of ants crossing the floor. He pointed them out to Indra.
Indra angrily asked him why he preferred the ants to his palace. To that the rishi said that he was only paying his respects to the many Indras who had ruled the devas before him. They were all ants now. One day, he said, the present Indra too would join the ants in their journey across the floor of another Indra’s palace.
The folly of his vanity was immediately clear to Indra who fell at the rishi’s feet and sought his forgiveness.

Narada's gift

The gods were unhappy. The world they had created for all living creatureswas being torn apart by strife. Men and women were always at battle and friends were turning into foes.
The gods knew that the biggest troublemaker of all lived among them. But who was to tell him anything. With Bramha for a father and Saraswati for a mother, there was no god willing to gather up the gumption to speak to him. So the gods kept their counsel. Their silence spawned more fights, more quarrels and more noise. Until the shrill noise of earthly squabbles pierced the heavenly sheath that protected the triumvarate.
Bramha sought advice from Vishnu and Shiv. But he knew even before they had answered, what he had to do.
“Narada!” “Narada”
Bramha’s voice rushed like a gush of wind and dragged Narada by his matted locks to his feet.
The perpetrator of all troubles. The master of all fights had been caught. His father’s anger had him crouching like a cornered tiger cub. He looked for his mother but Saraswati had been sent off by Bramha to keep her sister company.
“Narayana Narayana”, Narada muttered weakly
Narayana’s twinkling eyes offered him no help either.
In a flash Narada knew what he had to do. Bramha read his thoughts before they turned into speech and nodded his sagely nod. His son had got away lightly once again. But who was to deny that he had found the best solution?
Narada decided to gift the earthly beings with something to help them forget their troubles, their differences and their petty fights. Something that would let the human soul rise above the dull drab of daily existence. Something that would lift them into a personal heaven that no one else could penetrate. And the only thing he kenw that could do that was sangeet or music.
Sangeet was the perfect way to keep them from fighting each other. Sangeet was the best gift the gods could give the humans. And who better to spread the harmony than the first musician of the universe, Narada.
And that is how, myth has it, music came to this world.

What is myth?

Is it a story about gods and goddesses? Is it a flight of fancy or is it an older avatar of the fantasy genre of story telling? Can one study myth or perhaps more pertinently, should one study myth at all?

As I attended my first lecture on comparative mythology at Bombay University on Saturday, I found myself staring at many of the above questions. I don’t really have the answers to any and as the class progressed I realised that I am not really looking for them. I love stories and I am here to listen, understand, explore and write.

The class was interesting and sitting behind a desk for three hours without a break after all these years was, well a gentle reminder of how I was getting on in years. My knees crumbled and my back creaked ominously as I walked out after class. But these are minor glitches in what was an extremely enjoyable experience. Our lecturer is a storehouse of stories seemed game for new experiences and willing to answer all our questions.

My fellow course mates are an interesting bunch of people. A scientist, a sculptor, a school teacher, a historian – the mix is truly diverse. Everyone brings a unique point of view and a vast amount of knowledge to the classroom and I am just glad to be there.

Hidimb, Hidimba

Hidimb by Mekhala Singhal (10 years)

Hidimba by Revati Bose (12 years)

the hills and the epics -2

this is a lovely story by shaiontoni.

She says: "I have been reading "Lepcha, my vanishing tribe", by A.R. Foning, and am posting some information collected from this wonderful book:

Kanchenjungha is a great Lord, created by It-bu-moo or It-moo, the Great Mother. Known by the Rong-folk (Lepcha) as Kongchen, he is regarded as kind and compassionate, the guardian deity of the Rong-folk who worship him. Surrounding Kongchen are other great lords, who each have duties to fulfil. One of the mountains, Pun Yang Chyu leads to the opening to the realm of the Gods. It is said that this mountain holds within it a rich treasure of seeds which no mortal can ever find. When our world is destroyed by too many evil deeds thoughts and actions, Pun Yang Chu will release these seeds to regenerate the world. "Therefore it is said that Pun Yang Chyu, like a true watchman,keeps his 'Anyur zang zang'... 'his ears pricked up like an animal',trying to detect the slightest suspicious sound."

the hills and the epics-1

Just back from a great vacation. We went to Himachal, high up into the hills where summer was a stranger and the stars came out to party every night. I have always loved the mountains as they seem to imbue a sense of timeless peace in all of us. It transforms us into the humans we were all born to be—not rats in the race to rush someplace.

We went to several places and last on our route was Shojha, which is like a window into paradise. It is surrounded by snow capped mountains and it overlooks a green valley where the trees merge into each other without a beginning or an end.

It is barely a kilometer away from Jalori Pass in the Kulu district in Himachal Pradesh. Close to Shojha is a village called Hidimb. Rishi, the trekking guide who was a constant at the various Banjara Camps sites that we stayed in, says that this is the famous Hidimb from Mahabharata.

Famous? But I quickly stop myself from questioning him as it is all about perspectives and point of view – both an integral part of any literature. The Mahabharata has been traditionally read by most of us urban readers, from the Pandava point of view where characters like Hidimb and Hidimba are mere flashes in the larger scheme of things. Here however is where they lived and their story is as important as that of the other players.

Hidimb and Hidimba, as the epic goes, were rakhshasha siblings. They protected the forests that the Pandavas (Yudisthir, Arjun, Bhim, Nakul and Sahadev) chose to hide in during their exile. Hidimba fell in love with Bhim and he with her. They married and Ghatotkacha, their son was a strange mix between rakshasha and human. He doted upon his father and his uncles and played a crucial part in the final battle for supremacy in the Mahabharata.

But this alliance between Hidimba and Bhim was opposed by Hidimb. He believed that the Pandavas were not to be trusted. They would destroy their homes and their lives if they were allowed to. His anger was so great that he fought alongside the Kauravas (Duryodhana and his 99 brothers; cousins of the Pandavas) in the final war. The village named after him has an annual festival where Hidimb is the central deity.

Some distance away in the Manori district is a temple dedicated to Hidimba. She stayed back in the forests after the Pandavas left where she brought up Ghatotkacha.

Who were Hidimb and Hidimba?

Rishi who is from Manali says that they are forest deities. In the Mahabharata, they are portrayed as Rakhshashas or demons but they are not evil. They are wary of human folk like the Pandavas and they are definitely different in terms of appearance, habitat and behaviour.

Were they a forest tribe that opposed the growing influence of the Hindu tribes? Were they the original inhabitants and the Pandavas the outside invaders? These are just questions – I don’t have any of the answers. Do you?

Picture by Mekhala Singhal

Why is the sky so high?

I recently reread this beautiful story from the Philippines of how the sky, the moon and the stars came to be. Like all myths, the story is very simple and follows a logic that is impossible to fault. It takes us to a time when magic was found in the routine of daily living and; solving the mysteries of the universe was a global preoccupation.

Now on to the story...

A long long time ago, the sky was very very close to the ground. It hung over earth like a blanket over a sleeping man. It looked somewhat like a large coral rock, shimmering and porous and soft.

One day a spinster sat under this large coral rock. She sat there busily with her hands flying fast and furious as she pound a mortar full of rice. The mortar was as large as the earth we all live on and the pestle had the strength to smash a thousand sharks or a million crabs into the tiniest grain of sand.

Before she set to work, the old woman took off a string of shiny silver beads from around her neck and the comb from her hair and hung them up in the sky. She did not want the beads from her necklace, nor the stray strands of grey from the comb to get into the rice. And the sky hanging above her head seemed the perfect place to hang her things on to.

As she began working, she soon lost track of time. She worked hard and with every pound her pestle rose higher and higher until it struck the sky. She worked harder and harder until the pestle struck the sky so hard that the sky flew up very far. It went up so high that the old woman lost her beads and her comb forever.

Her comb became the moon and the beads turned into stars that light up the sky even today.

the human journey

I recently stumbled on to the website of National Geographic’s genographic project. And I have been blown. In the words of the man driving the project (find out more here: https://www3.nationalgeographic.com/genographic/index.html), Dr Spencer Wells, it is an attempt to throw some light on our genetic journey. The project is a journey back in time to discover how universal human heritage really is.
Wells is a fascinating man (please read his interview at: PLoS GENETICS). Somehow, I cant upload this link here. He is the explorer in residence at National Geographic and reading about the work he is doing is like walking into a beautifully illustrated book that reveals an invisible crisscross of linkages between people all over the globe. It makes all our differences seem so small and the likenesses so huge and... so in our faces that I am surprised we still miss it.

sunda

Interestingly, Sunda was once a kingdom in west Java. According to Wikipedia, it lay very close to what is present day Jakarta, capital of Indonesia. According to the Indonesian tourism website, Jakarta was known as Sunda Kelapa, the main port of the Hindu kingdom of Sunda.

While it is not clear how the kingdom was destroyed, it is believed that there was a major battle between the Portuguese who had built a strong alliance with the Sunda kings and Muslim troops from the Indonesian islands of Cirebon and Demak. The kingdom, if we are to interpret the myths spun around Sunda and Taraka, could have been destroyed in battle or maybe an earthquake.

any interesting spins anyone?

mythical dilemmas

It is not us mere mortals alone who have to deal with awful dilemmas at the workplace and in our families. The gods have to do the same and our myths are full of the ingenious ways in which these dilemmas are resolved.

One instance is in the Ramayana, when Ram is asked to attack Taraka Rakshashi (yakshi). He is distraught. He appeals to Viswamitra, who had left behind a sobbing Dasarath in Ayodhya for the specific purpose of getting rid of Taraka. Now Ram’s dilemma had to be addressed if he had to get the work done.

Ram asked him: How can I attack a female? Would that not be the ultimate sin?

Viswamitra tells him that Ram is merely following the natural order of things. It is sin to fight a woman, but under extreme circumstances as this one was, it can be justified. And since he is an avatar who walks the earth to rid mankind of its problems and sins, he and not anybody else, can take this on.

He goes on to tell him the story of Taraka’s birth and curse that convinced Ram that the need of the hour was to kill the yakshi.

Taraka, Viswamitra says, was the result of a boon and a curse.

The boon: Taraka’s father was Suketu,a formidable yaksha but very devout. He prayed for a child and was granted a boon by Bramha. Bramha granted him the boon of a daughter who was beautiful and had the strength of a 1000 elephants. But Bramha did not grant him a son because he believed that a yaksha would be more harmful to the world than a yakshi.
Taraka grew up and married Sunda, son of Jambha. Soon she had a son and he was named Mareecha. (This is the same Mareecha who disguised as a golden deer would trigger off the battle; also Ravana’s uncle and thus in a manner typical to our mythology, Taraka, Mareecha and Ravana get looped in a circle of relationships).

The curse: Agastya, a sage was angered by Sunda (Taraka’s husband) and he turned him to dust. Enraged, Taraka rushed at him to end his life and Agastya cursed her saying that she would lose her beauty and her form and exist as a monstrous yakshi for ever after. And her son Mareecha would become a demon (I assume a lesser yaksha). Taraka retired to the forest and began harassing the rishis and destroying the birds and animals that had earlier lived in peace.

Viswamitra explained to Rama that he was justified in killing Taraka because if he did not do that, she would destroy faith, belief and life on this universe.

crows in mythology

According to Irish mythology, Babd is the goddess of war. She is a shape shifter and takes the form of a wolf or a bear at will. On the battlefield, she turns into a miniature woman with wings and webbed feet whose shrieks foretell death and despair. Once the battle is over, she transforms into a crow that feasts on the dead.
The crow, in many mythologies, is associated with death, or the dead. In India crows are believed to be messengers of the dead. A crow cawing at the window could be the spirit of a dead ancestor and few Indian households will turn it away without offering it food or water.
The crow is also supposed to be a clever bird and in Indian folklore it is shown as a smart bird that can outwit fate and circumstance. The Indian god Shani (representing the planet Saturn) also rides on a crow. Shani is a particularly difficult deity to please and is known to wreak havoc on the lives of mere mortals at the slightest provocation.
Yet another reason to keep the crows happy and well fed.

Ref: Goddesses-A world of myth and magic; written by Burleigh Muten and illustrated by Rebecca Guay. Published by Barefoot books

a trickster tale from africa

Once upon a time there lived a Hare. Hare was very clever but he was also very lazy. His laziness often led him into trouble and brought him grief. His friends had advised him to change his ways but Hare was not one to listen.
One summers day, when the earth seemed to have become a large ball of fire, Hare sat under a tree looking very glum. He was worried because he was running out of food and his field was dry as hay. He did not want to starve to death, which he surely would if he could not get some vegetables or fruits growing on his farm. Neither did he want to work hard, which he would have to do to plough the field.
It was a difficult choice and Hare was at a loss. Thus, he sat, sighing and groaning under the tree. And as he sat there busy with his thoughts, his eyes suddenly lit up. The answer was walking right past him.
“Good day”, he called out to Elephant who was lumbering across the field. “You look so weak today, I bet you I could defeat you in a tug of war.”
Elephant snorted and kept on walking when Hare scampered across with a large rope and goaded him, “I hope you are a good loser, friend.”
Angry and irritated, Elephant decided to play along. Hare handed him one end of the rope and asked him to walk to the corner of the field while he ran across to the opposite end. He hid behind a bush until he saw Hippopotamus ambling past. “Hey”, he called out, “Care for a game of tug of war”. Hippo almost fell down laughing but Hare hopped up and down and challenged him to a fight. Hippo agreed and Hare handed him the other end of the rope.
With the two ends safely secured, Hare ran to the middle of the field, hid behind a tree and pulled at the rope. Both Elephant and Hippo pulled hard as they thought the other was tugging at the rope. As the two animals fought it out, the rope moved back and forth all over the field. And every time the rope moved, it ploughed a row in Clever Hare’s field. And so it came to be that foolish Elephant and silly Hippopotamus helped keep Hare away from hunger for years to come.

Elephants with wings

I like the way animals are depicted in myths all over the world. Every culture seems to attribute its animal world with a unique set of characteristics that are very different and yet very alike. Sounds paradoxical, but that’s the way myths are, I guess.

In India for instance we worship and fear the elephant. We also believe that the elephant is an animal that is easily tricked. Stories about Ganesha (also known as the elephant god) are popular all over the country. But we also have a myth – I think it is from Orissa – where the elephant is shown in a completely different light. They are shown as animals that possess a drunken wilfulness that is ultimately self destructive.

The story goes that there was a time that elephants had wings. They flew the skies with free abandon and often, oblivious to the bulk they carried, perched themselves on trees, huts and mountain tops. While the mountains bore their weight with ease, trees and houses were not as fortunate. They came crashing down with a frequency that angered the men and the gods. And finally there came a day when man decided that enough was enough and appealed to the gods. The gods lent a sympathetic ear and a plan was hatched.

Now it is public knowledge that elephants like their food and drink. So the people got together and invited all the elephants to a feast that lasted several days and nights until all the elephants lay down in a drunken stupor. Man who had been waiting for this moment went around chopping off their wings. Naturally when sleep wore off, the elephants were outraged and went to the gods to seek revenge against man. But it was too late and they realised that they had been tricked by both man and god.

Now for a story about elephants in African myths…

Love is not lost

Rati’s grief forced Shiva to forgive Kamadev and give him back his life. To regain his existence as a god, however, Kamdev had to take on a human avatar for one life cycle. Rati too asked to be reborn as a human so that she could be with her husband.

Rati was born as Mayavati, a servant in the palace of an Asura called Sambara and Kamdev as Pradyumna, the son of Krishna and Subhadra. Now the gods had predicted that Sambara would be killed by the son of Krishna.

In order to ensure that the gods did not get their way, Sambara kidnapped Pradyumna, months after he was born. He threw him into the river, expecting him to drown or be eaten up by a sea monster. Pradyumna however was a god and gods don't die. He was swallowed by a large fish that was trapped by a fisherman who took it to the market in the town where Sambara lived. The fish was bought by Mayawati.

The fish lay on the table in Sambara’s kitchen. A fish as big as this one needed an expert hand to slice it open and so it fell to Mayavati to do the deed. As she did so, the baby inside let out a cry. Shocked and afraid, for she knew her master was killing every baby boy in the neighbourhood, she hid the child. Soon, Mayavati discovered that hiding this child was not a difficult proposition at all. He was invisible to everyone but her and in a divine flash, she realised that the gods had sent Kamadev back. Pradyumna grew up in Sambara’s house and all was well until a wild rumour spread through town. Rumour had it that Sambara’s killer was alive and living in his own house.

Sambara was livid. He summoned Mayavati for an explanation. When she refused to answer his questions, he tortured her and threatened to kill her. Incensed, Pradyumna made himself visible and slew Sambara. Love won and Pradyumna and Mayavati were wed. After living out his life in his human avatar, Pradyumna and Mayavati were reinstated in heaven where they continue to spread love among all.

Love is invisible

According to Hindu mythology, Kamadev is the god of love. Among the oldest gods in the pantheon, he is considered to be an indispensable, although not a major god. Kamadev is close to the Trinity (Brahma, Vishnu and Maheshwara) and is treated with indulgence and affection by the mighty ones.

In some stories he is shown as a harmless and well meaning god. In others, he is a bit of a pest, dropping in on unsuspecting devas, sadhus and tapasvis and breaking their penance with his well-aimed arrows. Although he is liked by all, he is not always a welcome guest because his arrival invariably complicates matters. Every god has had to suffer his pranks some time or the other.

The story goes that Shiva was in the midst of a severe penance. His tapas (austerities and sacrifice that generates heat that can burn down the universe) was so great that Brahma and Vishnu feared it would destroy all creation. Shiva was oblivious to their worries as he was submerged in his grief for his wife, Sati.

Sati, daughter of Daksha, had killed herself because her father had insulted Shiva by not inviting him for a yagn at his palace. Losing Sati meant the end of the world for Shiva. He destroyed Daksha and his kingdom and danced the tandava in his anger and then immersed himself in tapasya. It was a terrible tapasya where Shiva turned his eye away from his own creation and the gods worried that this could destroy the world.

The gods approached Kamdev. They needed his help to get Shiva to find love again. Parvati, who was an incarnation of Sati, had been created for Shiva but he was so engrossed in meditation that he had not even seen her. Kamdev was wary of Shiva’s temper but, he agreed to do the gods’ bidding.

Armed with his bow that had a string of bees and arrows tipped with passion, he made his way to Kailasa, Shiva’s home. He waited until the moment was right and aimed an arrow at Shiva’s heart. The arrow found its mark and Shiva opened his eyes. Angered at the sight of Kamadev who had disturbed his penance; he opened his third eye and instantly burnt him to ashes.

However the arrow had done its work. Shiva fell in love with Parvati and creation was pulled back from the brink of destruction.

Meanwhile, Kamadev’s wife Rati was inconsolable. She appealed to the gods who asked her to approach Parvati who was the only one who could influence her husband into reversing his actions. Shiva, now blissfully wedded to Parvati, forgave Kamadev and agreed to bring him back to life but, in a formless form. He was to be invisible to all except Rati.

got a story to tell...

Stories are a part of everything we do. We have stories that preach, stories that bring doomsday warnings to life and stories that weave complex patterns around our basic emotions. Every story carries within it a magic potion that works on different people in different ways. For some, it is a cup of coffee that stimulates the mind and soul. For some it may be like a spoonfull of bitter medicine. And for some others, it may bring respite to a day full of rush and bustle. As for me, stories are spirits that have haunted me all my life. And they stay on long after I have met them in books, magazines or in a stranger’s tales.

I read a story or listen to one and it lodges itself in my being. Its characters converse, admonish and threaten from time to time. They make complete nuisances of themselves --- perching themselves on the sidelines of my life and running crazy through my mind when I would want it to function at its sanest best. Stories and characters fly out at me in odd and completely unexpected ways all the time. IÂ’ve sat in meetings staring squarely at a man who looks like a smug pig, straight out of an Orwellian farm. I have tried hard to keep a placid face when dealing with powerful women and men who sound like one of literature's spiteful school teachers, evil geniuses and daredevil comic book characters; I have met them all in the course of my rather boring and mundane day jobs.

This blog is for the stories that have spoken to me over the years (there have been many years and many stories). It is for all of us who love a good story. It is for hare, lion and tortoise in Panchatantra. It is for Hercule Poirot and his entertaining escapades. It is for the hours that have flown by as I waded through the ocean of myth and fable This blog is for all of us who don't think a story is a waste of time.

I shall be writing in stuff about myth, folklore and as and when possible, will document some of the stories that I have been collecting over the years. I hope that all who are interested in good kissa or, have a kahani to share, will find this site interesting. Come,join the bazaar.

Just beginning...hang in there!

Guys,
After a lot of thought, hesitation, dithering and crossed fingers, have finally taken the plunge. So, here's it...my blog!!!! More, later...