TANTRA

CHAPTER 1: MAHAPRALAYAM

A gently awakening dawn over Kurukshetra set off the deafening sounds of galloping horses, war cries, drum beats and conches. Clouds of dust rose into the air in either direction as the armies of the Pandavas and the Kauravas headed towards collision. The armies clashed and a bloody war ensued.

Perched atop a nearby hill, a group of ragtag tantric monks watched the event with rapt attention. A young boy with braided locks and ash-covered face was particularly observant. He was Bhairav, a tantric from the Thuggee clan. It was a war between the Pandavas and Kauravas. The Kaurava army outnumbered the Pandavas by orders of magnitude. As the two armies were about to collide, he whispered to himself, ‘Mahapralayam!’

From dawn to dusk, both armies fought fiercely and mercilessly. At sunset, the sounds of conches signaled the armies to stop the battle and rescind to their camps. Royal carriages hauled away the fallen upper-caste warriors and royal citizenry. They were taken to the camps and proffered imperial funeral rites. The corpses of the lower caste foot-soldiers were left behind.

At night, after the dust settled and an eerie quietness pervaded the battlegrounds, the tantric monks descended from the hilltops to survey the carnage.

The Thuggees were ritualistic gatherers of gold. There was an unspoken pact between the lower caste soldiers and the Thuggees. The Thuggees picked out the gold from the soldier’s body and in return, they accorded the owner a funeral. All night, the Thuggees searched for golden ornaments on soldiers – rings, earrings, amulets, bangles and other artifacts. Using their axes, they pried away the ornaments. The items were aggregated, bagged and dispatched. The bodies of those soldiers were disposed in a communal funeral pyre.

The residual corpses became part of the feast for the Aghori monks and the Oudhad sadhus – the cannibalistic tantric sects. They scavenged upon the corpses along with the vultures and hyenas. Injured soldiers were hunted down and consumed.

After 16 days of war, the battleground became a veritable display of human carnage and apocalypse. A foul stench of rotting flesh permeated the air. Broken chariots, dead horses, puddles of blood and small fires were speckled across the land.

As Bhairav wandered through the battleground looking for gold, he came across a princely looking warrior lying on the ground. He was badly wounded, drenched in blood and writhing in pain

Bhairav cringed. He was unable to fathom how such a fine warrior was left behind. He had the appearance of a king. There must be a mistake, he thought and wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

“O holy man! I am sorry. I have nothing to give you,” said the injured warrior. Bhairav felt a twinge of sympathy. He picked up the warrior and held him in his arms.

“Who are you?” inquired Bhairav.

“I am Karna,” said the warrior. “Wait! I do have something to give you.” He picked up a broken arrow lying nearby, put it in his mouth, and plucked out a golden tooth. He cleaned it with his blood-soaked fingers and offered it to Bhairav. Bhairav accepted it. Karna gasped for a few moments and died in his arms.

A few moments later, another warrior appeared from the darkness. He spoke in a deep, husky voice, “get away from him. He is my friend. I have come to take him.” Bhairav recognized this warrior. He was Duryodhana – the leader of the Kaurava army. Bhairav scurried away. At a distance, he saw Duryodhana carry Karna’s body out of the battlefield in his arms.

Bhairav wandered through Kurukshetra, assessing the apocalypse. Everywhere he looked, he saw death and destruction stretched all way to the horizon. Corpses were piled on top of each other and the land was littered with limbs and body parts, animal carcass, broken chariots, weapons and pools of blood. The sounds of cackling vultures and hyenas and the smell of rotting flesh and smoke pervaded the air.

Bhairav was shell-shocked at the ghastly sight. He dropped on his knees. He buried his head in his palms and cried profusely.

Just then, he heard a voice from afar, “Mahapralayam”! He turned around to find the source. A trident-wielding tantric, with long deadlocks and beard, appeared from within the darkness. He adorned a garland made of skulls and loin cloth made of tiger’s skin and was covered in ash-dust. He looked intimidating and fierce. He approached Bhairav and said in a low voice, “Mahapralayam”.

“Who are you?” asked an awe-struck Bhairav.

“I am Kaal Durvasa,” he said!

“Kaal Durvasa?” Bhairav dropped on his knees and touched his feet. “You are the sage of sages, the wisest of all. You are the mystic who instills fear in Indra himself. My mind is filled with doubt and my heart is heavy with sorrow. I yearn for instruction, for guidance. So please bestow your knowledge upon me. Help me understand the source of this agony and what I can do to relieve it.”

Kaal Durvasa said, “If you want to get the right answer, you have to ask the right question. Tell me, what plagues your mind?”

Bhairav spoke, “my body quivers; my mouth dries up; my hair stands on its end and my skin burns intensely. I am unable to stand steadily. O Kaal Durvasa, you are a wise sage. Please tell me this. Of what value is this victory, if it is earned upon destroying everyone and everything that you know and love? When I look around me, I see mankind racing towards self-destruction. I see brothers killing brothers, fathers turning against their sons, students slaying teachers. What is the purpose of such an existence? Who can celebrate such a victory when everything you desire and everyone you love has been destroyed?” He dropped on his knees and cried profusely.

Kaal Durvasa smiled and spoke,“16 days ago, on a full-moon night, just before the war was to begin, Arjuna had a premonition. He had a vision about the looming slaughter and the destruction. His mind was riddled with questions and full of ambiguity. He rushed to Krishna and questioned the validity of such a victory. Krishna steered the chariot to the center of the battlefield. Amidst the two armies, in the gentle glow of the early morning light, Krishna expounded to Arjuna, the knowledge of DHARMA.

And now here we are. It’s the darkest of dark nights. We are amidst the very slaughter and destruction that was envisioned by Arjuna. You come to me with the same riddled mind and mourning heart as Arjuna. You ask me the very question that Arjuna asked Krishna; while sitting at the very spot that Arjuna sat down to listen to Krishna.

O Bhairav! You have asked me the right question. So listen carefully, I will share with you my knowledge of TANTRA!”

---

I posted this on the other sub-forum, but I guess nobody visits the other sub-forums!

ok, here are my thoughts (all strictly IMO and i am no expert):

- from the word go you had me riveted till the end.

- the ideas that you play with are wonderful. hats off to you. the idea of gita retold is too good! it's a hit!

- you write very well.

- you say you have been working on this since 2006. there must be a novel in your head by now. it cannot be otherwise. i am astonished by this because...

- ...you have a very unique voice. there is a lot of urgency and impatience in it. it does not led the reader wander. but, i cannot help but doubt, if such a voice can sustain itself over hundreds of pages (...to tell a story as grand as it has promised!). my doubt can only be dispelled by the novel in front of me. trapping this voice in a novel is a feat and only you can do it. i reckon the story is already there in your head and that is 99% of the battle won. to quote maria, the idiot, if you have passion for a story, you cannot fail. (let me hastily also add that after you have succeeded, passion can be dispensed with -- all your crap will sell.)

- you do have a flair for writing. i did enjoy your kroakeshwar story. you also have inimitable wit.

eta. if you want more comments from me, i will gladly oblige after you post more of what you have written. btw, "rescind" is used wrongly in your excerpt/story above.

if you honestly want a feedback for your writing style from members here, i would advise you to earnestly solicit views from the following members (all IMO -- don't crucify me). and once you collate the views of even half these members, you have gotten the most enviable review of your work (trust me). all the folks below are avid readers. here they are in a descending order of importance:

- sublime ('cos she loves immmortals of melhua by amish tripathi. your novel/work has a very similar theme).

- maxentropyman ('cos he is the best read on board -- sa fiction).

- some profile (he writes well so maybe he critiques well. his critique will be sharp and to the point)

- luke warmus (absent! sorry.)

there are many others, merlot, AB, props, kris. but i am not sure if they will be up to commenting.

Thank you very much for the feedback. Yes, I do have a complete story in mind. It is going to be completely different from what you may have read so far, that I promise you.

I review all the feedback very closely and constantly improve my writing. Hopefully, Sublime and Maxentrophy and the others comment as well. Trust me, I put in a loot of time and restless nights into my writing. It's only passion....I feel I have a story locked up in my mind and I HAVE to tell it.

harharmahadev wrote: Hopefully, Sublime and Maxentrophy and the others comment as well.

that is not enough. you have to publicly summon them to read or send notes to them...whatever. they are infrequent but regular participants.

CHAPTER 2: THE RISHIS OF MANDARA


Bhairava listened intently as Durvasa spoke. “Bhairava! Your question is an inquiry about religion, about faith. I cannot give you a religious response to your question because Tantra is not concerned with religion. Philosophy and doctrine are meaningless to a Tantric. Tantra is not concerned with the interpretation of the truth, but only on HOW the truth can be attained. Tantra is a technique, a method, a path to seek the truth.

Good-bad, right-wrong, virtue-vice, benevolence-malevolence – truth doesn’t come assigned with these qualities. Every truth has a duality - a pair of opposing thoughts. The good AND the bad, the right AND the wrong, the virtue AND the vice, the benevolence AND the malevolence – it is all encompassed into the truth. The truth must be studied, analyzed, explored; without prejudice and without faith; by an intellect that can hold both opposing thoughts at the same time and still retain the ability to function. That is the nature of Samkhya, which forms the basis for Tantra.

Faith is an interpretation of the truth, based on values the Brahmins assign to it. They uphold one aspect of truth as right and denounce its opposite as wrong. They define virtue and methods to reward it and its opposite becomes a vice that must be shunned. Admire benevolence and condemn malevolence. Faith sets boundaries. It limits the truth. It creates an illusion of superiority and inferiority, of authority and subjection, of greatness and irrelevance. It forces it’s adherents to accept truth as a singularity; to follow instruction with unquestioned devotion. That is the nature of Yoga, which forms the basis for Dharma.

For tantra, action is knowledge, and there is no other knowledge. Action stems from desire, from understanding and accepting one’s primal instincts that is contained in the Kundalini. Our instincts yearn for a supreme power. For a tantric, SHAKTI is a manifestation of that supreme power. With all our intellectual limitations, when we call something “a supreme power”, we have merely given that instinct a name, which may be based on creed or faith, but never based on evidence.

Truth is a product of the pursuit of knowledge. If you ask a question it shows what kind knowledge you seek; that is why you pose the question. A blind man asks, "What is light?" and a Brahmin will start answering what light is and also provide a sermon on faith. A Tantric will know only this: if a man is asking "What is light?" it shows only that he is blind. The tantric will start operating on the man, changing the man, so that he can see. The tantric will not tell him what light is. The tantric will tell how to attain insight, how to attain seeing, how to attain vision. When the vision is there, the answer will be there. Tantra will not give you with an answer; tantra will give you the means to attain the answer.

Tomorrow, this Great War will be over. Gods will be made out of the victors and the vanquished will be cast as demons. Facts will be distorted and history will be rewritten. The truth, however, will remain entombed in the deep crevices of human memory forever.

Bhairava! I won’t give you the answer you seek. However, I will unravel the chain of events that led up to this event - this Mahapralayam. Then, I will leave it to your intellect to interpret the worthiness of this Great War.”

“This war was fought to preserve Dharma – the sacred law.

‘Whenever there is a decline in the practice of Dharma, I will appear; I will liberate the world of Adharma; and I will ensure that Dharma prevails through the Yugas’ – those were the last words from my father, before we parted our ways.

O Bhairava, in order to pursue the truth, you need to understand the genesis of Dharma. What is Dharma? Who created it? Why was it created? How did Adharma become so widespread that Vishnu’s avatar had to be evoked? Has the world been liberated of Adharma? Has Dharma been restored? Will Dharma prevail through the Yugas?

The answers to these questions lie in the Hiranyagarbha – the womb of creation.

Since the beginning of time, seers and thinkers from across the world have been drawn to the three sacred mountains – Meru, Kailasa and Mandara. To the people of the outer world, these mountains are a just a fable. However, a few determined knowledge-seekers take a leap of faith, renounce their worldly existence and set out on a quest to reach these mountains. They undergo rigorous penances, in hope for atonement. A chosen few, who surpass the limits of human endurance, are blessed by the Maharishis and shown the path.

These three mountains are real. Situated in a remote section of the Himalayas, they are inaccessible, untraceable, and inhospitable to the inhabitants of the outer world. With a terrain so deadly, a climate so bitter cold, and winds so treacherous, no ordinary mortal can fathom climbing up to these mountains without a mentor, let alone succeed in finding the Hiranyagarbha. These mountains have been and will always remain off limits to the outer world.

These mountains provide a hard shell; a terrifying façade; an impenetrable armor and an army of nature’s toughest warriors. However, within these mountains, lies a pristine inner sanctum - the Hiranyagarbha. It is a vast underground city stretching between two mountains – Mandara and Kailasa. Entry to the Hiranyagarbha is restricted by a complex labyrinth of caves and tunnels.

This under world is an oasis; a paradise. The water is pure, the air is fresh, the soma is potent and food plentiful. There are no diseases, no wars, no seasons, and no harsh toil. There is no sun, moon or stars. Time stands still and the Earth motionless. Speckles of cave lanterns and pit fires provide a gentle glow in an otherwise dark terrain. A hollow sound resonates from within the deep canyons cutting across the center of the city...the sound of OM.

Freed from the grip of existential problems, the seers and thinkers dedicate their entire existence to the pursuit of knowledge. They explore, analyze, discuss and debate on any and every topics – medicine, astrology, architecture, social law, sexual arts, metals - no topic is forbidden. No act is considered a sacrilege.

Several Rishis settled at Mount Mandara were obsessed with one activity – chronicling the events of the outer world. Using a complex network of Brahmins, they kept detailed records of events in the outer world - births and deaths, wars, discords, natural calamities and various other events. Once every four years, the Rishis of Mandara descended to the outer world to attend a ‘celestial event’ called the Kumbh Mela. At this Mela, the Brahmins handed over the records to the Rishis and gathered from them knowledge about the Puranas.

The Rishis weaved stories about kings and noblemen, basing them on facts, but in the form of hymns and allegory. Facts are forgotten, but hymns and allegory endure through the ages. The Rishis carefully constructed the stories, embedding them with deep, spiritual knowledge. They possessed absolute control over the moral code. They could exalt the status of a king to a God or project them as evil demons.

Kings covet the opportunity to be deified by the Rishis. They yearned for the chance to have their legacy immortalized in the Puranas. At the same time, they feared crossing paths with the Rishis, lest they get cast as an evil one.

Mandara was home to the seven highest ranking Maharishis, called the Saptarishis. These powerful figureheads were Vashishtha, Vishwamitra, Angiras, Atri, Jamadagni, Gautama and Brigu. Maharishi Atri was the head of all the Saptarishis. He is my father.

Just posting a response here to come back to this thread and read later.

SomeProfile wrote:Just posting a response here to come back to this thread and read later.

Thank you! I eagerly await your feedback!

fantastic. my opinions on chapter 2:

- you are still on target. you are not wavering or faltering. you will continue to speak this way. i am convinced that i will be told a great story by this passive-aggressive voice in its passive-aggressive way.

- you are playing with a lot of complex ideas with this whole, vaunted "indian" tradition behind you. there is a LOT of confidence in your prose (that, i am convinced, must have come from good research, also). i never for a moment doubted the ideas you presented and the way in which you presented them. also, your story is a NEW story -- i had never imagined that such a story existed in the folds of the "indian" imagination that was already steeped deep in the epics and what not crap. then again, i was always poor at imagining.

- there is no humour in your prose. this is not the harharmahadev of coffeehouse. you are writing seriously and it comes naturally to you.

- in two chapters (and the smallest chapters of a book i have read -- or maybe not) you have described the terrain and the mind equally well. that is very balanced and a reader likes that. obsessing over either one is suicidal in the initial pages. your voice seems to have a gift for always keep balancing the two. also, you have not overwhelmed the reader with a surfeit of characters (an easy bait for the writer 'cos the scope is of epic proportions or referring to the epics).

- your target audience has to be indian only. i think you know this

- how much of the book have you already written? i am curious. i am not asking you to post all that you have written.

- how will you classify your novel? the rank and file wants to know. fiction, non fiction or historical fiction?

- immortals of meluha by amish tripathi and johnny gone down by karan bajaj are both books (hits in india) that curiously touch the same aspect of the "indian" tradition that you attempt to. i don't know if you should read these books for i don't know how you you stand with respect to your novel. if you are deep into your novel, then reading these books will not confuse the writer in you. btw, amish tripathi is lately obsessed with tantra and the occult. his next novel might delve into those subjects.

- i had simplistically thought earlier that perhaps chapter 2 was going to be about gita being retold. something different and more interesting happened. i liked that.

- there is no point in joining a creative writing class in the USA now to hone your skills. for 2 reasons: a) you have a confident voice; b) your peers will not be able to make sense of your substance. a creative writing workshop in india...hmmm. i don't think you need any tutoring at this stage. only peer review by indians to hone your skills (again i don't know to what extent you are into your novel).

- i'll comment more when i hear from you again or when others comment on your 2 chapters or whichever is earlier.

btw, amish tripathi is lately obsessed with tantra and the occult. his next novel might delve into those subjects.

that should be karan bajaj not amish tripathi.

harharmahadev wrote:CHAPTER 2: THE RISHIS OF MANDARA

Favorited for later reading.

will read and post a reply soon.

Even in an imaginary story, I can't believe Aghoris or anybody else being allowed to hunt down wounded soldiers in order to kill and eat them. That was hyper exaggeration.

What happens next? As per your own words, Tantra has to be learned through action and experience. Yet, the story seems to be setting itself up for a Gita-type dialog with too many fundas in the second chapter. Doesn't seem to be taking an encouraging direction.

tl;dr

detailed notes below...

The build-up in the first chapter is tight and good apart from some repetition (describing the battle field). you have good descriptive abilities - I can see that you are visualizing the whole scene in your head and it shows in your writing. the description of Hiranyagarbha was effective.

Amitabh Sanghi had said in an interview that writing about the very past allows more artistic license. The key though is to write to nudge the reader's imagination without appearing too fictitious. Your writing definitely captures the reader's (my) imagination. So far you are telling a story that seems plausible - definitely not outlandish.

Writing style is not prosaic but IMO it can read better. having said that, it did hold my attention.

the second chapter is heavy on talk. i suppose you are using this chapter to lay the groundwork. but it seems a lot like a soliloquy rather than a dialog.

Mythological and historical fiction has become a popular genre for writers and publishers in India. You might want to take a look at Ashok Banker's books.
http://ashokbanker.com/
Be aware that tantra, shakti etc are favorite topics of the current set of historical/mythological fiction writers. as HK mentioned, some books will be out soon. you might want to hurry up or find a way of dealing with this idea very differently - and you very well might be doing just that. just pointing it out to you.

I have done a whole lot of picking but finding a grammatical mistake in the second line of the story just put me off. from then on, my mind was just looking for more ill sounding incorrect sentences. I did find some sentences that are grammatically correct but did not sound pleasing to my ears. For example, Bhairav felt a twinge of sympathy. He picked up the warrior and held him in his arms. would have read better if it was He picked warrior up and held him in his arms.

However good the story telling might be, for some readers, bad english and grammar will put them off the story. be careful with typos.

Clouds of dust rose into the air in either direction as the armies of the Pandavas and the Kauravas headed towards collision.

wrong usage of either. should be both or all directions as the armies...

All night, the Thuggees searched for golden ornaments on soldiers – rings, earrings, amulets, bangles and other artifacts. Using their axes, they pried away the ornaments. The items were aggregated, bagged and dispatched. The bodies of those soldiers were disposed in a communal funeral pyre.
The residual corpses became part of the feast for the Aghori monks and the Oudhad sadhus – the cannibalistic tantric sects. They scavenged upon the corpses along with the vultures and hyenas. Injured soldiers were hunted down and consumed.

in the first para, all the bodies were burnt. when you say residual corpses, do you mean the burnt remains after the fire has died down? not very clear.

smell of rotting flesh and smoke pervaded the air

repetition

At sunset, the sounds of conches signaled the armies to stop the battle and rescind to their camps.

HK already pointed it out. rescind means to annul or to make void. retire?

A trident-wielding tantric, with long deadlocks and beard, appeared from within the darkness. He adorned a garland made of skulls and loin cloth made of tiger’s skin and was covered in ash-dust.

some tweaking needed here to read better

“Kaal Durvasa?” Bhairav dropped on his knees and touched his feet.

recall he was already on his knees and crying profusely.

Who can celebrate such a victory when everything you desire and everyone you love has been destroyed?” He dropped on his knees and cried profusely.

not again on his knees!!!
the last para of chapter 1 is good - i liked it.

chapter 2

If you ask a question it shows what kind knowledge you seek

typo - what kind of knowledge you seek

To the people of the outer world, these mountains are a just a fable.

Typo - these mountains are just a fable.

They undergo rigorous penances, in hope for atonement.

in hope of atonement? hoping for atonement?

no ordinary mortal can fathom climbing up to these mountains without a mentor

can fathom climbing up these mountains or can fathom climbing these mountains

They explore, analyze, discuss and debate on any and every topics

every topic.

No act is considered a sacrilege.

'considered sacrilege' - it doesnt sound right to say 'a sacrilege' in this context.

I like the description of Hiranyagrabha.

Several Rishis settled at Mount Mandara

on mount mandara.
need to be careful with the use of the article 'the' - especially in this chapter (2)

.|Sublime|. wrote: not again on his knees!!!

ha ha.

Amitabh Sanghi had said in an interview

ashwin sanghi?

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:

.|Sublime|. wrote:
Amitabh Sanghi had said in an interview

ashwin sanghi?

yes. ashwin

@ Sublime - Wow! You seem to have spent a lot of time on this. Usually, when I give feedback to these kinds of things, I ignore all the typos and grammatical issues. Instead, I choose to concentrate on the big ticket items that really make a substantial difference to the item being reviewed. I figure that if things ever go close to the printing stage, a professional editor will do all the hard work of correcting the small stuff.

SomeProfile wrote:Usually, when I give feedback to these kinds of things, I ignore all the typos and grammatical issues

oh, can't agree with you more. but in .|Sublime|.'s defense may i add that she only pointed out the typos after giving a well reasoned critique of the piece. have you even done that to so freely hound her like this?

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:

SomeProfile wrote:Usually, when I give feedback to these kinds of things, I ignore all the typos and grammatical issues

oh, can't agree with you more. but in .|Sublime|.'s defense may i add that she only pointed out the typos after giving a well reasoned critique of the piece. have you even done that to so freely hound her like this?

Yes, I admire her intelligent critique... and people like her and others... Am only saying... better to leave some stuff to lowly editors (in my humble opinion, other may not feel lowly - to each their own). In my defense, not everybody is as smart as Sublime... place in the world for all god's children... and on sulekha too!

*Good morning, Mr H. Whatever you say and do to others - it does not affect me. Have a nice day (or rather night, if I am to believe where you say you are... no reason to disbelieve... but you never know on Sulekha). M S P

SomeProfile wrote:@ Sublime - Wow! You seem to have spent a lot of time on this. Usually, when I give feedback to these kinds of things, I ignore all the typos and grammatical issues. Instead, I choose to concentrate on the big ticket items that really make a substantial difference to the item being reviewed. I figure that if things ever go close to the printing stage, a professional editor will do all the hard work of correcting the small stuff.

good manuscripts by new writers are discarded without the publisher ever reading a word of it. unless you are bedding a literary agent/publisher, its not easy to get their attention. a story with bad english or poorly framed sentences can kiss its sorry arse goodbye. if at all an agent decides to peruse a manuscript, a new writer cannot afford to tax his sensibilities with poor writing. it will never get past the first round, forget the printing stage.

harharmahadev seems earnest and for what its worth, i added my 2 cents.

i had started to read this book called Devil in Pinstripes by Ravi Subramanian - the usual IIM alumni turned author type. that book was ughhhhh. i did not get past the first chapter. at that point, i did not care what the story was - he had lost my attention with just an awful writing style.

.|Sublime|. wrote:i had started to read this book called Devil in Pinstripes by Ravi Subramanian - the usual IIM alumni turned author type. that book was ughhhhh. i did not get past the first chapter. at that point, i did not care what the story was - he had lost my attention with just an awful writing style.

The blurb is no better:

Join Amit as he blindly follows the Machiavellian plans of Aditya Bhatnagar- his mentor, plays power games with his antagonist Gowri and walks a tight rope in the relationship with his wife Chanda. Are they all Gods of Banking or masquerading Devils in Pinstripes?

What happens when God is dragged into a pit full of muck? Does he come out completely clean? Can he retain the status of being a God or does this corporate world engulf him in its talons..does he become the ultimate Devil in Pinstripes!!!!

Eh? What? God dragged in muck?? And what is with the four exclamation marks? Was there a Buy One Take 5 sale on exclamation marks?

LOL and to say he is an IIM alumni!!!!! (5 exclamation marks -- please note) Oh, the irony!!!!!

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:LOL and to say he is an IIM alumni!!!!! (5 exclamation marks -- please note) Oh, the irony!!!!!

yikes! alumnus not alumni. and, frankly, i had, in that moment when i posted it, also imagined that he was an IIM prof. such gaffes, like excessive use of punctuation, are excusable for IIM alumni (and me) but not for profs.

Thanks for the fantastic feedback I've received so far. I feel greatly motivated to write and improve my writing when I read such feedback. Please don't hold back your punches. I learn from constructive criticism...

My sister and her family is visiting us this week and I'm having a 'National Lampoon on Steroids' moment. So next week, I'm going to dedicate time to update the story (every Wednesday morning).

Btw...I feel very confident that you will love the story when I'm done. I've tried very hard to not have any loose ends. It will all come together....just trust me and go with the flow....thanks

i returned to this thread to read chapter 3. but there is no chapter 3 posted!! had you not posted it sometime back? my mind playing tricks again?

Huzefa Kapasi wrote:i returned to this thread to read chapter 3. but there is no chapter 3 posted!! had you not posted it sometime back? my mind playing tricks again?

Yes. He posted it. And yes it is gone now.

*phew* i thought i had gone myad.

i guess he used the dreaded "x" button.

I did post it...but then I felt I needed to rewrite it. It is a crucial chapter so I went back to the 'drawing board'. Will repost in a couple of days.

Just finished reading part 2. I want part 3 now.

I really liked part 1, which showed an alternate perspective on the philosophical conversation before the battle. This part on the other hand gave me a feeling of being slowly sucked into a much more elaborate story. In the start, there was a bit of a dichotomy -- tantra vs. what the brahmins teach, but towards the end, that got set aside and it was all about the more traditionalist / brahmin perspective. So whether it was intentional or not, I am left a little confused, but definitely intrigued.

harharmahadev wrote:I did post it...but then I felt I needed to rewrite it. It is a crucial chapter so I went back to the 'drawing board'. Will repost in a couple of days.

please do. i promise not to 'dissect' it.

Charvaka. Thanks. Part 3 is coming very soon. Sublime. Please don't hold your punches. I need demanding readers.

Chapter 3: THE GARLAND OF SKULLS (1)

Durvasa squatted on the ground in a lotus position, resting his arm on the trident. “My father created Indra! I destroyed it.

I was always a rebel child. I always did the opposite of what my father told me. He wanted me to adorn the priestly, white robes - crisply knotting the cloth around the waist and draping it across the left shoulder. I wore the skin of a dead mountain tiger. He wanted my head tonsured. I left my hair open and wild. He wanted me to worship fire. I worshipped ash. He wanted me to apply four horizontal streaks of Vibhuti on their forehead and a thin, vertical red tilak along my ‘mastak’. I applied the Vibhuti on my lingum and a tilak on my Kundalini.

I remember the time when I was a boy; my father took me, along with the Saptarishis, to the battlefield after a terrible war between Indra and Vrithra. It was a new moon night just like tonight. The sight of devastation was similar to this one.

Distressed from all the carnage on display, he turned around and faced the Saptarishi and gestured to make an announcement. We all gathered around him. His words, his voice and his gestures were always bold and measured. “The kaalchakra must be stopped. This cycle of creation and destruction must end.”

I laughed with a sharp cackle. I questioned him, “who possesses the power to stop the Kaalchakra?”

My father sung the hymns of the Vedas in a deep, husky voice.

HE who, just born, chief God of lofty spirit by power and might became the Gods’ protector,
Before whose breath through greatness of his valor the two worlds trembled,
He, O men, is Indra.

He who fixed fast and firm the earth that staggered, and set at rest the agitated mountains,
Who measured out the air's wide middle region and gave the heaven support,
He,O men, is Indra.

Who slew the Dragon, freed the Seven Rivers, and drove the Asuras forth from the cave of Vala,
Begat the fire between two stones, the spoiler in warriors’ battle,
He, O men, is Indra.

By whom this universe was made to tremble, who chased away the humbled Asuras,
Who, like a gambler gathering his winnings seized the foe's riches,
He, O men, is Indra.

Of whom, the Terrible, they ask, Where is He? or verily they say of him, He is not.
He sweeps away, like birds, the foe's possessions. Have faith in him,
for He, O men, is Indra.

Stirrer to action of the poor and lowly, of priest, of suppliant who sings his praises;
Who, fair-faced, favors him who presses Soma with stones made ready,
He, O men, is Indra.

He under whose supreme control are horses, all chariots, and the villages, and cattle;
He who gave being to the Sun and Morning, who leads the waters,
He, O men, is Indra.

To whom two armies cry in close encounter, both enemies, the stronger and the weaker;
Whom two invoke upon one chariot mounted, each for himself,
He, O ye men, is Indra.

Without whose help our people never conquer; whom, battling, they invoke to give them succor;
He of whom all this world is but the copy, who shakes things immovable,
He, O men, is Indra.

He who hath smitten, ere they knew their danger, with his hurled weapon many grievous sinners;
Who pardons not his boldness who provokes him, who slays the Dasyu,
He, O men, is Indra.

He who discovered in the fortieth autumn Śambara as he dwelt among the mountains;
Who slew the Dragon putting forth his vigor, the demon lying there,
He, men, is Indra.

Who with seven guiding reins, the Bull, the Mighty, set free the Seven great Rivers to flow at pleasure;
Who, thunder-armed, rent Rauhina in pieces when scaling heaven,
He, O ye men, is Indra.

Even the Heaven and Earth bow down before him, before his very breath the mountains tremble.
Known as the Soma-drinker, armed with thunder, who wields the bolt,
He, O ye men, is Indra.

Who aids with favour him who pours the Soma and him who brews it, sacrificer, singer.
Whom prayer exalts, and pouring forth of Soma, and this our gift,
He, O ye men, Is Indra.

Thou verily art fierce and true who sendest strength to the man who brews and pours libation.
So may we evermore, thy friends, O Indra, speak loudly to the synod with our heroes.

He continued, “Kaalchakra can be stopped. Kaalchakra will be stopped by the power of the Vedas - the divine knowledge. The illusion of the Vedas will become the reality and the reality of Kaalchakra will become an illusion. When illusion becomes reality, the mind can be controlled. When the mind can be controlled, truth can be liberated from the grasp of the Kaalchakra. The duality of truth will be suppressed and a singularity will persist. No destruction, only creation; No chaos, only order; no absorption, only emanation; no war, only peace – THAT IS NIRVANA.”

I burst out in laughter. I laughed long and loud. I laughed without remorse or respect. “Destruction is an inevitable and inseparable part of the cycle of creation. It cannot be avoided, but can only be accepted and embraced.”

It was my father’s turn to question me, “who possesses the power to destroy Indra?”

I raised my dumroo (a hourglass shaped hand drum) and struck it vigorously. It my fit of rage, I compiled the tandava stotra:

It is He who has rage on the thick locks of his hair like a snake around his neck.
It is He who can engulf the world with a breath of fire.
Listen to the dull beat of the drum
Watch Him dance the fearsome Tandava.
He is SHIVA.

In the rivers that flow in the pan of His matted hair
unsteadily in steady waves;
In the thumping flames blazing in forehead;
In the head having crescent moon as a jewel;
I seek truth.

In the luster of the gem in the reddish brown hood of creeping serpent;
In the Kadamb-juice smeared on all sides of His beaautiful face.
In the skin of an intoxicated elephant that He uses as his upper garment;
In the presence of the Ghosts that keep him company;
I find solace.

Indra and all other gods offer flowers,
Pollen dust from which has colored His foot-bed.
His matted hair is tied by the garland of serpents.
May that holder of Moon in his head bless me.

His wrath is a blazing fire that devours life, love and matter.
Yet His crest-jewel gleams with cool moon-rays.
The truth resides within his hair-locks.
He destroys desire to liberate beings from material life and sacrifice.
He destroys life, death and even the bonds of death.
I worship Him.

Like the bee that liberates sweet honey from Kadamba flowers,
He destroys desire to liberate beings from material life and sacrifice.
He destroys life, death and even the bonds of death.
I worship Him.

His wrath is a fire on His forehead,
Streams of Fire shoot from his breath and swirl the glorious sky like wandering snakes.
Listen to the dull beat of the drum
Watch Him dance the fearsome Tandava.
He is SHIVA.


There was complete silence. My father took steady steps towards me. He looked me straight in the eye. “There is no place for Shiva at Mount Mandara. If Shiva dares to enter Mandara, He will be forced to drink Halahala (venom).” He pressed his finger into my chest every time he said “Shiva”. That’s when it struck me that I had deeply offended my father. In the process of finding a tiny flaw in his divine creation, I created a mighty chasm in our relationship.

I stood still and watched them leave the battlefield.

I have decided to blog this story on facebook.

There were some lose ends in my story, that I have tidied up. Now, there is no ambiguity in my mind on the story/characters.

Hope you guys continue reading it.

Durvasa continued, “After my father left me at the battlefield, I roamed the countryside composing songs and dancing to the tunes in my head. I quickly learned to survive on food that I hunted or gathered. The villagers called me a “ramta Jogi” – a mad priest. I became an object of their curiosity.

They flocked to me for blessings. They wanted me to solve their problems, absolve them of their sins or cure them from their miseries. They expected me to do something so they could magically attain their desires. Kings wanted to win wars. Traders wanted an instant fortune. The young wanted a handsome husband or a beautiful wife. I offered them no instant gratification, no divine blessings, no mental comfort. I spoke the truth, which was perceived as vile prognostications and curses.

Yet, the crowds continued to grow. I detested this fascination towards me and ran from their prying eyes and into the deep forests. A clan of staunch devotees called the ‘Bauls’ frantically tracked me down. This annoyed me even further. I ran away again and they continued the chase. This became a game of cat and mouse between me and the Bauls.

I desperately needed my solitude. I had to go to a place where I was certain I could never be reached or disturbed. There was one such place I heard about when I was a child. It was a mystical place called the "Third Eye" in the heart of Mount Kailasa.

Unlike the pristine inner sanctums of Mount Mandara, Kailasa was rugged and harsh. I traversed through the labyrinthine cave structures of Mount Kailasa until I reached a vast inner canyon. It was shaped as a hall of a grand palace. At the center, there was a giant, vortex-shaped shaft going deep into the Earth’s core. The opening was shaped as an oval with the hole at the center, giving it the shape of an eye peering into the abyss. A plume of foul-smelling smoke emanated from within and a hollow glow pervaded the walls of the hole.


I was scared and intrigued. I slowly approached the shaft and threw my fire-torch into the well. It disappeared into the smoke, without an echo to indicate a bottom. I gently began my descent into the shaft. I continued to scale the walls for hours, at which point I realized that there was no turning back. I had to find the bottom.

My hands and soles were bleeding and my entire body wassore. After extremely difficulty, I was able to reach the bottom. A gentle glow from emanated from the cave walls. At the base, there were multiple cave openings. I picked up a glowing rock and ventured into the caves.

The caves revealed underground rivers and geysers, pools of lava and a variety of strange materials. I was delirious with excitement.
There was so much to learn, so much to explore, so much to experiment with. Above all, I found my solitude.

There was only one problem - I needed food. With great difficulty, I returned to the base of the shaft. I knew I was never going to be able to climb to the top in my present condition. I collapsed from hunger and exhaustion. I thought I was going to die in this hole.

Just then, a big basket of fruits and water dropped into the hole from above. I quickly devoured it.

It was only until much later that I found out that it was my mother who had fed me. When my father had gone back to Mandara without me, my mother was furious. She departed Mount Mandara in search for me and tracked me down in Kailasa. She instinctively knew that I was in the 'Third Eye' and was hungry. She spent the rest of her life sending food down the hole at regular intervals, hoping to keep me well fed. The Bauls joined her and helped her. They settled at the top of the “Third Eye”, which soon grew into a thriving underground village. They performed rituals called “Pooja” by clanking bells and singing hymns in high pitches. Then, they threw food down the chute, which they called “prashad”. They peered into the hole from atop, hoping to catch a glimpse of me ("darshan").

Mount Kailasa became home to the tantrics.

As I continued to explore the network of caves, I stumbled into a room which had several drawings and inscriptions on the walls. The drawings were detailed and precise. I was perplexed. Who drew them? What does it mean? Why is it so secret?

I carefully studied the writings. As I continued to interpret them, it struck me. It was the secret ‘Mahakaalchakra Tantra’.” I memorized it and left the room. I called that room the ‘Garbha Griha’ – the womb!

--

Death was worshipped at Kailasa. Once, my devotees they threw a dead body into the chute. I pulled it to the side and dissected
every limb and organ. I experimented with it to test the effects of various materials on the organs. They continued to discard bodies into the chute. This became a ritual practice. Some people chose to jump into the chute to end their lives.

One day, while exploring a cave, I heard the voice of a woman. She had climbed down the chute and was looking for me. She yelled, “Durvasa! Durvasa! I have come for you. Please bless me with your presence!”

I was shocked when I saw her appearance as she approached the cave. She was naked and had a garland of skulls around her neck. Her hair was open and she was covered in dried blood. She had a knife in a tassel, which was slung across her right shoulder. I hid between the crevices of the cave walls and observed her. She searched for me in the labyrinthine cave network, screaming aloud as she walked. Eventually, she gave up and settled underneath one of the cave pillars.

“Durvasa! I know you are in here somewhere. I know you can hear me. I feel your eyes seeing me. You may not want to grace me with your presence. I am not hurt by your rejection. I have come to tell you my story.

My name is Gauri. My father and mother detested me. They were beautiful and I was ugly child. Throughout my childhood, I was humiliated and tortured. They tormented me and told me that that was my fate.

They sold me to the king as slave-girl. They physically and verbally abused me. I delivered a baby boy. I found a purpose to live. I raised him with all the love I couldmuster. However, he was born out of sin and was subjected to their abuse. One day, I found him dead. He was hanging from a tree with a rope around his neck.

I went cold and numb when I found my dead son. They laughed at my misery. I found myself a sword and went to the king’s mansion. I killed him by beheading him in one fell swoop. I killed his three wives and eight children. I drank their blood and feasted on their flesh. I made a garland from the decapitated heads and wore it. I burned down the palace. I danced in joy while the palace burned.

Then I killed my father, mother, brother, his wives and children. I burned down my childhood home as the villagers watched.

They were unprepared to retaliate from my sudden explosive anger. My wrath consumed them, devoured them. For me, it was sheer ecstasy. The purpose of my existence has been fulfilled.

I have no reason to live anymore. Life has been useless to me. I want to make my death useful. So I’ve come to you, O Durvasa! I come to offer my death to you, because you are the master of death. Please come to me so I can see you once before I die! That's my only one last desire!”

Saying so, she pulled out the knife and slashed her wrists. Blood gushed out of her arms as she laughed deliriously. She kept
screaming for me as I watched her from the darkness. I didn’t move. Slowly, she dropped to the ground in a pool of blood. I watched as she took her last breaths and in a sudden fit, she succumbed to her death.

After she died, I walked up to her dead body and shut her wide-open eyes. Witnessing her death had a profound effect on me. It’s at that moment, the secret of the Mahakaalchakra Tantra unraveled in my mind.”

Bhairava asked, “What is the Mahakaalchakra Tantra?”

Durvasa responded, “Patience, Bhairava! Patience!”

har har,

So here is ur story . will read it bit by bit

It is long but it has to be this way.. to be understood well

Looks like it has been ur passion for long and u have finallyput it on paper ...even on facebook

I hope you receive lots of accolades for this stupendous effort

One of my favorite songs! Still writing as I find the time.