“When the fire came for me, I did not run. Some flames burn the body. Others set the atman free.”
I am Kunti. I live in this ashram in a forest not far from Hastinapur – a place that I retired to, a few years ago. My days pass in meditation, listening to the sages here narrate stories from the scriptures, and performing my nitya karma. Forest life is not new to me. I have been in these surroundings before. I have always found joy among birds and animals – walking through a herd of deer on my way to the stream nearby, sitting under a tree in the company of birds and bees, watching a herd of elephants pass by the ashram.
But today, the forest feels different. The birds are flying away and the animals are running. A fire has started, not far from here. A harsh summer and dry undergrowth have turned the forest into tinder. The flames are making their way towards us. I have asked the ashram dwellers to cross the stream to safety. I however, will not go. I will stay. I will wait for Agni Deva to consume me – perhaps he’ll burn my karma along with my body. Let him free my atman from this mortal coil. As I sit down and close my eyes, I see my whole life begin to flash before me.
Daughter
Pritha! That was the name my father Shurasena – king of Mathura – and my mother Marisha, gave me. I was very young, still playing with toys and dolls when my father let his childless friend Kuntibhoja, adopt me. For a long time, I harbored deep resentment against him. Was I a plaything – a piece of property – that he gave in daan to his friend? Did he ask what I wanted? No. He simply abandoned me. I moved in with my adoptive father. He gave me much love and attention, which I returned in equal measure. Yet, I deeply felt the absence of a mother in my new home. Over time, the pain of being cast away, dulled – not gone but softened.
My next test came as soon as I stepped into adolescence. Rishi Durvasa – the powerful yet temperamental sage – had come to our kingdom. He was known for his anger and could curse anyone who displeased him. My father, Kuntibhoja, placed the responsibility of attending to the sage’s needs on my young shoulders. He said that if the sage were unhappy, it would bring disrepute to our family and the kingdom. That was a heavy burden on someone my age. Yet, despite my fears, I fulfilled that duty with humility and sincerity, enduring Rishi Durvasa’s rebukes with grace. In the end he was pleased – so much so that, when he left after a year, he granted me a boon.
Continue reading
About a month back, I got an opportunity to listen to a talk given by Manish Sabharwal, the Chairman and Co-founder of Teamlease, an Indian Fortune 500 company, that provides human resources services to its clients and employs more than 125,000 people. Manish is a member of the National Skill Mission chaired by the Prime Minister of India and serves on various state and central government committees on education, employment and employability. I also got a chance to speak with him before and after the talk on themes such as employability, governance, and public policy. He spoke about the need for urbanization and creating new cities with a population of more than a million people. He also said that this could be achieved faster with decentralization – 29 chief ministers are more important than one Prime Minister, but the real solution lies in creating 100 real mayors. One of the anecdotes that I found particularly interesting was this – In 1924, Jawaharlal Nehru was the mayor of Allahabad, Rajendra Prasad was the mayor of Patna, C.R. Das was the mayor of Calcutta, and Sardar Patel was the mayor of Ahmedabad. There are letters from Nehru that talk about street lights and Patel about sanitation because mayoral elections were fought on issues like infrastructure. Then he added with a mischievous smile, “Can you imagine Nehru’s great-grandson writing letters about street lights in Delhi? What that says is that sexually transmitted Prime Minister-ship does not work.” 
A couple of months back, as I was driving to work one day, I found my car blocked by a delivery van which had stopped on the road. The driver and his helper were delivering supplies to shops lined against the narrow street, at a leisurely pace. I honked and I hollered, but they seemed impervious to my entreaties. Frustrated, I cursed at them. The next moment I found them beside my car . Well that worked, I said to myself. I will reason with them and help them see that their act of parking a big van on the road, blocking the way for others, was insensitive. I would then graciously apologize for my behavior (the fact that I cursed at them) and drive away. How naive of me! What happened next I hear you ask? Well, there was some shouting and yelling to begin with. Soon I saw them banging their fists against my car window, daring me to get down so that we could settle this with our bare knuckles. I somehow managed to extricate myself from that situation with my teeth and my dignity intact. Just! 
A few years back, I was facilitating a workshop on understanding and appreciating cultural differences with participants from the US, Canada, and India. One of the modules within the workshop required each participant to decorate a table with some personal items that would give the audience a peek into his / her life beyond what they see at work. So we had participants putting up their family pictures, books that had inspired them, baseball bats,. ice hockey helmets, football jerseys, their father’s footwear, images of deities that they worship and so on. It was great to see the enthusiasm of people who had carried this stuff all the way from North America to Bangalore and the eagerness of people in India to showcase their background and heritage.
So, it has been more than two years that I wrote something on this blog. Long time indeed! Why didn’t I write in the last two years? Honestly, I don’t know. I can rationalize by saying I didn’t get enough time, I had other priorities, I got interested in other things, I didn’t feel ‘inspired’….Hang on! Yeah, it is that last one. At least it sounds fancy and writer-ish. ‘I was experiencing a writer’s block.’ Yeah, that’s it.
Lined With Gold 