Raju Korti
You do not have to be a fundamentalist to be interested in Mythology. I have a completely detached take on the purported reality of the subject which transcends beyond the realms of mundane ground realities like wars, disputes, human conscience and earthly compulsions. As historical compass, Mythology points to the horizon and to point back to ourselves to establish a brutal connection between the past and present; spinning a complicated web of redemption and chaos. B R Chopra's teleserial ruminates on this standpoint with "Seekh hum beete yugo se, naye yug ka kare swaagat."
I have watched Mahabharat a few times that it has been telecast since the first time from end 1988 to mid 90s apart from reading it like a fairytale story in my childhood days. Each time my eyes have been opened to the new vistas of behavioral sciences that it seeks to portray with such vividity. As a reader with next to no knowledge of classical mythology, I approached the Mahabharat as I would approach a contemporary poem or novel. Perhaps it is a measure of my supreme ignorance that I have been rewarded with a rich, affecting portrait of, among other things, the profound essay it makes in myriad shades of human emotions. From my earliest imagery of divine miracles to a war within a family lineage and to being a bedrock of a story and legend seeking to correct human perceptions, it has served as a cultural mirror -- the super heroes and super villains playing pawns to the vicissitudes of time.
When the epic saga was aired for the first time a little more than 30 years back, it struck a chord for being able to provide a vibrancy to a cliffhanger narrative. To me, the most abiding element is the profundity it seeks to lend to human emotions and the amplitude to each of its larger-than-life characters. To that extent, it is arguably tough to segregate characters in the story as less or more important. Its highest common factor prompts me to conclude that each of the dramatis personae is a symbolic representation of an emotion. And yet, despite each of them at cross purposes with each other, evoke similar feelings of sympathy and despise. Its almost surreal that situations and characters that can cause mental integration and disintegration merge so seamlessly. That is what makes Mahabharat a timeless work of art.
There is a general perception that Mahabharat is all about politics unlike the earlier epoch Ramayan which makes out a case for idealism in life. Having scoured through a number of treatises on the subject, I am yet to come across any distinguishable research that delves on the common denominator of the politics espoused so evocatively by Krishna through The Gita in his weighty Sanskrit verses. So I watched it with a neutral prism to decipher and deduce from its intrigues, conspiracies, affectations and vulnerabilities. My finding may be nothing to rave about but I find it worthy of writing a book given the enormity of the folklore and the wide spectrum of the personality of its players.
When you readjust your goggles, you have a view with a different colour. The entire flow from the genesis of the Bharat Vanshiyas to their annihilating end -- punctuated with a thrilling blend of romanticism, love, hatred, compassion from a knotty web of relationships -- emerges a compelling sense of helplessness. The "vivashta" (helplessness) of each of its characters as they play out their aims and ambitions goes beyond theatrics. They all meet their end justifying themselves. And yet, neither the ends nor the means complement each other.
The rulers right from Shantanu, wife Satyawati, son Devavrat (Bheeshma), Pandu, Dhritarashtra, Gaandhari, Duryodhan, Dusshasan, the Pandava brothers, their teachers Dronacharya and Kripacharya, Ashwatthama, Draupadi and all other peripheral characters including the ordinary soldier in the war, are helpless for one reason or the other. That helplessness perhaps explains why every character generates sympathy despite their ruthless grandstanding. Helplessness induces hopelessness and therefore compassion.
Behind the compulsive premise of this war, lies an infinite pool of lessons. Very few narratives have been able to capture the rainbow of love, loathing, envy, lust, greed and power the way Mahabharat has done. Add to that the helplessness as the trigger point. As I grapple with the idea of dealing with each character as a case study in helplessness, I am increasingly stimulated to write a book that makes as much sense in today's context. Mahabharat provides enough punch to pack from a surfeit of divergent stories of characters disabled by their helplessness. If Time has indeed traveled over 5000 years believing the Mahabharat has happened, it still continues to be witness to the biggest human weakness.
At a time when the human spirit is meandering through religious riders, it is necessary that this fascinating account of strife and conformity is looked at dispassionately. And as you will agree, helplessness has no religion.
You do not have to be a fundamentalist to be interested in Mythology. I have a completely detached take on the purported reality of the subject which transcends beyond the realms of mundane ground realities like wars, disputes, human conscience and earthly compulsions. As historical compass, Mythology points to the horizon and to point back to ourselves to establish a brutal connection between the past and present; spinning a complicated web of redemption and chaos. B R Chopra's teleserial ruminates on this standpoint with "Seekh hum beete yugo se, naye yug ka kare swaagat."
I have watched Mahabharat a few times that it has been telecast since the first time from end 1988 to mid 90s apart from reading it like a fairytale story in my childhood days. Each time my eyes have been opened to the new vistas of behavioral sciences that it seeks to portray with such vividity. As a reader with next to no knowledge of classical mythology, I approached the Mahabharat as I would approach a contemporary poem or novel. Perhaps it is a measure of my supreme ignorance that I have been rewarded with a rich, affecting portrait of, among other things, the profound essay it makes in myriad shades of human emotions. From my earliest imagery of divine miracles to a war within a family lineage and to being a bedrock of a story and legend seeking to correct human perceptions, it has served as a cultural mirror -- the super heroes and super villains playing pawns to the vicissitudes of time.
When the epic saga was aired for the first time a little more than 30 years back, it struck a chord for being able to provide a vibrancy to a cliffhanger narrative. To me, the most abiding element is the profundity it seeks to lend to human emotions and the amplitude to each of its larger-than-life characters. To that extent, it is arguably tough to segregate characters in the story as less or more important. Its highest common factor prompts me to conclude that each of the dramatis personae is a symbolic representation of an emotion. And yet, despite each of them at cross purposes with each other, evoke similar feelings of sympathy and despise. Its almost surreal that situations and characters that can cause mental integration and disintegration merge so seamlessly. That is what makes Mahabharat a timeless work of art.
There is a general perception that Mahabharat is all about politics unlike the earlier epoch Ramayan which makes out a case for idealism in life. Having scoured through a number of treatises on the subject, I am yet to come across any distinguishable research that delves on the common denominator of the politics espoused so evocatively by Krishna through The Gita in his weighty Sanskrit verses. So I watched it with a neutral prism to decipher and deduce from its intrigues, conspiracies, affectations and vulnerabilities. My finding may be nothing to rave about but I find it worthy of writing a book given the enormity of the folklore and the wide spectrum of the personality of its players.
When you readjust your goggles, you have a view with a different colour. The entire flow from the genesis of the Bharat Vanshiyas to their annihilating end -- punctuated with a thrilling blend of romanticism, love, hatred, compassion from a knotty web of relationships -- emerges a compelling sense of helplessness. The "vivashta" (helplessness) of each of its characters as they play out their aims and ambitions goes beyond theatrics. They all meet their end justifying themselves. And yet, neither the ends nor the means complement each other.
The rulers right from Shantanu, wife Satyawati, son Devavrat (Bheeshma), Pandu, Dhritarashtra, Gaandhari, Duryodhan, Dusshasan, the Pandava brothers, their teachers Dronacharya and Kripacharya, Ashwatthama, Draupadi and all other peripheral characters including the ordinary soldier in the war, are helpless for one reason or the other. That helplessness perhaps explains why every character generates sympathy despite their ruthless grandstanding. Helplessness induces hopelessness and therefore compassion.
Behind the compulsive premise of this war, lies an infinite pool of lessons. Very few narratives have been able to capture the rainbow of love, loathing, envy, lust, greed and power the way Mahabharat has done. Add to that the helplessness as the trigger point. As I grapple with the idea of dealing with each character as a case study in helplessness, I am increasingly stimulated to write a book that makes as much sense in today's context. Mahabharat provides enough punch to pack from a surfeit of divergent stories of characters disabled by their helplessness. If Time has indeed traveled over 5000 years believing the Mahabharat has happened, it still continues to be witness to the biggest human weakness.
At a time when the human spirit is meandering through religious riders, it is necessary that this fascinating account of strife and conformity is looked at dispassionately. And as you will agree, helplessness has no religion.
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