The Bhagwad Gita, a 700-verse Sanskrit scripture is not only a part of the Hindu epic Mahabharata, or as one commonly knows of it as a narrative framework of a dialogue between the Pandava prince, Arjuna, and his guide and charioteer, Krishna, but also a whole point of thought by itself.
At the start of the ‘Dharma Yudhha’ between Pandavas and Kauravas, Arjuna is filled with moral dilemma and despair about the violence and death the war will cause. He wonders if he should renounce the war and seeks Krishna's counsel, whose answers and discourse constitute the Bhagavad Gita. Krishna counsels Arjuna to fulfill his karma as a Kshatriya warrior to uphold the Dharma through ‘selfless action’. The epic Krishna-Arjuna discourse covers a broad range of spiritual topics, touching upon ethical dilemmas and philosophical issues that go far beyond the war Arjuna faces.
In today’s time one gets daunted by the very idea of reading a dense book, let alone a lengthy scripture, and what a pity it will be if the brilliance of the past is lost to the apathy of the present.
If one carefully reads the scripture, it is not before long that we discover that the verses are like a booster shot to settle the dilemmas of our every day existence and the aphorisms fit surprisingly well to the vexed questions that life throws at us. Yet, we remain aloof to its volume and teachings and wonder what its significance is in this hedonistic age?
In a way, writing this book therefore, was not just about satiating my creative skills, it was more about turning social dictum on its head. Banaras or Kashi, a city dating back to 800 BC is enigmatic and yet real in more ways than one. Banaras, the most ancient city in the world is still shrouded in the mysteries and the legends that surround it. Banaras has infinite etymologies surrounding it, the myths, the tryst for redemption and expiation from the cycle of life and death but what sense does it make to the common man of today? Just like the Bhagwad Gita, does this sojourn find any common ground in today’s sensibilities?
And here started my quest of what is lost and then found. It begins when we read this great book or visit the most enigmatic city of them all, Banaras.
The Gita, the Upanishads and real life observations were woven seamlessly to create a story that would bring Banaras to people and make believers out of them. This follows my reasoning that we need to retell the stories that go missing to the world that doesn’t care a bit about what makes up mythology. Were these just stories that went around generations, told and retold over ages with a new flavour added with every retelling? No. They certainly do have a cultural high point and serve as guiding tools for finding direction in this day and time as well.
You further discover the greatness of the volume as I lead you on to the part when Sia and Uday who visit Banaras for reasons entirely different from the traditional. The former to her parental home, long left; and Uday, to relive his atavistic fears but on the surface, in the name of a professional venture. But unbeknownst to them, they both had a punishing past, waiting to be unfolded. Does their sojourn help them find a cogent emotional fix? They come across Debi and Brinda and thus begin their tryst with redemption and with debunking of myths that surround virtues. And the biggest dilemma they face is where and when does truth bow out to a lie?
An excerpt :
The riots in Ayodhya had the entire country on fire. Savagery had returned in an even more ruthless measure. People had started burning vehicles, hurling stones at government property and inter-caste bloodshed had once again resumed an angry pace. Debi was carrying water from the ghat, her gait bent askew, lugging a heavy, iron pail in each hand. They needed to stock up keeping in my mind the unpredictable situation. That is when she felt a man pulling her arm. She tried to jerk away but then there were many of them. They surrounded her and it did not take her long to fathom the danger lurking around her. The Seth had used a faceless mob to his advantage. They charged after her and Debi who was mindful of the lack of protection the ashram and ailing Bua could provide, ran for her life to Sia. She bolted past the crowd that was thronging onto the street and pushed her way through the stunned onlookers. She took to the dark alleyways so as to mislead them. She ran with a dire emergency, panting, falling, pulling herself up again and scarpering for her life. Their felonious pace was far too quick for her. She had wrenched away once, she may not be as lucky if they surrounded her again. Luckily she came upon a pile of sandbags that the police had stacked in case a fire broke out. She turned to look; she had outsped them by a few seconds and was out of their vision. She crouched behind them as they hustled past her. Debi took to her heels again and darted towards Sia’s house. She banged the door frantically. Luckily, Sia was at home. She heard the banging and peeped out of the window. On seeing Debi she charged to the front door where she inherently felt the alarm her presence suggested at this hour.
‘Why? What?’ Sia asked as she noisily yanked the door open.
Once inside, an exhausted Debi banged the door shut behind her and slumped on the floor. She leaned her back against the door, her mouth was dry and her eyes shut against the fear that had gripped her moments ago. She started crying hysterically.
After a cup of tea and realising that the danger was behind her at least for now, Debi recounted her horror to Sia. Kanta’s fears had rung true. The Seth was not giving up on her. Now he had deigned to use the massacre to his advantage. He very well knew that no one would know if she went missing.
No one would know if she went missing or if she died in police firing or got scrambled in a stampede. It sounded wicked enough.
And that is what exactly Sia wanted. A smile spread on her lips.
This passage drew its relevance from a section in Gita where Drona is plundering through the Pandava troops, wreaking havoc, and has to be stopped before the war is finished by him alone. Now, he was a formidable warrior and everyone knew that his only weakness was his affection for his son, Ashwathama.
So, Krishna advises Yudhisthira to lie, to tell Drona that his son, Ashwathama, is dead. Yudhisthira, who is widely renowned to never tell a lie, of course refuses but Krishna tells him that this is a war that must be won and therefore lying about Ashwathama is the right thing to do in the larger context.
As Yudhisthira ponders this, Bhima kills an elephant that was also named Ashwathama and roars loudly, ‘Ashwathama is dead!’
Drona runs up to Yudhisthira and asks him if this is true, ‘Is Ashwathama dead?’
Yudhisthira replies, ‘Yes, Aswhathama is dead,’ he pauses and adds almost under his breath, ‘I don’t know if it was man or elephant.’
Thus, Drona only hears the first part and as he knew Yudhisthira to be the epitome of truth and virtue who could never tell a lie, he gives up his arms. He bows his head in grief, and seizing the moment, Drishtadyumna beheads him .
This had me wondering that a ‘lie’, when serves the purpose of bearing an ethical consequence ceases to be a fallen virtue. If a larger good can be built on it whereby the truth hurts and may encourage harm then the choice has to be wise and objective. And hence, the formidable boundary between truth and lie can be diluted.
Lost and Found in Banaras draws its inspiration from reality and the teachings of the Gita are woven into the story in a way that they cease to be daunting, become relatable, and get the fan base it deserves.
An awe-inspiring paradox, incredibly diverse, and yes, sometimes even inadvertently hilarious makes Lost and Found in Banaras a must read, even if for the shadows of wisdom that have been passed on through centuries.
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