Behind the Law

We all, throughout our lives hear the stories of destiny. Stories about walking the tough path to reach our destination. It is sometimes the stories of the Gods, sometimes stories of heroes from history or mythology. Yet, we all hear them. This is one such story. A story of an old man who reached the high station as he overcame many obstacles and hurdles in his path.

An old man stands in front of the table and chair. He is dressed in white as is customary of the men who hold the reins of power. The white symbolizes patience, wisdom and above all, strength, virtues which are indispensable to his trade. The glass table with small items neatly arranged has a comfortable executive chair behind it attesting to his stature with the community. It is, however, the insignia on the wall that is the testament to his power.

The man looks around the place. This is a natural culmination of his life’s long struggle. He began as a dreamy youth with burning desire for success. He followed the path that was in front of him. The path had many gates, some closed, some open while still there were others which were guarded. He kept going, from one place to another. He continued on after many had stopped, climbing higher as he grew older. He faced many a men, some became his friends, while others were thrown out of their positions. Some gave up in front of him while others walked back.

He had to convince, manipulate and plot. At places, he was a romantic fighting for something he believed in, while at some places, he held his silence swallowing his pride today to strike tomorrow. His dark side was revealed as he plotted to remove those who stood in his path, while at other places he worked tirelessly to prove himself.

From the romantic vision of championing a cause, to darkly plotting the fall of others, he has come to see mankind in the forms it exists. And he emerged wiser and also successful. He is neither joyous nor sorrowful. He has a sense of deserved satisfaction which only a man who has devoted his life singularly to climb the ladders of man can know. He has done and seen all – alliances, cajolery, flattery, trades and favors. Finally, he is here and this place is his.

He turns to his left and sees a visitor standing at the door. He is also in his yesteryears. He is handsome, tall with little hair on his balding head. He is also wearing white clothes. He looks at him with a desire to know the reason behind the visitor’s presence in his room without his bidding. The visitor pulls up a small smile and with very familiar resoluteness in his eyes, asks him, “What can I give you so that you can let me through?”

At the desk of Mephistopheles

The floor was made from wood of oak with the walls being covered with beautiful tapestries from all over the world. The room was dark. The only source of light was the lamp burning on the table. The table overlooked the window which brought in the night light of the full moon. As one walked in the room, one realized that it had no bed but was well furnished with sofas, couches and armchairs. All well-furnished and adorned with remarkable craftsmanship. Near the desk was a large almirah. And on the desk lay an old letter written in beautiful handwriting. The letter colored yellow and wrinkled still had the deftness of a strong old man, whose age is but a disguise for the steadfastness and strength within the soul. The letter was addressed to nobody and had no name at the end. It read as,


What has to be done has to be done. The Gods made this pact with the men. That, for life and living they must toil till their last breaths. They would know rest but the rest would only be for the sake of the toil. Those who do not toil shall suffer the absence of rest.

The blessings of the Gods are only for the breakers of the stone - men who from their waking moment till their eyes close into sleep break their bodies and their minds just like a stone is broken on the anvil by the heavy hammer. For them, the god blesses with a sleep – a sleep which no one else but who whose every bone is broken would know.

The men arose with ferocity and pride. They challenged everything that was given to them. They challenged the earth, the mountains, the rivers, the oceans and the sky. They even challenged the makers throwing them off for the books written by them. The Gods were now cast in their image, angry or merciful as the writers were. The gods became the holders of the order through fire and iron. The men created stories to which everyone alive was forced to bow.

Then came those who rejected even them calling them fairy tales. The men enlivened by their anger, hatred, pride and confidence in themselves set forth for a new voyage. They now only put pleasures before themselves. They threw the cast of the chains of the story tellers to wear new ones crafted from their own greed, pride and ignorance.

The universe looked and has been the witness to this. The universe has been here. It is beyond the comprehension of the men. In its bosom, it carries all the secrets and tales unknown to any man. It is silent and brooding. It is omnipresent and all seeing. It has stood and still watches the men.

The men impale themselves ever concocting methods to slay one another. They pride on those whose conviction to destroy is greater than those whose conviction is for beauty. Perhaps, it was so from the beginning when the Gods spoke of  toil. To toil is to create and every action of creation is an act of destruction. Hence, man unknown to him does it. His energies misguided, free of any grand control is yet enmeshed in the unseen webs surrounding him. He is caught within it, doomed never to be free.

The Gods also forewarned that the toil must result from thought. When the toil becomes separated from the thought – the greatest of all his gifts to mankind, then the toilers will cease to be men. They would no longer live or know life. They would throw themselves onto the rocks till they break themselves.

The thought was given to free him. The thought was the gift to all. So that men could share them and build a world to happiness, beauty and glory. The thought was meant to be shared. The men never saw so. The cunning and the vile took the reigns of men. The machinations they set forth denied the mankind the thought. The stories, allures of greed and weights of bondage weighs heavy on man.

Some tried to break the shackles. Few succeeded. Most failed. To know the reality of things, each man has to strive. Each man must discover the truths of life himself. And then allow others to do so as well. So that together, they could work and labor sharing their minds to build a world of tranquility  prosperity and glory before they set into darkness and return to the universe from which they came from.

The man can do two things, the things he wants to do and the things he has to do. What he does is his decision to make.

At the edge of the mountains

Sitting at the edge of mountain is to face the gigantic. The distant snow-capped peaks could be folded in your palms. The rising wall of mountains shades you from the rising sun. The river flowing beneath your feet yells as it strikes the mammoth rocks that have dared to stand in its path. All of it comes at a price – the price is the fear of death itself. The river tucked between steep slopes is five hundred metres below your feet.

When you sit at the edge, the beauty blinds you. You cannot hear your pounding heart. You no longer feel the shaky nerves. You no longer concern yourself with shivers which the cold wind carries. You do not even care even if you fall away. It would be just another flight which man can undertake – unhindered, vast and final.

The glimmer of light is so bright that your mind is filled with it. The yawping river is no longer far away but a continuous stream flowing through you. The mountains are not the giants but just another inch away, you could touch them and caress them just like you would caress your cat. The sun flaming in the sky is the source of energy uniting with your soul. The glimpse of that moment is eternally crafted in your psyche. You are a new man, a new person filled with energy and knowing that the only thing that is to do is to do. All the demons that have dogged you, be it those of pride, arrogance, hurt, insecurity are cleansed as the elements unite in you. You are free and alive.

So, is the sotry of our lives. Living at the edge of the mountains, it is that one moment for which we wait for. The one moment which fulfils all the days from this day to that day.

You are alive. Every breathe you take confirms it. These little breathes stay with you till you embark on the next adventure

New Ways

Winded are the roads,
the paths taken before are too old.

When you crossed before,
your hands shook with fear,
heart beating furiously,
angered at the world
that was there.

Even the great evils pass,
once pained lands find happiness,
the men who pained you
are the ones looking for succor.

Gently, you must tread.
and you will find,
that with your slightest efforts,
streams, small and large, will bend.

With a calm mind,
in both storm and ecstasy,
you will walk,
the lands old and new.

You make the paths from the roads,
as you continue your walk,
Never stop,
At every turn, a new way will be found.

An Ode to 'Amanat'

An angry society froze as the light from her soul no longer shone

they now refuse to go back home 

angry at being nudged back to sleep from which they recently awoke.

The crimes are not new,

occurring everyday they are part of our life,

risks one negotiate as he move through the streets knowing they are dangerous but not 'me' please.

Somebody asked who are these protestors 

decrying them as impulsive youngsters,

but nobody claimed responsibility for the failing that system has become.

The naysayers stand in freezing cold,

the keepers of the system sip tea in government palaces,

there was a rally but there was no leader.

How? then- you keepers of India congratulate yourself about being a sixty-year old democracy,

here, on the streets there are widespread injusticses and crime and no longer we can stand here say everything is fine,

to you now we say, either do something or leave, it is now our time.

Image from here.

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A tribute to 23 year old girl whose death has become symbol and a call to millions of Indians to bring a change.
May the gods bring peace to everyone, whoever they're real to they are.

Bastar: A Road Trip to a Hidden Land

The coverage of Naxalite movement in last four years have all but ruined the reputation of Bastar in the eyes of the public. It is now seen as a jungle infested with gun-wielding poor people against whom atrocities were committed and who are now back with vengeance. Whatever be the truth in the narrative of Naxal conflict, Bastar is not just a place of civil unrest with death lurking at every corner. True, the place has conflict areas where fighting between the State and the Naxals do occur. But a good part of Bastar is securely under the control of the State. Another reason for some of these parts to have remained away from intense fighting are the presence of numerous religious and tourist sites. Due to the strong emotional attachment of the public as well as the necessity of livelihood which these places offer have caused Naxals to largely maintain distance from these areas. One of such area is the vicinity of Jagdalpur stretching from Chitrakoot waterfalls, Bastar village, Jagdalpur to Kanger Valley National Park. 

Recently, with my father I traveled from Durg, located in central Chhattisgarh lying on the national highway (NH-6) connecting Mumbai with Kolkata, to Jagdalpur which is the district headquarters of Bastar. Bastar district is named after Bastar village which is located at an hour's drive from Jagdalpur. During the British Raj, Bastar was a princely state whose dominion has formed the basis for territorial demarcation of Chhattisgarh state from Kanker to its borders with Andhra Pradesh in south and Orissa in the east. 

The story of last Rajah of Bastar, Pravir Chandra Bhanj Deo has attained the status of folk mythology. It is said that at the time of independence, the Rajah happily joined with the new Indian state hopeful of better future. However, the state both neglected and oppressed the population of Bastar. This lead to wide-spread resentment with Rajah leading a movement against the corrupt officials deputed from Bhopal (at that time Bastar formed part of larger Madhya Pradesh/Central Province) and New Delhi. However, the movement was brutally and swiftly crushed with the Rajah, courtiers and many locals being killed by the police. Whatever be the truth in the story, it accurately reflects the general mindset of the people, that is the government is negligent and uncaring; the police officials are corrupt and arbitrary; and the local leadership is crushed thereby becoming martyrs.

My trip took me from the agriculture-intensive districts of Durg and Rajanandgaon to Dhamtari, Kanker, Kondagaon and finally Bastar. Following initially State Highway 23 and later shifting to National Highway 43, I travelled for seven hours to reach Chitrakoot falls (about an hour's drive from Jagdalpur).

Though my stay was brief, lasting only one day, I saw Chitrakoot Waterfall and Tirathgarh Waterfall, two very prominent tourist areas as well as Kutomsar (Katomsar) Caves which is an underground cave known for Stalactite and Stalagmite formations.

Left: Shiv Temple near Chitrakoot Falls. In last decade, there has been a steady increase of Shiv Temples in Chhattisgarh. Surprisingly, there is strong similarity in their architecture, with the lingam of the temple being completely converted into a mega Shivling with a calm cow resting near the entrance of the temple.

Right: Chitrakoot Falls. About an hour from Jagdalpur.

Above: Kutomsar (Katomsar) Cave - made over thousands of years by water running below the ground, it is now one of its kind with stalactite/stalagmite formations dotting the entire cave making it one of the more unique natural places of beauty in India.

To the people of Palestine

To the People of Palestine,

For too long have you suffered the ignominy of being foreigner in your own lands, of having no authority to look after the well-being of your society and to walk with pride as a Palestinian. This day, is an historic day, a day which your future generations would remember with joy. Since your declaration in 1988 as an independent state, this is the day that would give hope to the multitudes suffering under the yoke of foreign rule and living as refugees in the neighbouring lands.

Too many lives have been denied the chance to pursue tranquillity and happiness. Over three generation, families have suffered conflict, displacement and finally, unjust occupation.

The journey to statehood is never easy and for you, it has been the toughest. Remember this journey, for this is your story, made by your tears, sweat and blood. The whole world stands in recognition of your resilience. That here are the people who have seen the most hatred, the most repression without any helping hand and here, they walk to dignity relying solely on their own efforts.

The world watched, yes, it watched. The might of America gave Israel, a state which was meant for victims of the most heinous crimes in history of humanity, insolence to reduce another society to similar brutality. The world could do nothing, except offer meagre help falling short of their rightful duty to stand shoulder to shoulder in recognition of your nationhood.

But today, you have done yourself proud and in your success we rejoice. But, it is just the beginning. You have long journey in front of you. Your obstacles are not only the ones you see but are more deep-seated, that is, those of hatred, irredentism and limited resources. You have to continue your path to dignity. Having a state is but another step to build more free, just, above all, happy and secure society.

My best wishes,

Hersh Sewak.