Folly of Wise Men

An Offer

My retreat with Andrea ended, and we returned to the camp just in time for supper. The birds took flight, and the queen of the night bloomed with the arrival of stars, setting the stage for storytelling.

When the tribe invites guests, they get the privilege to request a story and the hosts would oblige.

Right from the early days of childhood, I shared a passion for stories as I did for singing. Perhaps it's the shared trait of escapism that entranced me or its piercing nature that drowns the rafter of reality, taking me to a world of dreams and wonder, flooding my mind with tales of yore that instill great patience to endure the harrowing tyrannies of life.

I took a bowl of stew and with all the others gathered in front of a makeshift stage, helmed by an aged man with wise eyes who walked with the gait of a haughty youngster.

"I want the younglings to be quiet. I don't want you little pissachas to ruin our tribe's reputation. Now, I will tell you three stories today, So, what would you brats like to hear ?"

The children like wild hungry pups loudly proclaimed the requests all at once.

"Tell me the story of Madhavan and bull demon,"

"I want to know how Svayambhu came to be."

"No, I wanna know 'bout Tarangini, the serpent rider, and, oh, the ride of Napumsakas!"

"I want know about the fall of yavanas!"

The babble died down when the old man clapped his hands. "Instead of three, how about I tell it as one, yes I will tell you about our tribe, the birth of our gods and of Tarangini the serpent rider."

****

First, before stars twinkled in a plane of tar, before trees sighed in autumn days, before the world was shrouded in emerald lands and sapphire seas, before there was anything, there was emptiness.

Then there came a golden egg from the end of all yugas, marking a new beginning. The egg hatched, and the cold blackness tasted the warmth of creation, and it burned—oh, almighty, it burned, for the universe, at its inception, had no consciousness or will to act on its own until a song from a realm that was beyond the blackness we live gave it the primal desire to procreate.

And thus came Svayambhu, the first of the divines, not a man or woman who was born with command over the jiva.

Upon their birth, they sensed an entity within: a malevolence with an intent to corrupt and ruin— a contrarian with wanton desire to bury the other half and bring discord to the symphony.

Fearing its nature Svayambhu banished it to a prison beyond our perception and and soon after, took the role of an architect and created their own realm.

Then came a long silence—an emptiness, a stillness restrained by Svayambhau's tolerance for intolerable loneliness. It only ceased eons later, when every moment ached, and the hollowness within their heart begged time to loosen its grip and not shield those of a distant future to be reality. In those visions svayambhu saw that they were dim, for they are yet to be born and warm, for they anticipate their birth and the chance to be devoted to their creator.

In the sands of Jivanasamudratira, time was stretched taut, as toil and tears begat innumerable offspring who wanted to shower their maker with love and devotion. Thus, there, came an end to the hollowness and another millennium passed.