The first snippet that struck me as interesting came from "Vyasa and Ganesha," when it mentions Vyasa's strength. It mentions that he was "so devoted to asceticism that the gods feared he was seeking to rob him of their power," and they hand-delivered gifts to him as bribes. I'm not sure what I'd do with it, but the idea of the gods grudgingly courting a mortal because they're afraid of his growing strength sounds like a ton of fun.
From "King Shantanu and Ganga," I was also really inspired by the idea of Bhishma, a mortal (demigod) prince who "came to have both a human and divine identity."
There's also the pact that the goddess Ganga made with the celestial Vasus: when they get condemned to being born on earth as mortals, they approach Ganga, who agrees to be their human mother. But she also promises "that she would cast them one by one into the [river] soon after birth so that they might return speedily to their celestial state." The idea of one character grimly promising to murder another character on their behalf, so they can gain a certain power or gain access to a certain place or because it'll give some temporary advantage or revert them to their true form, is really interesting.
In "King Shantanu and Satyavati," the introduction to Vyasa's mother caught my eye, too: when asked who she is, she replies, that she ferries passengers across the river. She's the adopted daughter of a fisherman, of course, and means that quite plainly—but it could be loads of fun to make that jump to the Greek River Styx, and adapt the concept to a dark contemporary fantasy story.
When it came to Shantanu's son by Ganga and his portrayal in "Devavrata's Vow," the reading notes and the story after it allude to some "terrible oath" Devavrata makes in order to secure happiness for his father; his new name even means terrible oath. I was expecting something much worse than just renouncing the throne and the possibility of heirs, so if I were to use this one as my weekly inspiration, I'd probably go with that darker, more foreboding sense of the oath I initially got from this.
Something about Devavrata's role in "Bhishma at the Swayamvara" caught my interest: I think it's the way he was willing to take on the world with a bloody weapon and a grin, all for a prize he knew he could win but never have. "...he stood alert and smiling, with bow drawn and his back to the royal maidens, ready to do battle for his prize against a world in arms."
The next element I found inspiring came from "Gandhari and Dhritarashtra," when it talked about the blind king and his queen. Whenever she's in his presence, she wears a blindfold, making them equals. Something about that stands out to me; it could be interesting if a person's blindness is contagious, making others within a certain distance blind too. (Or really, the blindness is just a placeholder; it could be that, or it could be something else entirely.)
From the same story: when one of their sons was born, there were all kinds of terrible omens, and the advisors explained to the royal couple that their son would bring something terrible upon their kingdom, and it would be better for everyone just to get rid of him. Sacrifice one part to save the whole and all that. But his parents are fond of him—he's the favorite son—and they ignore the advise and spare him. I love the idea of that—of being close to someone and knowing they're going to go on to do or be something terrible someday, but not being able to bring yourself to prevent it. Letting them go on, even though that means letting that awful event happen someday, and owning it—making yourself equally responsible for it in the process.
The next story, "Pandavas and Kauravas," talks about the rivalry between the two factions of brothers—sons of the pale king and sons of the blind king. That was interesting, the fact that they ended up being raised together, treated equally and like brothers, but still had that sense of rivalry and division, little packs of wolves. The description of the pale king's "sons," all demigods with different fathers, was really striking, too: He saw the stately lady Kunti and the five boys, as beautiful as gods, who stood beside her with the bearing of young lions. At her right was the eldest, about twelve years old, and beside him his brother, a year younger, broad of shoulder and long of arm, as strong as a yearling bull. At her left was a slender, dark-skinned boy with curling hair, and close to him were the younger brothers, twins of astonishing beauty.
Of course, the short passage about the sages was even more inspiring and worth noting: The porter had heard tales of sages such as these: how they had freed their hearts of anger and fear and all desire and gained such power of soul that they could live as long as they wished to live; that they could travel a thousand miles in the wink of an eye and could behold the whole universe as if it were a plum in the palms of their hands.
In the story "Bhima and the Nagas," Bhima ends up almost dying and taking a trip to the underworld because of that—but he returns from that trip with new, supernatural strength. The idea that he not only bounced back from death, but returned better than ever, is really interesting, and I think there are a lot of ways it can be twisted around and played with.
Out of everything so far, it's possibly the initial setup of "Ekalavya" that I love the most. Drona is famous throughout the different kingdoms by now as this great trainer of warriors (which automatically makes me think of Phil from Hercules, but that's beside the point). Anyways, Drona accepted all kinds of pupils from all over—but the only warrior he turned away was the prince of the robber king: This young man pleaded that he might be trained as an archer, but without avail. Drona said, "Are not the Bhils highwaymen and cattle-lifters? It would be a sin, indeed, to impart unto one of them great knowledge in the use of weapons." I love the idea of this—the heir of a criminal empire being turned away from real life because everyone knows his reputation and his family business, knows he's got blood on his hands. So far that, more than anything else, is calling to me for the weekly story. But I'll have to wait and see if I find the right thing to do with it.
Later, in "The Arrival of Karna," I was struck by the eponymous character. He arrives at the contest between the cousins, the eldest and illegitimate son of the Pandavas' mother and the sun god, and they laugh him off as nothing. But he ends up being just as good as their very best, golden boy warrior—maybe even better. That makes the Pandavas all petty and insecure; when Karna has been awarded a kingdom by their cousins to elevate his status, he still lovingly and humbly embraces his poor, charioteer adopted dad, which the Pandavas mock him for. They make fun of his weak, adopted dad and his charioteer background and tell him to go drive a cart and leave the fighting for warriors and princes, basically. And in response, it's just: Karna grew pale with wrath; his lips quivered, but he answered not a word. He heaved a deep sigh and looked towards the sun. At the end of all this, it turns out all the legitimate princes are brats, and I'm officially gunning for Karna to conquer all of them.
Bibliography: Mahabharata Online: Public Domain Edition. Source: Laura Gibbs's Indian Epics blog.
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