Reading Notes: PDE Mahabharata, Part B

The image of a burning house, like in “The House of Fire,” is a really strong one—and the possibility of arson or pyros is always fun to play with. So I’ll keep that in mind moving forward.

In "Bhima and Hidimba," there's another reminder that this version of demons are able to shape shift, which could be interesting to use too.

Also, I was really intrigued by the fact that, in “Bhima and Hidimbi,” Bhima ended up marrying the demon woman who'd fallen in love with him despite her brother, unlike Rama's experience in the Ramayana. That pairing is really interesting—a monstrously strong human and a monster who only wants to be human—especially because of their dynamic: he helps her be human, and she protects him from monsters and other dangers. So that could be a fun concept to try out. Of course, their halfling son has potential, too: that element of being caught between two worlds, a freak to both the monsters and the humans. (Lorcan story?)

Then there's the idea of the blood-tax in "Bhima and Baka." At regular intervals, a lord ruling over a small town requires that a family sends him one of their members and a cart of rice as a sort of blood-tax sacrifice. If the family doesn't send anyone, he goes to their house anyways, and slaughters all the members. I find the idea of a blood-tax really interesting, especially if opened up for different interpretation, and then there's also the interesting tradition of stories where a village youth is sent to the local "dragon" as a sacrifice—it could be fun to twist that around in a way that suits my storytelling interests more, give it more of a modern fantasy flair.

Later, in “Birth of Draupadi,” two different things caught my eye. The first is the birth of the twins themselves to the former king and friend Drona took down: “the miraculous births of Drupada's son and daughter from sacrificial fire.” It’s a fascinating idea with tons of potential, and just think of the characters themselves: what kind of people would these kids be, born of vengeance and sacrificial fire instead of love and happiness? Answer: my kind of kids.

The fire-born daughter’s fate sounds interesting, too, especially in a male-dominated story like this: A voice out of heaven said, "This dusky girl will become the chief of all women. Many kshatriyas must die because of her, and the Kauravas will suffer from her. She will accomplish the decrees of the gods." Talk about a legacy to live up to. Also, though, now that I think about it, it would be really interesting if her fate were to live as a sort of fixer/enforcer for the gods instead: the fire-born girl carrying out their dirty work, blood on her hands.

Also, this is kind of an aside from the point of all my other notes, but will anyone ever quit putting Karna down? Take the latest scene in "Draupadi's Swayamwara," for instance. The guy deserves better, and I'm waiting from the day he quits accepting everything with a sardonic bow and a bitter smile and starts putting everyone in their place: At length proud Karna strode forward; he took the bow and bent it and fixed the bowstring. Then he seized an arrow. Drupada and his son were alarmed, fearing he might succeed and claim the bride. Suddenly Draupadi intervened, for she would not have the son of a charioteer for her lord. She said, speaking loudly, "I am a king's daughter, and will not wed with the base-born."

Karna smiled bitterly, his face aflame. He cast down the bow and walked away, gazing towards the sun. He said, "O Sun! Be my witness that I cast aside the bow, not because I am unable to hit the mark, but because Draupadi scorns me."

In the introduction notes for "The Burning of the Forest," I found the description of the goddess Maya really interesting: she's "the goddess of the illusion that we call reality." That immediately conjures up something along the lines of a Gaiman Sandman character, but I do think it has potential, so it's worth keeping in mind.

Then there's the concept in "Pandavas Victorious" that caught my eye: as the intro notes state, "It is now time for Yudhishthira to declare himself a supreme monarch by performing a Rajasuya sacrifice. This will require that he confront a rival king..." I'm really fascinated by the Mafia, and this reminds me a lot of the way members are usually required to kill someone else to become "made" within the ranks. Thinking about that connection makes me think it would be interesting to take modern crime concepts and conflicts and transplant them into genre settings, so I'll look into doing that sometime.

Finally, I also loved the bloody weight of the line that Draupadi gave before they left on their exile, about her husband and their new enemy: "From this day my hair will fall over my forehead until Bhima shall have slain Duhshasana and drunk his blood; then shall Bhima tie up my tresses while his hands are yet wet with the blood of Duhshasana."

Bibliography: Mahabharata Online: Public Domain Edition. Source: Laura Gibbs's Indian Epics blog.

Image Credit: "The birth of Science" by Sergio Boscaino. Source: Flickr.

Week 5 Story Planning

This week, I ended up with a lot more story options than usual. I haven't settled on one yet, but I have narrowed it down to three different routes, so here's what I'm working with so far.

Option #1: From "King Shantanu and Ganga"

In this story, the goddess Ganga makes a pact with the eight celestial Vasus: When they get condemned to being born on earth as mortals, they approach Ganga, who agrees to act as 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." I like the idea of one character grimly swearing to murder another character on that character's behalf, either so they can gain a certain power or gain access to a certain place, or because it'll give them some temporary advantage or revery them to their true form. Whichever way, I think it could be entertaining to write, with some interesting character dynamics and mood to play around with.


Option #2: From "King Shantanu and Satyavati"

Another element that caught my eye was the introduction to Vyasa's mother. When asked who she is, she replies that she ferries passengers across the river. Granted, she's the adopted daughter of a fishermen, so she means that pretty literally—but it could be loads of fun to make the jump from that to a different kind of river entirely, something with the weight of the Greek River Styx and the feel of a modern-day fantasy setting. So that's an option too.


Option #3: "Gandhari and Dhritarashtra"

In this one, when the titular king and queen have a son, there are all sorts of terrible, ominous omens. The royal couple's advisors explain that their son will bring something terrible upon their kingdom, and that it'll be better for everyone just to get rid of him while they can—sacrifice the part to save the whole, and all that jazz. But the prince's parents are fond of him—he's their favorite son—and they decide to ignore the omens and the advisors and the best interests of their kingdom, just to spare him. I love the idea of that: of the main character being close to someone and knowing they're going to do something terrible someday, but not being able to bring herself to prevent it. Of choosing to let that happen before she'll choose to let this one person die—even though she knows that means she'll be just as responsible for all that tragedy when the other shoe finally does drop. Again, plenty of room for interesting character dynamics and a (theoretically) compelling protagonist; if I used this one, I think I'd like to give a tiny taste of that huge disaster, just to test the protag's resolve and see what emotional response comes of it.


Interestingly, even just that small amount of thinking through each of these gave me a little more clarity, and I think I'll wind up picking the third story to develop. I've got a better idea of who the characters in that are, what the plot and stakes might look like, so that's probably what I'll go with.



Bibliography: Mahabharata Online: Public Domain Edition. Source: Laura Gibbs's Indian Epics blog.
Image Credit: Dark Splash by Pexels. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: PDE Mahabharata, Part A

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.

Image Credit: Glowing Jellyfish by GIRAFFETING. Source: Pixabay.