The Curse of the Flying Dutchman

A portent of doom hangs over the dark raging seas. The year is 1641 and the Dutch ship 'The flying Dutchman' is navigating the waters of the Cape of Good Hope on its return journey home to Amsterdam from the Dutch East Indies. The ship is filled with riches and its crew is looking forward to returning home and reuniting with their families after a long voyage. 

Her Skipper, Captain Hendrick Van Der Decken is a man in a hurry to go home.

Mr. Borse is the youngest in the crew and has ended up in the fated ship as a stowaway. Like the rest of the world, the happy go lucky Moroccan has the usual dreams of seeing the world, making money and marrying the girl of his dreams. He is on course to his dreams and is assisting the captain on the bridge, when the 17th Century vessel gets hit by fierce gales and killer waves. 

The fearful crew implores with the captain to head for the safety of the shore and ride out the storm. The captain will have none of it. He takes a swig of rum and contemptuously shakes a fist at the skies and yells "No storm has ever stopped me before and by Jove, it's not going to stop me now".

Howling winds bends the masts and rips the sails, monster waves sends the ship heaving and lurching. The crew finally cracks and there is a mutiny on board. As Mr. Borse looks on in terror, the captain, furious and vengeful, kills the leader of the rebellion and throws the body aboard. That's the end of Mr. Joglekar.

At that point, lightning floods the skies and a shadowy caped specter appears on the ship's deck hovering a few inches over the ground "You are a very stubborn man, Captain".

The Captain replies "I never asked for a peaceful passage, I never asked for anything. So clear off before I shoot you too". The captain draws his pistol and fires.  

The apparition cannot be harmed by a mere bullet and says “for this you are accursed, because of your actions you are condemned to sail the oceans for eternity, with a ghostly crew of dead men.  You will bring death to all who spot your spectral ship and you will never be allowed to make port or know a moment’s peace.”

Defiant to the end the captain replies, “Amen to that.”

Amid the cries of hopelessness and terror of her crew, the Flying Dutchman sinks to a watery grave. The sea has claimed yet another one.

Next day, in the wintery morning, the waters have calmed down and the sun is out in the soft breeze. From the still waters, a ghost ship surfaces from its watery grave. The Flying Dutchman has just started an eternal voyage across the world which will never end. Its life as usual as the gloomy crew of skeletons goes back mournfully to their daily chores of running the ship. They are well aware they are going to break all maritime records.

Mr. Borse puts on his favorite hat sadly and looks on despairingly at his grinning skull in the mirror. He raises his voice to the skies - "I didn't sign up for this. I want to go home!! ". The Dead captain places a fatherly (and a very bony) hand on Mr. Borse's shoulder blades and what is recorded as the understatement of the year 1641 says "Don't worry, all will be well". 

Over the centuries, the ghost ship has traversed the world round and round. The sighting of the Flying Dutchman has been a harbinger of disaster for Mariners. Ships have been led astray into hidden reefs by the ghost ship and sunk. Mariners cross their hearts and nail a horse shoe on their ships mast to ward off the omen of the Flying Dutchman.

So in the near future, if you are out in the ocean look out for a 17th century ship with full masts and a red glow. Look hard and if you see the captain waving a skeletal hand, you know what to do.

Utter a prayer and escape while you can!!!!!

Footnote: It takes whole of 300 years before Mr. Borse is finally (and the only one) released from the ghost ship. He gets reincarnated as a SAP CRM consultant and is now settled in Florida. He has seen the world, made money and married the girl of his dreams - not in that order though. However, from childhood Mr. Borse dreams of phantom ships and cannot understand the lure of the sea which seems to tug at him constantly. But he is afraid...deathly afraid to venture out even to the beach.

And he knows not why :)

The Magic of Nidhivan

The sight is strange. As the sun slowly finds its way home into the horizon, one looks on in wonder as hordes of birds and monkeys make a hasty and a very visible retreat from the woods. Within minutes, the place is empty. 

As the night closes in, a guard walks out to warn everyone to clear the area.  

This is Nidhivan, a 5 acre forest garden of Tulsi trees near Vrindavan - the fabled city where lord Krishna is said to have lived thousands of years back. Here the roots of every two plants are connected and is said to be a form of Krishna and Radha. What makes these trees stand out is they are all entangled with each other.

As the dance of the stars begin in the skies above, they say these trees come to life every night in the forest.  Here Lord Krishna is said to have Raas Leela with the Gopis till early in the morning. Legend has it no one is allowed to watch the celestial dance and those break this rule don't live to tell the tale. As a safety measure, the houses overlooking the woods shut their doors and windows in the night.  People have said to have heard the melody of Krishna’s flute diffusing the night in Nidhivan.

In the day time, the place comes alive with tourists. The guide points out the interconnected Tulsi plants. The roots seem brittle but the leaves above are lush green.

In middle of Nidhivan, there is a temple called Rang Mahal. Here, every night, a room is prepared for Radha and Krishna to rest after their Raas Leela. The same ritual is followed every night. A bed is made, food and water is put on the table and a traditional 2 tooth brushes are kept. Then the room is locked. The temple is then vacated and at the next dawn when the doors of the room are unlocked, the bed is found slept in, the food eaten and toothbrushes used.

This is singularly a mystery which goes beyond the realm of myth. TV crews have come here trying to decode the mystique without any success. They have kept vigil around the night, hunted for secret passages, checked whether locks tampered with - All in hope of finding a more rational explanation. Nothing has been found to explain the phenomenon. This is the closest you get to having proof that god exists in our midst.

My thoughts go back to the story of Radha and Krishna. Like all great love stories, they were not destined to be together.  After Krishna left Gokul, he had duties to fulfill and never ever looked back. Though he went on to marry (a few thousand wives no less), it is said he never forgot Radha. There is no explanation. Shorn of spiritual connotations, maybe the lesson here is that love isn’t about being married or being with someone. Love is being connected from the soul. Who knows ?

 

Whatever, the story of Nidhivan brings a smile to my face. I close my eyes and see Krishna - his flute, a peacock feather adorning the head and a serene and compassionate smile. I can almost hear the faint sound of flute playing accompanied by the soft sound of anklets. My heart fills with wonder and faith and a song from Lagaan comes to my lips.

"Madhuban mein Jo kanhaiya kisee gopi se mile,

Kabhee muskaye, kabhee chhede, kabhee baat kare,

Radha kaise naa jale, radha kaise naa jale, Aag tan mann me lage, Radha kaise naa jale, radha kaise naa jale....

The Bridge of No Return

My co-passenger and I looked at each other suspiciously when the Boeing jet dropped vertically several feet as we hit an air pocket. It was my first trip to the French city of Marseille, albeit an official one. Not exactly a travel hound when it came as a passion, my tryst with sightseeing is mostly limited to travel brochures and works of fiction. Unlike millions of my fellow species I have not been blessed with wanderlust. Of course, there have been occasions when the stirrings of distant snow clad mountains have beckoned me, without much success. 

But somehow, Marseille was different... I had heard so much of this exquisite city - it's history, architecture and culture. More importantly, this was the land from where my ex-sweetheart came from. That was enough for me to fall in love with the place without ever seeing it before. Strange what love can do to you.

As we flew over the deep blue Mediterranean Ocean, I reflected sadly at the vagaries of life and pain of lost love. On touchdown, I was shaken out of my thoughts by a fresh autumn coolness and a wide expanse of green melting into the sea which simply took the breath away. In the evening, with formalities of work over and after a combination of  a wonderful meal of typical French cuisine and an uncharacteristically warm French hospitality made us feel good all over, my friend and I went for a lazy walk by the country side.

It was around eleven in the night and as we trudged silently in the dark, each to our own thoughts, we came to a small bridge by the road side lit brilliantly by millions of stars above us. Leaning on that distant bridge in middle of nowhere amidst the dark trees, with moonlight filtering through its leaves and a comforting silence, I was swept with a sense of timelessness. That nothing had changed in this place for centuries. 

And in that quiet, time stood still and my soul again yearned for that someone who had made me feel so good at some point of my life. Our relationship had been unusual and tempestuous to say the least with long spans of time separating us for most of the five years that I had known her. Somehow, every meeting was special because the gaps didn't seem to exist. Looking wistfully at me out of those brown eyes, she had once told me that we met only to part, and finally the day came when we parted never to meet again as fate swept us in lone directions. Though over time I forced myself to believe I have no regrets, there has always been this occasional tug at the heart as I know I will never experience those depths again.

Standing on that silent night, I remembered something I had read somewhere "The old dreams were good dreams, It didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them anyway". It struck me that I had forgotten something along the way. To really relish the color of life is truly learning to treasure the moments we have lived right and look forward to another tomorrow.  In more ways than one, I had seen light on that starry night on a lonely bridge in middle of nowhere.

The Legend of Eklavya

Destiny stirs uneasily. Eklavya is about to make his first move which will seal his fate forever. The tall wiry young man with his long locks and intense eyes proudly goes up to Drona with folded hands and makes his pitch. "I am Eklavya, the son of Hiranyadhanusha, chief of the Nishada tribe. I want to be the greatest archer in the world. Will you accept me as your pupil?" The master teaches only royalty and contemptuously refuses. Eyes downcast, Eklavya bows his head at this slight but has nothing but devotion to the teacher he will never have.

Refusing to give up on his dreams, Eklavya builds a clay statue of his adopted teacher. With a natural skill in archery combined with a deadly focus towards his art, he starts training. In his heart and soul, Drona is always around, guiding him all the way. As time passes, Eklavya’ s archery skills are that of the gods. And like they say, Practice makes awesome. 

Years pass. The kuru Princes are out on a hunt led by a pack of hounds. One dog picks up the scent of Eklavya practicing close by and goes in for the chase, barking furiously. His concentration disturbed, Eklavya lets loose a lightning volley of arrows and gags the dog's mouth. At that moment the kuru princes bursts into the scene. 

The sight is extraordinary - 7 arrows criss-crossed between the stunned animal's jaws without as much a scratch. Arjuna, the Pandava prince who would go on to be the greatest warrior of the era instantly knows he is in front of a warrior far more skilled than him. Incredulous, he asks Eklavya "From where did you learn to shoot like that?" Eklavya proudly replies - 'Dronacharya'. 

Blinded by jealousy, Arjuna confronts his teacher - 'How could you betray me? You promised to make me the greatest archer in the world'. A perplexed Drona is led to Eklavya. He silently looks at in wonder at his clay statue and Eklavya hitting his targets with deadly precision one after another. One look and he knows Arjuna has met his match. Drona is torn between affection for a student he has never taught and a commitment to make Arjuna the greatest.  Drona embraces Eklavya who is overwhelmed to be acknowledged by his master. 

Drona tells him "You consider me your teacher. As per tradition you have to pay me my due".  Eklavya bows "Whatever you wish, Acharya". Drona looks at Arjuna and says to Eklavya "I want your right thumb as my payment". Eklavya does not miss the look of complicity pass between Drona and Arjuna and knows exactly what is being asked of him. Without the right thumb, you can barely put an arrow to the bow, let alone be a marksman of the sublime level. Without a word,  Eklavya takes a knife and cuts off his thumb at the base and offers it to Drona - the ultimate gurudakshina ever.

That night, long after everyone has gone back to their lives, Eklavya weeps silent tears clutching his mutilated hand in excruciating pain - despairing at the troubled thoughts of what might have been. It was a day of irrevocable losses. Eklavya lost his thumb and with it his dreams. Drona lost a part of his soul. The skies opened up in anguish. That night 3 gods cried. The god of justice, the god of Fair play…. and the god of fate. 

The story does not end here.

The world has forgotten about him but Eklavya rises like the proverbial phoenix. Unwilling to be beaten by life, he again picks up his bow with a steely resolve and re-learns to shoot . Eklavya adapts to his missing digit and goes on to become one of the most feared archers of the time. A warrior will always be a warrior. And where the heart has hope, dreams will always be chased.

Time passes. It is time of conflict between the Kauravas and Pandavas and ancient India is preparing for war. With the drums of war starting to echo across the dusty plains of kurukshetra, it's time to take sides. On eve of the battle, Eklavya offers his services to the Kauravas. Drona is fighting for them. He has sworn to protect his teacher with his life. Besides, Eklavya has never forgiven Arjuna for what he did to him.

Lord Krishna knows thumb or no thumb; Eklavya poses a dangerous threat to Arjuna. He goes to the forest and tries to dissuade him from fighting the war. "This is not your fight. You belong to the forest”. Eklavya refuses to be swayed. Krishna knows he has to act know. He plunges a dagger in the back of the unsuspecting Eklavya. The dying Eklavya falls and gasps for breath - his tortured face searches Krishna for answers to this betrayal. At this point, the lord reveals his dazzling divine form to the unfortunate soul. Not many mortals get this chance. Eklavya's face changes from agony to ecstasy and he says "Lord, I am truly blessed to have the honor of dying at your hands. I just have one wish. My mother should not know any grief on my account". 

With his heart filled with grief, Krishna blesses the fallen warrior "You are a truly noble soul. Future generations will draw inspiration, courage and fortitude from your story. You will be synonymous with these qualities".  Eklavya finally departs from the world, his soul at peace - his spirit unbroken to the end. To keep his promise to Eklavya, Krishna claims the life of his mother as well, to spare her the sorrow of losing a son.

The circle of  destiny is complete.

5000 years later I relive the story of Eklavya with disquiet. In the maze of the epic story of Mahabharata, Eklavya’s story is a blink and miss episode - a collateral damage in a war which claimed countless lives. But he remains one of its most inspiring heroes. I am swept with a sense of crushing heartache at the deja vu of betrayals which Eklavya endured and the unfairness of the world. The questions are troubling. In the fight between darkness and light why did the lord Krishna did as he did. Where did the nobility of Arjuna disappear in face of being faced with real competition for the first time in his life? Most troubling is the role of Drona in the whole story. The lines of good and evil gets blurred here....One can't help but wonder at the vagaries of fate.

Note: There are many versions of how Eklavya died. The one in the above narrative has been taken from Anuja Chandramouli’s  "Saga of Pandava Warrior-Prince Arjuna".