Tenth Avatar

by Kanchan Joshi

  “Okay, sorry. I digress,” Jia said. “Let me ask you one thing, how committed are you? How sure are you about your relationship?”

  Krish and Prisha looked at each other. They almost spoke at the same time, “We love each other and are very compatible.”

  “That’s a good sign,” Jia said. She lowered her eyeglasses over her nose, looked Krish in the eye and asked, “Do you see yourself getting old together?”

  “I see where this is going,” Krish said. “This is too soon. Whose side are you on, ours or our parents?”

  Prisha agreed, “We have been dating for just a few weeks. It’s too early to think about marriage.”

  “We live in India, Prisha,” Jia reasoned. “Live-in relationships are frowned upon, especially in middle-class families. Both of your parents already contacted me and asked me to be the intermediary. If you want their approval, you should get married soon. Plus, Krish may have to travel back to the US or other places for his work. He cannot leave you hanging after having lived together.”

  Krish and Prisha were caught in a complex web of family issues, emotional blackmail, and the norms of culture and society. A lot of their friends were in similar situations and had to hasten their marriage plans. Against their best judgement, they decided that getting married truly was the most reasonable solution to the conflicts they were facing. Even though it was sooner than they would have liked, the couple believed in the love they shared.

  After rushing to the altar, Krish and Prisha traveled to cooler resorts in the Himalayas for their honeymoon.

  “Let’s go water rafting,” Prisha said excitedly. Water was Prisha’s favorite element. Krish, on the other hand, preferred walks, treks, and hikes. But, Krish agreed to her suggestion.

  As he probed his bag for his waterproof watch, he came across the Hanuman statue his mom had given him and the arrow he found in California. He had completely forgotten about it since coming to India!

  Krish and Prisha were walking toward the spot for rafting. He sat to rest by a fresh water lake that had been formed during the spring due to melting snow. The Hanuman statue rested safely in his backpack. All of a sudden, he experienced a strange feeling—like a bolt of energy was running through his body. He felt joyous. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling with uncontrollable bliss. He experienced a spontaneous meditative high and lost awareness of time and his surroundings. He was completely focused on the energy surging inside him. The legendary mountains, where great souls were said to live, the lake, and the fresh air were triggering something profound within him.

  Within a few moments, he was again conscious of his surroundings. Krish had experienced a glimpse of something extraordinary. He did his best to describe the occurrence, but Prisha didn’t understand what he felt. He explained to her about his prior experiences and the hallucinations he’d had in the States. He showed her the scar from his bullet injury from the shooting at the restaurant.

  “What did I marry into?” she said jokingly. “Krish, I’m proud of you.” She kissed him in a way that made him feel loved.

  “You’re quite a trailblazer yourself,” he said as he pressed her hand in his. He put her head on his chest, and they relaxed by the lake. The union of the two bodies, their hearts, and minds was complete.

  The spontaneous meditative experience reminded Krish of his mission to find Ramanujan’s lost papers. Upon returning from his honeymoon, Krish wasted no time in traveling to the Southern Indian state of Tamilnadu, where he would visit Ramanujan’s home. He couldn’t put off his mission any longer.

  The feeling of being followed persisted within him. He felt that, in the background, hidden from him, was a constant struggle going on between the security forces and his enemies. I’m caught in this cat and mouse game between my enemies and my protectors. Who knows, they may get to me one day, I need to find these papers and move onto the next step in my research quickly, Krish cautioned himself. But, I won’t let this constant threat terrorize me, or let it change my outlook. I’ll still enjoy my life and mission.

  As he travelled in a bus, he noticed that South India was completely different from the Western part of the country, where he came from. He enjoyed watching the tall coconut trees and magnificent temples as he travelled. He delighted in the delicious sambar, rice cakes, red, green, and white chatnees, and the extraordinary dances and music. He also noticed that the people were crazy about their movie stars. It was another world altogether.

  Krish found Ramanujan’s wife’s, Janaki’s, address and met with her.

  Janaki was more than one hundred years old, with dark, wrinkled skin. She wore a traditional white sari worn by widows, thick glasses with a big frame, and her thick, slightly unkempt grey hair was loosely bound with a clip. She spoke loudly—probably because her hearing had been affected by age—as a result, she sounded angry when she spoke. You almost didn’t notice she had only a few teeth left. Being a widow, she wore a black tika on her forehead, unlike the red worn by married women.

  The old woman said, “There were a lot of papers scattered by my husband’s bed as he died. His friend, Chidambaram, may have some of them. People still come inquiring about him. They write books, make movies. I’m blessed to be his widow. I’m well taken care of.”

  Krish followed up on the lead. Chidambaram, who lived in the neighboring village, had passed away.

  “Here is a box. See if you find something,” his son said as he handed Krish a worn wooden box.

  Krish sat for a moment on the front steps of Chidambaram’s household. He carefully glanced at each page, silently praying for the outcome he desired. As soon as he saw the mathematics contained in the first two pages, he realized it was of the highest level of complexity and development. Flipping the fourth page over and beginning to read the fifth, Krish believed that his heart had stopped beating in his chest. His eyes grew wide, then filled with tears. He put a hand to his mouth and tried to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. My god…I’ve found them! This is it!

  Krish was overcome by emotion, his entire body was covered with goose bumps. He touched his head to the ground out of respect, “This man, Ramanujan, is beyond words, superb! What a genius, really! I’m humbled.” Krish remembered what someone had said about Ramanujan’s theorems, “They must be true because, if they were not true, no one would have the imagination to invent them.”

  Chidambaram’s son looked on curiously, as he didn’t understand what was so special about these papers—the very ones he had almost gotten rid of.

  Krish continued digging through them. Unfortunately, most of the papers were so worn out that they were unreadable. It was a setback, but the pages that were legible were the answer to Krish’s prayers and the key to unlocking profound understanding.

  “What is this?” Krish asked as he opened another stack of paper from underneath the lost pages.

  Fortunately, the wise Chidambaram had copied all the pages by himself! Word for word! He didn’t understand a single thing about what he was copying, but he trusted Ramanujan’s ability, and his gut told him of the value captured here.

  Finally, half the battle had been fought and won. Krish had found Ramanujan’s lost papers. Now, his task was to deduce the theorems written and see if any were applicable to Feynman’s probabilities. After relationship distractions and numerous complications of life, the quest for knowledge had resumed in earnest!

  Chapter 9

  Life After Truth

  ~~~~~~~

  Ancient India

  ~~~~~~~

  Tough situations test mettle.

  Prince Angad, who fought alongside Hanuman and drove the demons away in his early teen years, had kept in touch with the beautiful lady surgeon from the hermitage—Savi—throughout the years. In the last few months, however, he was too preoccupied with his father’s death and the political instability that followed.

  After Vali’s death, Angad had made peace with his uncle, Sugriv. He was now the heir apparent of the kingdom.
Ram’s strong and formidable presence, and his alliance with Sugriv, had been a stabilizing hand in silencing any dissenting acts from loyalists of the old regime. Angad had wholeheartedly embraced Ram and his uncle; they were fair, transparent, and represented the future. A new era of spiritual, moral, artistic, and scientific development was beginning.

  Angad was ready to move on with his life. The monsoon rains had started, and as the dark clouds thundered and poured, new plants, animals, and life forms were being created everywhere. Angad’s heart was filled with new sensations and the energy of youth. He strongly desired female companionship. He could not wait to be with the beautiful Savi and was looking forward to enjoying her company. He had found out that Savi was the princess of the neighboring kingdom. She had completed her studies as a surgeon at the hermitage and returned home. He journeyed toward her palace.

  As he reached the city of Ahobilam, the sun was appearing on the horizon and the light was slowly replacing darkness. The morning dew had condensed on surfaces and made everything—the stones, trees, grass—appear in a darker shade; everything was wet with freshness. Walking on the grass provided a pleasant sensation to Angad’s feet. The mist settled delicately on the green trees. He saw a splash of green, the mist, and then the grey sky above it. It was a cloudy, misty, romantic morning. Angad imagined the warm, soft presence of his lady next to him on that wet morning.

  “Namaste Prince Angad,” Savi said, not hiding the joy she felt at the sight of him. She blushed, looked down, and shook her head a little to bring herself to her senses—a reminder to her own mind about what it was imagining. The warmth she displayed pleased Angad. She wore a bright green, short dhoti and a body hugging cloth around her breasts. She was getting ready for a horse ride. Her freshly washed, fragrant hair was tied in a bun—a small dagger tucked near her waist encased in a golden, intricately carved sheath. She stood close to Angad, with her almost bare back toward him. She could feel his eyes on her skin.

  Angad thought, in such a short period, Savi has changed. She is a grown woman now. She fits the image of the beautiful women described in the scriptures. I adore her plump breasts, round thighs, ample pelvic girdle, and slender waist. I cannot wait to be with her.

  She was also burning with anticipation of what was about to happen.

  Angad pulled her close to him and pressed his mouth possessively against hers—claiming everything that she was willing to give.

  They made love in the mists of Ahobilam that morning.

  Later that day, the young prince and princess roamed the city together. They saw well-manicured gardens blooming with various kinds of flowers and fruits.

  “Savi, the wilderness appears more lively than these well-maintained gardens. The raw force of life cannot be captured inside a garden. The wilderness is where it is expressed best.”

  “You are right, Angad, but mostly wild flowers and beasts flourish in the wilderness. The delicate roses, jasmines, tulips, and lilies are best grown in a garden. Raw force is, well… raw. Delicate, evolved, advanced expressions of life in the form of art, food, clothes, and even science need tenderness and security to flourish.” She was very sure of her thoughts and did not wait for an affirmation from Angad. She continued, “Let me explain the finer details, layout, and symbolism of this great city as we stroll.

  “The part of the city we are in right now is the lowest part, where all the people live. There are two main streets that go from east to west and north to south. All the palaces, offices, and markets are located on these two streets. Parallel to these two main streets are several other streets forming square shapes, within which are zones for houses, performing arts, galleries for painters, brothels, food places, sculptors, jewelers, and small shops belonging to various artisans and workmen. In other words, this tier has everything you need to live and enjoy life. There are also several places of worship for various gods—water, fire, rain, mountains, oceans, trees, animals, planets, the sun, etc.

  “As we walk up to the next level, you will see a huge, pleasant lake built by our king. Let us cleanse ourselves in this clear lake.” They first washed their feet in the crisp, peaceful waters. They splashed the glorious water upon their faces and ran damp fingers through each other’s hair.

  Looking into each other’s eyes, Savi continued, “There is just water here, no trees or any other structures surrounding the lake. This conveys that, as you enjoy the pleasures, and finish your family and societal duties, at the lower level, you need to rise up and cleanse yourself at this level. Cleansing is intended to slowly wash away all the good and bad impressions that you invariably acquired on the slate of your soul as you lived your life at the first level. Water is an excellent choice for cleansing.

  “As you trek to the third tier, you see a splendid Vishnu and Mother Devi temple. Vishnu is the one who protects and leads us. Devi is the power and inspiration to the Vishnu. They are both very human looking. You pray to them at this level. While being confined in your physical form, you explore what lies beyond the physical at this level.”

  Angad was trying to imbue the essence of what Savi was talking about. For the next stage, there was a glimpse of the hilltop, but no clear path forward. The path was blocked by wilderness and boulders.

  Savi looked at Angad and asked, “What do we do now? Can you figure it out?”

  Angad put his weapon down, jumped on a tree, walked around, and tried to make his way through by pulling down some trees, but he could not get ahead. He finally got tired and sat under a tree as Savi watched him mischievously. As he sat and rested for some time, he heard the faint sound of a stream just beyond the big rock in front of them. He smiled at Savi, as he got the point.

  “You have to sit quietly, with a calm mind, and it will come to you,” he said. Savi nodded and smiled at her handsome, young friend approvingly. They followed the stream and continued to trek higher into the hills. They reached the top and saw a small temple.

  “This is the highest point in the city. The temple is for Mahadev in the form of a cylindrical shaped lingam, its is a symbol of power. This conveys that one’s purpose in life is to realize this highest, formless level and achieve freedom. At this stage, you realize aspects that are beyond your body.” She paused and looked around, pointing to the curvy path they had travelled. The path completely disappeared sometimes.

  “Once you realize this level, you can go back and guide others along the path, or choose to live in this state continuously.”

  Angad was deeply impressed by the depth of Savi’s character and intellect, and the wisdom of the people who built this great city. Angad had known Savi as a princess and a surgeon—here, he saw her as a teacher and a yogi.

  There were very few visitors to the hill that day.

  Savi sat on a rock nearby. She was immersed in the view of the city below, the setting sun, and the cool breeze. As she sat, soaking in the silence and the peace she felt. Her breathing slowed and she quietly slipped into a meditative state.

  Back in the mountains of Kishkindha, it was a cloudy day. The sun could not be seen due to the cloud cover. It was muggy, and everyone was waiting for the rain that wouldn’t come. It was a very unpleasant day.

  Hanuman had changed completely since Ram’s blessing of the supreme yogic experience. Sometimes, he appeared to be lost in meditation, even when he was fully engaged in his day-to-day duties as the new general in Sugriv’s administration. Although, he was not yet at the highest yogic level where he could be in a meditative state all the time without effort.

  Ram was having troubles of his own. The anguish, frustration, and guilt of losing his dear wife was becoming too much to bear. She had trusted him by leaving the palace and living in the dreadful jungle, and he had failed her. It tore him apart to think of what Ravan could be doing to her. How was Ravan treating his beautiful, young wife who was completely at his mercy? Ravan had kidnapped scores of women and made them slaves or queens.

  Sita’s thoughts never left Ram. She was a princess,
the epitome of gentle, feminine energy. She was born of a non-uterine birth, outside the human body. She had a tall, slender frame and glowing complexion the hue of wheat. Her long hair and brown eyes were uncommon and gave her an exotic appearance. She always wore a gentle gaze, which hid her steadfast resolve and strong character. Sita was an accomplished yogi and also had the arms training necessary to defend herself if the situation arose; swords and a dagger were her weapons of choice. She was raised as a princess who had learned to handle palace politics.

  The first time Sita and Ram met, he completely swept her off her feet with his muscular body, mighty bow, and a calm, gentle smile. And Ram could not take his eyes off her slender, shapely form. Sita had looked at Ram and playfully gestured as if to say, ‘what are you looking at?’ She always teased him about that.

  Thinking about Sita put a smile on Ram’s face. But, the realization that she was not safe caused him anguish beyond compare.

  “Brother, I have single-handedly defeated thousands of demons. I have weapons that could destroy several planets. You and I can march today and rescue my dear Sita from the clutches of that evil spirit right now, but—curse my fortune—I cannot do that!” Ram said in a steady, controlled voice, despite the anxiety that dwelled within.

  “This is a great teachable moment for society,” Ram continued, “How to be an ideal leader, to obey the rules of warfare, to motivate society to fight for a just cause, and to obey the rule of law under all circumstances. This is an opportunity to demonstrate how to establish a just and fair system for all. I cannot lose this opportunity. But, personally, it is too painful, and I cannot take it any longer.”

  It seemed that there was a volcano boiling under Ram’s cold, steely exterior. Lakshman could not see his brave, courageous, powerful, elder brother in this heartbroken, devastated, and despondent state.

  “The learned people have started calling you the avatar of Vishnu, the Protector, the Leader,” Lakshman said. “You are only the seventh person to be bestowed with that title in thousands of years of history! Personally, I don’t care about titles. I will go myself and get Lady Sita back. I have not slept a single moment since that awful day. I will rain so many missiles down on Ravan’s city that it will be fried, and each and every soul will repent the day they were born under the demonic rule of their evil king. I will kill each and every one of his sons, brothers, commanders, generals, soldiers, and then Ravan himself. I am itching to put an arrow straight between his eyebrows and shatter his skull into a thousand pieces. The brain that came up with the idea of touching such a pious woman will be spilled on the unholy soil of Lanka and fed to the vultures.