Hear the Unheard

Back in the third century there lived a King named Ts'ao. He had a son name Prince Tai. Since Tai was to succeed his father as King, the King wanted the Master Teacher Pan Ku to teach the boy the basics of being a good ruler. When the Prince arrived at the temple, the master Pan-Ku sent him alone to the forest. After one year, the prince was to return to the temple to describe the sound of the forest.

When Prince Tai returned after a year, Pan Ku asked the boy to describe all that he could hear. "Master", replied the Prince, "I could hear the cuckoos sing, the leaves rustle, the humming bird hum, the crickets chirp, the grass blow, the bees buzz and the wind whisper and holler." When the Prince had finished, the master told him to go back to the forest to listen to what more he could hear. The Prince was puzzled by the Master's request. Had he not discerned every sound already ?

For days and nights on end, the young prince sat alone in the forest listening, but could not hear any sounds other than those which he had already heard. Then one morning, as the prince sat silently beneath the trees, he started to discern faint sounds unlike those he had ever heard before. The most acutely he listened, the clearer the sounds became. The feeling of enlightenment enveloped the boy. “These must be the sounds the Master wished me to discern,” he replied.

When Prince Tai returned to the temple the Master asked him what more he had heard. “Master", responded the prince reverently, "when I listened more closely, I could hear the UNHEARD - the sounds of flowers opening, the sound of sun warming the earth, and the sound of grass drinking the morning dew." The Master nodded approvingly. "To hear the Unheard," remarked Pan-ku, "is a necessary discipline to be a good ruler. For only when a ruler (read also as leader) has learned to listen closely to the people's heart, hearing their feelings un-communicated, pains unexpressed, and complains not spoken of, can he hope to inspire confidence in his people, understand when something is wrong, and meet the true needs of his citizens. The demise of state comes when leaders listen only to superficial words and do not penetrate deeply into the souls of the people to hear their true opinions, feelings and desires."

Homage to our Heroes

Vivek Pradhan was not a happy man. Even the plush comfort of the air-conditioned compartment of the Shatabdi express could not cool his frayed nerves. He was the Project Manager and still not entitled to air travel. It was not the prestige he sought, he had tried to reason with the admin person, it was the savings in time. As PM, he had so many things to do. He opened his case and took out the laptop, determined to put the time to some good use.

Are you from the software industry sir," the man beside him was staring appreciatively at the laptop.

Vivek glanced briefly and mumbled in affirmation, handling the laptop now with exaggerated care and importance as if it were an expensive car.

"You people have brought so much advancement to the country sir. Today everything is getting computerized. "

"Thanks," smiled Vivek, turning around to give the man a look.

He always found it difficult to resist appreciation. The man was young and stocky like a sportsman. He looked simple and strangely out of place in that little lap of luxury like a small town boy in a prep school. He probably was a railway sportsman making the most of his free traveling pass.

"You people always amaze me," the man continued, "You sit in an office and write something on a computer and it does so many big things outside."

Vivek smiled deprecatingly. Naivety demanded reasoning not anger. "It is not as simple as that my friend. It is not just a question of writing a few lines. There is a lot of process that goes behind it." For a moment, he was tempted to explain the entire Software Development Lifecycle but restrained himself to a single statement. "It is complex, very complex."

"It has to be. No wonder you people are so highly paid," came the reply.

This was not turning out as Vivek had thought. A hint of belligerence came into his so far affable, persuasive tone.

"Everyone just sees the money. No one sees the amount of hard work we have to put in. Indians have such a narrow concept of hard work.. Just because we sit in an air-conditioned office does not mean our brows do not sweat. You exercise the muscle; we exercise the mind and believe me that is no less taxing."

He had the man where he wanted him and it was time to drive home the point.


"Let me give you an example. Take this train. The entire railway reservation system is computerized. You can book a train ticket between any two stations from any of the hundreds of computerized booking centres across the country. Thousands of transactions accessing a single database, at a time concurrency; data integrity, locking, data security.
Do you understand the complexity in designing and coding such a system?"

The man was stuck with amazement, like a child at a planetarium. This was something big and beyond his imagination. "You design and code such things."

"I used to," Vivek paused for effect, "But now I am the Project Manager,"

"Oh!" sighed the man, as if the storm had passed over, "so your life is easy now."

It was like being told the fire was better than the frying pan. The man had to be given a feel of the heat.

"Oh come on, does life ever get easy as you go up the ladder. Responsibility only brings more work. Design and coding! That is the easier part. Now I do not do it, but I am responsible for it and believe me, that is far more stressful. My job is to get the work done in time and with the highest quality. To tell you about the pressures, there is the customer at one end always changing his requirements, the user wanting something else and your boss always expecting you to have finished it yesterday."

Vivek paused in his diatribe, his belligerence fading with self-realisation. What he had said, was not merely the outburst of a wronged man, it was the truth. And one need not get angry while defending the truth. "My friend," he concluded triumphantly, "you don't
know what it is to be in the line of fire."

The man sat back in his chair, his eyes closed as if in realization. When he spoke after sometime, it was with a calm certainty that surprised Vivek.


"I know sir, I know what it is to be in the line of fire," He was staring blankly as if no passenger, no train existed, just a vast expanse of time.

"There were 30 of us when we were ordered to capture Point 4875 in the cover of the night. The enemy was firing from the top. There was no knowing where the next bullet was going to come from and for whom. In the morning when we finally hoisted the tricolour at the top only 4 of us were alive."

"You are a..."

"I am Subedar Sushant from the 13 J&K Rifles on duty at Peak 4875 in Kargil. They tell me I have completed my term and can opt for a land assignment. But tell me sir, can one give up duty just because it makes life easier. On the dawn of that capture, one of my colleagues lay injured in the snow, open to enemy fire while we were hiding behind a bunker. It was my job to go and fetch that soldier to safety. But my captain refused me permission and went ahead himself. He said that the first pledge he had taken as a Gentleman Cadet was to put the safety and welfare of the nation foremost followed by the safety and welfare of the men he commanded. His own personal safety came last, always and every time. He was killed as he shielded that soldier into the bunker. Every morning now, as I stand guard I can see him taking all those bullets, which were actually meant for me. I know sir, I know what it is to be in the line of fire."

Vivek looked at him in disbelief not sure of his reply. Abruptly he switched off the laptop. It seemed trivial, even insulting to edit a word document in the presence of a man for whom valour and duty was a daily part of life; a valour and sense of duty which he had so far
attributed only to epical heroes.

The train slowed down as it pulled into the station and Subedar Sushant picked up his bags to alight.

"It was nice meeting you sir."

Vivek fumbled with the handshake. This hand had climbed mountains, pressed the trigger, and hoisted the Tri-colour. Suddenly as if by impulse, he stood at attention and his right hand went up in an impromptu salute. It was the least he felt he could do for the country.

PS: The incident he narrates during the capture of Peak 4875 is a true-life incident during the Kargil war. Capt. Batra sacrificed his life while trying to save one of the men he commanded, as victory was within sight. For this and his various other acts of bravery he was awarded the Param Vir Chakra the nation's highest military award.

Live humbly, there are great people around us, let us learn!

Winners are too busy to be sad, too positive to be doubtful, too optimistic to be fearful and too determined to be defeated!

Jai Hind.

My note :
I and my ladak gang were the fortunate ones, who saw the battle ground and the place renamed after Captain Batra.

The every inch of Drass-Kargin sector witnessed the valor of our Army and now stand as tall testimonial of our victory.

The proud and most memorable moment was when the entire gang sang the National Anthem in front of the martyrs memorial. With flowing tears and lump in our throat, when we all shouted, Jai Hind, we meant it from our heart.

When I see people fighting on stupid issues like domicile, caste, identity and preferences; I think what might our great heroes might be feeling. Have they shed their life, for us, so that we fight on those issues. So friends think twice before you think arguing any issue.... is it worth fighting? will it make our heroes happy.
.

He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver

This verse puzzled some women in a Bible study and they wondered what this statement meant about the character and nature of God.

One of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver andget back to the group at their next Bible Study.

That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watchhim at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining Silver.

As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fireand let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities.

The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: 'He sits as a refiner andpurifier of silver.' She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined.

The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed.

The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, 'How do you know when the silver is fully refined?'

He smiled at her and answered, 'Oh, that's easy --when I see my image in it.

'If today you are feeling the heat of the fire, remember that God has his eye on you and will keep watching you until He sees His image in you.

Pass this on, someone needs to know that God is watching over them.

And, whatever they're going through, they'll be a better person in the end.

'Life is a coin. You can spend it anyway you wish, but you can only spendit when u are alive!

Credit : Malachi [3:3]

On Krishna's chariot stands Shikhandi

It was the ninth night of the war at Kurukshetra. The exact midpoint of the legendary 18-day bloodbath. Not the start, not the end, but the middle. The war had been inconclusive. Sometimes the Kauravas led by the old sire Bhisma had the upper hand; sometimes the Pandavas led by the young warlord, Dhristadhyumna, Draupadi's twin brother, had the upper hand. A see-saw that was going nowhere.
"Bhisma loves us too much to defeat us," said the Pandavas.
"Yet not enough to let us win," reminded Krishna. "He must die, if dharma has to be established. " But Bhisma had been given a boon by his father that he could choose the time of his death. No one could therefore kill him. "If we cannot kill him, we must at least immobilize him."
"But no one can defeat him," said the Pandavas. "Even the great Parashurama could not overpower him in a duel. So long he holds a weapon in hand he is invincible."
"Then we must make him lower his bow," said Krishna.
"He will never lower his bow before any armed man."
"What about an armed woman?"
"A woman? On the battlefield? " sneered the Pandavas, forgetting they themselves worshipped Durga, the goddess of war and victory. "But it is against dharma to let women hold weapons and step on the battlefield. "
"Who said so?" asked Krishna.
"Bhisma says so. Dharma says so."
"Dharma also says that old men should retire and make way for the next generation so that the earth's resources are not exploited by too many generations. But Bhisma did the very opposite. He renounced his right to marry, so that his old father could resume the householder' s life," argued Krishna.
"He was being an obedient son."
"He was indulging his old father at the cost of the earth. That vow spiraled events that has led to this war. It is time to be rid of him, by force or cunning, if necessary. We must find someone before whom the old patriarch will lower his bow. If not a woman, then someone who is not quite a man."
"What about Shikhandi!" said Dhristadhyumna. "He is my elder brother. He was born a woman. But my father, Draupada, was told by the Rishis that he would one day become a man. Though born with female genital organs, Shikhandi was raised a son, taught warfare and statecraft. He was even given a wife. On his wedding night, the wife, daughter of king Hiranyavarna of Dasharna, was horrified to discover that her husband was actually a woman. My father tried to explain that actually Shikhandi was a man with a female body and that Rishis had told him he would someday acquire a male body. The woman refused to listen. She screamed and ran to her father and her father raised an army and threatened to destroy our city. A distraught Shikhandi went to the forest, holding himself responsible for the crisis, intent on killing himself. There he met a Yaksha called Sthunakarna who took pity on him and gave him his manhood for one night. With the Yaksha's manhood, Shikhandi made love to a concubine sent by his father-in-law and proved he was no woman. The wife was therefore forced to return. Now, it so happened, that Kubera, king of the Yakshas, was furious with what Sthunakarna had done and so cursed Sthunakarna that he would not get his manhood back so long as Shikhandi was alive. As a result what was supposed to be with him for one night has remained with him till this moment. My elder brother, Shikhandi, born with a female body, has a Yaksha's manhood right now. What is he, Krishna? Man or woman?"Krishna knew things were more complex. Shikhandi, may have been raised as a man and may have acquired a manhood later in life, but in his previous life, he was a woman called Amba, whose life Bhisma had ruined. Bhisma had abducted her along with her sisters and forced them to marry, not him, but his weakling of a brother, Vichitravirya (a name that means `queer masculinity' or `odd manliness'). When she begged Bhisma to let her marry the man she loved, he let her go. But the lover refused to marry Amba, now soiled by contact with another man (Bhisma). Distraught she returned, only to have Vichitravirya turn her away, and Bhisma shrugging helplessly. "When you have taken the vow of never being with a woman, what gave you the right to abduct me," she yelled. Bhisma ignored her. Amba begged Parashurama, the great warrior, to kill Bhisma but he failed. Exasperated, irritated, she prayed to Shiva. "Make me the cause of his death," she begged. Shiva blessed her – it would be so, but only in her next life. Amba immediately leapt into a pyre eager to accelerate the process.
"I think, Shikhandi should ride into the battlefield on my chariot. Let Arjuna stand behind him," said Krishna. The tenth day dawned. The chariot rolled out. Behind Krishna stood the strange creature, neither man nor woman, or perhaps both, or neither, and behind him, Arjuna.
"You bring a woman into this battlefield, before me," roared Bhisma seeing Shikhandi. "This is adharma. I refuse to fight."
Krishna retorted in his calm melodious voice, "You see her as a woman because she was born with a female body. You see her as a woman because in her heart she is Amba. But I see her as a man because that is how her father raised her. I see her as a man because she has a Yaksha's manhood with which he has consummated his marriage. Whose point of view is right, Bhisma?"
"Mine," said Bhisma.
"You are always right, are you not, Bhisma? When you allowed your old father to remarry, when you abducted brides for your weak brother, when clung to future generation after future generations like a leech, trying to set things right. There is always a logic you find to justify your point of view. So now, Shikhandi is a woman – an unworthy opponent. That's your view, not Shikhandi's view. He wishes to fight you."
"I will not fight this woman," so saying Bhisma lowered his bow without even looking towards Shikhandi.
"Shoot him now, Shikhandi. Shoot him, now, Arjuna," said Krishna, "Shoot hundreds of arrows so that they puncture every inch of this old man's flesh. Pin him to ground, immobilize him so that he can no longer immobilize the war."
"But he is like a father to me," argued Arjuna.
"This war is not about fathers or sons. This is not even about men or women, Arjuna. This is about dharma. And dharma is about empathy. Empathy is about inclusion. Even now, he excludes Shikhandi's feelings – all he cares about his version of the law. Shoot him now. Rid the world of this old school of thought so that a new world can be reconstructed. "
And so Arjuna released a volley of arrows. Hundreds of arrows punctured every limb of Bhisma's body, his hands, his legs, his trunk, his thigh, till the grandsire fell like a giant Banyan tree in the middle of a forest. It is said that the earth would not accept him for he had lived too long – over four generations instead of just two. It is said the sky would not accept him because he had not fathered children and repaid his debt to ancestors. So he remained suspended mid-air by Arjuna's arrows.With the fall of Bhisma, the war moved in favor of the Pandavas. Nine days later, the Kauravas were defeated and dharma had been established.
Without doubt, Shikhandi changed the course of the war and played a pivotal role in the establishing of dharma. He was without doubt a key tool for Krishna. A cynic would say, Shikhandi was used by Krishna. A devotee will argue, Krishna made even Shikhandi useful. But his story is almost always overlooked in retellings of the great epic Mahabharata, or retold rather hurriedly, avoid the details. Authors have gone so far as to conveniently call the Sthunakarna episode a later interpolation, hence of no consequence.
Shikhandi embodies all queer people – from gays to lesbians to Hijras to transgendered people to hermaphrodites to bisexuals. Like their stories, his story remains invisible. But the great author, Vyasa, located this story between the ninth night and the tenth day, right in the middle of the war, between the start and the finish. This was surely not accidental. It was a strategic pointer to things that belong neither here nor there. This is how the ancients gave voice to the non-heterosexual discourse.
Shikhandi embarrases us today. Sthunakarna who willingly gave up his manhood frightens us today. But neither Shikhandi nor Shthunkarna embarrassed or frightened Krishna or Vyas. Both included Shikhandi in the great narrative. But modern writers have chosen to exclude him. That is the story of homosexuals in human society. Homosexuals have always existed in God's world but more often than not manmade society has chosen to ignore, suppress, ridicule, label them aberrants, diseased, to be swept under carpets and gagged by laws such as 377. They have been equated with rapists and molesters, simply because they can only love differently.
Indian society, however, has been a bit different from most others. Like all cultures, Indian culture for sure paid more importance to the dominant heterosexual discourse. But unlike most cultures, Indian culture did not condemn or invalidate the minority non-heterosexual discourse altogether. Hence the tale of Shikhandi, placed so strategically. Hence the tale of Bhangashvana, retold by none other than Bhisma to the Pandavas, after the war before he chose to die.
Yudhishtira asked, "Grandfather, who gets more sexual pleasure – men or women? What is sweeter to the ear – the sound of father or mother?"
Bhisma replied, "No one knows really.. Except perhaps Bhangashvana, the only one who was both man and woman. Bhangashvana was a great king, with many wives and many sons. Indra cursed him to be a woman. So he lived as a woman, took a husband and bore him children. He was thus a man to his wife and a woman to his husband. He thus had two sets of children, one who called him `father' and another who called him `mother'. He alone is qualified to answer your questions." Such ideas will never find mention in most scriptures around the world. But they are part of our cultural inheritance.
Clearly many keepers of culture have not heard the stories of Shikhandi, or Bhangashvana or of Yuvanashva, the king who accidentally became pregnant and delivered the great Mandhata, or of the two queens who made love to each other to produce a child without bones (bones being the contribution of sperm, according to mythology), or of Mohini, the female form of Vishnu, who enchanted even Shiva, the great hermit. Clearly they have chosen to ignore that every year, in Brahmotsavam festival, the image of the Lord Venkateshwara Balaji, who is Vishnu on earth, is dressed in female garments reminding us all of Mohini. Clearly they are oblivious of how Shrinathji in Nathdwara is lovingly bedecked with a sari, the stri-vesha or women's attire, in memory of the time he wore Radha's clothes to appease her. Clearly they are not aware of Gopeshwarji of Vrindavan, Shiva who took the form of a milkmaid so that he could dance the raas-leela with Krishna. And they certainly have turned a blind eye to the rooster-riding Bahucharji, of Gujarat, patron goddess of many Hijras.
Western religions have, and will, look upon Hinduism's cross-dressing gods as vulgar and perverted. The British mocked us so much during the Raj that we went into apology and denial. Now an entire generation does not even know about these tales and these deities and these rituals. Westernization did not change bedroom habits; it has led to an embarrassed denial of our sacred scriptures..
One thing we must grant the homosexual – he has united the cantankerous right wing. He has done what the constitution of India could not do – bring the radical Islamic cleric, the saffron robed yogis, the Bible-bashing clergyman to same side of the table. Together these self-proclaimed guardians of culture would like the homosexuals to be made invisible once more.
Baba Ramdevji would for sure celebrate the celibacy of Bhisma. If he would have his way, he would, perhaps, drag Shikhandi to the mental asylum and teach him breathing exercises until the Yaksha's appendage drops and he/she chokes and gasps into heterosexuality. But not Krishna. On Krishna's chariot, Shikhandi – as he/she is – will always be welcomed.

[http://devdutt. com/on-krishnas- chariot-stands- shikhandi]
On Krishna's chariot stands Shikhandi
Published in Sunday Midday, Mumbai, 12 July 2009

Work can speak better than words

A man once visited a temple under construction where he saw a sculptor making an idol of God. Suddenly he noticed a similar idol lying nearby. Surprised, he asked the sculptor, "Do you need two statues of the same idol?"

"No," said the sculptor without looking up, "We need only one, but the first one got damaged at the last stage."

The gentleman examined the idol and found no apparent damage. "Where is the damage?" he asked.

"There is a scratch on the nose of the idol." said the sculptor, still busy with his work.

"Where are you going to install the idol?" The sculptor replied that it would be installed on a pillar twenty feet high.

"If the idol is that far, who is going to know that there is a scratch on the nose?" the gentleman asked.

The sculptor stopped his work, looked up at the gentleman, smiled and said, "I will know it."

The desire to excel is exclusive of the fact whether someone else appreciates it or not. "Excellence" is a drive from inside, not outside.

Full utilisation of resources

Buddha, one day, was in deep thought about the worldly activities and the ways of instilling goodness in human beings. One of his disciples approached him and said humbly " Oh my teacher ! While you are so much concerned about the world and others, why don't you look in to the welfare and needs of your own disciples also."

Buddha : "OK.. Tell me how I can help you"
Disciple : "Master! My attire is worn out and is beyond the decency to wear the same. Can I get a new one, please?"

Buddha found the robe indeed was in a bad condition and needed replacement. He asked the store keeper to give the disciple a new robe to wear on. The disciple thanked Buddha and retired to his room. A while later, he went to his disciple's place and asked him "Is your new attire comfortable? Do you need anything more?"
Disciple: "Thank you my Master. The attire is indeed very comfortable. I need nothing more"
Buddha : "Having got the new one, what did you do with your old attire?"
Disciple : "I am using it as my bed spread"
Buddha : "Then.. hope you have disposed off your old bed spread"
Disciple : " No.. no.. master. I am using my old bedspread as my window curtain"
Buddha : " What about your old Curtain?"
Disciple : "Being used to handle hot utensils in the kitchen"
Buddha : "Oh.. I see.. Can you tell me what did they do with the old cloth they used in Kitchen"
Disciple : "They are being used to wash the floor."
Buddha : " Then, the old rug being used to wash the floor...?"
Disciple: " Master, since they were torn off so much, we could not find any better use, but to use as a twig in the oil lamp, which is right now lit in your study room...."

Buddha smiled in contentment and left for his room.

If not to this degree of utilization, can we at least attempt to find the best use of all our resources at home and in office? We need to handle wisely, all the resources earth has bestowed us with ….both natural and material so that they can be saved for the generations to come.

Convert your biggest weakness to your biggest strength

A 10-year-old boy decided to study judo despite the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car accident. He began lessons with an old Japanese judo master. The boy was doing well, so he couldn't understand why, after three months of training the master had taught him only one move.

"Sensei," the boy finally said, "Shouldn't I be learning more moves?"
"This is the only move you know, but this is the only move you'll ever need to know," the sensei replied.

Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept training. Several months later, the sensei took the boy to his first tournament. Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third match proved to be more difficult, but after some time, his opponent became impatient and charged; the boy deftly used his one move to win the match. Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals. This time, his opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. For a while, the boy appeared to be overmatched. Concerned that the boy might get hurt, the referee called a time-out. He was about to stop the match when the sensei intervened. "No," the sensei insisted, "Let him continue." Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a critical mistake: he dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his move to pin him. The boy had won the match and the tournament. He was the champion.

On the way home, the boy and sensei reviewed every move in each and every match. Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on his mind. "Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?" "You won for two reasons," the sensei answered. "First, you've almost mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of judo. And second, the only known defense for that move is for your opponent to grab your left arm." The boy's biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.