Paternity

 

The mountains beckon

The rivers gurgle in glee
My wanton feet quicken
‘Ere they prepare to flee!

The eyes stealthily pry
For the accidental witness
That could expose my lie - but
None challenged my fitness

The relief within whistled
As the next stone landed
Near where the birds nestled
The mother left her kids stranded

I climbed the mighty tree
The tiny ones in the nest
All but belonged to me
For I had just won my quest

I peeked inside the birds’ home
When a blunt bolt hit from nowhere
I fell, my head a lightless dome
The father bird had a menacing glare!

Mrichchakatika - The origin of rotational leadership as a concept - Act 1

 Mrchchakatika – (The Little Clay Cart) - a ten-act Sanskrit drama attributed to Śūdraka, an ancient playwright who possibly lived in the 5th century CE, and identified by the prologue, as a Kshatriya king and a devotee of Lord Siva. He is believed to have lived for 100 years.

A revolutionary himself Sudraka has deviated from the Natya Shashtra that specifies that dramas should focus on the lives of the nobility. Mrchchakatika, lays emphasis on the life of people including peasants and courtesans. The story is thought to be derived from an earlier work called Cārudatta in Poverty by the playwright Bhāsa, though that work survives only in fragments.

What sets this drama apart is not only the fact that it does not portray nobility, but also its attempt at establishing the fact that nobility does not stem from social conditioning but from virtues and behavior.

Many versions of this story have been presented before, some have been taken out of context and some have been presented in a shallow, contrived manner.

Here’s a poetic adaptation of this great work, which is an attempt to bring out the true essence of the story. Presented in the style of a dance drama, Vasantasena and Charudatta’s story is the story of each one of us living in contemporary times

Act 1 – Charudatta meets Vasantasena

Mysticism surrounds the life of people long gone

We imagine, we recreate so the dead may live on

Stories untold, stories retold, stories remain the bridge

That aid our journey through the past along the ridge

 

Here's one story that may not be new to many

Of people, about their lives, serious and funny

 Lived a glorious dancer named Vasantasena in Ujjaini  

Her feet had the grace of a river her voice was honey  

 

Her dance was a feast for the art connoisseur  

Jewel in the crown was the decorated theatre  

On this day Charudatta chose to witness the dance  

 Maitreya assured him it would take them on a trance  

 

The two friends arrived rather late and the show had begun  

Charudatta persisted, he got lucky through good deeds done  

The son of an aristocratic father, he had given his wealth  

To all those fallen or fabricated sad fate through stealth  

 

His kind gesture to the theatre owner fetched them a seat  

On the stage that witnessed the grace of the dancer's feet  

Even after the men were seated the curtains refused to rise

Gloom engulfed the grace that hitherto held the audience enticed 

 

The music from the flute went silent that moonlit night

Having found its master sick, it lay on the ground in blight

Charudatta instantly picked up the lonely, lovely instrument   

Soon the dancer's feet were tapping to the melody the flute lent    

 

Ujjaini was filled with contentment, it now had a reason to cheer  

Just as the crowd stepped out, their glee was replaced with fear

The roads were blocked by the police, they had to catch the sinner

Charudatta, Maitreya escorted the dancer, their pace getting quicker