Stories from the Mahabharat.
Aruna Narlikar, Amitabh Mattoo and Amrita Narlikar
Penguin Random House, India, 2023, 171 Pages
Paperback: £9.90 | ISBN: 9780143459750
Review by Simon Leadbeater
Relationality
I have just finished reading Aruna Narlikar, Amitabh Mattoo and Amrita Narlikar’s book, with Radio 3’s broadcast of Evensong of Wednesday 20 December, 2023, on in the background. My listening to a form of service not altered since Elizabeth I while reviewing a publication concerning a key text within Hinduism, is an inescapable relationality determining how I view the book, and, in truth, how I view much of the world. I am very fond of Evensong, though my current living arrangements make attendance now rare. As a graduate student in Oxford I once went three times in a week, alternating between New College, Magdalen and the Cathedral at Christchurch. Where did this predilection come from? An average chorister I can still recite the Nunc Dimittis off by heart, whose father sang regularly in the parish church choir, being brought up within a conservative (small and big ‘c’) churchgoing tradition. I hesitate to say we were a Christian family, as we did not discuss what it meant to be Christian very much, but the Church of England remains an immovable cornerstone to my life.
With this background I judge Strategic Choices, Ethical Dilemmas to be a wonderful book, in part as so accessible to people not familiar with Hindu texts like me, with one surprising revelation pouring fourth after another, but also because of the impact Strategic Choices, Ethical Dilemmas had on me personally. I should not be surprised, as the point of the Mahabharat is to provide wisdom and guide us in our daily lives, fully explained by the authors. Perhaps above all what I loved about the book, and the Mahabharat, is what it says, which stands in some contrast to the Christianity represented by the melodic cadence of Evensong I enjoy immersing myself within. I also came away from the book with tinges of regret, however. I have this nagging memory of when a graduate student travelling India by train alone, befriended and fed by a lovely family who asked me if I spoke any Hindi. Prior to setting off I had made no attempt at all, assuming all the interviews and primary sources I needed to consult would be in English, which they were. But in terms of trying to understand India and her people just a little – ‘must try harder’ would have been a generous verdict. So that all the kind family and I could achieve was to nod and smile at each other, as I shared their lunch.
What is the book about?
The Mahabharat is an ancient Hindu text originally written in Sanskrit sometime between 400 BC and 400 AD.1 It essentially tells the story of an internecine struggle within one family – the good Pandavs versus the wicked Kauravs – each side of whom has their respective virtues, faults and heroes, which after a failure of negotiations and much bad faith, eventually led to an all-out uncompromising and bloody war. I naturally thought of another great epic, The Iliad, but there are some important contextual (and narrative) differences, a key one being that the Mahabharat is a key resource for a thriving faith rather than a story consigned to myth and academic hermeneutics. Early on in the book the authors provided a schematised structure, which is very helpful for readers unacquainted with the story. And from this overarching drama they select a number of key stories, or vignettes, which are recounted and then discussed to highlight the relevance of an ancient source to our private lives today and the modern world, with both vitality and poignancy.
Challenging preconceptions on the international stage
I came away not just thinking I understood India a little more, but shamefacedly must admit to hitherto not understanding her perspective very much. Two brief examples had me wrestling a little with my preconceived ideas (always limiting, especially if unconscious as mine were at least to some extent). It has never occurred to me that there was anything odd about Britain being one of the five permanent members of the UN, making countries like India feel second class citizens on the world stage.2 Second, like many I was disappointed that India did not condemn Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, only to now understand that Russia has been an enduring friend of India’s for many years, in contrast to the West, particularly in relation to Kashmir.3 The authors contemporary dialogue introducing modern day international dilemmas, threats, mistakes, what-might-have-beens, all serve to underline that this book is of the moment and immediate relevance for us all.
Personal resonances
I like the way the authors have organised the book, which in the latter part comprised re-telling an episode from the Mahabharat followed by ‘lessons for the everyday’ and ‘lessons for politics and foreign policy’. While I was impressed by the latter, it was the former which actually startled me, but in a profoundly good way. Is that not what the original authors of the Mahabharat intended all along? If seemingly confessionary, so be it, as two stories did make me reproach myself. I only retell them now to demonstrate how powerful the authors’ re-telling of Mahabharat is. First, there is a story of ‘Brave Karn,’ a powerful warrior on the bad side, fighting for the Kauravs. Enter Ashwasen, the snake-prince, whose mother, and almost everyone else, had perished when the Pandav brothers, not content to burn their forest home to establish their new capital city (Delhi), they also sealed the forest as it burnt ensuring all its woodland denizens perished bar a fortunate few, like the snake-prince, who somehow managed to escape. Now was the time for his revenge, felt Ashwasen, so he climbed into Karn’s chariot and became part of an arrow Karn had been saving for many a year for the express purpose of vanquishing the chief Pandav warrior archer. Unfortunately, one could say, a deity backing the Pandavs anticipated his shot, and enjoined the Pandav warrior’s chariot’s horses to kneel. In response Karn’s charioteer advised him to re-aim; he was ignored and the special arrow containing the snake-prince missed. Undeterred, Ashwasen returned to Karn and offered to become one with another arrow, just as deadly as before. But Karn refused to engage with what he considered skulduggery, and wanted to defeat his foe alone unaided. The only choice left for poor Ashwasen was to launch his own attack, resulting in his slaying by an arrow from the mighty Pandav archer; “[t]hus died brave Ashwasen,” the snake prince.4 And subsequently Karn also died. So, a potential win-win became a lose-lose.
Karn’s ‘holier than vow’ outlook, his stubborn inflexibility, and putting his own misplaced sense of honour above a just cause, was to blame. I had to pause for a little while having read this episode recounting the snake prince’s and latterly Karn’s entwined fates. I uncomfortably possessed some of ‘Brave Karn’s’ failings. For the last six months I have been practically housebound owing to a painful medical condition, which has given me a little time to reflect. Were the causes of my condition purely physiological or just bad luck? On the other hand, I had a tendency to push people away – ostensible allies – because they did not understand still less support my ideals, centred around the intrinsic value of nature, consumerist harmful lifestyles, animal welfare or rights and associated veganism. I had attended lunches with potential supporters and had left early furious as they carved their way into gammon. And so I isolated myself and turned anger inwards. And the result? I am not getting any younger, a truism my wife Toni has emphasised rather more strongly of late, given the sometimes onerous commitments of looking after a small flock of rescue sheep and the 50 plus acre woodland we call home. Volunteers should form part of a succession plan and longer term sustainability, the more so as I age. My health, I take rather less for granted than before. Through intransigence and a holy attitude, I not only exiled myself, but perhaps even created the conditions which had led to six months of forced inactivity owing to the pain I was experiencing. Perhaps I had all of Karn’s poor qualities and none of his heroic ones.
Is this not also a dilemma that the whole conservation movement faces? To whom do we turn for support? We don’t like greenwashing schemes such as Biodiversity Net Gain, which just legitimate developer predation of cherished wildlife and the Greenbelt. Heaven forfend that we bestow respectability on fossil fuel companies by taking their sponsorship. But, at the same time, we must be careful, lest our destiny echoes Karn’s. If I had a regular team of helpers supporting my care for rescue sheep, and volunteering in the woodland, coppicing and caring for hedges, for example, while their lunchtime repasts might make me grind my teeth, what matters more? The thriving of wildlife in our wood or adhering to my precious principles. The answer is obvious. How could I be so foolish. I feel embarrassed typing these words. But perhaps I needed to read Strategic Choices, Ethical Dilemmas to see my own folly so clearly. I feel a debt of gratitude to Aruna Narlikar, Amitabh Mattoo and Amrita Narlikar. They have not just taught me something of the Mahabharat, but also something about myself.
Secondly, and even more poignantly, though I am glad to say I had already made (with the urging of Toni I have to admit) what I now see as the right decision, as indeed I was getting there in relation to the first lesson above. This is the story of the Noble Parrot and the Tree, which takes place after the war has been won and the victorious prince is asking the mortally wounded commander of the vanquished Kaurava forces how to be a good king. The fact that counsel was freely given emphasises that virtue was to be found on both sides of the conflict, and despite his great pain the commander gave advice in the shape of a homily concerning a parrot living in an ancient tree.
One day a hunter misfired a poisoned arrow, which instead of killing his quarry struck an ancient and beautiful tree, the refuge for a multitude of wild forest creatures; slowly the tree began to die. In consequence most of the tree’s inhabitants abandoned the tree and found homes elsewhere in the forest. All except one parrot, who chose to wither and die with the tree rather than desert his woodland home. This was highly unusual behaviour, which piqued the king of the god’s curiosity, so he visited the tree, and asked why the parrot had not abandoned the tree, to which he answered:
“This tree was my home when I was born… This tree treated me as if I were its own child. It kept me safe and protected me from many foes. For these reasons, I bear great love and devotion to this tree. Compassion to this tree is my dharm.* When this tree was strong and capable, it gave me refuge; how can I possibly abandon it when it is now helpless and weak? Please do not waste your efforts in trying to persuade me to forsake this tree – for forsake it I cannot and will not”.5
There is not just one poisoned arrow aimed here at our woodland home, but many arrows of all shapes, sizes, strengths, coming from multiple and ever new directions. But perhaps the one most likely to wound most devastatingly is the perpetual growth of a local airport, recently granted permission to expand by 1 million passengers following public inquiry, and now threatening to nearly double to 32 million passengers per year. This will entail many more night flights, and operations will commence (and thus disturb me) from 5 am instead of the current 6 am rude awakening. The prospect of this has filled me with anxiety bordering on dread, and I simply could not face it. I have toyed with the idea of selling the woodland for years, to return to a more normal lifestyle, far away. I rather fancied a move to the Lakes.
My better half, however, told me this was home, and if ever permitted to make our accommodation rather more permanent than our current static caravan, then noise insulation would be maxed out. But reading of that loyal parrot, a wave of shame swept over me. Hope deserted me a long while since, but I have always believed there to be stronger drivers than hope, of which courage and love are foremost. But of fidelity, that had not occurred to me. When I reflect on what our woodland has given me over 20 plus years… How could I ever contemplate desertion.
The power of telling the right stories
Christ’s teaching was often imparted through parables, though I struggle to think of any which speak to me so clearly as the Mahabharat. Increasingly I think of myself as an Anglican pagan, however oxymoronic such a juxtaposition must seem. ‘I cannot and will not’ reject the memories of my father belting out Jerusalem in his hearty baritone, drowning out not just me but all those in our surrounding pews, or, the recollection of my mother, bending penitentially forward, weakly but to my ears beautifully singing the Agnus Dei before communion. I need not worry too much. The ‘geologian’ Thomas Berry proposed that our relationship with other faiths should be conceptualised as a Gothic rose window, whereby the central circle represents the faith into which we are born with outer petals representing “the magnificent diversity of human religious expressions”.6 But what has to be acknowledged, as Joyce D’Silva does in her Animal Welfare in World Religion; Teaching and Practice (2023), is that my central faith, albeit faded and now mostly retained through salad day rote learning, talks a good deal about love and mercy, but is “mute on our fellow creatures, their place in the Divine plan and how we should relate to them”.7 Hinduism most certainly mainstreams animals, if practice is something else, though to a degree the influence of globalisation may in part be responsible for India too embracing industrial agriculture, for example, and other factors such as poverty also need to be factored into this country’s overall approach towards animals. Notwithstanding an imperfect record there is the golden “thread of ahimsa, non-violence” running through “much of the history of Hinduism” translating into advocating compassion for our animal relations.8
In many respects this book opened my eyes to so much I took for granted, has energised my curiosity at seeing the world from perspectives other than the one I inherited, but also made me feel a little cheated. When, as an undergraduate studying political thought, no one said, ‘but by the way, your studies will be limited to western-based philosophies and that “the Bhagavad Gita may well be regarded as one of the earliest and far-reaching expositions of liberal thought”.9 Perhaps if someone had, I – and my fellow students – would not only now be struggling to break free from the ‘mind-forged manacles’ of the western conceptualisation of the world and its affairs. If only, today’s generation were taught that to build “convincing narratives for climate change mitigation” we need “new ideas that transcend dominant anthropocentric ones,”10 the authors perceptively pointing out that Greta Thunberg’s narrative is in this respect “narrow and self-entitled”.11 Even conservation is conceived primarily in human-interest terms, redolent with the dead language of ‘species’ rather than the outrage we should feel at the suffering of Cecil the Lion and Freya the walrus.12 And this is my ‘takeaway’ message, very much the dénouement of the book. Within the lessons of how to navigate moral quandaries with legitimate pragmatism, certain values, compassion and loyalty towards individual beings, recognising their inherent worth, being, and the central capacity for feeling, will always serve us well when strategizing at a macro level and making moral choices as individuals. To choose wisely we need a radical overhaul in how we perceive the world, and the Mahabharat lightens the way ahead. Conservation is bedevilled by abstracting more-than-human beings, and even those of us concerned to assert their personhood get forced down the academic cul-de-sacs of demonstrating evidence of cognition within a scientific-rational paradigm rather than acknowledging the basic truth, that all beings, not just human beings, share sentience and individuals matter as well as populations. Recognition of this elemental truth would change everything across the world stage, “animal welfare would move from the fringe to the mainstream,”13 “[t]rade agreements would reflect the prioritisation of the goals of animal rights…
“Value-based’ diplomacy could be infused with real meaning and consequence. And trade-offs between human development and protection of more-than-human lives could finally be reconciled by building a new, genuinely inclusive model of globalisation that ensures the dignity, security and well-being of all lives”.14
Dare I say, ‘Amen to that…’
Before opening the pages of this my newest book, I felt well-placed to undertake a review, having studied aspects of the struggle for independence from colonial rule for my doctorate, so I came to this book thinking I already knew a thing or two about India, having a deep affection for the subcontinent. And, as might be anticipated, I came away understanding that I knew nothing at all. But I am also left with the strong sense that Strategic Choices, Ethical Dilemmas chartered a pathway to, if not enlightenment, certainly much greater self-awareness and knowledge alongside bestowing a toolkit for navigating a world ‘full of trickery,’ as the Desiderata hanging on one of the doors at my late parents’ home used to say. In this sense, the book somehow encouraged me to look back on my life, to compare and contrast, something I don’t recall any other doing, even if rocking me on my heels once or twice. This combination of qualities, the book’s ability to excite further curiosity, its emotional impact, intellectual depth and insights for everyday living, make it very special indeed. I cannot recommend Aruna Narlikar, Amitabh Mattoo and Amrita Narlikar’s work too highly.
* Which in shorthand can be taken to mean: Duty, Religion, Truth
References
1. The authors use this designation rather than ‘BCE and CE’ so I have here. Narlikar, A., Mattoo, A., and Narlikar, A., Strategic Choices, Ethical Dilemmas; Stories from the Mahabharat, (2023), Penguin Random House India, p. 101.
2. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., pp. 59 – 60
3. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p. 131
4. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.112
5. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.123
6. Tucker, M.E., Grim, J. and Angyal, A., (2019), Thomas Berry; A Biography, Columbia University Press, pp. 91 – 2.,
7. D’Silva, J., (2023), Animal Welfare in World Religion; Teaching and Practice, Routledge, p. 30.
8. D’Silva, Op.cit., p. 108.
9. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.78
10. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.11
11. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.127
12. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.146
13. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.147
14. Narlikar et al., Op.cit., p.148