Dangerous Pursuits , livre ebook

SUNITI NAMJOSHI

DANGEROUS PURSUITS
PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents

Dangerous Pursuits
Introduction
Bad People
Heart s Desire
The Dream Book
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
For Gill
DANGEROUS PURSUITS
The morning discloses a phoenix
in the garden.
You mean a pheasant? No, a phoenix, each feather burning, the eyes burning. Such brightness consumes itself. I scramble through the bushes looking
for the phoenix.
I cannot hope to find her;
but should I stumble
upon her, the air will ignite, the garden
blaze, and I will achieve happiness.
Suniti Namjoshi
Introduction

When we first started using fossil fuels in huge quantities, surely no one thought it was reckless to try to find a way to power our machines? It s unsettling to think that now we re on the verge of destroying ourselves and the planet because of our own efforts to make the world a more comfortable place. Surely dreaming about a better life shouldn t be such a dangerous thing? We spend our lives chasing dreams. Some work out, some don t, and then we philosophise.
Some of our dreaming is exceptionally good hearted. We have utopian dreams. We work towards realising them. We think of times in history when things have gone well, at least somewhere, for some people. But then it all changes - there are massacres, world wars, genocides, floods, famines, plagues Is dreaming a part of our nature? Is it linked to how we think, tell stories, make poems? And why do we have to dream over and over again? Is dreaming bad for us? Should we give up dreaming? I don t mean that, of course. And I don t think we could, even if we wanted to.
In Bad People , Ravana, who has been asleep for thousands of years, wakes up in the twenty-first century and gradually changes from being a self-obsessed egoist to someone concerned with the welfare of the world. Magnifying his own image is no longer his chief concern. He has remarkable powers, a magic balm, and a brother and sister who look up to him. Thanks to their efforts and those of their friends, the world changes, things improve; but even they discover that we live in time, that change has to occur, and that the utopian dream keeps receding.
The protagonist of Heart s Desire is an old woman. She decides to make a bargain with the devil in order to get what she truly wants. But she doesn t believe in the devil and at first she doesn t know what she wants. Later, she s deceived by what she thinks she wants, and her quest has a predetermined end. She is mortal, and this too is something she and the rest of us have to accept.
In The Dream Book I ve followed the threads of the dream imagery in The Tempest . Each of the characters has his or her own dream - Prospero wants his dukedom, Miranda her brave new world, Gonzalo his Utopia, Ferdinand his Miranda, Caliban his island, Trinculo his drink, Alonso what s not his, Ariel his freedom These are warring dreams. They shatter against each other, causing pain. The three young people and Gonzalo realise that even the most gorgeous and good-hearted dreams fail, and yet it is their task to keep trying, again and again.
We re not an evil species, just not as clever as we thought we were. We ll have to change - our ideas, our attitudes, our very make-up. And it s hard, especially when there is no guarantee that we ll get it right. The pursuit of happiness - of our varying notions of it - may be a dangerous occupation, but I can t see we have much choice.
Is telling stories useful? I d like to think so. Stories and poems feed our dreams, and the dreams feed our stories. To dream well - sometimes I think that is what we were born to do. Caliban Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices, That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked, I cried to dream again. The Tempest, Act III, scene ii
BAD PEOPLE
Contents

1. The Trojans Come Across as Quite Nice People
2. Stop Wingeing, Ravana Dada
3. You Are Both So Bossy!
4. Women Not Heroic
5. What Sort of Alchemy?
6. I ve Never Eaten a Child in My Life!
7. Being Fair Is Practically the Most Important Thing in the World!
8. More Sane or More Kind?
9. It s Showdown Time!
10. Health Warning
11. Perfection Is Still a Distant Signpost
1
The Trojans Come Across as Quite Nice People
Little did we know we were running against some very, very bad and evil people
- Transcript: Donald Trump Talks Impeachment Acquittal in News Conference Speech, 6 February 2020

It was decreed that, whatever my virtues (I meditated hard), whatever my gifts (I could play the veena) and my graces (I was probably handsome), I had to be villainous. It follows then that I got bad press, was destined to lose and was demonised. That s how it goes in epics. Or does it? The Trojans come across as quite nice people. As for Achilles sulking in his tent, or Agamemnon killing his own daughter, the less said the better. And all of them heroes? Also the women? The women don t matter. Only they do matter. At least some of my heads speak with the voices of women. They are my ancestors.
My mother, Kaikesi, was destined to produce powerful children. Her father was the King of the Rakshasas, and her mother - my favourite grandmother - was a heavenly being, a gandharva princess. If not a goddess, my mother was at least a demigoddess. She was definitely an ally worth having, but she preferred my brother Vibhishana, though I was cleverer and stronger. Wherein lies the justice? Shouldn t the clever be preferred? I m not entirely serious, of course; but it s something that bothers me. Why are some children loved and others disliked? Kumbhkarna and I always came second, Shurpanakha as well, but then she was female. (Not that she considers that a good reason.) And when I had to fight my epic battles, my mother chose the opposing side! Did she think the other side would win? They did win. Good triumphs, Evil grovels. And devil rhymes with evil (more or less). What if I had won? Would that have made me heroic - and virtuous? Or should I have been a pacifist? For years and years I meditated hard. Perhaps at heart I am a pacifist. I dislike fighting. What I am or am not didn t matter - not to my mother. She wanted me to shore up her own standing, to bring glory to the family. It would be nice to matter without having to be glorious. Suppose I said we matter, Kumbh, Shupi and I, three little fledglings, howling through time?
My mother s mother, Ketumati, had many children and grandchildren. I was her favourite. It was because of her that I learned to love music. We don t talk much, but sometimes she sings and I play. It soothes her and it comforts me. She must have found it disconcerting to be married into a family of rakshasas. I m glad she loved me even though I was half rakshasa. Not sure why she did. I think she d have liked me to have been a great musician, one whose music spoke to the rakshasas and to the gods, to her own people and to ordinary humans. Sometimes I think I would have liked that too, but I was expected to be a king or an emperor. Musicians are people kings patronise. Her husband, my grandfather, the King of the Rakshasas, was more powerful than any earthly ruler. He schemed to have his daughter, Kaikesi, marry a sage and thus produce me - an exceptional heir, an unbeatable warrior. But if my mother married my father precisely so that I would be born, why did she always seem so disappointed in me? I suppose I could have looked to my father for approval, but then he would have had to notice me first.
I did what I was expected to do - conquered everything and everyone. This was considered excessive. They arranged for the birth of the sons of Vishnu in order to defeat me; also for the birth of an army of monkeys to help them do it - a game to entrance both children and adults? It s obvious that small boys like to play at being heroes. And surely it is equally obvious that heroes and villains sometimes behave like small boys. Shupi thinks that the ethics of an epic are puerile, but then what Shupi thinks was discredited a long time ago. I have lived so long that I am neither a villain nor a hero. Possibly a sage like my father and grandfather, but I don t feel sagacious. The more I observe, the less sense it makes. Kumbh, Shupi and I have slept in our cave for thousands of years. Now and then we ve woken up to peer at the world, learn a little more and have slept again.
Whatever , as the young people say in this brave new world. As far as I can make out, the people living in it do not see themselves as heroic, though they have a secret hankering to be straightforwardly glorious, and without any doubts, any misgiving, about their god-given right to be victors. The Lord of Wealth, Kubera, rules - as he did before. Some claim that he was the true king of the Golden Isle and I the usurper. Was that villainous? Stealing someone s property? Is a great king merely a thief ? And if he gets away with it, does that make him a greater thief ? Over the centuries, the consensus is that it makes him a greater king.
I m glad Ketumati is one of my grandmothers. She wasn t heroic. Heroism wasn t considered seemly in a woman, not the sword wielding kind at any rate. Passive, unprotesting, quiet suffering, even unto death, could count as a heroic womanly ideal sometimes; but I don t think my grandmother was interested. When I can t sleep, she sings to me. I have a suspicion that she and Havirbhoo, my other grandmother, commune in secret and quite like each other. Ketumati sings and Havirbhoo listens - each exercising her particular talent. I wonder what goes on between women when they re undisturbed by the intervention of men? I should like to ente