Shiva in the Mahabharata: The God who turns vengeance into destiny & a force of history

Shiva enters the Mahabharata as the god of fire and vengeance, the ascetic who destroys yet also grants the strength to destroy. Though the epic sings of Krishna’s wisdom and Vishnu’s preservation, it is Shiva who bends the tide of history through the raw gift of power. He is not the gentle guide but the terrible ally, invoked by those consumed with rage, humiliation, and the thirst for retribution. Whenever Shiva appears, destiny shifts. He does not soothe human passions; he sanctifies them. He does not erase wrath; he consecrates it.

Amba, the wronged princess of Kashi, turns to Shiva in her torment. Bhishma’s rejection becomes her wound, and she resolves that only his death can heal it. Through austerities, she compels Shiva to grant her a dreadful boon—that she will be the cause of Bhishma’s fall. To hasten that promise, she casts herself into flames and is reborn as Shikhandi, whose very presence on the battlefield ensures Bhishma’s death. Without Shiva, Amba’s grievance would have died with her. With him, it becomes the pivot of history.

Drupada, too, finds in Shiva the god of vengeance. Defeated by his old companion Drona, stripped of honor and empire, he prays not for reconciliation but for children who will destroy his enemies. Shiva answers by giving him offspring born of fire: Shikhandi, Dhrishtadyumna, and Draupadi. Each becomes a force of reckoning—Dhrishtadyumna who slays Drona, Draupadi whose humiliation ignites the war, and Shikhandi who fells Bhishma. In Drupada’s prayer, Shiva transforms personal defeat into the architecture of cosmic war.

Arjuna’s encounter with Shiva reveals yet another dimension of his power. Exiled to the forest, commanded by Indra to seek arms, Arjuna subjects himself to severe penance. Shiva, disguised as a hunter, tests his courage, then unveils himself and grants him the Pashupatastra—the supreme weapon of annihilation. In this act, Shiva ensures that the Pandavas will never be powerless before their foes. He arms Arjuna not merely for vengeance but for destiny, so that the balance of dharma may be preserved through destruction.

Thus, in the Mahabharata, Shiva is the god who answers the cry for vengeance and makes it fruitful. He does not intervene to prevent war; he sharpens its edge. He does not calm the fire in human hearts; he feeds it until it consumes empires. The epic, though it celebrates Krishna’s counsel, shows that without Shiva’s dreadful gifts there would have been no fall of Bhishma, no death of Drona, no weapon powerful enough to tilt the war. If Krishna is the voice of dharma, Shiva is the hand that wields its sword.

In these appearances, Shiva alters history not by gentle persuasion but by empowering wrath. He makes vengeance the engine of destiny, and destruction the servant of righteousness. To invoke Shiva in the Mahabharata is to accept that fury has a place in the divine order, that the god of power stands behind the great upheavals, and that sometimes it is through fire and blood alone that dharma is restored.

Bhishma and the Kuru Bloodline

Vyasa with Satyavati

(Geeta Press Illustration)

The Mahabharata is generally read as the saga of the great war between the two factions of the Kuru dynasty: the Pandavas (the sons of Pandu) and the Kauravas (the sons of Dhritarashtra). But in a biological sense this is not correct. The Kuru bloodline ended with Bhishma—Pandu and Dhritarashtra did not belong to the Kuru bloodline. 

Bhishma was the son of Shantanu, the king of Hastinapur, and Goddess Ganga. When Ganga left Shantanu and returned to heaven, Shantanu married Satyavati. They had two children Chitrangada and Vichitravirya. Bhishma had renounced the throne in favor of the children of Satyavati, and he had also taken the vow that he would remain a lifelong celibate to ensure that he did not sire children who might someday challenge the descendants of Shantanu and Satyavati for the throne of Hastinapur.

The task of taking the Kuru bloodline forward belonged to Chitrangada and Vichitravirya.

Chitrangada was an arrogant and violent man. He got into a fight with a Gandharva of the same name. After a fierce battle, which went on for several days, he was killed. Now Vichitravirya was the only one left who could take the Kuru bloodline forward. But he was a man of strange masculinity—the term “Vichitra” means strange, and the term “virya” means masculinity. He could have been impotent, weak, sterile, or sexually divergent. 

Since Vichitravirya was incapable of doing the needful, Bhishma took matters into his own hands. The King of Kashi had organized a svayamvara for the marriage of his three daughters—Amba, Ambika, and Ambalika. Bhishma forcefully entered the svayamvara, abducted the three daughters, and brought them to Hastinapur with the intention of marrying them to Vichitravirya. Amba insisted that she wanted to marry the King of Shalva. Bhisma allowed her to leave.  Ambika and Ambalika were married to Vichitravirya. 

Unfortunately, Vichitravirya died before he could produce a child with Ambika and Ambalika. Satyavati pleaded with Bhishma that he should produce children with Ambika and Ambalika for taking the Kuru bloodline forward. But Bhishma refused to break his vow of celibacy. Satyavati then pleaded with Krishna Dvaipayana (Veda Vyasa), her first child with the wandering Sage Parashara. Her union with Parasara had happened before her marriage with Shantanu—this was a divine union which left her virginity intact despite her becoming a mother. 

At that time, Vyasa was engaged in extreme austerities. Having compiled the four Vedas, he was famous in the three worlds. He accepted the plea of his mother and impregnated Ambika and Ambalika. From Ambika the blind Dhritarashtra was born. From Ambalika the pale and weak Pandu was born. Satyavati was dissatisfied by the deformity of her two grandchildren. She sent Vyasa to Ambika again. But Ambika did not want to have another tryst with the fearsome ascetic. She asked her maid to take her place in the bed. From the maid, Vidura was born. 

By the custom of Niyoga, which was prevalent in that age, Dhritarashtra, Pandu, and Vidura were regarded as the sons of Vichitravirya and hence a part of the Kuru dynasty. But they were the sons of mothers, Ambika, Ambalika, and Ambika’s maid, and father Vyasa—who were not of the Kuru bloodline. Since Vyasa was a Brahmin, it can be argued that the Pandavas and the Kauravas belonged to a Brahmanical bloodline. Bhishma was a Kshatriya and the last of the Kurus.

The Sons of Indra and Surya

Sunrise in Uttarakhand

The feud between Karna and Arjuna in the Mahabharata can be seen as a continuation of the ancient rivalry between the two Gods: Surya (the Lord of the Sun) and Indra (the Lord of Swarga-Loka or heaven). Karna is Surya’s son; Arjuna is Indra’s son. In the Mahabharata war, Arjuna killed Karna with the help of Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu. 

In the Ramayana, which happened in an earlier Yuga, the rivalry between Surya and Indra has been depicted through a clash between the two brothers Vali and Sugriva. Vali was the son of Indra and Sugriva was the son of Surya. In this case, Rama, the seventh avatar of Vishnu, sided with Sugriva. With Rama’s help, Vali was slain and Sugriva proclaimed the king of Kishkindha, the kingdom of the divine vanaras.

Thus, in the Mahabharata, Indra’s son destroyed Surya’s son; in the Ramayana, Surya’s son destroyed Indra’s son. The decisive role in both cases was played by the avatar of Vishnu. Victory went to the side supported by Vishnu. The question of who is more powerful between the two Gods—Indra and Surya—remains unanswered till this day.

Who Controls Social Media and Mainstream Media?

In his tweet on 17 December, Matt Taibi said: “Twitter’s contact with the FBI was constant and pervasive, as if it were a subsidiary… The #TwitterFiles are revealing more every day about how the government collects, analyzes, and flags your social media content.” 

The #TwitterFiles show that the FBI used to give Twitter management a list of individuals that they wanted to be silenced. Twitter used to immediately comply. If the American intelligence agencies (basically the political establishment in America) can control social media, then why do we expect them to allow the mainstream media to remain free? I don’t think the mainstream media in America and other countries is free. The mainstream media pretends to be free, but in every country, they are in control of the political establishment.

The trending stories in social media, the breaking news stories in mainstream media do not provide a true picture of the world—these stories are fake; they are propaganda.

Kurukshetra Beyond Good and Evil: Rethinking Dharma in the Mahabharata

Statue of Krishna and Arjuna in chariot

Kurukshetra (Haryana)

The Mahabharata ends with the defeat of the Kauravas and the victory of the Pandavas. Yet, in a striking epilogue, we are told that both the Kauravas and the Pandavas ultimately ascend to Swarga-Loka—heaven. This paradoxical culmination raises a profound question: if the victors and the vanquished share the same celestial fate, what then was the war truly about? Was it a simple conflict between righteousness and unrighteousness, or something more intricate?

The answer lies in the Hindu conception of Dharma, one of the four pillars of Purushartha—the guiding aims of human life. Alongside Artha (material pursuit), Kama (desire), and Moksha (liberation), Dharma denotes righteousness, duty, and the ethical order. It is not merely a set of rules but a dynamic principle rooted in context, character, and consequence.

Contrary to conventional interpretation, the Mahabharata war was not a straightforward contest between Dharma and Adharma. In fact, both the Pandavas and the Kauravas adhered, in their own ways, to codes of conduct, ancestral obligations, and religious observances. They belonged to the same Kuru clan, shared the same lineage, revered the same gods, and upheld many of the same traditions. That is perhaps why Krishna’s Yadava clan faced a moral quandary in choosing sides.

Krishna himself opted to assist the Pandavas—not as a warrior, but as Arjuna’s charioteer. He lent his wisdom, not his weapons. His powerful army, on the other hand, fought for the Kauravas. Even Balarama, Krishna’s elder brother and a warrior of great renown, chose to abstain entirely. He refused to take a side in a war where both sides, in his eyes, were bound to Dharma. His neutrality underscores the central ambiguity of the conflict: that virtue did not reside exclusively on one side.

Thus, the Mahabharata was not a war about Dharma. It was a war within Dharma—a civilizational rupture between two righteous claims, both rooted in justice as they understood it. The true axis of the war was Kurukshetra, a term that transcends geography. Literally meaning “the field of the Kurus,” Kurukshetra symbolises not merely a battlefield in northern India, but the moral and terrestrial domain of the human condition—our world, our choices.

At the heart of the conflict was a political question cloaked in cosmic stakes: Who shall rule the earth? Who has the rightful claim to kingship? The Pandavas asserted that the land was theirs by birth and by justice; the Kauravas believed it was theirs by continuity and conquest. Neither side was willing to compromise, and so war became inevitable. But the deeper lesson of the Mahabharata is that justice, when wielded without compassion or self-restraint, leads not to harmony but to devastation.

In the end, the battlefield of Kurukshetra becomes a metaphor for life itself—a space where Dharma is constantly negotiated, never absolute. It is not the triumph of one moral order over another, but the tragic recognition that human justice is often a matter of perspective, and that righteousness, though divine in conception, is deeply human in execution.

Garuda and the Metaphysics of Death and Rebirth

Vishnu and Lakshmi on Garuda

(12th century sculpture)

A major difference between Hinduism and the Semitic religions is in the area of the metaphysics of death and rebirth. In Semitic religions death is permanent—when an individual dies, his soul goes to heaven or hell, depending on his deeds, and there it resides till eternity. In Hinduism, death is not permanent. After serving in the world of afterlife, a dead man’s soul returns to the land of the living. The process of birth and rebirth is eternal, and all beings, even the supreme sages and Gods, are subject to it. 

Every year, Hindus observe Pitru Paksha for a fortnight—the word “pitru” means ancestors and “paksha” means fortnight. The sixteen days of Pitru Paksha fall on the 2nd fortnight of the Hindu lunar month of Bhadrapada (September). In this period, Hindus perform rituals to venerate and feed the souls of their dead ancestors. It is the metaphysics of death and rebirth that drives these rituals—the living believe that by performing these rituals they will facilitate a quick return (rebirth) of their dead ancestors from the land of the dead. 

The metaphysics of death and rebirth, and the custom of observing Pitru Paksha is one of the oldest features of Hinduism—these religious and philosophical ideas were developed in the Vedic Age, about 4000 years ago, and are explicated in the Garuda Purana, which is one of the major Puranas of Hinduism. Most historians believe that the Garuda Purana was systematized between the seventh and ninth centuries CE, but the religious and philosophical knowledge contained in this text is to a large extent of Vedic origin. 

Garuda is the divine eagle who is more powerful than Indra and all the Devas. He is the vanquisher of nagas, and the mount of Lord Vishnu. He is capable of flying anywhere in the universe. He is full of wisdom and dharma. When he receives Amrita (the elixir of eternal life) after defeating Indra and the Devas, he does not drink it. He faithfully transports the Amrita to the right place, and ensures its eventual return to the Devas. He does not crave for power, wealth, and glory—he wants wisdom and knowledge. His desire for wisdom and knowledge is fulfilled by Vishnu. 

From Vishnu, Garuda learns about the metaphysics of death and rebirth, and what the living must do to ensure the happy rebirth of their dead ancestors. Garuda transmits this knowledge to his father Kashyapa Prajapati. Kashyapa taught this knowledge to Bhrigu, who taught it to Vasishtha. From Vasishtha this knowledge went to Parashara, who told it to Veda Vyasa. For the benefit of mankind, Vyasa compiled this knowledge in the text called Garuda Purana. During the observation of Pitru Paksha, it is a tradition to recite the verses from Garuda Purana.

Aurobindo: Nationalism is the Work of God

Copy of Bande Mataram

Edited by Sri Aurobindo

September 1907

Shri Aurobindo viewed nationalism as the work of God. In his lecture delivered under the auspices of the Bombay National Union, on 19th January, 1908, he said:

“You call yourselves Nationalists. What is Nationalism? Nationalism is not a mere political programme; Nationalism is a religion that has come from God; Nationalism is a creed which you shall have to live. Let no man dare to call himself a Nationalist if he does so merely with a sort of intellectual pride, thinking that he is more patriotic, thinking that he is something higher than those who do not call themselves by that name. If you are going to be a Nationalist, if you are going to assent to this religion of Nationalism, you must do it in the religious spirit. You must remember that you are the instruments of God…. Nationalism survives in the strength of God and it is not possible to crush it, whatever weapons are brought against it. Nationalism is immortal; Nationalism cannot die; because it is no human thing, it is God.”

In context of the history of the world since the fifteenth century, Aurobindo was right in comparing nationalism with God. The European states were the first to develop a sense of nationalism—that is why they managed to colonize large parts of several continents after the fifteenth century. People in other parts of the world were divided into many religious and tribal groups—they did not possess a sense of nationhood. The Europeans were united under the banner of “One God, One Monarch, One Nation.” They were motivated by the aim of furthering the racial, economic, and political interests of their nation. Aurobindo understood this aspect of history—he understood that European nationalism was the fountainhead of European global success. He understood that India could not become a great nation until the Indians developed a sense of nationalism.

Ram Mohan Roy’s View of Sanskrit Education

Stamp Dedicated to the Sanskrit College

(Issued in 1999)

In 1823, work began in Calcutta to build a new Sanskrit college. Ram Mohan Roy was opposed to this college because he was convinced that education in Sanskrit had no practical use. He felt that Anglicization was the best option for India. He wrote, in his perfect English, a letter to William Amherst, the Governor-General of India from 1823 to 1828, to denounce the project for building a Sanskrit college in Calcutta. 

Here’s an excerpt from Roy’s letter:

“We find that the government is establishing a Sanskrit school under Hindu pandits to impart such knowledge as is already current in India. This seminary… can only be expected to load the minds of youth with grammatical niceties and metaphysical distinctions of little or no practical use to the possessors or to society. The pupils will acquire what was known two thousand years ago with the addition of vain and empty subtleties…” (Sources of Indian Tradition, by Theodore De Barry; Page 593)

Roy goes on to say that he was opposed to the Sanskrit college because “the Sanskrit system of education would be something best calculated to keep this country in darkness…” (Page 595)

In the middle part of his lengthy letter, Roy (who was himself educated in a Sanskrit institution in Banaras) makes disdainful comments on several aspects of ancient Sanskrit texts and the system of Sanskrit based education. But Roy’s analysis of Sanskrit culture was outrageously incorrect—those who are acquainted with ancient Indian texts would recognize these aspects as the greatest achievements of ancient Sanskrit literature, philosophy, linguistics, and political theory. 

Most Indians prefer to blame British intellectuals like Thomas Macaulay and James Mill for creating a negative opinion in India and Europe about Sanskrit literature and Hindu culture, which persists till this day, and promoting the Anglicization of India’s education. They ignore the role played by prominent Hindu intellectuals like Roy.

What Roy’s letter to William Amherst proves is that the educated class of Hindus have mostly been people with amnesia. Even intellectuals like Roy did not really possess a sense of India’s history, or even interest in it. They were not aware of the fact that the Indian subcontinent was one of the earliest centers of human civilization. They were not aware of the achievements of Sanskrit literature, philosophy, linguistics, and political theory. 

Despite Roy’s opposition, the Sanskrit College was founded on 1 January 1824, and the college rose to prominence during the principalship of Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar in 1851.

The Master of Eclipses: Rahu and Ketu

Statue of Mohini

(Avatar of Vishnu)

The devas (Gods) can be defined as the beings who drank the amrita (the elixir of eternal life), and the danavas (demons) can be defined as those who were denied the amrita in the primordial age when Samudra Manthana, the churning of the cosmic ocean, took place. Svarbhanu was a special danava—his head drank the amrita, the rest of his body didn’t. He became the progenitor of the two entities, Rahu and Ketu, who have the attributes of both devas and danavas. 

The story of Samudra Manthana is given in the Vishnu Purana and several other ancient texts, including the Mahabharata (Adi Parva; sub-parva: Astika Parva). 

The devas, the sons of Aditi, and the danvas, the sons of Diti, were fighting over the pot of amrita that Dhanvantari, the heavenly physician, had brought out of the ocean during Samudra Manthana. To prevent the danavas from becoming immortal by drinking the amrita, Vishnu appeared in the form of Mohini, the goddess of seduction. Mohini wooed the danvas, and made them agree to her plan for distributing the amrita. She made the devas and the danavas sit in rows, and began to distribute the amrita—the devas were the first recipients. 

Svarbhanu became suspicious. Disguised as a deva, he sat in the row of devas and received amrita from Mohini. The moment the amrita dropped into his mouth, the Sun God and the Moon God recognized Svarbhanu. They alerted Vishnu, who used his Sudarshan Chakra to slice Svarbhanu’s neck before the amrita could drop into his body. 

Svarbhanu’s head became Rahu, the implacable enemy of the two Gods—the Sun and the Moon—who were responsible for alerting Vishnu. Rahu took the vow of eating the Sun and the Moon from time to time, and since then he has been the cause of eclipses. The torso of Svarbhanu became a headless demon called Ketu, a directionless comet. Rahu is represented as a cosmic serpent’s head, while Ketu is represented as the serpent’s tail.

Rahu and Ketu are part of the Navagraha (nine planets) system of Hindu astrology which is based on nine cosmic bodies: Surya (sun), Chandra (moon), Mangala (Mars), Budha (Mercury), Brahaspati (Jupiter), Shukra (Venus), Shani (Saturn), Rahu, and Ketu. Identified as the invisible cosmic bodies which reside at the points of intersection in the paths of the sun and the moon, Rahu and Ketu possess the power to influence, mostly unfavorably, the life of human beings.

The Sutras and Bhasyas of the Six Schools of Hindu Philosophy

Shankaracharya with disciples

Painting by Raja Ravi Varma

Of the six schools of Hindu philosophy (Vaishesika, Nyaya, Samkhya, Yoga, Mimansa and Vedanta), Samkhya is the oldest. The root sutra of Samkhya (by Sage Kapila) is not extant—we know about this philosophy from references in the Vedas, Puranas, and the Mahabharata. Isvara Krishna’s Sankhyakarika is the earliest exposition of Samkhya that is extant. 

The root sutra of Yoga is  Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra. The dualistic metaphysics of Samkhya underpins the practical and action based psychology of Yoga. 

The root sutra of Nyaya, the school of logic and argumentation, is Gautama’s Nyaya Sutra. The root sutra of Vaisheshika, which is an atomistic tradition, is Kanada’s Vaisheshika Sutra. In the ancient age, Nyaya and Vaisheshika were separate schools. But in the early Middle Ages, they started coming together, forming a single syncretic school, Nyaya-Vaisheshika, which specialized in logic, argumentation, epistemology, and metaphysics. 

The root sutra of Mimamsa, the school of scriptural exegesis, is Jaimini’s Mimamsa Sutra. The school of Vedanta (also known as Uttara Mimamsa) focuses on the teachings of the later Upanishadic texts and its root sutra is Badarayana’s Brahma Sutra. 

For every root sutra, there is a bhasya (commentary), which comes at a later stage.

For Patanjali’s Yoga Sutra, the bhasya is Vyasa’s Yogabhasya. For Gautama’s Nyaya Sutra, the bhasya is Vatsyayana’s Nyayabhasya. For Kanada’s Vaisheshika Sutra, the bhasya is Prasastapada’s Padartha-dharma-saṅgraha. For Jaimini’s Mimamsa Sutra, the bhasya is Shabara’s Shabarabhashya. For Badarayana’s Brahma Sutra, the bhasya is Adi Shankaracharya’s Brahma Sutra Bhasya.

Language and Grammar in the Vedic Age

Birch bark manuscript from Kashmir of 

Panini’s Rupavatara

Panini (about 800 BCE) was the last of the Vedic grammarians. Several grammarians came centuries before him. In his works, Panini has admitted his debt to Yaska (the author of Nirukta, dated to the 9th century BCE), Paraskara, Sakatayana, and Vyasa. Old Sanskrit was probably fully systematized at the time of the composition of the early verses of the Rig Veda (before 1500 BCE).

The Rig Veda contains verses which indicate that the Vedic sages were aware of the art of writing, and the rules of grammar and vocabulary. Here’s a translation of the Rig Veda’s verses 1 to 4, from Hymn 71 of Mandala 10 (T.H. Griffith’s translation): 

1. WHEN-men, Brhaspati, giving names to objects, sent out Vak's first and earliest utterances,

     All that was excellent and spotless, treasured within them, was disclosed through their affection.

2. Where, like men cleansing corn-flour in a cribble, the wise in spirit have created language,

     Friends see and recognize the marks of friendship: their speech retains the blessed sign imprinted.

3. With sacrifice the trace of Vak they followed, and found her harbouring within the Rsis.

     They brought her, dealt her forth in many places: seven singers make her tones resound in concert.

4. One man hath ne'er seen Vak, and yet he seeth: one man hath hearing but hath never heard her.

     But to another hath she shown her beauty as a fond well-dressed woman to her husband.

In the above verses, the sages are insisting on distinct and correct articulation of letters and words. They believed that if the words in a hymn were not articulated correctly, the Gods would be displeased. Language and speech were of such importance that they were regarded as a Goddess. In Mandala 10, Hymn 125 of the Rig Veda, the Goddess Speech describes herself and the role that she played among the Gods and humans. Here’s a translation of verses 5 and 6:

5. I, verily, myself announce and utter the word that Gods and men alike shall welcome.

     I make the man I love exceeding mighty, make him a sage, a Rsi, and a Brahman.

6. I bend the bow for Rudra that his arrow may strike and slay the hater of devotion.

     I rouse and order battle for the people, and I have penetrated Earth and Heaven.

Another point worth noting is that the Vedas and the Upanishads contain references to very large numbers. Without possessing the knowledge of writing, the Vedic sages could not have made such complex calculations. 

Study of language and grammar was an essential component of the six limbs of Vedanga—Shiksha, Chandas, Vyakarana, Nirukta, Kalpa, and Jyotisha. The Upanishads describe the six limbs as an essential part of the Brahmanas section of the Vedic texts. It is justified to assume that these subjects were in existence throughout the Vedic period (before 1000 BCE), and were an essential part of the Vedic education system. 

Shiksha was devoted to the training of articulation; Chandas to the study of poetic meters; Vyakarana to grammar and linguistic analysis; Nirukta to etymology or the explanation of words; kalpa to the training in rites and rituals (geometry or sulva sastra was part of it); Jyotisha to the study of the movement of planets, stars, and other heavenly bodies.

Narasimha Rao: The accidental statesman who remade India

P. V. Narasimha Rao

The irony of India’s modern history is that its strongest political and economic reforms were carried out by its weakest government—the minority administration of P. V. Narasimha Rao. History has a taste for paradox, and in Rao it found one of its richest.

When we think of twentieth-century strongmen, the mind turns to Stalin and Churchill, Deng Xiaoping and Nehru, Thatcher and Reagan. 

Narasimha Rao belongs to none of these archetypes. He was no orator, no mass leader, no populist firebrand. Dour, cautious, almost spectral in presence, he appeared less a politician than a bureaucrat lost in the folds of his files. Yet retrospect grants him a stature equal to those world-shaping figures: for in his quiet, unassuming way, Rao altered the trajectory of India.

Before 1991, nothing in his career suggested the capacity for transformation. He had held senior portfolios, but left little personal stamp upon them. His speeches were cautious, his public persona colourless, his reputation one of pliancy. 

To his contemporaries, he seemed the very image of a stopgap prime minister, installed in the aftermath of Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination simply to hold office until a scion of the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty could reclaim the throne. Rao was trusted precisely because he seemed incapable of betrayal.

But power has its own alchemy. The prime ministership did not merely elevate Rao; it transfigured him. In office, the “faceless bureaucrat” revealed himself as a strategist of remarkable subtlety and a reformer of iron will. The India he inherited in 1991 was on the brink of bankruptcy, its socialist economy collapsing under its own weight. 

With a few audacious moves Rao dismantled the edifice of Nehruvian socialism, opened the gates to liberalization, and invited the world into India’s markets. The nation’s economic history can be divided with clarity into two eras: before Rao, and after Rao.

Nor was his influence confined to economics. The Ram Janmabhoomi movement gathered unprecedented momentum during his tenure. Though led by the Bharatiya Janata Party and the Sangh Parivar, Rao’s government refrained from decisive suppression. Was it mere hesitation, or a tacit sympathy for the movement’s cultural undertones? The ambiguity remains, but the result is beyond doubt: the movement, unchecked, reshaped the political landscape of India.

Thus the foundations of twenty-first century India—its high-growth economy and its renewed cultural self-consciousness—were laid in those five turbulent years between 1991 and 1996. The man who seemed destined to be a footnote became the hinge of history.

Narasimha Rao remains one of India’s great ironies: the weak man who proved stronger than the strong, the accidental prime minister who became an architect of destiny. He was, in the truest sense, India’s unlikely hero.

Sankhya and Yoga in the Mahabharata

Bhishma Lying on the Bed of Arrows

Sankhya and Yoga are founded on the same metaphysics; the difference between them is in practice. Sankhya seeks to achieve a vision of the Purusa (atman) through intelligence and knowledge; Yoga seeks to achieve it through physical and mental activities. There are about 900 references to Yoga in the Mahabharata, and about 150 to Sankhya. In several cases, the Mahabharata passages contain combined references to Sankhya and Yoga.

In the Shanti Parva section of the Mahabharata (sub-parva: Moksha-dharma Parva), Yudhishthira asks Bhisma to explain the difference between Sankhya and Yoga. Bhisma replies: “The followers of Sankhya praise their system and the Yogins praise the Yoga system. For establishing the superiority of their respective systems, each proclaim that their system is the best for attaining the goals of life. I consider both these views to be true. I approve of both Yoga and Samkhya. There is no knowledge equal to Sankhya, and no power equal to Yoga. If practiced with devotion either would lead to the highest end.” 

The essence of Bhisma’s teaching is that Sankhya and Yoga are the same. What the practitioners of Sankhya experience, the same is experienced by the Yogins. The ones who are the knowers of truth see no difference between Sankhya and Yoga. In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishan reiterates the same point: “both lead to the same goal, even though Yoga is a more action based practice.”

Naubandhana: The forgotten Vedic name of Mount Everest

During the Vedic age, the tallest peak of the Himalayan range—what the modern world calls Mount Everest—was known as Naubandhana, “the binding of the ship.” In the ancient imagination, this was not merely a mountain but the anchor point of survival itself, for it was here, according to tradition, that the boat carrying the great sages and the seeds of all earthly life was secured during the mahapralaya—the great deluge that swept away the old world.

The tale of Naubandhana lives on in the Mahabharata and in several Puranas. In the Atharva Veda, the towering mountain of Navaprabhramsana is believed to correspond to the Naubandhana of later epics. The most vivid account comes in the Vana Parva of the Mahabharata, within the Markandeya-Samasya Parva, when the sage Markandeya visits the Pandavas during their exile in the Kamyaka forest. As was their custom with all illumined visitors, the Pandavas asked him about the distant past, about dharma and the origins of humankind.

In answer, Markandeya spoke of Vaivasvata Manu, progenitor of the human race in the current kalpa—and of the time when life on earth was nearly extinguished.

One day, as Manu performed austerities on the banks of the River Virini, a tiny fish approached him, pleading for protection:

“O illustrious one, I am small and weak. The larger fish will devour me. Such is the law of the waters. But you, knower of dharma, can save me.”

Moved by compassion, Manu lifted the fish into a water pot and cared for it as one might a child. But the fish grew, outgrowing the pot, then a pond, and finally even the mighty Ganga. Each time, Manu relocated it, and each time the fish swelled to a size that defied its new home. Eventually, Manu carried it to the ocean—astonished that despite its vastness, he could still bear it with ease, for he was aided by divine strength.

In the ocean, the fish spoke again:

“O sage, you have guarded me faithfully. Now hear this: the time of the earth’s destruction is near. Build a sturdy boat. When the waters rise, board it with the sapta-rishis and take with you the seeds of all life. I will come for you, and you will know me by the horn upon my head.”

Manu now understood: this was no ordinary fish, but an incarnation of Prajapati Brahma—or, as some Puranas tell it, Lord Vishnu himself. He pledged to obey.

In time, Manu’s great boat was ready, filled with the sages and the seed of every living thing. Then came the deluge. Waters swallowed the land; waves rose like mountains; the sky itself seemed to collapse into the sea. Amid the chaos appeared the horned fish, immense beyond measure. Manu fastened the boat’s rope to its horn, and the fish towed them through the storm, shielding them from destruction.

At last, they came to where the Himalayas once rose in full majesty. All lay submerged save for one peak—the tallest, still piercing the floodwaters. The fish commanded Manu to bind the boat to it, and thus secured, the vessel and its sacred cargo endured until the waters receded.

From that day, the peak bore the name Naubandhana—the place where the boat was bound.

Today, the world knows this peak as Mount Everest, a name imposed in 1865 to honor Sir George Everest, a British Surveyor General who never even set eyes on it. This is the language of colonial cartography: erasing native names to overwrite history. But mountains are more than coordinates; they are repositories of memory, culture, and myth.

India’s tallest peak should not bear the burden of imperial nomenclature. It should reclaim the name that springs from the deepest strata of our civilization’s storytelling. To call it Naubandhana is not nostalgia—it is historical and cultural restitution. In that name lives the memory of survival, of divine intervention, and of the binding of life itself to the last refuge above the waters.

Let the summit once again be known for what it was in the beginning: not the Everest of colonial surveys, but Naubandhana—the eternal anchor.

What Can Narendra Modi Learn from George H.W. Bush

Netanyahu and Modi

Tel Aviv 2017

In his article, “Trends Are Bad, Events Are Worse, But ‘Trevents’ May Surprise Us” (Bloomberg; October 2, 2022), Niall Ferguson writes:

“Remember the fate of George H.W. Bush, who finished the Cold War with spectacular success, only to fail in his bid for re-election in 1992.

"Bush was in many ways the maestro president when it came to foreign policy. With extraordinary dexterity, he handled the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of all the communist regimes in Eastern Europe, German reunification and then the Soviet disintegration. On his watch, Nelson Mandela was set free and apartheid consigned to the history books; and Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait was reversed.

“And yet still the presidency was won by a scandal-prone Southern governor with the banal but brilliant slogan: “It’s the economy, stupid.””

Ferguson is making a good point. The foreign policy of George H.W. Bush was spectacularly successful (from a Western conservative point of view)—despite that he lost the election to a man who is probably America’s most crooked and immoral politician: Bill Clinton. 

I think Narendra Modi should pay heed to the fate of George H.W. Bush’s presidency.

Like Bush, Modi is an arch-conservative. Like Bush, his political program is focused on cultural issues and foreign policy. Despite doing reasonably well (not spectacularly well) in the areas of culture and foreign policy, Modi could lose the election in 2024, if the country’s economic woes continue to exacerbate. 

The slogan—“It’s the economy, stupid”—might play on the mind of the Indian voters and lead them to vote against Modi.

Gandhi and Nehru

Jawaharlal Nehru is regarded as Mahatma Gandhi’s acolyte but they stood for two different Indias. Gandhi stood for India of spinning wheel, self-sacrifice, and non-violence; Nehru for India of secularism, socialism, and modernization through Public Sector Units and Soviet style five year plans. 

Gandhi was a fabian saint and a Westernized utopian; Nehru was a “pukka sahib” and a Westernized Maharaja. Gandhi derived his high moral stature by conducting morally and physically demanding “experiments” on himself, on his vision of truth, and even on his wife and children (whose lives were wrecked). He conducted politically and culturally demanding experiments on his countrymen (mainly the Hindus). Nehru was a strong supporter of Gandhi’s personal and political experiments but he never felt the need to conduct his own experiments, on himself or on others, since he was convinced that he was morally and intellectually perfect, and that he was destined to rule and modernize Indian society through his policies of fabian socialism and secularism.

Gandhi was not bound by family ties; he saw the entire country as his large family. Nehru became a nepotist and he ended up founding a dynasty which continues to be very powerful till this day. Both Gandhi and Nehru were heavily Westernized; they had a simplistic knowledge of Ancient Indian history, theology, philosophy, and culture—that is why Gandhi developed the belief that non-violence was Hinduism’s core principle, while Nehru became a secular fundamentalist.

Is Journalism the First Draft of History?

It has been claimed that journalism is the “first draft of history.” We the people of the present know how incomplete, biased, opinionated, corrupted, momentary, mercenary, facile, frivolous, and politically correct this so-called first draft of history is. If the reports of modern journalists were to serve as the foundational material for our period’s history, which would be written 25 to 50 years from today, then this history would consist of nothing more than a stream of falsehoods and propaganda—it would not provide a true picture of the state of our world. Journalism does not reveal the truth; it is the antithesis of serious historiography. The work of today’s journalists belongs in the trash can; it cannot be viewed as the first draft of history.

On Bharavi’s Kiratarjuniya

Shiva granting 

Pashupatastra to Arjuna

In the Vana Parva section of the Mahabharata, there is the story of how Arjuna received the mighty Pashupatastra weapon from Lord Shiva. After Yudhishthira's defeat in the gambling contest, the Kauravas exiled the Pandava brothers in the forest. While they were living in the forest, Arjuna was instructed by the Lord of Heaven, Indra, to perform austerities for propitiating Shiva. Arjuna left his brothers and Draupadi, and went to another part of the forest to perform his austerities. 

Shiva was pleased with Arjuna’s prayers. When a demon called Muka who had the form of a wild boar attacked Arjuna, Shiva appeared in the form of a hunter called Kirata. Arjuna and Kirata simultaneously shot their arrows at Muka. Struck by their arrows, the demon was instantly killed. The demon’s death led to an argument between Arjuna and Kirata over whose arrow had killed Muka. A battle broke out between them. Arjuna was amazed to find that he was unable to vanquish the hunter. Finally it dawned on him that the hunter was the same God that he was trying to propitiate, Shiva. He surrendered himself to Shiva, who blessed him and granted him the Pashupatastra weapon. 

The story of the battle between Arjuna and Shiva (in the form of Kirata) has been retold in the epic poem called Kiratarjuniya, by the poet Bharavi, who probably thrived in the sixth century BCE, or before that. The epic poem consists of sixteen cantos and is regarded as a great Sanskrit classic. It is known for its decorative composition, brevity, and elaborate similes and metaphors.

Yoga in Katha, Shvetashvatara, and Maitri Upanishads

Statue of Patanjali, (Haridwar)

The Katha, Shvetashvatara, and Maitri Upanishads contain some of the oldest descriptions of the philosophy and the methods of Yoga. The Katha Upanishad recommends Yoga as the path for attaining self-knowledge and focused mind. The verse 2.6.10-11 of this Upanishad says: 

“Only when Manas (mind) with thoughts and the five senses stand still,

and when Buddhi (intellect, power to reason) does not waver, that they call the highest path.

That is what one calls Yoga, the stillness of the senses, concentration of the mind,

It is not thoughtless heedless sluggishness, Yoga is creation and dissolution.”

The Shvetashvatara Upanishad gets more specific and gives advice on the practical methods of conducting Yogic exercises. The verse 2.10 of this Upanishad makes the following recommendation about the place where Yogic exercises can be performed:

“In a clean level spot, free from pebbles, fire and gravel,

Delightful by its sounds, its water and bowers,

Favorable to thought, not offensive to the eye,

In a hidden retreat protected from the wind,

One should practise Yoga.”

The Maitri Upanishad contains a more extensive discussion of Yoga. Between sections 6.18 and 6.30, the six limbs of Yoga for self-knowledge and a healthy mind and body are described. These are: Pranayama (regulation of breath), Pratyahara (withdrawal of senses inwards), Dhyana (meditation), Dharana (concentration of mind on one idea), Tarka (creative, contemplation of idea), Samadhi (absorption with the idea, a state of being one with the idea).

In Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras which came after the Katha, Shvetashvatara, and Maitri Upanishads, eight limbs of Yoga have been described.

The Subversive Character of History

History is not politically correct—it is brutal and subversive. That is why the leftist intellectuals try to hide real history from the masses. If a significant part of the population learned about their true history, there would be large-scale unrest—governments would fall, economic systems would collapse, intellectual establishments would lose their influence, and cultures would be transformed.

Shriharsha: The Philosopher and Poet of the Middle Ages

Nala leaving Damayanti 

while she sleeps

(Raja Ravi Varma’s painting)

Shriharsha, the great Hindu philosopher and poet of the twelfth century, was the author of several works, two of which are extant: Khaṇḍanakhaṇḍakhadya and Naishadha Charita. His other works are mentioned by him and referred to by other scholars of the Middle Ages. 

He was a critic of the realist philosophy of the Nyaya school. His Khaṇḍanakhaṇḍakhadya (Sugar-candy Pieces of Refutations) is regarded as an important philosophical text of the Advaita Vedanta school. In this text, Shriharsha uses dialectical arguments to refute Nyaya’s realist principles, and establish the idealistic principles of Advaita. He preached that the scriptures prove the existence of Brahman (the Ultimate principle and divinity of the universe). In a passage in Khaṇḍanakhaṇḍakhādya, he declares that he had achieved the awareness of Brahman. 

In chapter three of his book, Classical Indian Metaphysics, Stephen H. Phillips has examined the philosophy of Sriharsha. On Khaṇḍanakhaṇḍakhadya, Phillips writes: 

“The [Khaṇḍanakhaṇḍakhadya] for its part is not only a central work relative to the entire span of classical Indian philosophy—about two thousand years—it is also a masterpiece of prose style, full of wit and humor, employing a vocabulary unusually rich for a philosophical text… The [Khaṇḍanakhaṇḍakhadya] dismantles the Nyaya realist view detail by minute detail, and the Advaitin shows deep appreciation of Buddhist Mimamsaka, Jaina, Carvaka, and of course Vedantic philosophies.” (Page 77)

Naishadha Charita is a mahakavya (epic poem)—it is a retelling of the love story of King Nala of the Nishadha Kingdom and Princess Damayanti of the Vidarbha Kingdom. This love story originally occurs in the Vana Parva section of the Mahabharata, and it is probably the most famous love story in India. On Naishadha Charita, Phillips writes: 

“The Naishadha Charita is one of the finest accomplishments of world literature: an elegant poem, encyclopedic in its mythological allusions and masterful in its use of poetic figures and rhetorical devices, it brims with the wisdom and sensibility of the classical culture (at a time, moreover, that some have considered its zenith). The long poem also contains many explicit, though unusually playful, recountings of doctrines forged in the full array of classical schools.” (Page 77)

Ferguson’s Conception of the West’s Challenger

Grinning Nixon meets Dour Mao

(21 Feb 1972)

“What we are living through now is the end of 500 years of Western predominance. This time the Eastern challenger is for real, both economically and geopolitically. It is too early for the Chinese to proclaim “We are the masters now.” But they are clearly no longer the apprentices.” ~ Niall Ferguson in his book Civilization: The West and the Rest (2011) 

Ferguson is the arch-conservative propagator of the idea that the West is the best. According to his myopic worldview, the West is always pitted against the rest. He sees the end of the West’s global hegemony as a great cataclysm for all of mankind. 

His argument that China has graduated from being the West’s apprentice to a challenger is wrong. The West and China are conjoined twins—they share the same economic and ideological heart. China is a creature of Western ideology (a mix of communism and capitalism) and its economy is closely linked to the economies of the Western powers. If one falls, the second will be doomed. 

In the twenty-first century, the West and China are like two Titanic ships which have crashed into the same iceberg of reality. They are going down together.

A Note on Gurcharan Das’s India Unbound

Gurcharan Das’s key argument in his bestselling book India Unbound was that with economic reforms India’s economy could keep growing, resulting in the country becoming a world leader. He predicted that India would dominate the field of Information Technology and become an IT superpower. His book was published in the year 2000—those were the days of optimism, the days of high economic growth and rising power of the middle class. Westernized libertarians like Das used to appear on TV regularly—they used to challenge the political establishment by proclaiming that India’s economic reforms were unstoppable. 

The days of optimism came to an end in 2004, when the UPA (a coalition of socialist and communist parties led by the oligarchic and dynastic Congress Party) won the election. The process of economic reforms came to an end. The ten years of UPA rule were marked by geopolitical setbacks, economic collapse, factionalism, terrorist attacks, and massive corruption. The Information Technology sector, in which Das was overconfident, stagnated and was captured by a bunch of unenterprising crony capitalists. In this political environment, all the pollyanna-like predictions about India’s glorious future that Das had made could not come true. Instead of becoming “unbound,” India was bound in layers of socialist red-tape. 

I read Das’s book in 2003—then I was naive and so I was enthused by his economic vision. Since then I have realized that Das’s economic vision was bound to fail because it was not based on India’s civilizational reality—it was the “imported vision” of a Westernized libertarian intellectual. Being obsessed with economic reforms, Das failed to take note of India’s political, cultural, and religious problems. In his book, there is an excellent critique of Nehruvian socialism but from a purely economic angle. He does not examine the political, cultural, religious problems created by the policies of Nehru and his successors. He does not examine the causes and the consequences of the intractable religious and geopolitical issues that the country faces. 

I have realized that economic problems cannot be seen in isolation from the country's civilizational problems—economic reforms cannot succeed until there is strong action to solve the political, cultural, and religious problems. Civilizational supremacy is the fountainhead of economic success. Despite its shortcomings, India Unbound is a very interesting book. The book’s copy which I purchased in 2003 still rests in my bookshelf.