Storytelling

Nataraja

Coverage

**The Nataraja!**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

A static symbol of the dynamic universe, an illusion, Maya, moving rhythmically, revealing in an instant the unfathomable divine, the perfect balance that creates, preserves, destroys, incarnates and liberates, the Nataraja, performing the ultimate dance, is a magnificent work of art that reflects the cosmos – the beginning and the end of the cosmos, the music of the cosmos and the soul of the cosmos.

The Nataraja sculpture represents all – the destined journey, the tragic fall, the glorious victory, the dance in time and timelessness, the poise and elegance, overwhelming stillness, reverberating brightness, brilliance, power and enlightenment. In a single spectacle, it shows what was, what is and what will be.

**Blissful perfection.**
**[Image from Pixabay]**

Shiva Nataraja, the King of Dance, dances on Apasmara, a dwarf, crushing not him, but his ignorance, forgetfulness and limited vision of self, hence freeing his soul from bondage. Four armed – with Agni (flame) to demolish in one, with Damru (drum) playing the tune of time in second, making the Abhaya Mudra (the sign of fearlessness) in the third, thus bestowing power to be without fear, and the fourth in the Gahahasta (elephant trunk) Mudra signifying supremacy over ignorance – Nataraja is the embodiment of all the vigorous flux in the outer world and the serenity in the inner world as he dances the dance of bliss, Ananda Tandava, continuing the harmony of life and death in the cosmos.

Prahabhamandala, the arch of flames within which Nataraja dances, is the manifest universe, making the cycle of birth and death, burning with sufferings and illusions, apparent.

Also, a ring of consciousness that is in agony as it’s blinded by temporary ideas, unaware about the permanent dance of bliss. Oblivious of the Kundalini Shakti (the cosmic power) – that the cobra around Nataraja’s waist represents and is believed to reside in all – the unconscious mind walks cyclically.

Lotus flower, representing the creative power of the universe, forms the pedestal on which the Nataraja dances, celebrating in full zest the dance of true freedom.

Omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, the Nataraja does a dance that occurs ceaselessly in every atom, sending waves in the cosmos, waking everyone from the dream world to witness reality and truth, destroying the phantom world full of phantom pains.

Neutrality and peace on Nataraja’s face – the One dancing in frenzy – mirrors the magic of the master who dances within the universe of illusion, but stays beyond that universe. In a palpable language, the Nataraja declares the way the soul can rise from its bonded life and with equality seeping within, can see and participate in the cosmic dance.

**Wall relief of dancing Shiva at cave temple no.1 in Badami, Karnataka, India.**
**[Source – Wikimedia Commons]**

This marvellous sculpture amalgamates supreme power and action with absolute bliss and beauty, radiates the delicate balance of the cosmos and magnifies the close connection between the One and the many. Nataraja, Mahakala (the Lord of Time), with continuity and change flowing throughout becomes an opportunity to understand the sublimity of Maya and work a way out to reach the immutable Presence.

The Nataraja is excellence. Meditating on it is achieving its essence. Its essence is pure excellence.

**Shiva Nataraja, the Lord of Dance at CERN, the European Center for Research in Particle Physics in Geneva.**
**[Source – Wikimedia Commons]**

Hundreds of years ago, Indian artists created visual images of dancing Shivas in a beautiful series of bronzes. In our time, physicists have used the most advanced technology to portray the patterns of the cosmic dance. The metaphor of the cosmic dance thus unifies ancient mythology, religious art and modern physics.

Fritjof Capra

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Now Is Forever

Posted on July 4, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi At Least Till I am Breathe Humming Mountains Now Is Forever Question Stone Steps Truly Walking Ahead

Observation

**Breathe and know the now.**
[Image by Jonathan Reichel from Pixabay]

Walking ahead, though the past was slightly askew, she unlearned many things for good, sighing and laughing at her funny plans, she heard the silence completely and asked herself to stop feigning.

Tiresome, but still hopeful, she accepted the confusion. Forgetting fear on the way, she dreamed about the mountains with her eyes wide open. Dense fog passed by, saying nothing, approving nothing, just making her smile a little.

The tall pine trees reverberated with continuity and change, thus affecting her. Rocks, stones, pebbles all are very jolly, she wrote in her notebook.

And now she sees the stairs. The question arises… not whether she will or will not, but how truly. Walking, but how truly?

This is to be realised on the way, she tells herself.

Stopping, as her mind was moving too fast, she breathed… the air deftly hushed her talkative self and so she listened… listened truly, completely.

Now is the time to live, now is the time to act, now is forever, at least till I am.

Point taken, she walked ahead humming a soft tune.

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Opposite the Nadir

Posted on May 28, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Faint I Igneous Journey Mind Opposite the Nadir Shadow Sound Walking Whimsical Wind

Short Lyrical Prose

**White cloudy raga plays… and I am still walking.**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

The igneous surface I am walking on has a tremendous sound stored in it, but in a dense state so that the land appears dead.

The colour is thick black; it stains me anew with every step that I take, entering breath by breath within.

Smog-heavy mood, like heavy chains, has made me hunchbacked. Hollow quietude stays along, walking next to my faint shadow.

I utter nothing, nothing at all – all noise is of the wind; the wind ruffles around greasily, overwhelming me with dullness.

The mind is whimsical, I tell myself after some days’ journey; I continue ahead.

Where to, I ask, am I going?

That was the last I heard from myself.

But I am still walking, walking towards what lies opposite the nadir.

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Life-Affirming Pair of Socks with Three Holes in It

Posted on April 30, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Cheers Faith Life Affirming Pair of Socks with Three Holes in It Metamorphosis Spiritedly

Literary Nonsense

Eddy told me, spiritedly, after watching a documentary on how the cells function in our body, that he has found his long lost faith in life.

I could sense his words were imbued with this newly found faith.

Great, I thought. Just then he saw my socks and before I could utter a single word to appreciate his metamorphosis, he politely questioned and shockingly answered, “three holes in this pair of your socks?!”

Eddy went back to his room; I wonder how many months will he take this time to recuperate fully.

Anyway, so I checked my socks and somehow the holes in it made me believe that if this can work, anything can.

Dears, today I am working with this positivity in life. Thanks to the pair of socks with three holes in it.

Who, Eddy? Oh! No, he is still in the room. But that’s life.

Cheers!

**Only one hole, not my pair of socks. :-) Image – Pixabay.**

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Nazo’s Simple Magic Trick

Posted on April 14, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Believe Clouds Cute Dog Fabricated Flowers Kohl Eyes Life Magic Nazo Simple Stories Trick

Flash Fiction

**Nazo, busy reading the flowers (she loved this exercise, it made her “fuller”, that is what she said).**
**[Source – Pixabay]**

Nazo believed in magic. While the stories about djinns and fairies and magic potions made her wonder, the everyday sundry experiences also left her mesmerized. She was a simple person who felt special about simple things like the sun peeping out from behind the dark rainy clouds.

I told her once a sad story, intentionally, I wanted her to cry. It was a made-up tale about a little dog that lost its way home and died of starvation. Before I could make it sound more pathetic, I saw tears in Nazo’s eyes. Mission accomplished, thought I, until Nazo did something magical.

She asked me about the dog and I fabricated the cute brown dog, with black ears and kohl eyes. Suddenly, Nazo jumped up and started clapping. She told me to follow her and we both ran down to old Mr Tolkien’s house. What I saw there was as mysterious and as astonishing as a miracle.

Nazo went ahead right into Mr Tolkien’s garden and brought a cute brown dog in her arms, it had black coloured ears and kohl eyes. She announced that Mr Tolkien found the starved dog yesterday near the abandoned park and brought him home.

While coming back, I, filled with a concoction of emotions (specifically foolishness), told Nazo the truth; that it was a fake story and I meant only to make her cry because of her utter belief in magic in life suffocated me. Nazo laughed at me and didn’t say a word. She then hugged me, if I remember correctly.

After a few days, Nazo gave me a card (she loved making cards), a lovely one with colourful flowers and bright butterflies. She had written a few lines inside, apart from wishing me a happy day, that I can never forget; it read, “Magic is real for me, maybe because I try to see things from the earth’s point of view – a beautiful blue-green lonely planet – something magical is happening for sure”.

Since then, I too have started to believe in magic.

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There’s a Zebra Who Calls Me Kevin

Posted on March 29, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Crowd Mutual Help My World Paradoxes Punditry There's a Zebra who calls me Kevin

Literary Nonsense

Hello Kevin!

You refuse to follow the crowd and you avowedly disregard the art of punditry, the rancour and anger veiled, disappears when you see it with your inner eye, the contradictions choose not an easy hyperbolic, but a converging simple route and the paradoxes recognise their nature whenever you sit in absolute bliss, and renunciation takes you from the known to unknown, inexplicable, irrefragable, immutable.

Kevin, I think you can, but you will not act directly. Otherwise, what is the point of my journey?

Farewell Kevin. I’ll memorise what you said to me that day, ‘it is a world of mutual help and struggle’. And in my world, I am to engage myself totally.

**The Zebra who calls me Kevin** **looks just like this one.**
**Image by Erich Röthlisberger from Pixabay**

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Deconstruct What Is Repeated

Posted on March 22, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Deconstruct What Is Repeated Dreaming Forgetfulness Good Luck Ideas Life Mind Story Vibrant Wallflower

Introspective Prose

Phenomena Endless Quest 1992 by Paul Jenkins
acrylic on canvas 66 x 74 inches 167.6 x 188 cm
Private collection, Taipei. [Source – pauljenkins.net]

And I almost always forget. Sigh! Not that whether I am going forward or backward, is it the oblate spheroid earth or vertical me, the flowing time or the following life, the dream within dream or the dreamy me… but the funny fact that I have gone through all this before, in different measures, small degrees, little proportions and reflected on quite often.

Still, I simply, pleasingly forget.

Then things repeat, without my knowledge. Lucid ideas shine through and bring sense back to this life. Life! Surely very confident of itself, life is. Just look at the way it is happening.

Living an usherette’s life, I watch my story playing in every other story. A happy wallflower, that’s how confident I am. Dashingly, entering the stage in my mind, I take over. The glee moment, ideas collected elegantly.

Reality is not a plain horror story, it depends… just like senility is not only for aged, but it depends.

Oh! I mean, let us pick five memories and analyze all very humbly. Then watch a classic black and white movie and read a ‘must-read-before-you-die’ book, all very scrupulously.

Also, travel to a place never been before, pick it directly from your bucket list. Great!

After doing all this, surely vicariously for now, a tremendous clarity falls on the point I have been trying to make.

Life and the happenings, routine feelings and memories, hard hitting failures and mild successes, dreaming-trying-acting-dreaming and in the end, facing the underlying theme vibrant in every direction, almost deafening once observed, right?

No! What! No? Fine, am sorry, then forget it.

But, please, at least, try to deconstruct what is repeated in your life. That is all.

Good luck!

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My Shimpu

Posted on March 8, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Bird Don't Go Now Fly Golden One My Shimpu Wishes

Remembrance

Playing hide and seek, living-loving-laughing, collecting stones and moments, she picked a golden one. It flew away but left her hand glowing.

Lovely golden-brown hair, a tinge of black and kohl-eyed (you beautiful one), he had a unique habit of watching the birds, following them as far as he could with his eyes (do you know this bird, hmm).

She thought he was a dog who wanted to become a bird. Happy by nature, he came rushing madly whenever she whistled (my gugglu-pugglu come here you); he knew it was evening walk time.

He loved the walks, the joy in his eyes, running fast like a deer, jumping cutely like a rabbit proved so every single day (run-run-run-yeah).

She found him notorious and innocent, funny and silly, crazy and cute, all (you are a clown, yes you are).

She can never forget how he once gazed at the moon; mesmerized by the round shape in the sky, wondering, maybe, when and how does it fly… he just kept looking.

Caressing him one evening, after the walk, she didn’t know what was to befall (you biscuit lover, don’t go now).

If only she had the faintest idea, a frivolous hunch, she would have never let him go outside the house.

That night he didn’t return, even when she whistled; she went in the dark, calling out his name, but no sign of him.

Early next morning, walking and whistling, asking any and everyone in the village, she wished to see him, see him come rushing towards her from somewhere so that she could hold him tight in her arms and never let him go.

Two months have passed and she still wishes the same. Her eyes quietly wait to see him.

She watches the birds more closely now. She wishes to fly.

My Shimpu (23rd Oct 2014 – 8th Jan 2016)

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Meredith and the Green Lake

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Meredith and the Green Lake Path Stone The Spirit Remembers Tiny Bird

Flash Fiction

**Beauty of green lake and lotus. Image by Prawny from Pixabay**

It was not the depth of the green lake that stopped Meredith, but the quietness.

She threw a stone, sending ripples in the lake, which emphatically made the quietness more evident. This silence scared her, for she could hear her mind talk ceaselessly.

Sitting under a tree, Meredith gazed at the path she came through and saw a tiny bird, green and yellow in colour, happily hopping near it.

Her childhood wish to become a bird made her smile. She took out her diary and wrote –

Like a bird I’ll fly

One day

When the chains will rot

At 7:45 dot

And if the spirit remembers

Out of deep slumber

That I can –

Searching for a word, Meredith happened to glance at the tiny bird that was now hopping near the tree. She then observed that the path through which she came had vanished.

She got up and looked around as if the path would walk back and settle where it was laid before.

Confused, she took a few steps in the hope to find the path. Was the path just in her mind, she thought.

The tiny bird hopped towards her and then flew away. Meredith noticed, to her amazement, that there lay a fresh track – the steps that she took, formed a new path.

Meredith felt her heartbeat increase; she then walked towards the lake. Ponderously she turned and found the fresh path stretched to the point where she was standing.

Amused, she walked ahead, giggled and hopped, only to stop and write in her diary –

That I can choose to either

Follow or make a new path

Meredith picked up a stone, threw it in the lake, and beamed.

It was not only the lotus flowers in the lake but the music it played that left her mesmerized.

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Pip’s Umbrella and Hope

Posted on February 18, 2016 by Jagriti Rumi Coffee Friend Hope Life Lovely Newspaper Pip's Umbrella Ridiculous

Literary Nonsense

Pip with his umbrella.
Image from Pixabay.

Lucille: Nice umbrella!

Mo: It is Pip’s. (BEAT) Have you been drinking a lot of coffee?

Lucille: I have been advised to.

Mo: That doctor friend of yours is a nut case.

A pause.

Lucille: I can’t believe it? Are we living in… this is ridiculous?

Mo: What is?

Lucille: Haven’t you read today’s newspaper?

Mo: Ah! I don’t read newspapers anymore.

Lucille: Why?

Mo: For peace, darling.

Lucille: Peace… yeah, right.

Mo: Wanna piece of it?

Lucille: Piece of peace? What are you…

Mo: The carrot cake… what’s wrong with ya Lucille?

Lucille: O! Yeah, sure. (EATING THE CAKE) Whatever is happening, it hits everyone… directly or indirectly I mean… it hits everyone.

Mo: Hmm! This place has the best cakes in the world.

Lucille: I love it here! (BEAT) Is there any hope?

Mo: Hope? Hmm… there is always some hope… that’s what is dragging us, you know, ya.

Lucille: Dragging us you say…

Mo: Of course! I mean come on, where is “hope” leaving for? It’s not in any rush like us, I… I hope. Gosh! (BEAT) I feel a bit eerie today, I don’t know why.

Lucille: No really? No, it’s lovely today.

The grey weather outside changes into black and the wild dancing winds start to pour heavy rain, the clouds roar loudly declaring that they too have read the sad newspaper. Lightning hits a tree and its huge branch breaks and falls.

Mo: Storm’s here. Is it still lovely for you? Lucille!

Lucille: What? Hm? Yeah! But listen, where did you park the car?

Mo: Why? Under the tree. But why?

Lucille: Now it is literally under the tree, crushed I suppose.

Mo: What! (GETS UP) O, no!

Lucille: Wait, try some strong coffee, you’ll feel better and hopeful.

Mo: Wa… Lucille, you’re crazy!

Mo leaves hurriedly.

Lucille: Mo! Pip’s umbrella!! (PAUSE) I think I hit a nerve there… but black coffee works wonders… I can’t do without it… especially after reading the newspaper.

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