Gita: The Battle of the Worlds

By Sonal Patel and Jemma Wayne-Kattan

When eleven-year-old Dev's father dies, he can't stop lashing out at those he loves. Until he meets Sanjay, a sprite-like being who claims there is a battle raging inside Dev's own body. Sanjay embarks on a perilous journey beginning in the darkest realm at the bottom of Dev's spine. As he searches for the noble warrior Prince Arjun, the only hope to defeat wicked Prince Ego, Sanjay encounters starving mobs, thieving gangs, water worlds and lands of fire, until at last he finds Arjun on the battlefield, ready to fight for Dev.This book takes the epic battle within the Gita and transports it inside the body of a young boy called Dev. A classic story of good overcoming evil, through Dev and Sanjay's adventure, readers will be able to connect with some of the deeper concepts in the Gita.'It's time that the Gita is presented in its true context - not as a moralistic or religious book, but as a book that is relevant to everybody's life.'--SADHGURU, one of India's leading spiritual teachers

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper Children's
• Release date: Apr 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9789353578725

Sonal Patel

Sonal Patel is a British-Indian mother with strong cultural roots. She has been a disciple of Paramahansa Yogananda for over twenty years, practising yoga and meditation every day. J.W. Kattan graduated from Cambridge University and obtained her PGDIP in broadcast journalism from the University of Westminster before becoming a journalist and writer. She lives in north London.

Book preview

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A Child Just Like You

In a bedroom that was just like your bedroom, on a bed that was just like your bed … lay a boy who was very much like you. His name was Dev.

Dev had not long known this room that he shared with his brother. He had not known its bare, blue walls illuminated by a single tube light on the ceiling. He had not known the humming of the too-slow fan overhead; or the busy gulley outside his window that smelled always of the garlic from the neighbours’ flats; or the fumes from the autorickshaws that fought their way through the crowds, relentlessly sounding their horns. When he closed his eyes, Dev was still in the house where he’d learned to read and bowl over-arm, and where he’d sliced his knee trying to stop the ball from hitting the steaming khichdi bubbling on the stove. And where his father had marked his growing height against the bathroom door. Now, his father was gone, and this new house proved it.

Dev gripped his hands tighter into fists, punching the thin mattress of his bed and thrusting them hard beneath his pillow. The cotton surface was damp, wet from tears – and in a flash of fury, he threw it across the room from under him.

Nobody understood. Everyone blamed him, especially his mother. He had hit his brother—his younger, better brother—and that’s all she cared about. She didn’t ask him why. She didn’t want to know. She saw the mark he’d made on his brother’s skin and didn’t suspect the hot, painful injuries beneath his own. The things that made him feel so angry, so frustrated, so envious, so much like hitting somebody. Anybody.

Dev glanced over to where his pillow now lay. It had knocked the photo frame off his chest of drawers, and Dev was glad of it. It was not real, the photo – not true. It showed a family of four; it showed his father. But he was gone, so what was the point of pretending? His mother would be cross about the frame. She would expect an explanation. She would expect him to be responsible, to clear up the mess. Another expectation. And he would be expected to carry that one too, heavy on his shoulders. Dev shook his head angrily. He had no intention of fetching the broom, the glass could stay there. But, wait – on second inspection, the glass hadn’t shattered after all. Or had it? Dev stared, puzzled. Something was disturbing the white-ness of the pillow on the floor. Was it glass? Dirt? Dev stood up and moved closer. As he did so, he realized that it was neither glass nor dirt, because whatever it was, was not on the pillow at all, but above it, over it, hovering in mid-air. Dev froze.

Of course, Dev didn’t yet know that what he was looking at was Sanjay. But he must have sensed something of great importance, because as he inspected the tiny being floating in the air, he felt his body go still, his anger push to one side and his mind grow acutely alert.

In front of him was a minute creature with thin, almost translucent wings. It wasn’t an insect – he knew that immediately. The body was upright, pixie-like, almost human, with a kindly, endearing face and protruding ears, pointed at the top as though perked up for listening. Its eyes were so large they seemed to look all at once at everything, and they gave Dev a strange feeling of being seen, really seen – a sensation that was both unsettling and comforting.

‘I am Sanjay,’ said the creature, smiling.

Dev didn’t scream. Whatever Sanjay was, he was not frightening. His soft voice drifted melodiously through the air like a loved, childhood lullaby. And although Dev had never seen such a being before, he felt as though somehow he knew him already. He wanted to fold his hands together in greeting, or touch Sanjay’s feet.

Sanjay flew closer and spoke again. ‘I know of the battle inside of you.’

‘What?’ Dev managed to stutter now. ‘I mean … what?’

The sound of his own voice seemed to break the air like a cymbal. Despite his wonder at Sanjay, despite the mystery of the moment, despite his confusion and curiosity, as