Jalendu

By Mark Andrew

Set in the turbulent twilight of the reign of the Mughal Emperor of India, Jalaluddin Akbar, Jalendu tell the story of the socially awkward, but politically important young Prince Adinath and Jali, a handsome, spiritually inclined farm boy who becomes his bodyguard. Their unlikely friendship and love changes the fate of the empire.

The small kingdom of Vindhyagarh sits in the Vindhya foothills between Prince Salim, the rebellious son of the emperor and self-declared Sultan of Ilahabad (present day Allahabad) and his powerful Bundela Rajput ally, Maharaja Vir Singh Deo of Orchha. But Salim in truth is no rebel. He is loyal to the power behind the throne, the women of the imperial household.

The court nobility, led by the emperor's vizier Abul Fazl, see their power evaporating as the emperor seems powerless to oppose the wishes of the empresses or to act against his disobedient eldest son. They fear that when Salim become emperor, they will be reduced to mere servants. Abul Fazl vows that Salim will never sit on the imperial throne.

Rana Jayaram of Vindhyagarh wants peace, but his efforts to ensure it draw his kingdom into a very dangerous political game. His youngest son has rarely left the palace because of illness and spends his time reading ancient Sanskrit texts, drawing and composing poetry. His only friends are his brother's widow and his old tutor. Jayaram sees a chance to extract his kingdom from danger by an alliance with the influential Kachwahas. An alliance by the marriage of Prince Adinath to a Kachwaha princess would not only tie Vindhyagarh to a Rajput house more loyal to the empire but into the imperial family itself.

But there is one other person Adinath calls a friend, even though they have barely met. Jali is a mysteriously beautiful young recruit to the reserve of the Vindhyagarh Guard. When Adinath is invited to attend the imperial court at the great red fort in Agra, an invitation that cannot be declined, it is Jali he asks to accompany him as his bodyguard.

But there is great danger in Agra for Adinath. Jayaram has negotiated a secret treaty between Prince Salim and his father's greatest enemy, Maharana Amar of Mewar. Adinath held hostage in Agra would force his father to reveal the existence of the treaty, a treaty that would be seen as treason by the emperor and plunge the empire into civil war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Andrew
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780994333506

Mark Andrew

Mark Andrew was born in Wollongong in Australia. He originally trained as a metallurgist and worked in the steelworks at Port Kembla. He now lives in Petersham in Sydney with his partner. In his youth he travelled extensively in India and fell in love with the country and the people. He has returned there many times.Mark is a Buddhist and has practiced meditation for many years in several traditions before settling on Zen. He likes to travel, read, restore old books and cultivate Bonsai. He now works as an analyst in the finance industry.Mark is gay and lives with Shibly, his partner of more than ten years."Jalendu" is his only book so far though he is working on two more ideas. "Jalendu" brings together several influences in Mark's life; his love of India and knowledge of its history, a spirituality influenced by Zen Buddhism and his romantic interest as a gay man.

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by

Mark Andrew

There is dishonesty in any mind that demands that reality occur in a yaw cificeps.

Sujata.

Jalendu

Jalendu? Why are you not sleeping?

Jali stood in the early morning light, looking at the town below. He had been woken by a nightmare. In his dream he saw a monster, a huge muscle bound man, arms and legs covered in blood, thick black beard, eyes bloodshot, his mouth open and a bright blood red tongue protruding from it. His bloody clothes hung from his body in tatters. He swung a sword, white hot with orange flame licking from its edges. Strewn around were the severed heads and limbs and the mangled bodies of what looked like a hundred men. The image was from a painting he had seen the day before, the kind of folk painting bards paint and hold up as they tell their stories, but enlarged and painted as part of a mural on the whitewashed wall of a roadside house. He had seen it through the ecstatic crowd of onlookers as they rode through Nilapipala, accompanied by Prince Adinath and escorted by an honour guard of both Vindhya Rajput cavalry and cavalry of the Ilahabad Sultanate. Jali had been shocked when he had realised that the painting was intended to be his portrait.

Although the painting was inaccurate, both as an image of Jali and of the famous events of a several weeks earlier, the painting disturbed him deeply. He didn’t regret killing those men. He had only to look back at the person now gently snoring again in the bed behind him to affirm that. He had killed defending the love he held more dear than his life. What haunted him was that he didn’t know anything about them, their names, where they had been born, who they had loved… what circumstances had put them on the path to their destruction. He didn’t know if he wanted to know. There is an intimacy in taking someone’s life with a sword that sickened him.

The scent of Champa and Jasmine on the warm breeze at this early hour meant another hot day ahead. The sun had not even reached the walls of the ancient fort high up on the ridge, but the early risers were already gathered around the temples by the river waiting for the sun’s rays to flood the valley to begin their morning ritual with a Surya Namaskar. A few were bathing in the river and others spread wet clothes on the steps that led from the temple square to the water to allow them to dry. He saw a woman in white enter the Kajala Devi Mandir and a moment later, heard the distant bell as she invoked the presence of the goddess. Jali felt that bell call to him too.

Looking down the valley, he saw bamboo scaffolding partially erected around the town gate and parts of the wall. Though not seriously damaged in the recent siege, the Rana had decided to have two Chhatris built above the gate to commemorate and celebrate their victory at the same time as completing the repairs.

Far down the valley, out of sight behind the granite bluff that protected the town more than any man made structure, was the farm house where Jali had been born. He had passed it the day before when returning to Vindhyagarh and though its walls were festooned with garlands of flowers, he saw that it had lost its cow shed and the courtyard door was missing. In the town, he had met his family briefly but it had been impossible to talk properly amidst the welcome ceremony, celebrations and the screaming and chanting of the people. In any case, his brothers and nephews seemed too overwhelmed to speak. One of the many things he wanted to do that day was to visit them, check the old house for damage but mostly, he wanted to be in the room in which he had been born. So much had happened to him in the last few months, it was a place he felt he needed to be. Perhaps he needed to make some connection between his new life and his life growing up here as a boy on a farm looking after cows, to reestablish a continuity in his life, but Jali would never have rationalised his feelings in that way.

For Sunita, the easy birth had been as much of a surprise as the pregnancy. She was pleased to have her two new daughters in law, Priya and Jyoti, on hand to help, though Jyoti seemed to use any excuse to leave the room. As it turned out, there was little they needed to do. She was also very happy to have her husband beside her holding her hand. Few men attended a birth other than their own, but Sukhesh insisted. He had grown to love his wife deeply since their first meeting on their wedding day nearly thirty years before and he was not the only one worried about a women in her late-forties having a child. Sunita was normally in good health but even before she became pregnant with Jali, some afternoons she felt unwell and went to bed. Later, when she rose to make the evening meal, her face was distinctly swollen and she was short of breath.

Nine months earlier, Sunita and Sukhesh had traveled to Kalashoka, a town about fifteen kilometres away, crossed the river by boat and visited the farm where Priya and her cousin Jyoti lived to talk to their parents about their sons. Jyoti and Priya had seen the twins two years earlier when they had gone to Vindhyagarh for Navratri. They were fascinated by the handsome identical boys and on their return, Jyoti had hinted to her mother that those boys might make suitable husbands for herself and Priya.

It was a rare holiday for Sunita and Sukhesh. The negotiations with the parents of both girls had gone well and all six parents had quickly become good friends. An astrologer had been employed to ensure that the young couples would be compatible. He had declared that they were, but had become angry and frustrated in the process and left without staying for the usual evening meal. The problem was the question of telling which boy was which, which boy would marry which girl. The families had insisted that the astrologer should supply the answer. He had done so but given no explanation for his decision and so the families suspected that he had decided arbitrarily. For the parents, the whole issue was a source of humour and speculation though it had ended with the agreement that the girl’s would each be given a distinctive silver amulet that would be worn by their husbands to ensure that their wives made no mistake.

The weddings were held together under colourful canopies set up in a beautiful park outside Kalashoka rather than at the home of the brides to avoid the cost of the toll for most of the guests. To cross the river at Kalashoka was to leave the small kingdom and so pay a toll as well as the ferryman’s fee. Both couples were married at the same time. The brides followed their grooms in the seven sacred steps around the fire in the ancient ceremony as the Brahmin priest droned the Sanskrit hymns of the ritual. Sunita being eight months pregnant could not attend but welcomed the brides into her home when they arrived a day after. On the day of Jali’s birth, Krishna and Kesava waited in the courtyard of the house, under its ancient mango, wearing their amulets. They were married to Priya and Jyoti respectively though still remained closer to each other than to their new wives. When a boy was born, a baby of unusual beauty, Sunita called him Jalendu the moment he was placed in her arms.

Sunita only ever called him Jalendu though it was soon abbreviated to Jali by his brothers and then followed by the others. He was two by the time Priya could confidently distinguish her husband from Kesava without first looking to his amulet. It was probably no coincidence that soon after this time, she fell pregnant. Three months after that, Jyoti was pregnant too. The twins spoke freely to each other about their private lives, including what went on in the marriage bed. They had even joked about swapping amulets and swapping beds but the thought that they might not know who the father of any child would have been quickly stopped those ideas. They remained very close even as their affection towards their wives grew. Years later, it was a source of much sadness to Jali to be the wedge that forced them apart.

There was plenty of room for the quickly growing family in the house. It was a large compound surrounded by a thick high wall. The outer wall formed the back wall of the rooms inside. These rooms surrounded the inner courtyard except for a passage that led to the outside door. Though the kingdom had been at peace for generations, most of the farm houses in Vindhyagarh had high defensive walls made from river stones and mud and capped with overhanging flat stones or sometimes thatch. In the exact centre of the courtyard grew a large and ancient mango. The house had been in the family for many generations and no one knew whether it had been built around the mango or the mango had been planted within the courtyard. Its branches shaded and protected nearly the whole of the courtyard and some extended out over the roofs. A grove of palm trees around the south of the house provided more shade as well as thatch. They had four cows that wandered about freely during the day but were brought back to a shelter built against the outside wall of the house at night.

The mango mentioned here is the famous tree venerated and decorated by Prince Khurram when many years later he visited the kingdom to take possession of the documents of the treaty of Vindhyagarh on behalf of his father, the emperor.

The house stood near the main road that led through the Vindhyagarh town gate only about two kilometres up the valley. The road bisected the farm almost exactly. Normally, a farm was not divided between sons, the eldest becoming the head of the family and younger brothers helped work the farm. For Krishna and Kesava, being the same age, the farm had been notionally divided, Krishna working the river side fields and Kesava the fields on the other side of the road. Their father still helped of course, but he began to spend more time on maintenance of the old house that had been neglected over the years, and caring for his wife. Their farm was a rarity in that Sukhesh had actually inherited the land and owned it. They carefully guarded a document that attested to that fact even though they could not read it. Most land was owned by the Rana Nathji, the ruler of Vindhyagarh, and a proportion of produce had to be paid to the state as rent.

Jali was a very placid infant and at three, seemed fascinated by the arrival of two baby nephews within a few months of each other. His only other close relative was his uncle Manoj. Manoj was Sukhesh’s younger brother but he had been thrown out of the house many years earlier by their father after a violent argument. They had never reconciled and he had found a position as a servant in the fort. After their father’s death, Sukhesh had invited his brother to come back and live with them. Though he did start to visit regularly, he preferred to keep his job in the fort and lived in the servant’s quarters there.

Not long after he could walk, Jali began following either Krishna or Kesava as they went out to work in their fields. He rarely spoke but when he did, his voice had such an unusual tone, like the low notes of a bansuri, that anyone near would stop what they were doing to listen to what he had to say. He would usually sit on one of the banks surrounding the fields and watch his brother, or play by arranging pebbles or whatever he could find. Several times a day, Priya and Jyoti would visit their husbands in the fields and bring water and food. Jali would usually follow his sisters in law home and sit with his mother for some time and listen to her sing to him. He would wander away again when the women were attending to their babies and his mother slept. Jali’s mother, Sunita, rarely left the house now. She helped look after the children and to cook, but she often became suddenly tired and spent much of the day in a chair or in bed.

Even Sunita thought it strange that a child of that age could sit quietly listening to her singing and to the conversation of adults. The startlingly beautiful boy just sat silently, unmoving, except his eyes to the face of whoever spoke. One day, Kesava was working and he noticed Jali looking intently into the branches of a large tree that grew near the edge of one of his fields. Kesava looked but could not see anything. He continued planting lentil seeds for some time but again, noticed that Jali was still looking into the tree. Eventually, Kesava walked over to where Jali was sitting and looked, concerned that there might be a bird or squirrel in the tree that later would eat his seeds. He still could not see anything.

Jali, what are you looking at?

Jali replied in his melodic voice, "Dadaji, I was looking at the tree," confused that his brother would ask him such an obvious question.

The brothers and their wives all loved the beautiful curly haired boy and laughed when they told each other the strange things he often said and did, but privately, even Priya who was especially fond of him, began to think Jali was mentally slow. It was true that thought, even imagination, did not come as spontaneously to Jali as it did to most children. When he saw, heard or felt something his natural bias was to be completely engrossed in the visual experience, the quality of the sound or how things felt against his skin, not thinking about the experiences or trying to make sense of them, just experiencing them fully, as they occurred. The complex shapes of a tree, shades of green, yellow and brown, the way sunlight flashed off the glossy leaves as they moved in the breeze, the sounds a gust of wind made through the leaves and branches and then moments later, cooled his skin, these were enough to completely occupy Jali’s consciousness. It was an error to presume he was unintelligent. His intelligence was developing in ways and dimensions that were different to most people. He saw no need to summarise or simplify his experiences with his thoughts.

Later, Jali woke early when the women started work. He would either follow Jyoti down to the river to fetch water or watch Priya milk the cows. After breakfast, the women took their children and Jali into town. The surplus milk was sold to a couple who made sweets and had a shop near the junction of the main road and the path up to the fort. Next they would go to the temples in the main square on the river bank. There were two temples in the main square of Vindhyagarh, the Kajala Devi dedicated to the goddess Vindhyavasini and the smaller Sri Nath, dedicated to the blue skinned god, Krishna. Between them, built on a platform that extended out into the water, was the small shrine dedicated to the river goddess Silyamati Devi. Jyoti was particularly pious and always went to the temples each time she came into town. Later, they would go to the women’s bathing ghat by the river downstream from the temples. Here the women would bathe in the river, wash clothing, and chat with the other women while the children played with other young children from the town.

One day, when they returned from their visit to the town they called to Sunita to announce that they were home. She did not reply. Priya found her in bed. She had passed away in her sleep. Sukhesh was out helping Krishna move the water wheel that they used to irrigate the fields. Jyoti ran to bring Kesava and he found Sukhesh and Krishna. Jali did not speak to anyone for days after her body was consumed by the funeral pyre. His head had been shaved except for one curly lock as a sign of mourning. He preferred to sit alone, bewildered, tears silently running down his face, not even caring to wipe them away. Sometimes he sang or spoke quietly to himself. The rest of the family were too consumed with their own grief to give him much attention. If they had, they would have heard him trying to remember the songs his mother had sung or softly repeating Jalendu, Jalendu. Only his mother had called him that, and now that she was gone, it was the main thing he held on to to remember her. He feared that if he did not repeat it, it might be forgotten.

How could he have known that not more than a dozen years from then, that name would be shouted over and over by thousands as he was welcomed back to Vindhyagarh? How could he have known that one day, his name would be inscribed and inlaid with gold on the most treasured possession of Jahangir, the emperor of Hindustan?

Only six months later, Jali’s father Sukhesh, followed his mother. He had never recovered from her death and had spent most days quietly sitting beneath the mango, hardly eating, never going out. Towards the end, Manoj visited frequently, though now he had a more demanding position in the fort. He, Kesava and Krishna sat around a charpoy that they had set up for him in the courtyard and listened to him speak about the past. He often called Jali to sit near him because he reminded him of Sunita.

The boy at only six years old had become an orphan though Priya, even while his mother was unwell before her death, took a special interest in looking after him. Jali was an undemanding boy and his brothers, Jyoti and even Priya naturally gave more attention to their own younger children. Even though he began to grow very quickly out of his clothes he never minded when the younger children were sometimes given new clothes but he was forgotten. Manoj occasionally brought gifts for the family and gave special attention to Jali. Manoj had become a personal servant to Prince Jayaram, Rana Nathji’s younger brother, and sometimes accompanied the prince on long journeys. He never failed to visit the family on his return and distribute gifts that he had purchased from far away.

A year after their father’s death, the family went on a holiday to the temple village of Sitakund. This cluster of temples and pilgrim hostels was about ten kilometres north along the line of the Vindhya foothills from Vindhyagarh town. For everyone except Jyoti, more important than the temples were the hot springs that filled several large steaming pools before overflowing into the cool mountain stream. There were separate places to bathe for men and women and Jali was pleased to be taken with Krishna and Kesava to the men’s pools while the women took the younger children with them. The feelings of his body in the hot water was like nothing he had experienced before. His whole body seemed to spasm in pleasure.

From this day onwards even though still very young, Jali no longer played or just watched his brothers, he did what he could to assist them. At first, he watched what they were doing and found ways he could help. River stones still came to the surface while Krishna was cultivating his fields. He would have to stop and throw or carry the stone to a pile at the edge of the field. Jali soon darted forward and took the stone. Occasionally he still did something quite strange. He once ran with one of the stones all the way to the river and washed it. Before reverently bringing it back and placing it on the pile. Krishna had to stop what he was doing out of curiosity and see what was so special about that stone. It was indistinguishable from any other.

Jali grew quickly in body and strength. Before long his brothers were giving him independent work to do, repairing or rebuilding the banks around the fields, patching the walls of the house, collecting fallen palm leaves and using them to repair the roofs. The flat stones that capped the walls so that their mud render was protected from being washed away in rain could only be brought from a quarry two kilometres along the range. Many had become cracked over the years and so palm leaves had been piled on top to protect the walls. Jali made it his personal project when he had nothing else to do to replace every cracked stone, even though it meant carrying a heavy replacement from the quarry.

He also began helping his sisters in law. Soon, Jyoti’s presence in collecting water from the river was only symbolic. Jali had always gone with her, but she had carried the heavy water jar back. Later, they took a smaller jar for Jali to fill and carry. As Jali became older and stronger, they had two large water jars that could be suspended from a pole. Jali carried these back over his shoulders while Jyoti carried a smaller one. Jali didn’t mind at all. He enjoyed this time alone with Jyoti where she would gossip and nag him.

He helped Priya in the mornings milking the cows and carried the milk into town with the women after breakfast, but now, he walked back to the farm to help his brothers while the women and younger children continued to the temples and ghat. Sometimes on the way back he would stop to chat with some of the boys who lived in town. The boys often gathered in the shade of a fig that grew by the river at the end of the town wall. Though he never seemed to have much to contribute to a conversation, Jali was a good listener and very curious about the other boys lives so they always sought him out to tell him what was on their minds.

His brothers began to take Jali with them when they took their crops to be sold in Nilapipala several times a year. They hired a buffalo and cart for the journey and slept under the cart at night. Nilapipala and Kalashoka were the two main towns of the kingdom. Vindhyagarh town, though the seat of the Rana and the site of the fort and palace, was small and quiet in comparison. Both towns sat on the confluences of rivers flowing down from the mountains into the Ken River below. These rivers, the Ken and the jungle clad Vindhya escarpment formed the small kingdom’s borders. A major trade route ran along the eastern side of the Ken and passed through both Kalashoka and Nilapipala. Being about thirty kilometres apart, most travellers had to spend at least one night in each place after crossing the rivers flowing into the Ken by ferry boats. Krishna and Kesava always sold their crop in Nilapipala where there was higher demand and higher prices than in Vindhyagarh.

The government levied a toll on both entry and exit from the kingdom at the towns but also had built and owned the hostels where most travellers stayed. This was the primary source of monetary income to the state. The ferries started before sunrise as soon as there was enough light and stopped one hour after sunset. An hour before sunset, the toll was doubled. The number of ferry men rowing the boats across the river were limited by licenses issued by the government. These measures were designed to prevent a rush at the end of the day but also to try to get people to stay longer in either of the towns to increase the kingdom’s revenue.

These two towns of the kingdom competed with each other and were renowned for their hospitality, so travellers paid the tolls gladly and stayed more than one night. Most stayed in the government hostels which also provided for their animals and security, though there were many private inns as well as private houses where they could spend the night. The towns also had taverns, musicians and bards to entertain the visitors as well as ladies to entertain them professionally in private. Several of the young men who worked at the hostels earned additional income from this ancient profession. Musicians, singers, bells jingling on the ankles of dancers, women laughing from upstairs windows, drunken men talking loudly to each other in the streets on their way back to their lodgings, these were sounds heard very late into the night in both Nilapipala and Kalashoka.

Jali took it all in wide eyed. He had never seen so many people. At night, he was left alone to mind the buffalo and cart while his brothers went back into the town. They arrived back late at night, talking and laughing loudly with a pungent smell on their breaths and the scent of roses on their clothes. In the morning, Jali had to promise not to tell their wives anything. The twins slept it off on the back of the cart while Jali drove it home. Driving the cart meant doing nothing but sitting and watching. The docile buffalo, once set on the right road, plodded along hour after hour without any need for interference. Often, farmers slept on their carts while the buffalo continued homewards.

He did however have to make way for the passing of the Vindhyagarh Guard. He had only to lightly tap the buffalo on its back on the right or left side with a long stick to direct its movements and move it onto the side of the road. The Guard was the kingdom’s small cavalry army. Jali’s home was by the road out of Vindhyagarh so they passed by there frequently and he would often stop what he was doing and run to the road to watch them go by. He loved the horses and the men’s padded white qabchals, indigo pajamas and matching blue and white pennants on the tips of their lances. Prince Jayaram had been in command of the Guard and usually led them. The men often waved and called out to Jali as they passed.

Where they were going was a mystery to most people in Vindhyagarh. The kingdom had been at peace for generations and only very rarely was someone injured or killed in one of the Guard’s expeditions, usually in an accident. The people of Vindhyagarh felt secure. Not only because of the Guard, but because the kingdom was bordered by the impenetrable jungle and mountains of the Vindhya Ranges and by rivers that were difficult to cross and well guarded. This all began to change with the sudden death of Rana Nathji. He was succeeded by his brother Jayaram because Nathji had no son. The change in ruler prompted the Mughals to summon Jayaram to the imperial capital at Agra to submit to the emperor. While he was in Agra, Mughal inspectors came to assess the kingdom for taxation and other purposes.

Jali’s uncle Manoj had risen in status since Jayaram had become the Rana. For a long time he had begun wearing the same style of clothes as the Guard uniform. He met important visitors and conducted them to meet with Prince Aditya, Jayaram’s eldest son, who was nominally ruler while Jayaram was in Agra. Manoj with one of the officers of the guard also rode to each farm in the kingdom to inform them of the impending arrival of the Mughal inspectors.

Most small kingdoms faced with this situation tried to hide their wealth from the Mughals. Attempts to hide agricultural surplus usually failed, for always someone was found out and so the inspectors assumed everyone was hiding something and over assessed. Jayaram’s strategy was the opposite. Prince Aditya and his officers were instructed to tell the farmers to hide nothing and to welcome the inspectors into their homes as honoured guests. The Mughal inspectors where to be richly entertained. Manoj and several of the senior officers of the Guard were given the task of escorting them.

By the time the inspectors came to Jali’s home, they had spent four days at Sitakund relaxing in the hot pools, being fed by the best cooks and entertained by musicians and dancers brought in from Nilapipala. The complaints by the head priest of the temples at Sitakund who believed that the hot springs were only for spiritual purification, not relaxation and enjoyment, formed part of the entertainment. They had also stayed for several days in both Kalashoka and Nilapipala being hosted by officers of the Guard. They were meant to complete the survey, primarily a survey of agricultural production, within two or three weeks though more than a week had passed before they even began. Jali and his family waited in their best clothes as the inspectors came to call, escorted by Manoj. Manoj proudly introduced Krishna, Kesava and Jali as his nephews. It was apparent to all that the inspectors and Manoj had become the best of friends. They shook hands with Krishna and Kesava and bent to shake Jali’s hand and run their hands through his thick curly hair while he smiled back at them. They sat with Manoj and the family and chatted while politely eating a small amount of the special food Priya and Jyoti had prepared. They had been eating all day and politely declined when offered more. At the end, they wrote in a book that there were three cows even though they had been shown four and had a cursory look at the fields before moving on.

The strategy was successful and Jayaram returned soon after confirmed as the Rana of Vindhyagarh though a vassal of the Mughal Emperor of Hindustan, Jalaluddin Akbar. He brought with him twenty new horses and a few weeks later, more arrived. These brought Jali running to the road to watch them pass. After that, it seemed that the kingdom had returned to normal. Because the inspectors had only been asked to assess agricultural production, they completely overlooked the income to the state from the ferry tolls and the businesses catering for travellers in the border towns. For most people in Vindhyagarh, especially farmers, the fact that their small kingdom was part of a vast empire was completely irrelevant. For Jali, there was the excitement of the horses. The Mughal regulations required them all to be branded and some of the new ones had to be broken in. If he had any spare time, he walked to the maidan outside the town wall and watched the men work with them.

However, a few months later, Manoj visited the family. He was clearly very worried and spoke with Krishna and Kesava quietly. Outside, Shvetambi, the horse Manoj always took to ride, was packed for a journey. Jali liked to go out and feed the horse some bread whenever Manoj visited. Jali smiled when he saw his uncle come. Sometimes he would lift him up and put him on the horse, but this time the smile faded from Jali’s eyes when he saw the tension in Manoj’s face. Manoj crouched, took Jali’s shoulders in his hands and spoke to him quietly.

Jali, I am going away for a while. Please do everything your brothers ask?

"Yes, chachaji."

Manoj embraced him then mounted the horse and left without looking back.

The room Jali now slept in was also partly used as a store room. Old wooden boxes containing old pots, cooking utensils and the belongings of their deceased parents that they did not have the heart to throw away were stacked against one wall. The next day, the twins began taking all the boxes out of Jali’s room into the courtyard and this revealed some planks covering a large hole in the floor. They put a few sacks of lentils into the hole before carrying all the boxes back in and stacking them over the planks to hide it.

Two days later, Rana Jayaram and his son, Prince Aditya, rode out with a small escort. Manoj returned a few days later while they were away. Though he was very tired, he still visited the family with a few gifts from his journey. However, only three days later, the Rana and Aditya returned and sent Manoj away on another mission. This time, he did not stop to visit on his way. Immediately after the return of the Rana, the Guard began making preparations for an expedition. Supplies were being gathered and the men were doing additional training. The reserve were called up and began replacing the Guard on duty at the fort and at the crossings. Jali didn’t understand what was happening but felt that everyone was worried. Jyoti brought home the latest gossip. She said that the prince was getting married but that the marriage might cause a war, however as the weeks passed and nothing more happened, the tension was replaced by a mood of celebration as preparations began for the royal wedding.

Jali sat by the road for hours watching the important guests arrive to attend the marriage of Prince Aditya and his bride, Sita. The wedding ceremony usually took place at the house of the bride, but Sita was already living in the palace at Vindhyagarh and Aditya had been sent away to Kalashoka. On the day of the wedding, Prince Aditya arrived in a great parade including the whole army and hundreds of musicians, all apparently playing different tunes. Prince Aditya held the reins of his horse in one hand and used his other to steady a boy seated on the horse before him. The boy was Prince Aditya’s young brother Adinath, who by tradition accompanied the groom in this way. Jali smiled and waved to the boy who looked back at him with large eyes and a furrowed brow. It was a strange expression, not a smile, but Jali took it to be one.

This was the first darshana of Jalendu and Adinath. They were like two tender young vines growing separately towards the light from the dark jungle soil. They could not have know that one day, the vines would embrace and intertwine, giving each other strength and growing into a mighty tree.

A great crowd arrived with the procession and camped in the maidan. Jali and his family joined them for the feast and to watch the entertainment. He loved the story tellers and sat with the usually much older audience listening to the ancient epic stories they told. The story tellers were surprised and captivated by the handsome boy looking at them in wonder and soon could not resist directing their tales to him alone.

Soon after the wedding, the army began training again. There were now Mughal officers involved and they had been seen speaking harshly to the Vindhyas and even to Prince Aditya, who now was one of the officers. The men and horses passed by Jali’s home nearly every day leaving everything covered with a layer of brown dust from the road. The rumour was that they were going to war, but as the weeks passed without change, everyone calmed. Jali even stopped running to the road to watch them.

Then one day, the entire Vindhyagarh Guard rode out with supplies and their armour. Jali was carrying water up from the river to hand water seedlings and had to stop by the road as they passed. He saw that for the first time, they were led by Prince Aditya, but this expedition was to be different to the previous expeditions in another way. This time, more than a third would not return.

Jayaram

As a young man, Prince Jayaram travelled often. His relationship with his older brother, the Rana Nathji, had always been tense. Nathji was a conservative, but Jayaram objected to the privileges of royal birth and refused to put on the show of stuffy elitism that his brother expected of him. Nathji set him duties to perform, but they were frequently tests that were designed so that Jayaram would fail and be humiliated. Jayaram never understood why his brother treated him in this way and thought it better to escape Vindhyagarh and travel whenever he could, whether he had his brother’s permission or not. He travelled far, sometimes sleeping rough on the ground or under wagons, in small inns and sometimes in brothels. At other times, he was the honoured guest in the palaces and forts of local Rajput rulers. He was a welcome guest for his unconventional life was envied by many of the rulers he visited, and much of his conversation was lively, interesting and controversial. Many looked forward to hearing from him, often during late night drinking parties, the truth about what happened in their own, and in their neighbour’s kingdoms. He was also the source of a wealth of information on the intricate politics of the Mughal empire.

They listened to Jayaram’s unconventional political views often with less pleasure, and it has to be said, sometimes he tended to drag on. Frequently, one victim would be left with bloodshot eyes listening to him go on, trying to be polite, while his companions rested their heads on the table, soundly asleep.

The political situation for most of the Rajput kingdoms around the Vindhya ranges in relation to the empire was ambiguous. They had long been formally annexed, yet the empire exercised no real control over them. In the case of Vindhyagarh, the situation was even more unclear because the annexation had occurred during the regency of Jayaram’s mother. Unlike most of the rulers, she had never been called to the imperial court to formally submit to the emperor, perhaps because she was only the regent, perhaps because she was a woman. No treaty with the empire had ever been made. Rana Nathji had had no official contact from the Mughals since his accession, though he had at times deliberately avoided it. Some of the rulers who had submitted now openly repudiated any links with the empire. Rana Nathji took the view that Vindhyagarh had never formally accepted Mughal suzerainty, so he had nothing to repudiate. He often boasted that Vindhyagarh had remained independent and would fight any attempt by the Mughals to take control.

The Mughal official view was that the Vindhya Rajput states were part of a Mughal Provence ruled from Kalpi, a town to the north on the River Jumna, though to add to the uncertainty, the Mughal governor of Ilahabad disputed that and claimed the Vindhyas to be part of his mandate. The Mughals did exercise control over the area immediately to the south of the river as far as the great fortress at the northern tip of the Vindhyas at Kalinjar, but rarely campaigned into the Rajput controlled areas further south. The main reason was the terrain. The rivers in the region were often fast flowing and cut deeply into their courses with steep, even precipitous banks. River crossings were the horror of the Mughal army, frequently more men lost in crossings than in battle. They deployed boat bridges that were makeshift and unstable and attempted to cross them with horses and even elephants. Those not thrown into the water by panicked animals had to face the ascent of the far bank which soon developed into a quagmire and a confusing crowd of men, animals and carts amidst falling clumps of clay and river stones as they tried to scale the steep banks. At the same time, they may be under enemy attack. In contrast, the Rajputs of the region swam their horses and were used to scaling the steep banks. Their cavalry were self-sufficient and never more than a few days ride from their homes, so there was no large supply train following the army, and certainly no elephants.

For many years, the imperial armies had been occupied in wars in the north as well as the ongoing campaign against the kingdom of Mewar in the south-west and had not given any attention to subduing the Rajputs in the Vindhya states. All the rulers knew that eventually they would attempt to do so. Jayaram’s view was that it was now long past the time when the Vindhya Rajputs could have united against the Mughals. He saw that their incessant petty wars among themselves had weakened them, and it was now only a matter of time before the smaller kingdoms would be forced to submit to Mughal authority. Serious resistance to the powerful imperial army brought disproportionate massacre and destruction. The emperor Akbar on one hand admired the Rajput martial culture and expertise as a ruling class. Man Singh, the Rajput Raja of Amber, had become the senior general of the imperial army and one of Akbar’s "Navratna," his group of closest friends and advisors. He was also the nephew of his most beloved wife, the mother of the Crown Prince Salim. However, if a Rajput kingdom strongly resisted Mughal invasion, Akbar showed no mercy.

Jayaram was sickened by his brother’s boast that he would fight the Mughals to the last drop of the blood of his people. Jayaram began to use his growing friendships, contacts and influence to intercede in petty disputes and mediate between rulers who were his friends. It was not only that these disputes weakened the Rajputs against the Mughal expansion. Jayaram in his travels had seen himself how the common people were affected by them, and it disgusted him.

He used to stop frequently in Jhansi, a nearby town ruled by a raja of the turbulent Bundela clan, close friends of Vindhyagarh. There was a boy with the most remarkable singing voice. The beautiful poetry of the lyrics and the enchanting melodies were all his invention. Often, be improvised and composed while he sang, his expert band of musicians taking cues from his hand gestures to follow the flow of his melody. Jayaram was a guest at a banquet in the palace of another local chief where he met a man who was traveling through the Rajput kingdoms and writing a study of their music. He was interesting in another way because he had come from the Mughal court, and was a student of the famous poet and musician Birbal, another one of the emperor’s inner circle. Jayaram heard him speaking about his project and suggested,

You must go to Jhansi and find a boy who sings in the tavern near the toll barrier. You will find no better musician throughout the Rajput kingdoms.

I had heard of him, but I am too late… I am sorry, you have not heard? That boy has passed away. From what I hear, a great tragedy.

What? Blast it! No! I had not heard. I heard him sing only a month or two ago. He was very young. Do you know happened?

Well, he was called up by the local raja to fight in some dispute over a temple. He was struck by an arrow and died on the spot. His musicians have now dispersed. I found one of them working as a labourer on a farm, but he said the music was all improvised, nothing had been written down.

Jayaram was furious and sickened. He had heard of this dispute over a temple on a river island on the border of two Bundela kingdoms, but he had met the rulers who had settled the dispute and were attending a wedding together. They were actually cousins and now seemed the best of friends.

Many of the rulers thought of these minor wars as celebration of their warrior heritage. There was often a cavalry charge, a skirmish, local people drafted as infantry using pikes to defend and block the opposing cavalry but in the end, it was usually a stalemate and the two rulers came together to negotiate. Jayaram was annoyed that they did not simply negotiate before fighting. They did not seem to care about the people killed. Not only musicians and artists, but farmers left wives and children without support and with no one to work the land.

Worse, personal vendettas that lasted generations were launched, where the warrior families looked forward to the next battle when they could avenge almost forgotten injuries. Even if rulers agreed to unite their armies, it would be nearly impossible to prevent internal fighting between warriors from different families that had ancient scores to settle.

Prince Jayaram began to persuade the rulers to try to settle these disputes by negotiation and diplomacy rather than war. His most persuasive argument was that alliances were needed to make them stronger against the Mughal advance, but privately, he thought the Mughals were unstoppable and to try to resist was suicidal. His main concern was for the people. He knew that Rajput states that had surrendered to the Mughals after only symbolic resistance were treated honourably by Akbar and usually their rulers retained their positions, though as vassals. Jayaram saw that for the people, their kingdom peacefully incorporated into the empire usually meant simply that they were left to get on with their lives in peace. He did not see why the people had to pay with their lives or livelihoods for the honour of an hereditary ruler.

Jayaram on his travels had inevitably met Mughal officers and diplomats as well as Rajput rulers who had become vassals of the emperor. Indeed, despite Nathji’s boasts, Mughal diplomats, nobles and even small numbers of escorting troops were allowed to occasionally pass through Vindhyagarh without significant interference. Jayaram had no intention of disloyalty to his brother, but he gradually built a network of contacts that he hoped would be useful in case his brother carried through with his dangerous ideas of going to war with the Mughals. He also learned the value of information, how to acquire it and the kinds of people who traded in it. He built up his own network of informers, messengers and spies whom he could trust, though he did not approve of some of their methods. Later Manoj, his personal servant, accompanied him on many of his travels. Manoj had been conscripted as a labourer when repairs had been needed to the ancient fort at Vindhyagarh and Jayaram had met him at that time. Manoj had impressed him with his humour and intelligence and so had employed him as his valet and educated him. They had become close and trusted friends over the years and Manoj had even assisted in Jayaram’s political activities.

As the years passed, Jayaram came to be seen as a skilled negotiator and diplomat by his peers. While he was at home in Vindhyagarh, the numbers of important visitors to the fort increased. Rana Nathji felt honoured by the attention until he realised that the visitors, though courteous to him, were coming to ask Prince Jayaram’s advice, not his. This became another source of friction between the brothers. From time to time, Nathji received complaints about Jayaram from older conservative rulers. They said his ideas were too radical, he was meddling in their affairs and even that he sided with the Mughals. Nathji was forced to take steps to try to get Jayaram to settle.

Firstly, Nathji arranged a marriage for Jayaram. Jayaram initially objected to the interference in his private life but he knew that as a prince, his marriage was not only a personal bond but a bond between states. Luckily, Himavathi and Jayaram were a good match, quickly became friends and surprised each other by how soon they fell in love. She also became an intimate friend of Nathji’s wife, the Rani Urvashi. Jayaram and Himavathi soon had a son they named Aditya. This added to the jealousy Nathji secretly felt towards his brother, for Nathji, after many years of marriage, was still childless.

The marriage was politically bold and Jayaram thought perhaps a little reckless. Himavathi was a daughter of a Bundela noble. The Bundelas were a powerful and turbulent Rajput clan who ruled several kingdoms covering much of the region immediately to the south of Vindhyagarh. Vindhyagarh and the Bundela kingdoms were natural allies and there had been several marriages between them over the years, but the Bundelas were one of the more outspoken in their rejection of Mughal rule. Moreover, though they frequently fought each other, many of the Bundela chiefs believed that their combined armies would be strong enough to defeat a Mughal invasion. Even though they had difficult terrain on their side, Jayaram believed that not even they would be able to withstand a serious assault by the imperial army and he did not want his home drawn into a long, destructive and ultimately futile war between the Mughals and the Bundelas. One of Jayaram’s closest friends however was Vir Singh Deo, a charismatic and influential Bundela raja who ruled the nearby kingdom of Orchha. He privately shared many of Jayaram’s views about the Mughals and argued caution with his more militaristic relatives.

A year after his marriage, Nathji appointed Jayaram commander of the Guard, Vindhyagarh’s army. He hoped this and his new family life would keep him at home and away from his political meddling. It did for a time, but it also gave Jayaram a powerful tool to spread his influence. Jayaram soon received a request from a local ruler to intervene in and mediate a dispute. Jayaram secretly replied that a request for Vindhyagarh’s military assistance should be made, including all possible flattery, directly to the Rana. By this, Jayaram hoped that Nathji would order him and the Guard to assist. His plan succeeded and a few days later, he led the Guard on its first expedition with him in command.

Jayaram used his troops carefully, blocking and intervening in skirmishes and avoiding serious fighting. A typical Rajput battle of the Vindhya region was like a game of chess that ended in stalemate followed by a negotiated settlement. Occasionally they got out of control, sometimes triggered by an accidental death. The result was a ferocious battle with many more dead or injured that either ruler could afford. Jayaram made it clear that his role was to mediate the dispute and do as much as possible to limit or prevent bloodshed. In his early days in command, the Guard were often called on to intervene in this way. Jayaram grew to love the distinctive uniform and antique armour, something he had argued with his brother about in the past. Visitors to Vindhyagarh to consult with Jayaram continued to cause friction between the brothers so he often met for negotiations in Kalashoka.

Later though, Jayaram began to spend more time at home with his wife and child. The Rajput kingdoms around the Vindhyas became more at peace and there was less need for his negotiating skills and the intervention of the Guard. This was partly due to Jayaram’s peacemaking influence but also because the political situation with the Mughals was becoming more tense. Small kingdoms to the north and west of Vindhyagarh had received envoys from the new Mughal governor at Kalpi demanding that their rulers submit to the emperor. A few had immediately done so. Some began to prepare for war. The Bundelas agreed to put aside their internal differences and began to prepare a united defence against the Mughals. They elected Vir Singh Deo to command their combined armies and began reinforcing fortifications. Jayaram, though he hoped Nathji would not go to war, began to prepare the Guard. He supervised their training closely and refocused their strategy on defence of the kingdom. He also instituted a program of training of young men for a reserve that would be called into action if necessary.

Eight years after Aditya was born, Jayaram and Himavathi had another son. He was unfortunately born early and was very weak. They named him Adinath but he was not expected to survive. He did however make steady progress though continued to be troubled by serious breathing problems, especially when there was smoke or pollen in the air. Both his mother, Princess Himavathi and the Rani Urvashi were devoted to the care of the boy and seemed to speak of nothing else but his health.

The Mughals sent a stream of envoys to the powerful Bundelas and often they travelled through Vindhyagarh. Nathji began spending more time at a retreat he had built at Sitakund. He felt it was better to avoid meeting the Mughal envoys while at the same time being annoyed that they rarely asked to do so. Jayaram was able to warn Nathji of their approach even before they reached the border due to the network of informers that he employed.

On one occasion when Rana Nathji was about to leave for Sitakund, the Rani told him it would be impossible for her to accompany him because the boy Adinath was so ill and Himavathi needed her help to care for him. The childless couple had grown apart over the years and from that day, Nathji began to reside permanently at the small palace at Sitakund while his wife and Jayaram’s family stayed at Vindhyagarh. Nathji delegated most of his duties to Jayaram though he required Jayaram to report to him weekly and refer all important decisions to him. Nothing Jayaram did escaped criticism from Nathji, but Jayaram was loyal to him, and tried to do as he wished as he had vowed to his late mother.

The arrangement was convenient in one way because Jayaram could say to Mughal envoys that he was not empowered to discuss relations between Vindhyagarh and the empire and that Rana Nathji was away, however the Mughal governor had heard of Jayaram’s diplomatic skills and he wanted Vindhyagarh to remain temporarily independent so that Jayaram could act as an intermediary between him and the Bundelas. That was something he could not do. Firstly he did not believe that the Mughal governor of Kalpi had a reasonable negotiating position. He would accept nothing less than unconditional surrender and his only flexibility was around which Bundela forts might be saved from destruction by an earlier capitulation. Secondly, although his good friend, Vir Singh Deo, had been appointed to command the combined Bundela army, he was not their political leader, and he had not been given the power to negotiate with the Mughals on behalf of them all. Both Vindhyagarh and the Bundelas were using the same diplomatic delaying tactics by not allowing the Mughal envoys ever to speak to someone empowered to accept or reject their demands. Thirdly, Rana Nathji explicitly forbade him to act as an intermediary, though Jayaram and Vir continued to communicate frequently, and they visited each other informally. Their delaying strategy went on for years and they were both surprised at the Mughal patience.

In fact, the governor’s chief envoy met Jayaram often. They became friends and trusted one another. Vindhyagarh was a respite between the cold reception he received from the Bundelas and the equally hostile treatment he received from the governor at home in Kalpi. The envoy was an experienced diplomat but he could not make the governor understand that negotiations with the Bundelas were impossible until the Mughal position was more flexible. Jayaram and the envoy discussed the situation openly and Jayaram agreed. The two men became very useful to one another and spent many hours in conversation.

Both Jayaram and Vir knew that eventually, the Mughals would press their demands. Jayaram’s plan was purely defensive. His priority was to protect the people of the kingdom by stalling the invaders at the border river crossing giving time for the people to be evacuated, either to the other town and crossing or to behind the defences at Vindhyagarh town. A siege of the town and fort would be long and costly for the invaders and Vindhyagarh, not a great prize in the end. Jayaram hoped that the Mughals would stop to negotiate reasonable surrender terms as had happened elsewhere. Of course, Jayaram was willing to discuss terms with the empire before an invasion began, but he was not the rana and he was no usurper.

Nathji disapproved strongly of Jayaram’s plan, calling it weak and cowardly, but he offered no real alternative and Jayaram noticed he was more depressed and uninterested each time he met with him. Nathji’s health was slowly fading. He was greatly overweight and spent much of his time in the pools at Sitakund. He had originally intended his stay there to be short to avoid the Mughal envoys, but the diplomatic standoff had dragged out to nearly a decade.

Vir also privately believed that the best outcome for the Bundelas would be to force the Mughal generals into a position where they would have to either negotiate reasonably or suffer serious losses in battle. He knew the Bundelas must eventually surrender or be destroyed. Though he was ambitious and gradually consolidated his political position, there were still many Bundela chiefs who opposed his plans and believed that they could defeat the Mughals.

Jayaram’s eldest son Prince Aditya, had become a strong and vigorous young man who was a startling replica of his father. He was appointed to the Guard but not made an officer. Jayaram wanted him to learn how to take orders and earn promotion just like any other man. He was likeable and had many friends but was still held to a higher standard by his father. It would have been extremely discourteous to Nathji to mention it, but Aditya would eventually be the rana. He was strongly admonished when the Guard had to be called to break up a fight in a brothel upstairs from a tavern in Nilapipala and the young off duty Aditya was found to be one of the culprits.

The boy Prince Adinath remained sickly and seasonally, he had serious attacks of breathing problems, sometimes coming close to death. He never left the palace and spent much of his time reading and studying texts well beyond those a boy of his age could be expected to understand. Jayaram had begun holding informal council meetings at Kalashoka and Nilapipala. He departed from Vindhyagarh to attend one of those meeting on a morning when Urvashi and Himavathi had been up all night caring for Adinath as he had had another serious attack. The child had begun to recover before Jayaram departed, but as he was nearly at his destination, a messenger rode up from Vindhyagarh in a cloud of dust. Jayaram knew from the messenger’s expression that he should fear the worst. The news however was not about Adinath. It was that his brother, Rana Nathji, was dead. He had had a heart attack just after waking that morning at Sitakund.

Jayaram had been in effect ruling Vindhyagarh for ten years, but there were a few changes that he wanted to make now that he was rana. He appointed Siddharth Dev, a trusted senior officer as commander of the guard. He had also recruited Gajadhar Singh, an experienced soldier from the Bundela kingdom of Orchha. Jayaram wanted Gajadhar to

Reviews for Jalendu

[andrewsp-110130 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is perhaps the most astonishing book I have ever read. This is one of the rare gems in the vast pile of self-published eBooks on Amazon. I have to thank Amazon's recommendations engine for picking this one out for me.A reviewer on Amazon expresses his amazement that this is by a first time author, a fact revealed in the book's introduction. I am surprised but not amazed. The book does not have that characteristic of modern fiction which is that everything non-essential is removed, the absence of which is often the hallmark of an inexperienced author.Of course no one would ever say that the works of great authors like Victor Hugo or Herman Melville are stripped of the non-essential and in some way their superfluousness is their richness.This book is like that. It is rich. Perhaps too rich and the author might even be accused of self-indulgence. In fact in the introduction, the author says he wrote it purely for his own enjoyment.This is primarily a work of historical fiction (despite the weird primary classification on Amazon as "gay romance"). It is a complex and strong narrative of events in Mughal India culminating with the assassination of Abul Fazl ibn Mubarak, the vizier of the Mughal Emperor Akbar on his son Prince Salim's order in 1602 (though no dates are given in the book). It is historical fiction, but many of the events are real historical events and many of the characters were real people. I have seen documentaries and read about that period in Indian history, and I find it very hard to tell where non-fiction history ends and fiction begins in Andrew's account. The history is compelling and believable. (I know of one blunder though only because I have been in on the location of several of the book's scenes. Jhansi and Orchha are on the same side of the Betwa).However that historical backbone is interwoven with a purely fictional story of Jalendu, most often called Jali in the book. The first half of the book follows Jali's childhood and youth, his extraordinary personality and especially his spiritual growth under the guidance of his guru, Anandaji. It is also the story of Jali coming to terms with his homosexuality. Jali joins the reserve of the kingdom's small army and undergoes training for a year, but a series of crises cause him to run away from his home and meet with the old traveling bard Gopalaji. It is with Gopalaji (who is actually a spy) that Jali's life begins to become entangled with the politics of the empire and the conflict between Abul Fazl and Salim.In part two, Jali has decided to return home anyway but he is specifically recalled to act as the bodyguard of the young Prince Adinath who has been called to Agra. Jali and Adinath have previously met briefly. Adinath is a young man with a difficult personality, also homosexual, but who's father is attempting to arrange a marriage to a well connected princess in order to secure the kingdom.Although apparently the complete opposite in personality, Jali and Adinath gradually fall in love with each other. But their adventures in Agra and subsequently are exciting, dangerous, heartbreaking and intensely moving. Eventually, their actions are pivotal in the historical story. The chapters near the end of the book are intense and dramatic and I could not put the book down until I had completed reading them.There is yet however another aspect to this book. This is firstly illustrated by a very beautiful description of the young Jali's personality as he observes a tree, then in a series of discussions Jali has with his guru Anandaji, then in Gopalaji's retelling of the Hindu myth of the churning of the cosmic sea and Jali's interpretation of its meaning and then in the development of the relationship between Jali and Adinath.It is a spiritual, philosophical, psychological thread that I found to be very profound and affected me even more deeply than the interwoven fiction. Perhaps one way of describing this is as the illustration of the classical Dionysian-Apollonian dichotomy. If so, relating it to the Hindu myth must be an act of brilliant originality. One person who commented on this book called it a debate between two ontological positions. Phenomenological ontology versus rationalism (I guess). I don't prefer those terms. However it is analysed academically, I found it very profound and touched my heart. I have no hesitation is saying that this aspect of this extremely rich book has changed my life.The book has two quite graphic sex scenes between men. If that offends you so much that you would not read this book, that is your tragic loss.