Friday, May 22, 2015

La Venganza de una Mujer

Mahābharata

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महाभरत
recontado por

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

y traducido en español por Teresa Loret de Mola, Tapanandini DD



Una Mujer Desdeñada
Amba Jura Vengarse

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Atravesé ríos, bosques, colinas y árboles, y llegue sano y salvo a Hastinapura a la corte de Vichitravirya trayendo a las tres vírgenes, las hijas del Rey Kashi, quien retrocedió atemorizado ante mí. Estaba cubierto de sudor y de la sangre de los príncipes que contendieron en busca de sus manos. Y, tal cual un tigre atrapa a un antílope, me robé a las hijas del Rey Kashi para mi hermano, el gentil Vichitravirya, el príncipe infante.

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De este modo llevé a estas tres doncellas, Amba, Ambika, y Ambalika a la corte de los Reyes.
Se hospedaron en los aposentos de mi madrastra, la reina Satyavati. Todas se desposarían con mi hermano, el gentil Vichitravirya para que pudiera tener esposas y engendrar herederos. Después descansé una quincena de la batalla, consulté con Satyavati, la viuda de mi padre, quien estaba complacida conmigo y me sonrió y me dijo como iban los preparativos para la boda.

Ahora justo antes deque el sacrificio nupcial se realizara, Se me acercó en privado Amba, la mayor de las hijas del Rey Kashi, Me sonrió y penetró mi corazón con sus ojos cálidos. Me dijo en secreto, “Oh tigre entre los hombres. Por favor escucha mi súplica. Usted ha de saber antes de la ceremonia de Swayamvara del Rey Kashi, yo estaba enamorada del Rey Shalva. Él a su vez me amaba. Y mi casaría con él y mi padre lo había aprobado. Yo lo seleccionaría a él en la ceremonia Swayamvara en Kashi. Ahora me has traído lejos, tu Señor Vichitravirya puede ser muy feliz con dos esposas. Mis hermanas pueden proveerle todos los herederos que la familia Bharata necesita para continuar con el linaje real.
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"liberame"
“Libérame, o gran hombre,” dijo ella. “permíteme regresar a la casa de Kashi. Deja que me case con el rey de Shalva, tu rival en el Swayamvara y cumpla mi destino. Por favor haz lo que quieras. Oh Señor de los Bharata. Soy tu humilde sierva.” Amba era hermosa y encantadora, Alta y bella con tez como el oro fundido. Tenía un cabello negro y rizado y sus delicadas manos decoradas con henna y con las uñas rojas. Sus caderas eran redondas e imponentes, y sus grandes y orgullosos pechos. Se movía apasionada mientras hablaba acerca de su amor por Shalva. Ella hubiera sido una esposa excelente para Vichitravirya.
Entonces de nuevo, tal vez Amba creía que después de todo, yo rompería mi voto y la haría mi reina. Ya que era la hija mayor del Rey Kashi y yo era el hijo mayor de Shantanu, gobernaríamos como Rey y Reina y sus hijos continuarían nuestra dinastía. No sería. Soy un hombre. No puedo decir cuales eran mis sentimientos por Amba. Hubiera sido la esposa perfecta para mí, Bhiṣma, el tigre entre los hombres.
Mi propia madre, la diosa del río Ganges, me habia dicho una maldicion,  a que nunca tendría yo mi propia dinastía. Había tomado un voto terrible de nunca casarme. Había jurado que siempre sería el vasallo de mi hermano Vichitravirya. Despedí a Amba y la dejé a su suerte. Ella intentó volver a Kashi, pero su padre no la recibió. Había sido robada y avergonzada, su castidad había sido violada por haber sido tomada con violencia. En cuanto al rey de Shalva la rechazó también. Amba juró una venganza eterna contra mí.

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"La venganza es mia," dijo Amba



Virgenes

Mahābharata

Image result for Mahabharata
महाभरत
recontado por

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

y traducido en español por Teresa Loret de Mola, Tapanandini DD



Vírgenes

Amba, Ambika, Ambalika
Diciendo esto, viajé como el viento, atrayendo a esas doncellas hacia mi corazón mientras ellas intentaban escapar de mi cuadriga. Los reyes reunidos estaban furiosos. Impacientes tomaron sus armas y escudos, se montaron a los carros de guerra y fustigaron a sus caballos hacia el frenesí de la batalla. Estos arrogantes jóvenes príncipes, desesperados por las vírgenes que había pillado parecían meteoros furiosos, sus ojos rojos de furia, sus espadas y armaduras reflejaban el sol.
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Ancient War Chariot
Me persiguieron por la rivera del Ganges, mi madre, y hacia los valles de Varanasi fuera de la ciudad de Kashi. Yo había atado a las niñas al  carro y me apresuré con mis caballos, caballos ardientes que han visto muchas batallas.

Cuando al final me atraparon en las planicies de Varanasi, giré la carroza y mantuve mi sitio. Los príncipes reunidos oscurecieron el cielo con sus flechas, así que yo lancé una lluvia de flechas también, guiadas por los mantras que había obtenido del terrible Paraśurāma, mis flechas bloquearon la avalancha de dardos. Me atacaron ellos por todos los flancos y lanzaron flechas como nubes de rayos. Yo respondí, disparando hacia el noble pecho de esos grandes monarcas y enviándoles al reino de Yamaraja, quien a todos juzga.
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Hombres valientes se estremecían al ver la aterradora batalla. Partí hombres con mis flechas, cercené cabezas y perforé  armaduras. Sus gritos aterraban mientras caían alrededor mío, sorprendidos al ver sus entrañas esparcidas sobre la tierra sedienta.

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Mi habilidad para destruir a mis enemigos era tan grande que aún los guerreros que peleaban conmigo empezaron a aplaudirme mientras me alejaba a toda prisa, todo ello mientras mantenía a las tres vírgenes agarradas, la cuadriga de un poderoso guerrero apareció entonces en el campo de batalla.

 Era Shalva el del gran poder, mientras me iba cabalgando él gritaba enfurecido tras el polvo que mi carro levantaba”¡Deténte! ¡Espera! ¡No huyas como un perro de Shalva, quien te reta a un duelo justo! ¡Quédate, tú perro de Bharata, que te haz atrevido a robar a mi esposa!” Volteé mi carroza y giré mi rostro hacia él en duelo de armas. Le dije “¡No es un perro a quien te enfrentas! Es a mí, Bhisma, un tigre entre los hombres, aniquilador de ejércitos hostiles, quien ahora te castigará como el perro que eres.” Esperé por él.


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Miles de guerreros estaban quietos e inmóviles como espectadores, esperando ver el gran duelo de armas. Acomodé a las doncellas cerca para que no pudieran huir, pero para que también pudieran ver la batalla. Nos acercamos entonces Shalva como toro embravecido, y yo, Bishma, el tigre entre los hombres. Shalva era un rival formidable. Me cubrió con las flechas de su arco. Los reyes reunidos estaban sorprendidos al ver descender estas nubes de flechas lanzadas desde su arco y cubrirme.

 Aplaudieron ante su agilidad y rapidez. Pensé que caería ante su ataque violento. Las hijas vírgenes del Rey Kashi ahora gemían y se lamentaban ante tal violencia. El espíritu del tigre me sobrecogió, temblando de ira y guiando mi carro hacia Shalva. Dije “¡Deténte, Shalva, y no corras como el perro que eres.

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 “Tal como un águila toma una serpiente y la despedaza, ahora tomaré tu vida. Igual que Garuda mata una serpiente, ahora te mataré.” Diciendo esto, y sin pensar, coloqué el arma de Varuna en la cuerda de mi arco y derribé con ella los cuatro caballos del carro de Shalva. Mientras se derrumbaban, maté al conductor de su carro. Parado en el suelo Indefenso quedó Shalva. Desprovisto de su arma, me fui para pelear algún otro día, galopé veloz hacia donde estaban gimiendo las doncellas, las coloqué en el carro. Mientras el sol descendía en el cielo, esforzándome, me dirigí hacia Hastinapura.


The route to Hastinapura from Southern Panchala

Friends will be Foes

महाभरत
Mahābharata
As retold by
Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi


Drupada and Drona: friends will be foes


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Drupada from Hindi TV series.

The king looked down from his throne. He had risen with the sun, early, and practiced his martial arts with his sword-master. The sword-master had bested him again. His arm still smarted from the razor-cut. He squinted at the man who lay prostrate before him. Another beggar. Ragged cloth, matted hair, dirty feet. Ever since he had returned from his latest campaign in East Panchala it seemed the flow of mendicants never ceased. They came from all directions to beg for rice, milk, a cow, a job. Drupada's generosity never failed: he was always ready to help someone less fortunate.

But it occurred to him that he had never needed charity; he had never asked anyone for anything. While it's true he was the child of a king, Pishada had left him a principality; by the force of his powerful right arm he had converted it into a kingdom with flourishing cities. 

Wheat was harvested, cows were protected, the people lived in harmony. Whatever one wanted could be found in the marketplace. But there were always a few, mostly brahmanas, who refused to work. 

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They hoped to live by their teachings. But the teachings weren't enough to live on. The brahmanas were always poor and later ended by coming to him for charity. Why couldn't they be more productive?

The stream of mendicants had turned into a river of late. It seemed that they never stopped coming to beg. And now another. Why was he bowing so low?


"Arise!" said the king. "What do you want?" The beggar got to his feet, helped by the guards. He looked familiar, but then all the mendicants had an air of prophecy about them. This one was no different: skinny, bearded, and in rags, with burning eyes.

"Don't you recognize me? Drupada? It's me!" the beggar cried, almost hysterically. 
"Why, yes of course," said the young and proud ruler of Panchala. "You are a humble brahmana come to beg alms from Drupada."
"It's me, Drona."
"What do you need? A bag of rice to make it through the winter? A cow? I understand that brahmanas are wise. Why are they always so poor? In any case, why are you coming to me? Are the kitchens closed today? If you really need a cow, you can make your petition by the Go-shala. Why the constant need for donations? Aren't the brahmanas supposed to be hunble about asking charity? Why barge into the royal chambers like this? Speak man."
"It's me, Drupada, Drona. Your friend from the ashram of Bharadwaja. Surely you haven't forgotten?"

Drupda looked closely at the man in rags. He did look familiar. Bharadwaja's ashram. It was so long ago. Since he left that little school he had become a man. He had conquered other lands, married a princess, assumed the rule of a kingdom. His father, the great Pishata, had passed away. Now he presided over armies, elephants, soldiers, ministers. Drupada scratched his head. This man did not seem familiar to him at all.

"Perhaps we went to school together. What of that? Schoolboys are in the same class together and they seem equals. But one excels and another falls behind. They are friends together in the primary school. They share the same teacher, the same schoolbooks. They eat and play together. But one pays attention to the lesson, another dawdles and daydreams. One student applies himself and goes on to greatness. Another forgets his lessons and sleeps in class. The good student gains success, the poor student failure. Years later one is a king, the other a beggar. "

"You look at me and what do you see? A schoolboy or a king? You see not a playmate, but King Drupada, Lord of Panchala. I look at you and what do I see? A ragged man in ragged clothes begging for rice. You speak of lessons. What is your lesson for today? Greatness comes from hard work. Now get out. Find a worthwile occupation so that you don't have to beg money like a mendicant. Remember this: Only equals can be friends. You may have been my equal once when we were harmless boys. No longer. Now you are a worthless beggar who begs for rice and I am a powerful king who can send you to death with a harsh word. Go now and leave my court. My men will give you something to eat."

The words of his old friend cut Drona's heart like sharpened iron. 
Drona shouted out to the arrogant young king sitting on his throne of gold in the royal palace, 
Drupada! Don’t you know me? It's me. Spare me the lecture. I’m your  friend. It’s Drona. I have  come a long way to visit you.”
Hearing this, Drupada, King of the Panchala, frowned coldly from his throne, his eyes red with rage. “Bow before your King!” he said, as the guards pushed Drona to the floor. “Offer your respects to the throne of Panchala.” The imperious Drupada stood up from his throne and saw his childhood friend for the first time in years.
He laughed. “Fool. You haven't been listening. You think you are wise, but you haven't paid attention to the lesson. I know very well who you are, son of Bharadwaja. You think yourself a great brahmana and pride yourself on your learning. And now, you think you are my equal. You and I can never be equals. You should consider the wisdom of calling the king, your lord, a friend or equal. You think yourself wise, but you are a fool. Only equals can be friends. Rich and poor can never be friends. Wise and foolish can never be friends."

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Hero and coward can never be friends. If we were friends as children that time has passed. I am no child. I am both man and king. If you come to me as a man and a poor brahmaṇa I will offer you charity, for I am a great and generous King."
Kneel and beg charity, you fool, not friendship. Now beg. If you like I may give you a cow, so that your wretched family might have milk to drink. Beg! Kneel and beg!” he demanded.
But Drona did not beg. He stood and shook off the guards. As they laughed at the wretched beggar who would befriend a king, Drona left the court of the king of Panchala. Their  laughter rang in the halls and burned his ears.
"Their laughter rang in the halls and burned his ears."




Thursday, May 21, 2015

New Painting


Painting

When I'm not teaching, playing the ukulele, writing the blog, or working on the Mahabharata story, I relax by painting. Winston Churchill said there's nothing better for stress or tension than learning another language or painting.

Here's my latest effort: Ganesh, the elephant boy.


I'm still not finished with the other paintings, but I have to let them dry, so I'm working on this in the mean time. 



 Here is  Govinda with the cows. This is unfinished but seems to be going well. I hope you like it.


Here's a slightly more finished version of the same painting...


Now I'm working on a scene from the Bhagavad-gita, where Krishna's talking to Arjuna...
This is day one....


day three...

Well, I'm no Picasso, but painting relaxes my mind. When my mother died, she left me her paints and her easel; I guess she wanted me to continue the family tradition. My grandfather also painted. I don't do it for money really, although I've sold a few paintings now and then. I just like playing with colors. 

While trying to awaken the child within, here's a poster for "Libros sin Fronteras" a non-profit NGO I'm involved with that sets up libraries for school children here in Mexico. We donate the libraries and encourage the kids to read. 


This is a still life. I like painting still lifes, cause the fruit doesn't talk back to me. I paint still lifes when I run out of ideas. It's a nice way to study light and shadow and color. Well, thanks for checking in.