Mohandas opened his eyes.
Union Jacks flapped over sacred Hindu sites. Rickshaw drivers pulled ladies, dandies, and redcoats. Soldiers, metal bedizened, strode on ancient avenues with an air of pomp. This picture somehow lent greater humanity to the lowest among us. Whether it was children shining jackboots in Bombay train stations or women begging for bread on Calcutta's streets, they had a job to do.
Still, soldiers marched, sentinels guarded, and the Company made a rupee on every cup that warmed the bellies of souls far away.
Mohandas closed his eyes.
He saw resplendent Krishna, the eighth avatar of Vishnu, with his azure skin and feminine mien and how his chariot gleamed in the mind's eye. With him was Arjuna, the mightiest and most skilled of warriors, ready to fire arrows from faithful Gandiva. But as Krishna joined him on the chariot, Arjuna let the bow slip from his grasp. Arjuna had become despondent. He was worried about going to war with the blind king and his hundred sons. They were, after all, a part of him.
Mohandas opened his eyes.
He watched the lieutenant governors, chief commissioners, governors-in-council, company men, and functionaries move among structures fashioned by foreign hands. Those structures, some dating back to the Company Raj, had flattened the lush gardens and Ashoka groves where Brahmins once prayed, the Kashatryia once trained, and the Vaishya once harvested. The colonizers had superimposed symbols of royalty and aristocracy over an ancient caste system. Wide boulevards, busy streets, and narrow alleys cut organic cities up according to the hierarchy's geometric priorities.
Mohandas closed his eyes.
It was as if he'd taken on the body of Arjuna now. His golden armor glinted in the light of Krishna's visage, but the sadness still weighed on his heart. How could he go to battle against his own? He sat down in his chariot. Then Krishna reminded him that it is they who have been corrupted. Krishna radiated as he reminded him to do what he was born to do: slay the enemy.
Mohandas opened his eyes.
How terrific and absolute was the British Raj. The Crown seemed so far away, yet it loomed off in the distance like monsoon clouds. Its authority covered the territory from the Veil of Kashmir to the Gulf of Mannar; from Kalat's cold deserts to the Burmese jungles. The Viceroy, who governed both the princely states and lands beyond, roamed a palace that rivaled that of any sovereign on earth.
Mohandas closed his eyes.
Krishna spoke.
O mighty Arjuna, even if you believe the self to be the subject of birth and death, you should not grieve. Death is inevitable for the living. Birth is inevitable for the dead. Since these are unavoidable, you should not sorrow. Every creature is unmanifested at first and then attains manifestation. When its end has come it once again becomes unmanifested. What is there to lament in this?
From this truth, Arjuna opened his heart and his mind to Krishna, who went on to reveal the Royal Path. Once Arjuna accepted this path, Krishna prepared to reveal a glimmer of his divine nature. Such a divine nature includes that of the ocean and the syllable Om, the Ganges' flow, and the flow of time. Krishna is consciousness and the cosmos. Krishna is ahimsa. And in this cosmic vision, Krishna revealed that he is Vishnu.
Arjuna gasped:
I see all the sons of Dhritarashtra; I see Bhishma, Drona, and Karna; I see our warriors and all the kings who are here to fight. All are rushing into your awful jaws; I see some of them crushed by your teeth. As the rivers flow into the ocean, I see all the warriors of this world are flowing into your fiery jaws; all creatures rush to their destruction like moths into a flame.
Mahatma Gandhi opened his eyes.
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