The War of Dharma

THE MOST IMPORTANT tests for an author are whether his explorations are wider, his explanations deeper, his plots more complex, his characters more lay­ered, and whether all are stitched togeth­er into a powerful narrative. Amish’s 10th book in 12 years, War of Lanka, clears all these and delivers a refined literary feast peppered with glimpses of, and perspectives into, Indian culture, ethos, and above all dharma. His retell­ings take the spirit of the ancient epics, which he rebuilds with ideas and words for the modern mind.

So, Sita becomes a memory of Raavan’s past; Vibhishan a traitor who fills you with disgust; Kumbhakarna, a brother as devoted to Raavan as Laksh­man, Bharat or Shatrughan—who in a surprising twist of storytelling find space for themselves—to Ram. Raavan remains the most enigmatic and unpre­dictable character, and the most layered, hovering between black and white, ego and pain, valour and vanity. He is a dark shade of never-seen-before grey. And above them all, at the height of being and actions, following the government of dharma in thought and spirit, and befitting a divine being, an Avatar, stands Ram. All the major characters are cov­ered in a dust of grey. Except for Ram and Sita who represent the rule’s exceptions.

Of dharma Ram is born—and he is ready to die for it. By dharma he is trained—and expects others to follow it too. For dharma he acts—even if it means strengthening the enemy. The contrast between Ram’s uncompromis­ing service to dharma cuts Raavan’s ego like a knife sharpened on the grist of life. At times Ram’s adherence to dharma is as frustrating as Yudhishthira’s actions around dharma in Ved Vyasa’s Mahabharata. But Ram did not assume a mortal body to establish a spiritual stage of terrestrial evolution, writes Aurobindo. “His business was to destroy Raavan and to establish the Ramara­jya.” The spiritual boundaries of Ram’s dharma were to establish an order that represents the Sattvic ideal.

With ancient epics his canvas, con­temporary issues his peg, and the spirit of storytelling in the Indian traditions of philosophy-laced sagas his medium, Amish brings together an epidemic (res­onating with the made-in- China Covid-19 pandemic), a cure that has a geopolitical underlining (the greed and pettiness of wealthy nations while distributing vaccines as opposed to India’s vaccine diplomacy), and its ethical expressions (real politick versus idealism), pivoting around a debate between fighting to win versus winning with dharma. To Amish, the story is a tool that carries philosophies, in this case dharma. This style is em­bedded into the storytelling techniques of Bharat. That’s how India’s two greatest ep­ics, Valmiki’s Ramayana and Ved Vyasa’s Mahabharata, are structured.

War of Lanka continues this pace, this treatment, this adventure that began with The Immortals of Meluha in 2010, and hints at a future book that returns to Meluha. In other words, a prequel to his Shiva Trilogy. On the canvas of ancient India, through characters we know from our childhood, Amish delivers his unique signature. His narratives embrace a oneness with the ethos of Bharat, they relate to and resonate with modern India, and transcend cultures and geographies to connect with a global audience in 20 languages.

Amish’s Ram Chandra Series takes the spirit of Valmiki’s Ramayana but expresses it in words that speak to a modern country and function within Bharat’s traditions

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All of this is captured in a story that’s always gripping, often imparting a sense of awe, and sometimes allowing for an emotive catharsis. In the middle of the most violent action, in some of the best-conceptualised battle sequences I’ve read, the deaths of two warriors, one led by dharma (Sursa) and the other by adharma (Kumbhakarna), moisten the eyes. The mace fight between Lakshman and Dhumrak­sha is a segment whose imagery is as vivid as the action is brutal, and echoes victory-in-defeat heroism— “An honourable death.”

I remember the anguish I felt at the death of Bhagadut­ta and the fall of Bhishma in the Mahabharata. Battles have their own dharma-adharma, almost a rajasic life-death intoxication: Raavan’s is different from Ram’s, Duryodhana’s from Krishna’s, Pakistan’s and China’s from India’s.

But the dharmic conflicts in the minds of battling warriors are the same. In Amish’s retelling, the deaths of the three greatest heroes of Lanka—Raa­van, Kumbhakarna and Indrajit—being recreated and celebrated year after year to this day has a plausible backstory. In other words, Amish’s Ram Chandra series takes the spirit of the story from Valmiki’s Ramayana but expresses it in words and ideas that speak to a modern country and function within Bharat’s traditions. The interpretative herme­neutics of respect intact, Amish will not be interrogated for writing his version that’s so different from Valmiki’s. To re­phrase the Bhagavad Gita, it is the intent with which an author approaches an action that matters. The words and sto­ries then fall effortlessly, and if sincere, become timeless.

The climax of the Ram Chandra series, War of Lanka is easily Amish’s best work so far. The first three books laid the foundations of both, the saga and the philosophies; War of Lanka is the last note that completes the raga and the symphonies. Conflicting, but not discordant, notes abound. Although the story is about warriors, Kshatriyas, they are driven by rishis Vashishta and Vish­wamitra. Amid tension sits laughter, around moments of death tears. Valour and sacrifice underline the characters, weapons and skill become the currency of engagement, and creative imagina­tion the rope binding them all.

Above all, the research is impressive. I can see the long hours Amish must have put into each sequence, from engineering that constructs the Ram Setu and explores the tunnels of Lanka, to bones and muscles working and breaking. A scene of torture shows how deep Amish excavates—a full chapter describes in gory details the extracting of information from a captured warrior that would make even hardened vio­lence experts shudder and wince.

Two conversations stay etched in the heart. First, between Mareech and Indrajit, that in five paragraphs explores the fine line between heroes and leaders: “A hero will fight the enemy against insur­mountable odds and embrace death with a flourish. A leader will respond calmly and deny the enemy a key strategic advan­tage in battle.” Business leaders and HR professionals could learn much here.

And second, a 12-page sequence that captures much of contemporary India reflected on the mirror of ancient Bharat, is a conversation between rishis Vashishtha and Vishwamitra about the “overproduction of elites,” the wielding of four kinds of power—military, eco­nomic, political and ideological—and their complex interrelationships. We see these playing out today in plain sight. For the ongoing societal interrogation of modern India’s—even global—elites, Amish provides adequate ammunition with which to explore this theme.

To me personally—as a reader, writer and explorer of ancient India, particular­ly the Mahabharata—expressions like “net-net,” “damnit,” and “woah” or preci­sion metrics such as “hours” and “kilo­metres” jar as they contain too much of the present in them. On this, and across several books, Amish and I have had pas­sionate public debates, not very different from those between Sita and Raavan in Lanka. We hold our own, but when evaluated through success, which is the ability to reach and sell, clearly Amish is several million readers ahead. With this book, he is sure to expand that lead.

About The Author

Gautam Chikermane

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