Ponniyin Selvan continues its epic tale of ambition and betrayal, beautifully translated by Gowri Ramnarayan. Don’t miss the exclusive excerpt!

It is the twilight hour at Kodikkarai. Peace reigns on land and sea. Fishing boats and catamarans are returning to the shore. The seabirds are flying home after ranging over the coastal waters in search of prey.

The beach is carpeted with white sand. Beyond the sandy stretch, the wilderness spreads thick and far. No branch moves on the trees, no leaf stirs. Silence prevails everywhere. The reddening sun hastens to sink on the horizon, while still lighting up the few clouds trying to hide his crimson rays.

A small boat floats on the waters close to the shore. Little waves rock the boat like an infant’s cradle.

A young girl is seated on the boat. As soon as we set eyes on her, we are reminded of Sendan Amudan’s description of his uncle’s daughter. Yes, she has to be Poonkuzhali—the girl with the flower in her hair. True to her name, a single screw pine petal is tucked into her long black tresses cascading over her strong, chiselled shoulders. She wears a necklace of shells and conches that had been washed ashore. These adornments gain in beauty because she is wearing them.

Leaning lithely on the boat, Poonkuzhali begins to sing. Does the sea lull its waves to hear her song? Do the gusting breezes waft in slow motion to catch those strains? The trees in the distant woods cease rustling, while the earth and sky remain unmoving. Entranced by her song, the sun halts on the horizon unwilling to sink into the sea. Let us listen to the song as it comes floating on the breeze.

When the restless ocean lies tranquil,
why do inner tides seethe and churn?
When the earth is buried in slumber,
why does a cussed heart heave and burn?

See, how birds of the wilderness
now wing their way to their nests.
See, how the hunters and tribesmen
turn homeward for a night of rest.

They lie plunged in an ancient silence,
both land and sky in a swoon.
Why then is a doe-eyed woman’s heart
seized by a nameless typhoon?

The sea is swathed in stillness
and the breezes blow, tender and balmy.

Why then is a woman’s heart battered,
by these night gales, swirling and stormy?

When the restless ocean lies tranquil,
why do inner tides seethe and churn?
When the earth is buried in slumber,
why does a cussed heart heave and burn?

The grief in her heart remains unknown. The pain in her voice remains untold. Was the song shaped with tears? Why should her melody overwhelm us? Why does it break our hearts? Poonkuzhali ceases singing. She plies the oars until the boat reaches the shore. She skips out, drags her boat towards the catamarans heaped together on the beach and props her boat against them.

There! The fire has been lit on top of the lighthouse. The flames will keep burning all night to warn the ships to keep off the coast. The waters are extremely shallow all along the Kodikkarai shore. Only small boats and catamarans can land there. Large ships would be mired in the sands. And if they approached at a high speed, they could run aground and be splintered. The Kodikkarai lighthouse renders a great service to seamen.

In the middle of the woods on the other side, a temple spire rises above trees squat and thick. The god Kuzhagar is enshrined under it. Two hundred years before our story begins, the poet Sundarar had visited Kodikkarai, worshipped the god who dwelt in the lonely woods and sang in distress, ‘Alas! Lord! Why do you dwell in the middle of these mangrove woods, alone, with no one for company? When there are scores of sacred towns, thronged by crowds of pilgrims singing your praises, why have you chosen to remain in this dreadful forest, in utter solitude?’

In the wild, beside the sea
Where biting winds do sharply blow
My sinful eyes are forced to see
You standing still in solitude
Forlorn—
With none to bear you company
My Lord!

What’s the harm if you should dwell
In bustling towns with devotees,
Whose chants and songs and praises swell
In joyful bursts of jubilance?
But you—
Still linger in this thorny dell
Dear Lord!

The grief in her heart remains unknown. The pain in her voice remains untold. Was the song shaped with tears? Why should her melody overwhelm us? Why does it break our hearts?

Poonkuzhali ceases singing. She plies the oars until the boat reaches the shore. She skips out, drags her boat towards the catamarans heaped together on the beach and props her boat against them.

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Get your copy of The Cyclone: Ponniyin Selvan 2 by Kalki on Amazon or wherever books are sold.

As Sundara Chozha, emperor of the Chozha kingdom, lies unwell, powerful minister Periya Pazhuvettaraiyar plots to deny Crown Prince Aditta Karikalan the throne. Aditta sends his friend Vandiyatevan to warn the emperor and his sister Kundavai Devi. Will Vandiyatevan outsmart the conspirators, and can Kundavai protect her family? Start with Fresh Floods — don’t miss the exclusive excerpt!

At times, a trifling incident sets off events of great significance. Such an incident occurred in Vandiyatevan’s life at that very moment.

Vandiyatevan had been standing by the street and watching Pazhuvettaraiyar’s retinue go by. The last few troopers happened to catch sight of his horse, standing at a little distance.

One of them exclaimed, ‘Dei! Look at that horse!’ A jester among them quipped, ‘First of all, make sure whether it is a horse or a donkey.’

‘We will,’ said another as he approached the horse and tried to mount it. Recognizing that the man was not his master, the intelligent animal bucked and shied, refusing to allow the stranger to get on its back.

‘Cranky beast! He will allow only a member of an ancient royal clan to mount him! In that case, Tanjavur Mutharaiyan will have to return to ride this horse!’ This wisecrack drew much laughter as the Mutharaiyan clan had been extinct for well over a century. The Chozha flag with its tiger emblem flew over Tanjavur now.

Another gagster interposed, ‘Tandavaraya! Make sure that he’s a real horse and not the dummy horse from the temple festival!’

‘Let me check it out,’ Tandavarayan retorted as he twisted the animal’s tail. The horse kicked its hind legs and galloped away.

‘He is running! A real horse after all!’ The men’s cries incited the horse to run faster through the crowd of pilgrims gathered for the temple festival. A stampede ensued as people tried to save themselves from being trampled under the horse’s hoofs. But a few people did get hurt as the animal ran amok in a wild frenzy.

All this happened in a twinkling. From the look on his face, Azhvarkadiyan guessed that the horse belonged to Vandiyatevan.

‘Tambi! See what the Pazhuvur louts have done! Why don’t you show them the bravado you showed me?
Vandiyatevan was roused to fury but managed to keep it under control. The Pazhuvur men were large in number. It would be folly to attack them. Nor did they wait to engage with him. They moved on, guffawing over the runaway horse.

Vandiyatevan followed the horse in the direction it had taken. He knew that it would come to a halt after a short sprint. But the thought impressed itself firmly on his mind that, one day, he should teach a sharp lesson to the arrogant men of Pazhuvettaraiyar’s company.

He found the horse standing sadly all by himself in a deserted tamarind grove. The animal neighed at him in reproach. ‘Why did you abandon me to face this trouble?’

Vandiyatevan led it back to the road with a comforting pat. Several voices upbraided him, ‘Why did you bring this wild horse into the crowd? It kicked so many people to the ground!’ Others tried to mollify the accusers by saying, ‘What can this young man do, or the horse for that matter, when the mishap was caused by the Pazhuvur men?’

Azhvarkadiyan was still waiting on the street. Vandiyatevan scowled in exasperation, thinking, ‘What a pain! Why won’t he leave me alone?’

‘Where are you going?’ Azhvarkadiyan asked.

‘I? Well, I go west, take a turn to the south, go around to the east, then move along to the southwest.’

‘All I want to know is, where are you spending the night?’ ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I have something to do in Sambuvaraiyar’s mansion at Kadambur, in case you are planning to stay there.’

‘Are you a magician? How do you know I am going to the Kadambur palace?’

‘You don’t need magic to know that! Guests from many different places are bound for Kadambur today. Why, Pazhuvettaraiyar and his retinue are going there.’

‘Is that so?’ Vandiyatevan exclaimed in surprise.

‘Didn’t you know? The elephant, palanquin and other gifts of honour have been dispatched from the Kadambur palace to welcome Pazhuvettaraiyar.’

Vandiyatevan fell into a reverie. To lodge anywhere with Pazhuvettaraiyar as a fellow guest was by no means an everyday occurrence. He might even find a chance to get acquainted with the great warrior. However, he could not get over his bitterness in his encounter with the Pazhuvur troopers.

‘Tambi! Will you do me a favour?’ Azhvarkadiyan pleaded.

‘What can I do for you? I am new to these parts.’

‘I am not asking for anything you cannot do. Take me with you to the Kadambur palace today.’

‘Why? Is some Saiva to be found there with whom you can argue about whether Siva or Vishnu is the greater god?’

‘No. Don’t think I am interested only in wrangling. A grand dinner will be served at the Kadambur palace tonight. Various entertainments will be showcased after dinner. I want to see the kuravai koothu12 performance!’

***

Get your copy of First Flood Ponniyin Selvan 1 by Kalki  on Amazon or wherever books are sold.

Lieutenant General Satish Dua retired as the chief of Integrated Defence Staff in 2018. In A General Reminisces, he reflects upon this time, his interactions with bureaucrats and experiences about the atmosphere at the Line of Control that divides Kashmir between India and Pakistan.

Read the excerpt of this inspiring story below.

He was the firstborn in the family of Sonuallah, a humble farmer who also ran a small dhaba. Sonuallah and his wife, Raja Begum, named the boy Nazir—Arabic for administrator—and had dreams of educating him well so they could all have a secure future. But they also expanded the family with three more boys in quick succession. The income that Sounallah earned from the farm and the dhaba was not enough to make ends meet.

Nazir’s early years were part of a peaceful, slow-paced life. Later, he would recall three incidents that left a deep impact on his young mind.

The first was his Kashmiri Pandit teacher at school, Pandit Shubhan Ji, whom everyone called Boba-ji. There were hardly any Hindu students because there was practically no Hindu population in their village. But Boba-ji made a profound impact on Nazir. One day, during the holy month of Ramzan, Nazir asked him, ‘Masterji, aap roza rakhte hain [Sir, do you fast]?’ When Boba-ji answered in the negative, Nazir asked with childish bluntness, ‘Toh aap kafir hain [So you are an infidel]?’ Boba Ji smiled at his pupil and said, ‘Main Navratra ka upwaas rakhta hoon [I fast during the Hindu holy days of Navratra].’ The teacher then explained patiently how different religions had different customs. It was like using different modes of transport to reach the same destination. ‘Jab tum shahar jaate ho toh koi cycle se jaata hai, koi bus par aur koi paidal. Akhir mein sab shahar pahunch jaate hain [You could travel to the city on a bicycle, by bus or on foot. But the destination is the same].’

Nazir was intrigued: ‘Toh aap namaz bhi nahin padte [So, you don’t even say the customary Islamic prayers]?’ By now, a few other boys were also listening to the teacher’s explanation with interest. Boba-ji then explained to the young lads how Muslims and Hindus have co-existed in harmony in Kashmir for centuries.

He told them about the spirit of Kashmiriyat and how the festivals of Hinduism and Islam are celebrated by people of both religions. Kashmiriyat is the centuries-old indigenous tradition of communal harmony and religious syncretism in the Kashmir Valley. It exemplifies the joint HinduMuslim culture, festivals, language, cuisine and clothing in the Kashmir Valley. In the spirit of Kashmiriyat, festivals of Hinduism and Islam are celebrated by both faiths. It was started by SultansZain-ul-Abidin in the sixteenth century, who promoted a policy of religious tolerance. He banned the slaughter of cows to be sensitive to Hindus. He allowed the Hindus to build their temples and follow the personal law according to the Dharmashastras. Nazir’s young mind could not follow all of it, but he grasped the spirit of it. What he particularly found fascinating was the story of the Kashmiri mystic Lal Ded, in which her body turned into a mound of flowers, half of which was cremated by the Hindus and the other half buried by Muslims, and serves as an emblem of the Kashmiriyat that keeps it alive until today. As per another account, her body turned into liquid in a basin, which was cremated and buried by Hindus and Muslims, respectively, as she was revered by both faiths.

The second memory, again from his childhood, was from the time he was travelling to another village in the higher reaches with a friend and his family to visit a distant cousin. En route, they saw a few foreign men and women walking with backpacks. They were laughing, chatting and taking pictures with their cameras. He asked his friend about them. His friend’s father explained to both of them, ‘They are foreign tourists who have come for trekking in Kashmir.’

‘Why would they want to walk when they have the money to travel by bus?’ Nazir wanted to know.

‘Because our Kashmir is so beautiful, they don’t want the journey to end so soon.’

The third such incident had to do with a retired soldier in the village. Sometimes, he would recount tales from his army days to a few young boys. His descriptions of army life and soldierly activities always made for a fascinating evening for Nazir and others who sat around and listened. One day, Nazir asked him, ‘Aapne bandook chalai hai [Have you ever fired a gun]?’ The soldier replied with pride in his voice: ‘Maine teen jung mein ladai ladi hai [I’ve fought in three wars].’ Nazir was impressed, and his young mind concluded that it must be a heroic thing to be at war. He suddenly said, ‘I will also fight wars when I grow up.’ The retired fauji (soldier) laughed as he said, ‘Oh, you are very brave.’ Little did he know that this young boy would one day become the recipient of the highest medal for bravery.

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Get your copy of General Reminisces by Lt. Gen Satish Dua on Amazon or wherever books are sold.

Feeling overwhelmed by the stresses of everyday life? In Stress to Zest, Aritra Sarkar explores seven common stress triggers—from money troubles to work pressure—and how they impact us. Through relatable stories, this book shows how you can tackle these stressors and rediscover your zest for life. Ready to transform your stress into strength?

Read this excerpt to get started!

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Almost everyone juggles multiple priorities in life. Family, career, education, finances, health, grooming . . . the list of tasks is endless. In every sphere, we spend lots of time and energy trying to satisfy the needs and expectations of others. On the other hand, we seldom reflect on the question, ‘Who do I want to be?’ This central question of our existence—the purpose of life—gets relegated to the backwaters of our consciousness amid the noise and hustle of daily life. The absence of purpose can result in low self-esteem, make us susceptible to the diktats, control, or influence of others, erode our sense of autonomy, and lead us down the dank alleyway of harmful behaviour. If this happens, various negative feelings may creep into our minds, causing unhappiness. 

Stress is a debilitating swirl of negative feelings—frustration, anxiety, depression and anger—induced by our compulsion to meet expectations. These expectations may be our own creations, or they may be foisted onto us by others. Stress that stems from trying to meet internal expectations is called ‘inner stress’; while that which arises when we attempt to satisfy the demands of others, is called ‘external stress’. 

Both forms of stress can be devastating to our well-being. However, they tend to manifest themselves differently. The difference between how inner stress and external stress affect us is explained with metaphors below. 

Inner Stress 

Imagine yourself about to run on a treadmill. You’ve preset it to roll at a specific pace and incline, but these settings can’t be changed as long as the machine is in motion. Moreover, the duration of the run has been preprogrammed by the manufacturer and you can’t see the timer. You’ve listened to numerous people who’ve all said that the only way to improve your speed and stamina is to run on that particular treadmill, at a certain pace and intensity. These opinions tend to override one’s own instinct. ‘What do I know about improving my well-being?’ you ask. ‘Being experts, these folks must be right,’ you think. ‘That thing sure looks unpleasant, but I’m unaware of a better option to improve my fitness,’ you deliberate. Ultimately, you ignore your own opinions on treadmill running and decide to get on the machine. Following the advice of others, you then calibrate the settings to make your run uncomfortable and challenging. 

Now picture yourself running in these circumstances. After some time, you’ll surely feel exhausted. Your body will cry, ‘Please stop!’ But you’ll find it hard to do that because you’ll be worried about squandering the progress you’ve already made. At some stage, your mind will scream, ‘That’s enough!’ You’ll realize you’ve pushed yourself hard to pursue an activity you really don’t care about. Fatigue will overcome you and leave you gasping for breath. 

You’ll feel jaded. You’ll feel listless and in pain. These feelings will only intensify as you run for longer and longer, with no end in sight. You’ll want to jump off that treadmill. But now you’ll worry that by stepping off, you might end up letting everyone down. Anxiety and confusion will cloud your mind and make it impossible to act in your own best interest. Congratulations, you’ve set yourself up for a lifetime of misery! 

External Stress 

Now let’s look at an example of how the pressure of external stress ruins one’s mental well-being. 

Imagine yourself running a 100-metre race against an army of faceless runners. Before you can say ‘Usain!’ the contest is over. Irrespective of the result, a gang of officials drags you to the starting line of another race as soon as you finish the first. There, you see another crop of faceless souls lined up next to you, keen to bag the next gold medal. In a jiffy, this one’s over too. After that, you’re dragged to another race . . . then another . . . and another . . . in perpetuity. Before you know it, you’ve got leaden feet! How would you feel enduring through the unending races? 

As you run a series of races (whose results are preordained) against a continuously changing pantheon of competitors, you will feel anxiety. As you compete in a race over which you have no control or influence, you will feel frustrated. Weighed down by the cumulative force of all that mental negativity, you will tell yourself in resignation, ‘I either have to put up with the system or quit the stadium altogether!’ 

That’s external stress for you. Stress is the toxic by-product of the modern, mechanical life. It’s the life we’ve embraced—abandoning our true calling in order to ensure certainty of income and a certain standard of living. By letting these strains into our system and giving them free rein to pollute our hearts and minds, we run the risk of turning into emaciated husks. 

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Get your copy of Stress to Zest by Aritra Sarkar on Amazon or wherever books are sold.