Week 7 Storytelling: The Ravana Conspiracy

“Alright, everyone, quiet down. Quiet down, and take a seat, please,” announced Aurelia, a tall woman with a tin foil hat, as she directed people to some open chairs in an elementary school gym. It was Saturday night, and the venue came cheap. An eclectic group of twenty or so people arranged themselves in a circle of chairs intended for much smaller human frames. Aurelia was pleased with the turnout.

She took her own seat among the circle of chairs. “Ahem. I will now call to order the first official meeting of Confections and Conspiracies. For those of you who may have wound up here by accident—or maybe, by divine intervention—I should explain that this is a club for enthusiasts of baked goods and inexplicable phenomena. Each week, we will be discussing the claims and ideas that the majority of society is so inclined to cast off. We’ll also be sharing cookies, cakes, and candy, and swapping recipes if I’m feeling generous.” She smiled at her joke, but was disappointed no one seemed amused. She cleared her throat again. “I hope you all are enjoying the cosmic brownies I brought this evening.” At this there was resounding agreement, much to her delight.

“Before I forget, I’d like to announce that next week, Melvin is bringing a cake in the shape of Elvis’ face, as he says that Elvis is not only still alive, but also living behind the counter of a Wal-mart bakery in suburban New Hampshire. And may I say, Melvin, we are all looking forward to that cake.” Everyone turned toward shy Melvin, who seemed to literally shrink under all of the attention.

“Now, let’s get started, shall we?” Aurelia looked around the room. “Is there anyone who would like to speak up first about what conspiracy theories you… subscribe to?”

Immediately, there was a loud cacophony of eager, earnest, and evidently suppressed claims and declarations.

“Bigfoot is real, and my uncle is married to her!”

“Pinky toes are alien parasites!”

“Abraham Lincoln and John F. Kennedy are really twins separated across time and DNA!”

Aurelia tried to rein in the group, though she was happy to see them so enlivened. “Calm! Calm! One at a time please! We’ll all have a chance to speak. I know I myself have plenty to say about the underground Martian colonies and their slow and subtle takeover of the pop music industry.”

The room grew quiet again, and Aurelia saw a young girl on the other side of the circle patiently waiting to say her piece. She was holding a copy of the Ramayana.

Aurelia said to her warmly, “Young miss, would you like to go first? Say your name, please, and tell us your theory.”

“Um, hello. My name is Beatrice,” she said to the group, though she was looking at her feet. “Are any of you very familiar with the Ramayana, the story of Rama’s Way?”

Only a couple of hands went up, so Beatrice briefly summarized it for the benefit of everyone else. After, she went on to explain the conspiracy.

“It is my belief that Ravana the Demon King did in fact plot his own death as an act of benevolence. He sought a noble passing at the hand of the Lord Narayana in compliance with the gods’ determination that it was time the world was rid of the evil he had sown.”

“What evidence do you have!?” a grumpy old man retorted. “He stole Sita from Rama purely out of lust and selfishness, and he fought tooth and nail to keep the evil coming!”

“Well… There was Ravana’s letter to Rama. He sent it even before they batteld, saying he knew that Rama was going to kill him. He directly stated that the capture of Sita, to which you are alluding, was simply a ploy to lure in Rama and start the inevitable and extremely necessary war between them. Ravana knew his part in the universe. He was evil, and his time was up. He planned it all. The whole war. All of Rama’s journey. It was all part of Ravana’s grand scheme, and he wrote that down before his death. That’s the evidence.”

Someone else piped up, “Oh yeah? Then why did Rama laugh at the letter?”

“Rama also understood Ravana’s part in the universe. Ravana was a villain. He was the evil that Rama was sent to this world to defeat. Rama knew this instantly as he read the letter, but he said it was meaningless because these things needed to remain true, even in Ravana’s death.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

Beatrice boldened. “Do you think that someone who could take prisoner the great gods of this world and the next could be so easily defeated by a mortal man? And just for one more wife among hundreds of others? I think not. Ravana played his role well. He really was a terrific actor. A triple threat, really. He could also dance. And sing. And the Oscar goes to…” She looked around to see a smiling face, but again, this was not the crowd for jokes. She sighed. “I also brought some homemade shortbread cookies cut in the shape of arrows. They have ‘Rama’ written on them in icing. They are decorated to look like the ones that severed Ravana’s ten heads.”

Aurelia clapped her hands. “Excellent! Thank you, Beatrice! What an interesting theory to consider. And those cookies look… appetizing, indeed. Who’s next?”

(Ravana)

Author’s Note:
The part that intrigued me most at the end of the Ramayana was Ravana’s letter to Rama. It essentially said that he knew Rama was going to kill him, and he was happy to die so nobly. He claimed he took Sita just to give Rama a reason to start a war with him. Rama quickly dismissed the note. I really wanted to write about this, but I thought it would be boring coming directly from me, and I didn’t want to try to get into Ravana’s heads. So I framed it inside a conspiracy theorist club / support group meeting.

Bibliography: Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way.

Week 6 Storytelling: Mountain Wings

(Mountains in Clouds. Web Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Two adventurous little bears were out hiking one day when the clouds turned dark and thunder began to roll. As the wind swept in and rain started to pour, they took cover in a small cave on the side of the mountain.

“Columbo, did you see how dark the clouds got?” one bear asked his friend. “In a matter of minutes, it looked like nighttime!”

“You’re right! I didn’t even know it was supposed to rain today.” The poor bears sulked for a minute. “Do you think it’ll clear up soon, Atticus? Those blasted clouds are ruining our mountain adventure!”

Just then, a kind old bear with a tall walking stick entered the cave. “Oh! Pardon me, boys. Didn’t realize this little abode was occupied.”

He began to leave, but Atticus jumped up. “That’s alright! You should stay here while it’s still storming. Here, you can sit on this rock.” He indicated the flat spot on which he had been sitting.

“Well, thank you very much, young sir,” the old bear said, taking a seat. “Did I hear ‘those blasted clouds’ have wrecked your time on this grand ol’ mountain?”

Columbo, ever a shy little bear, nodded sheepishly.

“You know, those clouds and this mountain used to be one and the same. Way back when—many, many, many years ago—the clouds used to be mountains’ wings.”

“What!?” Atticus exclaimed, and Columbo laughed, “That’s crazy! No way!”

“It’s true. It’s absolutely true,” the old bear replied. “I can tell you about where the clouds came from—how the mountains lost their wings, if you care to know.”

“Sure!” The curious little bears nodded with excitement, eager to hear about such a phenomenon.

“Alright,” the old bear grinned. “Well, as I said, many years ago, the clouds were part of the mountains. They were the wings that allowed them to fly. That’s right, the very grounded, very stationary mountains you know now used to be able to soar through the skies, flying wherever the air and wherever their whims would take them. They were happy, carefree bundles of boulders, to be sure.

“This became quite a problem for the rest of the world, however, when their good-natured, carefree sensibilities turned into selfish, careless devastations. You see, many of this world’s mountains began to fly all over the place until they were too tired to even pay attention where they were landing. They would plop down anywhere and sleep for years. The trouble was, they frequently squashed whatever was below them: densely populated forests, small civilizations, magnificent kingdoms… Widespread destruction.

“The people complained to the god Indra. ‘Save us from these colossal bullies,’ they begged him. So, Indra chased down all of the mountains and all of the hills—all but one—and he flung thunderbolts at them, severing their wings permanently, leaving the wings—or clouds, as we call them now—to float freely in the skies. As you two very well know, Indra’s thunderbolts remain tied to the clouds even today.”

“Wow! That’s amazing!” Columbo exclaimed, looking to see that Atticus felt the same. The other little bear, however, looked confused, deep in thought.

“What about the one mountain Indra didn’t catch?” he asked.

“Oh. Mainaka. That clever ol’ rock took shelter in the ocean,” the big bear remarked. “He remains there now, deep below the waves, his wings churning the water and the sands near the sea bed.”

Hearing this, Atticus turned to Columbo. “I think our next adventure will have to be scuba diving!”



Author’s Note:
I wanted to retell the clouds’ origin story from the part of this week’s reading where Mainaka the mountain helps out Hanuman. I thought it was a cool idea, that clouds used to be mountain wings before Indra cut them off due to the mountains’ carelessness. I chose a stormy hiking adventure to set the scene because I thought that would be a good way to initiate some kind of conversation about clouds and mountains.


Bibliography:  Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way.

Week 5 Storytelling: Vindhya’s Blanket Fort

Little Vindhya watched his big brother Himalaya pile pillows on top of pillows on top of blankets on top of pillows. The young boys were watching a movie together when Himalaya suddenly decided to demonstrate his architecture expertise in the form of a blanket fort. Using couch cushions, bed pillows, and some stray blankets, Himalaya built a soft dome in front of the television. Vindhya hardly even noticed what he was doing until Himalaya took his favorite baby blanket from him. He started to throw a fit, but when Himalaya invited him into the fort, he was too excited to remember his blanket was now part of a sub-roof.

Their sisters, Chandra and Surya, were playing upstairs. So proud of his work, Himalaya called them down to see it. The two of them squealed with delight as they ran down the stairs and beheld the little citadel. Unable to contain their amusement, they continued to run, making circles around the fort over and over again until they grew tired and fell asleep on the floor. Vindhya was a bit jealous that their sisters were so enthralled with Himalaya’s playtime achievement.

Their father Agastya came home later that night, and he was surprised to find the girls asleep and Vindhya and Himalaya playing in the fort.

“Wow, you guys! This is great! Who built this?” he asked them, smiling as he began to lift the sleeping girls.

“I built it. All on my own,” Himalaya quickly replied, beaming and swelling with pride.

“That is fantastic, Himalaya. You’d make an excellent engineer,” his father told him with a solid pat on the back.

As Vindhya looked on, he grew jealous of the attention his brother was earning. Agastya carried the girls upstairs to their bedrooms, his sons trailing behind. As Vindhya shuffled into bed, he kept thinking about Himalaya’s living room castle. Agastya came to tuck him in, and Vindhya tried to quickly come up with something to brag about.

“Dad, I stayed awake for the whole movie!” he exclaimed.

“Well… that’s good, I suppose,” Agastya told him. The impassive response was not what Vindhya was hoping for. “But you know,” his father continued, “little boys need their sleep, and it’s pretty late.” A bedtime reminder made him feel even worse when Himalaya was getting the praise of a grown-up engineer.

So after he was sure everyone in the house was asleep, Vindhya set to work trying to best his big brother. Just to be sure his own creation would not go unnoticed, he set his foundation directly at the base of the staircase. He dragged chairs, comforters, bedsheets, and anything else he could find to the stairs and spent the whole night constructing his masterpiece.

When he finished, he was tremendously pleased to see that the fort he built was far bigger than Himalaya’s. It was so big he couldn’t even pass it to get down the stairs! Finally satisfied that he was just as talented as his brother, he tiredly trudged back to his bed and fell asleep.

He woke up several hours later to the sounds of Chandra and Surya’s screams and whines. He mistook them for sounds of delight, so he enthusiastically ran out to meet them and accept their praise. Agastya was standing with them at the top of the stairs. Chandra and Surya complained to him that they couldn’t get downstairs, but they were starving and they needed their eggs and cereal. They saw Vindhya, and they began yelling at him for trapping them all upstairs, thoroughly shocking the poor boy who was expecting congratulations. He had wholly believed they were going to run around his fort and play in it, just as they did with Himalaya’s. Vindhya’s surprise led to indignance, and he refused to take down what took so much effort to build.

Agastya knew that Vindhya was only getting frustrated. Clever as any father, he knew how to persuade his little boy toward compliance without being too demanding or too disapproving.

He told him, “Vindhya, that is a very nice fort you built.” At this, the boy started to smile. “However, before I can play in it with you, I have to go downstairs and get some things,” Agastya continued. “Do you think you could dismantle it just as long as I’m downstairs? Then when I come back upstairs, you can put it right back together.”

Eager to please his father, Vindhya readily agreed, and he began deconstruction immediately. As part of his strategy, Agastya stayed downstairs all day long. With every desire to obey Agastya, Vindhya patiently waited with his heap of blankets until late in the evening. He grew tired while he was waiting, and because of his lost hours of sleep the night before, it wasn’t long before he fell asleep amongst the pillows. Agastya picked him up and tucked him into bed. He put away all of the blankets and chairs.

By the next day, Vindhya and Himalaya had moved on to the next fun activity, and they had forgotten all about the forts. The staircase remained safe passage for all who cared to climb it.

(Statue of Agastya. Web Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Author’s Note:
      I really liked the story of Agastya and the Vindhya Hills in this week’s reading. In it, the hills are jealous of the Himalaya mountains, so they grow very tall until they are blocking passage through the area, and even until they are blocking the sun and the moon. The sage Agastya tricks Vindhya to shrink back down to size.
     The last four stories I told were just further explorations into what was already presented in Buck’s and Narayan’s versions of the Ramayana. This week, I wanted to try something different and tell the stories with reinterpretations of the characters and setting. So I scaled the mountains down to something more personally familiar --- blanket forts. I thought it would make the story relatable if the Vindhya Hills and the Himalayas were little boys, and to play up Vindhya’s envy, I wrote them as brothers. To emphasize Agastya’s comparative wisdom and power, I wrote him as their father. The moon and the sun are supporting characters, so they are the mountains’ sisters.
     The image I selected is of a carving of Agastya. I couldn’t find information as to who the smaller statue is depicting, so I thought I would include it in my story and the smaller statue can be little Vindhya from my interpretation.
     As a side note, this is how I wanted the last paragraph to read: "By the next day, Vindhya and Himalaya had moved on to the next fun activity, and they had forgotten all about the forts. The staircase remained safe passage for all who cared to climb it. It remained safe, that is, until the demons overtook it and began eating all of the people traversing its path." But I'll leave the jokes out.


Bibliography: Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way.

Week 4 Storytelling: Little Rama's Play-Arrow

“After twenty years you cannot forgive gentle Rama for once shooting a play-arrow at your hump” (65). So Kaikeyi jeered Manthara upon her suggestion of Rama’s exile. At this, Manthara was reminded of the day little Rama lost her favor.

When Rama was just a young boy, he spent many afternoons running around and playing outside with his brothers. One day when he was chasing his brother Lakshmana near the forest, a wild-looking, little man from the woods startled them with his booming laughter. The man Guha, as he was called, had been hunting a deer all the way to the very edge of the woods when he noticed the two city boys hunting each other. Guha was amused by their play and charmed by Rama’s vibrant, radiating spirit. Upon hearing his laughter, Rama and Lakshmana abandoned their game to greet the stranger.

“I know everyone in the kingdom, and I am sure I do not know you. I am Rama. Welcome to Ayodhya,” Rama said to him.

“Thank you, young one. I am Guha the Hunter King. I live in the forest, and your games intrigue me,” he replied.

Lakshmana spoke up. “And why is it that our games would be so entertaining to a hunter from the forest?”

Guha chuckled and replied, “To be sure, your youthful play is a delight to behold, but your clumsy maneuvers and artless tactics betray your isolation in such a tame, domestic environment. If you would like, I can teach you real hunting skills.”

(A Man Greets Rama and Lakshmana)

And so Rama and Lakshmana became acquainted with the hunter. He would often return to the boundary of the city to teach the young boys—who he rightly assumed had never left the Ayodhyan metropolis—about the forest and its inhabitants, as well as how to hunt properly.

One day, as gifts for his eager little pupils, Guha brought with him to the city two small bows with soft toy arrows. He taught Rama and Lakshmana how to use them and what was involved in skillful archery, a lesson that would serve them well for many years to come.

When they returned to the palace that night, they were so enthralled by their new toy weapons that they couldn’t put them down. They ran around shooting at everything they saw—bedposts, statues, chairs. Little Lakshmana made the mistake of shooting at a delicate vase their step-mother Kaikeyi had brought with her to Ayodhya from her home country. His aim was perfect, and the vase hit the ground hard, shattering instantly. To his great misfortune, Kaikeyi’s loyal, hunch-backed servant Manthara had just turned the corner to witness the accident. She took it upon herself to immediately reprimand the prince. She was harsh and unforgiving, and Rama felt bad watching his brother’s chastisement.

The boys followed Manthara to the courtyard, where the king and his wives were playing with their brothers, Bharata and Shatrughna. As Manthara began to report Lakshmana’s misadventures, Rama had an idea to take some of Lakshmana’s blame.

“Don’t worry. Watch this!” he told his brother as he took aim at the old woman.

In the middle of her account, Rama shot Manthara in the hump with his toy arrow, ending her speech and eliciting laughter from everyone in the courtyard. Lakshmana’s misdeed was forgotten straightaway, and for this he was grateful to his brother. Manthara, however, was enraged that young Rama would be so unkind as to mock her deformity.

Twenty years later, on the eve of Rama’s coronation, Manthara reflected on this cruel trick and the embarrassment she endured, and her resolve to disrupt his coronation hardened. She refused to quit the subject until Kaikeyi conceded and agreed to make use of the two wishes King Dasaratha promised her, ensuring Bharata’s place as king and Rama’s banishment from the kingdom. It was Manthara’s bitter resentment toward Rama’s childhood mischief that spurred Kaikeyi’s betrayal.



Author’s Note: 
     While reading both versions of the Ramayana, I found myself wondering why Manthara was seemingly the only person in all of Ayodhya who did not like Rama. I thought with this week's story, I could explore the story behind her bitterness. I also wanted to write about Guha because I thought he was a very fun character, and I was able to include both with this topic. I began my story by trying to elaborate on Kaikeyi’s sentiment, restated at the very beginning. I thought it would be interesting to tell the story of the play-arrow she alludes to, and from there I was able to incorporate some detail as to how Rama and Lakshmana became friends with Guha.
     I had a hard time finding a good picture of Guha, but I was able to find this photo in which an unnamed man is greeting Rama and Lakshmana near what looks like a forest. I thought it would go well with my story and I could make the unnamed man Guha.
     My goal for this story was not so much to change anything as it was just to elaborate on something I was left curious about—the reason behind Manthara's treachery. So the part of my story in which Rama is a little kid is all made up based on some things Guha and Kaikeyi referred to in brief when he was an adult.


Bibliography: Buck, William (1976). Ramayana: King Rama's Way.

Week 3 Storytelling: Sampathi and Jatayu Flew Too Close to the Sun

Two magnificent giant eagles, Sampathi and Jatayu, now glorious birds of legend and friends of Rama, were once mischievous young brothers. As little eaglets, the two enjoyed nothing more than they enjoyed friendly competition. They found ways to try to best each other in everything they did. Who had the fluffiest feathers? Who could see the farthest treetop? Who ate their morning worms the fastest? Though they were in constant competition, they maintained a light spirit about it, and there was no doubt Sampathi and Jatayu were best friends. Their father Aruna, however, knew that only one of them would be tribe leader, and he feared their competitive natures would in time reveal something more serious.

Their very favorite thing was to fly. They spent much of every day soaring through the skies, chasing clouds, chasing each other, laughing, and screaming. There were times throughout the day when Aruna, charioteer to the sun god, could almost expect to delight in the sound of his sons’ games as they whirled by not far below. But this, Aruna’s delight, was the sun god’s irritation. He’d grown tired of their noise when he had to concentrate on focusing his rays literally all day. “Could you tell those chickens to keep it down, PLEASE?” he would say to Aruna. Or, “You should send them out to play at night… in the dark… alone, like other eagle fathers.” But Aruna understood these to be jokes, so he gave the boys lighthearted warnings, and the sun god’s agitation only continued.

One day, young Sampathi and Jatayu were perched together on a tree far removed from the village, serious and somber as those two ever were. They had just been fully informed that one of them would be chosen to be tribe leader when they were to come of age. The news made the two of them uncomfortable, and they were not quite sure what to say to each other.

Finally, Sampathi spoke up. “Jatayu, let’s play a game like always.”

Jatayu was only too eager to act on his brother’s suggestion, hoping it would dissolve the discomfort. “What kind of game did you have in mind, brother?”

Sampathi thought for a moment and said, “Let’s see who can fly the highest.”

Both brothers knew their father had always warned them to be careful and to never fly too close to the sun god. But Jatayu didn’t want his brother to seem braver than him. Bravery is an important quality for a tribe leader. So he readily agreed and took off for the stars. Sampathi quickly followed, and before they knew it, they were higher in the sky than they had ever been. Growing uneasy, Jatayu shot his brother a glance to see if he was slowing. Sampathi did the same, and since neither brother showed signs of yielding, neither did. Sampathi noticed he was falling behind, so he began to taunt Jatayu, and Jatayu taunted back until the sound of eagles’ caws filled the sky. The sun god heard the clamor, and he was enraged to see how close this clash was taking place. Now at the very boundary of his patience, the sun god unleashed his blazing energy on the nearest brother.

Sampathi watched as the sun god directed his beams at Jatayu. He felt a sudden sense of shame for jeering his brother to try to get ahead and for suggesting the game in the first place. In a panic, he flew in front of Jatayu and spread his wings, taking the heat of the sun god’s strike.

Sampathi, feathers burnt to ash, went crashing down to earth. He woke up on a mountain, a charred heap of bird bones. He remained on that mountain, broken and unable to fly, for many, many years until he heard the name of Rama spoken aloud. Jatayu went on to become the tribe leader and a good friend of Dasharatha, Rama’s father, as well as a good friend of Rama himself. But as a consequence of their constant need to compete, Sampathi and Jatayu never saw each other again.

(Jatayu with Rama)

Author’s Note: I chose to elaborate on Sampathi’s story about him and Jatayu because it reminded me of the story of Icarus flying too close to the sun. My roommate and I joke when we get excited about homework solutions that turn out to be wrong that we flew too close to the sun, so I wanted to write about that this week. I didn’t make a lot of changes from Sampathi’s story; I just wanted to expand it from a simple explanation of his deformity to a more emotional tale about competitive brothers.

Bibliography: Narayan, R.K. (1972). The Ramayana.

Week 2 Storytelling: Sukracharya and the Dwarf

(The Dwarf, an incarnation of Vishnu. Web Source: Wikimedia Commons)

It was just when Sukracharya had brought Mahabali to the height of power that it was all ruined by a man for whom height had never been an advantage. For years, he served as Mahabali’s advisor, guiding him through the takeovers of many vast kingdoms. By his lead, Mahabali had become the most powerful man in this world. Mahabali had almost entire control of everything to all corners of the earth, and Sukracharya had almost entire control of Mahabali. Almost.

Eventually, Sukracharya began to hear rumors among the people that many of the subjected rulers were discontented with their over ruler, to the point of hostile recourse. This news put him on his guard, and he became wary of any sort of tricks intended to bring down Mahabali. Certain he could himself take care of any sort of uprising and seeing no need to cause him worry, Sukracharya made sure Mahabali was not aware of the rumors. He knew that confidence was key for leading such a sprawling empire, and he also knew that a level of ignorance was key for such confidence. Maintaining a reassuring degree of subtlety, Sukracharya took special precautions by gradually increasing guards, preparing secret emergency strategies, and accompanying Mahabali in any and all meetings and dealings.

So when a diminutive man of Brahmin origin arrived to speak with Mahabali, Sukracharya, guarded and suspicious as ever, was not so easily impressed as the king was. Although he seemed charming and gracious, the dwarf also exuded an air of great power that alarmed him. Mahabali noticed it too, but he felt more privilege than alarm, so much so that he made a promise to the small and remarkable individual before him that he would grant any one of his desires. At this, a sick sense of panic spread over Sukracharya. Wise in the ways and in the history of empirical rule, he knew that such extreme vows had the capability of triggering the demise of even the most powerful kings. He pulled Mahabali aside and warned him against such drastic generosity, but Mahabali was enraged that Sukracharya, who had usually always given him such sound advice, would try to hinder his kindness now.

Mahabali proceeded with his promise, and he was surprised when the dwarf asked for a piece of land no bigger than three of his own tiny stride lengths. Only too eager to grant such a simple request, Mahabali began to enact a water oath by pouring water on the small man’s hand. Sukracharya, however, now certain of trickery, used his magic to turn into a bee. He flew into the spout of the water vase and used all his might to block the water from coming out. He was pleased with himself for successfully obstructing the opening, and thereby thwarting the deal. To his surprise, though, the dwarf struck him with a piece of grass and he came tumbling out the vase.

As he sat up, returning to his normal size, he was horrified to discover that the blade of grass had pierced his eye, rendering him half-blind. Through his good eye, he saw the water hit the dwarf’s hand, and instantly he transformed into a giant. Claiming the king’s prize, he took two strides to take back the heavens and the earth. And Sukracharya watched as, with his third promised step, he squashed Mahabali to his death.



Author’s Note:
     I selected Mahabali’s Story from Narayan’s Ramayana to retell from this week’s reading because I thought it would be interesting to tell it from a different perspective, that of the meddling advisor Sukracharya. I thought that the part of the story where he turns into a bee was really noteworthy, but it was only briefly mentioned parenthetically, so I wanted to elaborate on that and make him the main character in my retelling.
     I was able to find a good picture of Vamana, the dwarf incarnation of Vishnu. I think it represents well how non-threatening and unassuming his appearance was. To me, this adds to the believability that Mahabali would make such grand promises to someone he had only just met without any worry.
     I decided to leave out the dwarf's true identity (Vishnu) just because of the perspective I was telling it from. I really wanted the story to be centered around Sukracharya's point of view, and I thought that he would not have known who the dwarf-turned-giant was until well after the fact. The whole occurrence would have happened very quickly, and he had just been left half-blind as the dwarf was assuming his more godlike form. So I tried not to include any information in the story that Sukracharya would not have known himself.

Bibliography: Narayan, R.K. (1972). The Ramayana.

Week 1 Storytelling: The Great Tweedle War

In the far-off galaxy of Tweedle, children all over playgrounds on the planets Dum and Dee sing and clap to the rhyme of a long-ago war.

Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee
Resolved to have a battle
For Tweedle-dum said Tweedle-dee
Had spoiled his nice new rattle.

Just then flew by a monstrous crow
As big as a tar-barrel,
Which frightened both the heroes so
They quite forgot their quarrel.

After many years of peaceful trade and cooperation, the planet Dum built a new and advanced space station, and it came as a surprise to citizens everywhere when the Dum government denied access to all people of Dee. Enraged by news of the sudden hostility between their long-time allied planets, Captain Cabrel, leader of the premier ship of Dee’s space fleet, intentionally misaligned his ship’s coordinates so as to pass into the edge of the space station’s orbital path, damaging its exterior hull.

In bitter retaliation, Dum declared war on Dee. Battles were continually waged in the outer space regions in that part of the Tweedle galaxy for almost a century. Cyborgs and robots were drafted in droves to step up the fight. The debris of thwarted spaceships littered the sky.

The struggle might have dragged on for another century, had they not been jointly threatened by a new enemy. The unexpected arrival of a colossal, black space voyager, entirely foreign to Tweedle, so completely unnerved the two planets that they forgot their animosity and reunited as allies. Together, and terrified, the Dum and Dee space fleets pointed their combat ships outward and stood their ground until the voyager turned around and sought other planetary conquests in the universe.

After such an encounter, the previous ninety-nine years of fierce contest was all but forgotten by the Dumian and Deeish peoples. By now, it has so absolutely vanished from public memory that the majority of the truth remains only in the deepest sections of the history books. A small part lives on in schoolyard songs.

(space battle)

 

Author’s Note: I based my story on “Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum,” which I found in The Nursery Rhyme Book edited by Andrew Lang in 1897. I selected this particular rhyme because Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum are two of my favorite characters from the Alice in Wonderland books by Lewis Carroll, which I enjoy reading over and over again. Quoted in my story above, the rhyme appears to be about a fight between two small boys who couldn’t share and get along. So I tried to imagine it on a much larger scale, one of galactic proportions.