JOIN USYell confidently, people will think you really do know something
Nilakantha Dikshita, the famous Sanskrit satirist, writes, “Even if you know nothing, yell it loudly and confidently. Fools will think highly of you, and even the wise will start doubting what they know.” Bengaluru South’s very own MP seems to be following Nilakantha’s dictum very well. And not for the first time either. Two years ago, when the brindavana of Vyasatirtha, the 16th-century scholar-intellectual, was desecrated by unknown persons, Tejasvi Surya’s tweet somehow brought in the Bahmani Sultanate. And now perhaps, the oxygen crisis in the state didn’t seem like enough trouble, so why not add harassment and religious intolerance to the list?
As to the exposé of the BBMP ‘bed-booking scam’, it reminds me of Thinthakarala. Thinthakarala lived in Ujjayini and was married to a celestial apsara called Kalavati. He was very curious to see the goings-on in Indra’s grand city of Amaravati, but unfortunately, as we all know, humans are prohibited there. His wife regularly visited though—it was her job. Once, he pleaded with her so much that she sneaked him into a lotus with her magic and pinned the lotus to her ear like an ornament. He then tagged along secretly with his wife and watched the grand dance of Rambha in heaven. He also saw the hilarious performance of a divine goat—a mime! Then he realised that he had seen the goat on earth. It was a divine being masquerading as a plain, boring goat on earth. Now, if he had the good sense to keep quiet, he might have saved himself a lot of trouble, but he cornered the goat on the earth and begged it to perform, hitting it with stones when it refused.
The goat complained to Indra, who understood what had happened, and cursed poor Kalavati to become a sculpture on a pillar in a temple. Kalavati would have to remain a sculpture until the temple was razed to the ground. Now, Thinthakarala could not live without his dear wife very long, so he hatched a plan. He secretly buried Kalavati’s gold ornaments in pots at strategic locations—one in the forest, one in the marketplace, many in the city, and one in the temple. Then, he pretended to be an ascetic. As you might have noticed, a suspicious number of fake godmen abound in Sanskrit.
Anyway, the king heard of Thinthakarala’s name and came looking for him. As the king was leaving, a jackal howled, and Thinthakarala laughed a great deal. After some persuasion, he told the king that he could understand the language of animals, and the jackal had told him the location of some hidden treasure. Then, he led the king to the ornaments he himself had buried in the city, and sure enough, when the king’s men dug up the ground, they found treasure buried there. He did this several times, until the king, his wives, and the entire court became thoroughly devoted to him. After discovering the gold in the forest and in the marketplace, too, one day he went to the temple with the king.
When Kalavati, who was now a sculpture in the temple saw her husband, she began to cry. Tears rolled off the image onto the pillar. The amazed king turned to his trusted Thinthakarala to understand what this strange omen meant. Thinthakarala lost no time in telling the king how the temple had been built incorrectly and would lead to the destruction of the king if he did not raze it to the ground immediately. The scared king immediately had the temple brought down and began to build a temple elsewhere. Kalavati was now free! Thinthakarala fled the city and renounced his asceticism. Even Indra appreciated Thinthakarala’s cleverness.
“Just what was so clever about Thinthakarala?” you might ask. “He just found his own wife’s jewellery, and he had hidden it in the first place!” Well, if the ruling political party can get praise and accolades for discovering its own mismanagement, and that too, incorrectly, I rather think Thinthakarala deserves some applause. Don’t you?
(The author is a University of Toronto doctoral student in Religion who oscillates between scholarly pursuits and abject laziness)