Challenging stereotypes about Jainism
What I like most about festivals is the opportunity to pause and contemplate the cycle of seasons and the rhythms that permeate our lives on earth. Last Diwali, I came across a book titled Mahavir: Conqueror of the Self (2020) written by Arvind Bhandari. It was serendipitous because my Marwari Jain family has raised me to celebrate this festival as the day when Vardhamaan Mahavir, the 24th Jain Tirthankara, attained moksha. I have known of him as an advocate of non-violence, and that quality appeals to me, but I have not made any special effort to learn about his life story.
Bhandari’s book moved me primarily because of the writing style. It is a blend of fact and fiction. The author has shown that he can work with a lofty subject without being overwhelmed by it. He is loyal to his task as a writer, which is to hold the attention and the interest of the reader. This is a substantial achievement because, as a practising Jain, it might have been difficult not to worry about how people might respond to the creative liberties he has taken.
Why did Vardhamaan the prince become Mahavir the ascetic? Where did he get the idea that wandering naked and doing penance would help him get away from the entrapments of his ego? These are some of the questions that the author explores.
In the author’s note, Bhandari writes, “Mahavir, the sixth century BCE philosopher, brings a rich perspective to life that has tremendous potential to help us understand ourselves. Without any divine intervention, purely by the internal light of his dry but accurate understanding of life... Mahavir transcended the limitations of his senses... Understanding his perspective, developed in searing conditions of self-examination, will benefit everyone beyond the four million Jains who follow him today.”
The book made an impact on me because the narrative voice belongs to Priyadarshini, the daughter of the man who renounced everything for self-realisation. This creative decision is an excellent one because it makes the story relatable. The reader is not expected to revere Vardhamaan Mahavir. The man is introduced through the perspective of a young girl who feels betrayed that her father chose to abandon her when she needed him.
Bhandari is a gifted storyteller. He manages to weave in philosophical concepts without losing his grip on the emotional thread of the plot. The character of Priyadarshini has been constructed with compassion. Without the effort that has gone into developing her inner journey, this book would have ended up becoming just another biography of a religious figure. He clarifies at the outset that Priyadarshini’s reflections are “purely fictitious.” While this might bother theologians or Jains who believe that Mahavir’s story must remain unsullied by creative tampering, the book must be appreciated for its intention and execution. It provides insights into the difficult choices he had to make as a man, son, husband, father, prince, and as a seeker of liberation from karmic entanglements. His struggles become apparent to Priyadarshini, and to the reader, thanks to his wife Yashoda who occupies a significant place in this book. Yashoda tells Priyadarshini, “Many a time our perspective is blinkered by where we stand... Just moving a bit to the right or left, above or below, makes us appreciate the validity of another’s views. Your father called this anekantavada, the principle of multiple perspectives that casts doubt on any single view.” She is a wise woman and a spiritual teacher in her own right -- not simply an abandoned wife -- and her daughter acknowledges this as the book unfolds.
When does Priyadarshini realise that she has judg ed her father too harshly? At what point does she begin to see him as more than her father? You will have to read the book to find out. The reading experience was a meaningful ride for me, especially because Priyadarshini is on a literal pilgrimage as well as an internal voyage. I enjoyed travelling with her.