The Story of Gunadhaya Part 3

The Story of Gunadhaya Part 3.

Gunadhaya, in a strong and sustained state of shock at the injustice that transpired, trudges through the country side of pratishtana. After staying a few weeks in the palace he realised that not being able to speak any of the three court languages made him persona non-grata. The masses can be so fickle. From most loved 'janakpriya Gunadhaya' he went to 'whose that guy sulking in the corner.

Its not as if he had a choice. Even if he chose to not honor the terms of the bet, given that such an injustice was perpetrated. If he spoke, what would he say? That the King was part of a conspiracy to make him lose? That the King had been dishonest? Could he even say this to Vaishnavi, 'that you were also made complicit in the conspiracy.' Vaishnavi, who thought she had interceded in the court proceedings in the names of fairness to protect her favourite and most trusted pundit. Only to ask a question that was already known by Devaki?

Sadness knows know bounds, and Gunadhaya's feet carried his sadness into the deep dark jungles on the border of Pratishtana. At some point, Gunadhaya stops, and looks around, only to find himself lost in the middle of a forest. Suddenly he hears some music in the distance, and slowly follows the sound to find a group of tribals celebrating - something - in song and dance.

He watches from the side, trying to stay discreet. But he's not exactly in camoflage fatigues now is he? And to an eye familiar with a forest, he probably stood out like a neon sign. Kanabhuti, a tribal elder, brings him in, noticing that he is troubled deep within, and amidst much curiosity and fun, determines that Gunadhaya should be allowed to stay here until he sorts himself out. The tribals of course can't decide if he's a mute, or if he's just shy. Gunadhaya of course, says nothing. He doesn't understand this very fast, sing song, language that the tribals are communicating in (we're using an unnamed dialect from the kannada-andhra border, tullu, and konkani here).

After much argument, and about 10 minutes of other languages on stage... Kanabhuti declaims (on-stage in perfect kannada).

"No its not that he's dumb. He's not talking because he can't speak our Paisachi language!"
Replies come in thick and fast...

"Oh he can't speak our paisachi"
"I still think he's dumb"
"shut up what do you know"
"How do we communciate with him?" come the replys from the tribals (once again, in perfect kannada on stage).

"Tell you what, I'll teach him" determines kanabhuti.

And then proceeds to start to teach a willing Gunadhaya Paisachi (kannada), a whole new language in which he can communicate.

Much to the awe and amazement of the tribe. Gunadhaya picks up the language rapidly (about 3 minutes of stage time - in a song that starts with naming the various parts of ones face, and develops into full structured sentences with an ultimate declamation - I can speak Paisachi).

Gunadhaya settles into life, there. Watching as members of other tribes come in and out, meeting Kanubhuti, sharing stories, (Kanabhuti turns out to be an accomplished Griot), telling them of thier problems.

One tribal elder comes to tell Kanubhuti of the impending distruction of his tribe and thier way of life - given the constant encroachment on thier land by plains dwellers. Times are bad for them. Kanubhuti worries about thier stories.

One day Gunadhaya sees a kid riding his uncle who is pretending to be a lion. His memories go back to Satavahana, the oath, his life in the court - all of which he doesn't mind leaving - but Vaishnavi - his close friend - he misses very much.

Kanabhuti asks him where his thoughts are.

"Oh from my past life before I came here."
"You must miss it"
"No, not really - I realise now it wasn't that important."
"Then why the sadness?"
"I miss one person from it."
"Ah"

"Kanabhuti, you seem to be a much loved leader of your people".
"Leader!! HA HA HA HA HA - I can't even get Kaalava to listen to me, you think I could be a leader?"
"Then why to people always come to you and talk to you?"
"We share stories. I collect them." -He says proudly."
"They're a collection of all of our wisdom, and knowledge, they are who we are. Sometimes I think we were only made so that we could tell stories to each other, so that the stories could live through our telling them."

Kanubhuti sees the tribal elder from the other village.

"But I worry. Our tribes are diminishing. After us, who will keep these stories alive?"

"Kanubhuti! I could easily devise a script and write these stories down."

"Write?"

"Yes Write, put them down in symbols on paper, that anyone can read. I would love to write all the stories of your people, and preserve them. I keep thinking when I hear them, that they woudl be enjoyed so much by my friend.. if I were to ever meet her again."

Kanubhuti is skeptical. Read a story? Off a page? Where is the life in that? How can a page give expression? How can a page tell the story with life, like a Griot can?

"Well, if you feel this is what you want to do, then you must do it. Thats how all of us operate here. What can we do to help."

After a brief discussion with the hunters, and leather makers, a plan is hatched to create pages from leather and bark and leaves, and after trying a few opitons, Gunadhaya settles on using his own blood as ink.

The story writing starts, the tribe being demolished is particularly interested in having thier stories preserved.

Pages are made, the stories, keep coming, gunadhaya grows week from the amount of blood he uses, and the tribals start to pitch in. Giving thier blood into these stories, as he sits thier dilligently and writes them.

Seven years pass.

Gunadhaya has now written 7,00,000 verses. Of all the stories of all the tribes in the region. Its quite an achievement. He determines that it is now time to take these stories out into the world, to share them, first with Vaishnavi, and then with the world.

He heads back to the court of Satavahana.