Growing up, there were countless instances, lines, and dialogues of the Mahabharata being quoted by my mother on various occasions. My usual reaction to it was curiosity. My head tilted to one side as I was trying to comprehend what she just mentioned and explained to me with narrowed eyes. I was always curious about the epic that has come to define our culture and country. But I was never overtly interested in it. Now that’s a direct contradiction. You would probably ask with a raised brow Excuse me? You just said you were curious, and now you say you were not interested? I said, overtly. Let me explain.
The first time I tried to get closer to the Mahabharata, it was from Amar Chitra Katha and was divided into six or maybe more volumes. I was a kid, and I was already scared to see each volume as a tome. The first page of the first volume began like this: This is someone’s father, and this someone is the father of another someone. The new someone is the husband of so and so and the father of this someone, and it went on and on. My head simply stopped taking in the list of introductions. My little head was too scared to move on to the next page at this point. I stopped reading and, dejected, put the book back.
Cut to September 2023, I am 23 years old now, but that incident still makes me feel uneasy. I was looking for a more gentle read of the epic that would help me ease into the flow, just as my mother used to ease me into the pond, and I mapped its depth, gently flailing my arms, and then swam with help and then with none at all. Reading The Book of Vows felt akin to it.
The title is symbolic of the contents of this book. It begins with three vows: Amit Majumdar vows to retell it for the contemporary masses because he and his ancestors have lived through it and it is their ‘dharma’ to do so; I vowed to read the Mahabharata, and this is my way of doing it, and Prince Devavrat vows to remain celibate for his father’s sake, for his mortal human love for him. The stint of vows doesn't end there. It goes on and on. One vow snowballs into another and leaves me on a cliffhanger at the end, even though I know what Volume II will sing.
Amit Majumdar’s voice is unique. A fresh spin on the epic is presented with creative liberty. Yes, this may not be the epic in its raw material, but it has always been told through a conduit, a speaker, and Amit Majumdar does it well. Don’t miss the introduction. I request it. He makes it contemporary enough for us to understand. For some, it may be too modern because of the language used. For me, it was good. It eased me into the flow—the current that guides you through the epic.
The flow is not convoluted but extremely smooth, sweet, and serene. In a week, I had completed reading the book, and I could not stop, even once, to pick up any other. Usually, I read 2 to 3 books together, but this book demanded my attention - a siren song I could not block my ears to. I had to read it after all; a vow is a vow. This book single-handedly held me tight, and I accepted the tight embrace in return.
All I could fathom was a Kaleidoscope - beautiful patterns all structured seamlessly and beautifully so that you could keep your eyes on it and nothing would sting, not even your eyes.
I have finally kept a part of my vow and fulfilled it. I earnestly wait for Volume II now. Until then, I will wait this exile out, just like the Pandavas.