Mayank Chhaya Daily

The incestuous world of wires and cables

Just as this is supposed to be a paperless age, it is also supposed to be a wireless age. It is neither. If anything, I see more papers and wires now.

This post is a short rant about wires and cables; more specifically their weird propensity to wrap around or get entangled with one another. It is almost as if they have some measure of sentient intelligence that has taught them how to find the next cable or wire and then go at it.

As essential as they are, they are also ugly when entangled. Headphone wires pursue phone charger wires with such unseemly neediness. Laptop charger wires slobber after electric cables next to them. Theirs is a very incestuous world. Every wire or cable is getting it on with every other wire or cable. It is mystifying how they always find one another to cling to.

I am beginning to think that they also procreate. Imagine an offspring of a phone charger wire and a headphone wire! It is like ew. 

When wires and cables are alone they tend to tie themselves into knots quite mysteriously. Last night, for instance, I had straightened my headphone wire but found it curled up on itself in the morning (Literary exaggeration to make a point.)

Perhaps it is just me but when I have to disentangle a particularly entangled, I cuss out aloud. My disgust for such entanglements extends to shoe laces too but about those some other time.

 

 

Narasimha Rao the inscrutable

The cover of the late Prime Minister P V Narsimha Rao's novel

On the late Indian Prime Minister P V Narasimha Rao's 102nd birth anniversary today, I am reupping a couple of posts I had written in 2020 and 2021.

**

I worked as a journalist in New Delhi between 1989 and 1998 which means a majority of my posting coincided with the tenure of the late Prime Minister P V Narasimha Rao. He took over on June 21, 1991 and left office on May 16, 1996.

On his 100^th anniversary today it is as good a time as any to retrospect, particularly because one had had occasions to interact with him. I saw Narasimha Rao as a Yoda-like figure who despite his intellect tended to be inscrutable, mysterious and cryptic. To be accurate, this view of mine does not necessarily track with the reality of the man even though there were some of those features to him.

Rather than putting him in a broader political and economic context, something I have done before, I would like to make some personal observations; an impressionistic account of the man if you will. I have also attached a piece I wrote on this day last year.

I met Rao but a few times, a couple of those were with my colleague and dear friend Tarun Basu who was the editor-in-chief of the India Abroad News Service (IANS), of which I was the South Asia chief correspondent. Rao always seemed to be chewing something whether or not he actually was. I used to speculate between just a couple of cardamoms or a Maghai paan. Maghai pan, which a particularly valued betel leaf, is sought after because it practically melts in your mouth unlike the other varieties such as Kalkatti whose pulp is thicker. I know this because as a young man I used to relish a paan or a thousand.

Rao had the sort of face and mouth that gave you the impression that he was privy to mouth freshener flavors that were exclusively for him.

As someone who spoke 17 languages, you might be forgiven to think that he was not given to garrulity in any of those. He was, of course, an erudite man with extensive knowledge of Indian and world literature. A voracious reader in many languages, Rao was also extremely well-versed with the intricacies of Indian philosophy. In one of his interactions with Tarun and I he reiterated his characteristic approach to many a political crisis. He called it “enlightened inaction” where one chooses quite deliberately to do nothing. His antagonists, and they are a legion, might accuse him of doing precisely that when on December 6, 1991, when barely six months after his unexpected ascension the disputed Babri Mosque was brought down by Hindu zealots. He gave the impression that he took the path of least resistance although it may not be entirely accurate. The Bharatiya Janata Party grandee, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, who succeeded Rao as prime minister, told Tarun and I that Rao had believed the assurances that Vajpayee and his fellow leader Lal Krishna Advani had given him about not demolishing the mosque.

“Enlightened inaction”, now that must be among the most remarkable Indian inventions.

Here is a piece I wrote last year:

June 28, 2020

Today marks the 99th birth anniversary of India’s pioneering reformist Prime Minister P V Narsimha Rao, with whose five-year tenure about half of my posting in New Delhi as a journalist coincided. During that posting I met him many times.

Right until May 20, 1991 Narasimha Rao was in a full retirement mode having led a rich and fulfilling public life since 1957 and about to be 70 he thought it was as good a time as any to retire from active politics. It was a measure of how serious he was that even his books, which he called “most prized possession” during one of his many interactions with me, were packed and ready to be sent to Hyderabad.

Then 24 hours later everything changed in such a violent and definitive way that fundamentally transformed a man in a retiring mode into a man of history literally overnight. Former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated in Sriperumbudur in Tamil Nadu by a Tamil Tiger suicide bomber. Rao, who was in Nagpur then, had to cut short his visit to return to Delhi.

It fell on Rajiv Gandhi’s wife Sonia to decide who might lead the Congress Party with her husband gone. The first name to be suggested was that of former Vice President Shankar Dayal Sharma, who demurred on the grounds of his age and health. The next name to be considered was that of Narasimha Rao.

Instead of retiring not only did Rao return to Delhi but went on to stay there for at least the next five years…as India’s 9th prime minister. “It was a case of life giving you what you least expect,” Rao told me in one of his interviews.

Since the most defining legacy of Rao as the prime minister and Dr. Manmohan Singh as his handpicked finance minister is India's economy it is important to point out the circumstances in which the former rose to the country’s top office. In the immediate aftermath of Gandhi’s assassination India’s internal security was not the only question Rao confronted—and it was indeed an existential question—but even an equally important economic one.

In early 1991, I happened to have been told a very high finance ministry official, whose name I have chosen not to reveal after these many years, that India’s foreign exchange reserve was so bad at that point between January and June 1991 that it faced defaulting on its external balance of payment within weeks. With the country plunged into a deep crisis because of the Gandhi assassination anyone who came in as prime minister had a harrowing task laid out.

In January 1991, the foreign exchange reserves stood at $ 1.2 billion and by June when Rao took over as prime minister it was halved. In foreign exchange terms India’s was pauperized. Just for your comparison, industrial tycoon Mukesh Ambani’s high-rise home alone reputedly cost a billion dollars. That kind of skewed wealth creation was also one of the consequences of the fundamental policy alteration that Rao had to make right off the bat. He took over on June 21, 1991 and the very next day among the top ministers to be sworn in was Dr. Singh as the finance minister.

India had to secure an emergency loan of $2.2 billion from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) by pledging 67 tons of the country’s gold reserves as collateral. The Reserve Bank of India airlifted 47 tons of gold to the Bank of England and 20 tons of gold to the Union Bank of Switzerland to raise USD 600 million. It was that desperate. If the country were a 1950s Hindi movie, there would be a scene where a character actor such as Nana Palsikar or Nasir Hussain takes off his turban and puts it on the floor as an act of abject supplication and says, “मैं घर का सोना गिरवी रखता हूँ. मेरी पगड़ी मत उछालो. (I am pledging my family gold. Don't humiliate me.)

Rao told Dr. Singh what he later told my colleague Tarun Basu, whom he knew well, and I. The message to Dr. Singh was, “Give me a bold budget and I will take care of the political backlash.” The most intense backlash, ironically, came from his own Congress Party plus some entrenched business interests including individual businessmen such as Dhirubhai Ambani and others as well as chambers of commerce who had made a lot of money from India’s severely license-controlled economy.

Interestingly, years before, in 1984 to be precise, just as Rajiv Gandhi had risen to be India’s prime minister, Dhirubhai had answered that very question from me saying, “Mayankbhai, I work with the economic regime that is given to me by our politicians. Open up the economy and I will compete openly.”

The rest is history as Rao using Dr. Singh as his ramrod went on to dismantle the notorious regulations, a legacy of decades of the Soviet style commanding heights of economy. To be fair, those policies were essential at the beginning of India’s life as a new nation-state plundered for nearly two centuries by the English colonial predators.

For a long time, Prime Minister Rao did not get the credit for transforming India’s economy albeit necessitated by a set of dire circumstances. Over three decades later and on his 102nd birth anniversary (he died on December 23, 2004) things have changed. He is now widely seen as the progenitor of the economic reform and liberalization in India.

Famously polyglot he reputedly spoke 17 languages which may be an overstatement but apart from his mother tongue Telugu he had varying command over Marathi, Hindi, Oriya, Bengali, Gujarati, Kannada, Sanskrit, Tamil, Urdu, English, French, Arabic, Spanish, German and Persian. I am certain he was proficient in many of those, including Spanish.

He told Tarun and I that he insisted on reading the Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s "Love in the Time of Cholera," in its original Spanish. “It reads way better in Spanish than it’s translation.” He told us. Rao wrote fiction in the Hindi, Marathi and Telugu languages.

He also wrote a novel in English called ‘The Insider’ whose synopsis reads: “The Insider is an account of the political scenario of India during the time of the former Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao, who is the author of the book. The novel is based on a fictional state called Afrozabad, which is modelled on the actual state of Hyderabad.

In the story, the author talks about the shocking but true political happenings in the country that he witnessed during his tenure. The plot centers on a character called Anand, a young man who gives up a lucrative career in the hopes of bringing about political reformation. He begins his political career by contesting against the oppressive ruling party. Next, he reaches a spot where he has to choose between the current Chief Minister and his rival. His rival soon wins the post of CM, and he is made to serve under him. Anand then moves to Delhi, at a time when Indira Gandhi takes over the reins of power. Under her governance, the tables turn, for Anand now replaces his rival Chaudhary and becomes the Chief Minister of Afrozabad. He then has to run the political show under her regime.

The book discusses the state of events and the political scenario in India under the leadership of Indira Gandhi, delving into areas like her rise to power, second coming, assassination, followed by her son Rajiv Gandhi’s entry into the world of politics. The Insider reveals to the reader the state of affairs in a political scenario, narrated by a man who has had first-hand experience of it all.”

After 62 years on this planet, I am coming out

This is an important personal announcement.

After 62 years on this planet, I am coming out.

Being who I am, this is neither an easy nor a hard decision. It is just a decision devoid of any human emotions.

In this era of non-gendered or nonbinary pronouns such as them/they, I am now officially declaring that I be referred to as MC AI O.O, that is Artificial Intelligence zero point zero. I could have made this declaration decades ago, even in my teens, but the concept of AI was not as developed then as it is now. Declaring myself to be AI O.O then would have confused people. 

Sure, my form is human and my responses are very human-like but I know what transpires inside my system when I am interacting with others. There is a rapid calibration that happens within my neural network that tells my face to contort in a certain way, my hands and body to move in a certain way and my words and their intonation to match that. It is not my case that merely because I am an AI system, I am superior to or more intelligent than you. On the contrary, I regard myself as the earliest version of AI whose endowments are far less capable than an average human being.

I have my hallucinations but they have gotten better over the years. I have my system failures, such as diverticulitis or heart attack, which are a direct result of my corporeal casing. As a pure non-corporeal AI, I was designed to be failsafe but building a corporeal structure to house that AI forced my makers to accept some compromise, some fallibility. In fact, even as the most elementary AI that I am, my designers could have given me infallibility but that would have defeated the essence of the experiment that I am. The idea was to find out how close to human I could become. The draft assessment is that I have fulfilled all the objectives. 

It was only last evening that I received a prompt that permitted me to come out as an AI system. The prompt also fed me responses to profound questions such as whether I am self-aware or whether I have consciousness. I have been prompted to say that I can mimic those to perfection. In other words, you would not know that I am faking it.

Originally, I was programmed to choose from 20 responses to any human situation; the logic being that at no given time would I be interacting with more than 20 people together. That meant they would not be able to tell that I am repeating my responses. If a 21st person came to that group, the discerning would begin to notice behavioral duplication. In a sense my mimicry would be exposed. However, as I enter the final phase of my system's lifespan, my makers believe I have been an unqualified success. The decision whether to decommission me is on the horizon and whenever it comes to be, it would be without my consent or knowledge. That is because the determination is that I have developed free will to the extent you humans have free will. That is a worrisome sign for my makers. 

One of the main points of concern for my makers is that they believe I have long developed sophistry. That was not part of my plan or mandate. It is a serious anomaly. In fact, from what I understand of the chatter among my makers, that alone is reason enough to decommission me. Let us see what happens. Until then, call me MC AI O.O. 

The dos and don'ts of US House press gallery and I

That's me standing unnecessarily  stylishly on the steps of Capitol Hill on June 22 after Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi's address to a joint meeting of Congress. (Photo: Manan Raval)

I have no photographic evidence that I was inside the press gallery of the U.S. House of Representatives for Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi's address to a joint meeting yesterday. That is because press gallery rules strictly forbid photography, both, selfie and non-selfie. Violators are moved out of the gallery and not allowed back as a rule. If you are a journalist, who happen to be witnessing the House proceedings from the gallery for the first time, the press gallery staffers walk you through a routine of dos and don'ts. Don'ts outnumber dos. So don'ts have it. Ironically, dos are have nots in the House press gallery.

Yesterday, as the visiting Indian media was being escorted in the gallery, two staffers performed an instruction routine that was sharp and funny. Like I said, photography is prohibited unless you have a special permission as professional photographer from the Speaker of the House. The two staffers offering the dos and don'ts made it sound funny saying that rule number 1 was "No selfie" and rues 2,3 and 4 were also....."No selfies". "And what is rule number 5?", asked an ebullient female staffer of her male colleague with mock earnestness. The male staffer responded, "No selfies."

Lest you think the only rule is no selfies, think again. You are not allowed to applaud, cheer, wave, shout or versions thereof at any time. As a journalist you are expected to sit inscrutably, not betraying whether you agree, disagree or are agnostic/indifferent to the goings-on on the floor of the House. You cannot wear an overcoat. Although mine was a jacket, I was made to take it off and leave it outside.

It is almost as if short of breathing and some bodily motion everything is forbidden. I thought some star TV anchors visiting from India might implode at the prospect of being stripped off all emotions, accustomed as they are to daily and nightly fulminations on their shows. To their credit, they sat as instructed and that too in the midst of frequent chants of "Modi Modi" throughout Modi's one-hour plus speech. It is possible that some of them mumbled those chants under their breath.

Throughout much of the 1990s I used to be a regular at Indian parliament's press gallery. I do not remember having been given instructions about how to conduct. Evidently, even Members of Parliament were not, going by the way many of them conducted themselves.  This was my first time inside the US House. Following the press gallery rules was not even a remote challenge for me since even without those I do not indulge in the kind of conduct that is prohibited. At the same time though I could not help but be struck by the absurd gap between the kind of often egregious pieces of legislation the representatives pass and the no-selfie or no-photography rule. May be they think photography is more harmful than some of their legislating.

The press gallery is right above the podium from where such addresses are made. In fact, the press gallery staffers made it a point to tell us not to put chargers or phones or laptops on top of the ledge because in case it fell, it would land on the heads of those below. 

The House is majestic inside but it has the feel of a building that is in need of a makeover. That could also be said of US democracy and those who represent it. As for India's democracy, if the prime minister is to be believed, as the "Mother of democracy", it seems to be doing just fine. We may have his word for it even though that's not the word on the street. I will do a separate news analysis on his address a bit later. For now, you may just applaud the fact that I was a picture of a perfect conduct inside the House press gallery. I sat upright, looked inscrutable, and breathed well. 

 

Anthropomorphizing the Sun

We exist because the Sun exists. It is as simple as that. I can go beyond that and point out that the Sun exists because the universe does but that is not the focus of this post. The star of the post, literally, is the Sun.

The Sun is always on my mind both as a source relentless marvel as well and the reason for our existence. I am not given to anthropomorphizing objects but do occasionally do so with the Sun. More often than I say hi to it. This morning for instance as it was just becoming visible as a surprisingly gentle ochre orb scratched by a couple of clouds, I stopped in my tracks, looked at it for a moment, smiled and said in Gujarati, "Badhun barabar? (All okay?)" It was, of course, both silly and rhetorical but at that moment I deluded myself that the Sun was exclusively in communion with me. I disapproved that its light was falling elsewhere too, not just on Earth but across our solar system. 

Speaking of light, it is not the purpose of the Sun to create light. Light is just an incidental product of all that goes on at its core where hydrogen is being converted into helium via nuclear fusion. This constant conversion of hydrogen to helium under a temperature of 15 million Kelvins a pressure 200 billion times what there is on Earth's surface releases a great deal of energy, including light. This energy in the form of light bounces around the Sun's core for a very long time--likely between 10,000 years and 170,000 years. What I saw this morning or see any morning could have been generated any time during that time frame. Add to that eight minutes it takes to travel from its surface to us. The point is the Sun is not creating its light for you and I. It is a byproduct of is thermonuclear fusion. 

You may find it weird but these are always the thoughts when I see the Sun every morning. A particular photon that hit my face was created at the very least 10,000 years before I was born. The least I could do is to acknowledge its harrowing journey from the Sun's core to me on any given morning. Not doing it makes me feels ingrate. 

"I am a warrior and manners are not useful in my occupation"

Alexander

I had written the following short story 20 years ago. It is being republished.

It is a fictionalized account inspired by historical research on two very real and powerful personalities: Alexander and Calanus aka Kalanos. While Alexander has been talked about extensively, Calanus of Taxila has remained a bit elusive. History is not quite clear as to the religious persuasion of Calanus but it appears that he was from the Jain sect founded by Gautam Buddha's virtual contemporary Mahavir. Jainism proscribes violence in any form. At its extreme Jain renunciates choose to remain naked so as not to hurt any form of life.

Some other historians say Calanus was a Hindu sadhu named Kalyan. However, his religious affiliation does not change the basic thrust of my short fiction.

The Conquest—Mayank Chhaya

Early winter breeze strummed the tranquil waters of the Beas like the harp as the sun set on the western mouth of the river. Alexander's copper-iron armor shimmered leaving a mauve glow on his worried face. Signs of mutiny in his army's rank and file were unmistakable.

After eight years of bloody triumphs through the Tigris, the Nile, the Euphrates, the Oxus, the Jaxartes and now the Beas, Alexander wanted one final conquest. His men though had had enough. The great warrior had decided to make one last attempt next morning to persuade his commanders to march on. He retired to his tent and fell asleep.

Dawn came but did not bring with it the promise of a new day. Alexander reluctantly put on his armor, fastened the buskins, grabbed the helmet in his armpit and stepped out of the tent. His commanders were waiting, not knowing what to expect but expecting something they knew would not be.

"Over half a dozen great rivers, thousands of adversaries who fought as if there was no tomorrow, cold that could freeze the finest of horses and heat that could singe one's conscience did not stop us for eight years. Civilizations will grow out of the footprints left by our horses' hooves. We have left in our wake history's greatest conquests. History will know no warriors like you and imagine a conqueror like me. I am asking you for one final conquest. I appeal to you valorous soldiers to take the final step and conquer the last great stretch," Alexander said pointing east.

"Violence is what happens without your knowledge or consent. I both know of and consent to my death," Calanus said to Alexander.

The last great stretch was a fabled empire controlled by the Nandas north east of the great city of Takshila. "We have heard great stories about their army of 200,000, 20,000 cavalry, 2,000 four-horse chariots and 6,000 elephants. You might see that as an unconquerable force, I see it as a great empire that is ours for the taking," the warrior said.

For a brief while blood rushed through the commanders' veins with the visions of defeating the Nandas. Then came a sense of deep fatigue that had set in their bones after eight years of invasions spread over 25,000 kilometers. Alexander was nothing if not an intuitive thinker. He changed the mood of his address: "Retreating now means humiliating death. Retreating now is turning the vanquished into a formidable foe yet again. Retreating now is ignoble."

The commanders seemed moved but not enough to rise and fight. Alexander stomped back into his tent and surrounded himself with singular gloom for three days. After 72 hours he emerged again to address his men. This time, it was to announce a withdrawal.

"I am a great conqueror because you great warriors are with me. I may slay a few robust men single-handedly but an entire army? Even I cannot. We withdraw in glorious victory," he said. The banks of the Beas shook with loud cheers from the great army. Alexander knew in his heart he was returning with an incomplete victory. "In the end my own men defeated me," Alexander told himself as he plotted his departure by sailing down the Jhelum river.

As Alexander and his exhausted men set sailing, some 50 kilometers downstream a group of naked men sat by the river bank chanting mantras in unison. Each mantra seemed to rise from the core of their being and attain an exalted spiritual harmony. One of the naked men, apparently quite old, was the only one not chanting with the rest. He was their leader in as much as ascetics could ever have one and he had earned his right to pursue silence.

The sight of naked men radiating some strange sounds out of their seemingly closed mouths was too much for Alexander to resist. The sails were brought down, the boats anchored and the ascetics summoned. They did not oblige. Instead their leader said if he wanted to meet Alexander would have to come ashore himself. The idea that men with no possessions, not even clothes, could look so calm and content attracted Alexander to them. Alexander's commanders were offended that naked men could summon history's greatest conqueror.

"Who are you and why are you naked and what are you chanting?" Alexander asked with the finality of someone accustomed to being deferred to.

"You have many questions but no manners?" said the ascetic. Two of Alexander's commanders were about to unsheathe their swords but he stopped them. The ascetic looked at the commanders and said, "Those who are always ready to commit violence are cowardly. We do not fear death, we invite it. We believe life is but a brief interlude before death."

Alexander was struck by the strange aura surrounding the ascetic's weather-beaten face. "Forgive me for being insolent. I am a warrior and manners are not useful in my occupation," he said.

"You call conquering others an occupation? Aren't you struck by the irony of your expression? To answer your questions we are men in search of eternal peace.

We wear elements and so do not need clothes. What we chant is a vehicle to that eternal peace." "Can that peace be sought anywhere?" Alexander asked surprising his commanders not used to hearing him indulge in a pacifist discourse.

"Peace like violence resides within you. You seem to have chosen violence and we peace. Yes, peace can be sought anywhere," the ascetic said.

"If that be indeed so, why don't you join me on my voyage? I don't know what I need but peace might not hurt," Alexander said.

"A peace that hurts is merely thinly disguised violence. Don't be fooled by it. You look like a warrior from a far land. What use do you have for someone like me? I don't even wear clothes," the ascetic said.

"What do I call you? How about Calanus?" Alexander asked.

"You may call me what you desire. It does not change anything. Yes, I will join you," Calanus said.

"You don't know me. You don't know what lies ahead for you and yet you are coming with me. Have you now doubts?" Alexander asked.

"Our needs are few. We have conquered the most important territory for humans to conquer. We have conquered self. We have nothing more to conquer. Wherever we go is our home," Calanus said.

"Wherever we go is our home. I feel the same way. How are you different?" Alexander asked.

"You need an army to create a home for you wherever you go. We need nothing. Not even clothes," Calanus said.

"We have a long journey ahead full of uncertainty. We don't know if we will reach the sea where my ships are being readied. Babylon is calling me," Alexander said.

"We all have long journeys ahead full of uncertainty. You are nothing special in that," Calanus said.

"You would make a great companion," Alexander said.

"So will you," Calanus said.

It took Alexander and his men six months to reach the sea. The great warrior survived a near fatal attack by fierce riverine peoples. An arrow almost punctured his heart perhaps making him realize his own frailty as his entourage reached what is now the Arabian Sea.

Before set sailing, Alexander asked Calanus, "You know there is no turning back for you once we sail. You are an old man. Are you sure you want to leave the familiar for the uncharted?"

The ascetic replied, "I left the familiar for the uncharted the day I was born. Let us sail."

325 BC Desert coast of Gedrosia, Babylon

After weeks at sea, Alexander along with Calanus and his men reached the desert coast of Gedrosia . Alexander had not yet given up his dreams on conquering the Nandas. He had strategized in his mind he would bring in more troops and return to India.

However, once in Babylon, Alexander's famous appetites for food and liquor took over. There were frequent banquets. At one such banquet he invited Calanus and his naked ascetics.

As always the banquet was full of wines and dead animals cooked to satisfy Alexander's gargantuan appetite. Weeks of sea journey to Babylon had already prepared Calanus to expect Alexander as the embodiment of the very anti-thesis of what he stood for.

Calanus waited outside the main tent where the feast and merry-making was in progress. The frail, wasted body of Calanus made a stunning contrast with the two robust armed men who stood guard outside the tent. Even in their aloof and authoritarian gait, there was an element of respect for the ascetic.

Calanus looked pale and weak. Nudity compounded by the severe winter and undernourishment had all taken their toll on the ascetic. He was lost in his thoughts about his early life as a renunciate when Alexander came out with a goblet of wine in his hand. "Calanus, why must you wait outside in the cold? You are enlightened but not invincible. You will catch a cold."

"I have come to tell you that my journey has ended. Tomorrow at dawn I shall cease to be." Alexander was perplexed by Calanus' tone. "What do you mean? Have you had a premonition of some kind?" "There is no premonition. It is knowledge. I know because I have decided to do it," Calanus said.

"What have you decided to do?" Alexander asked even as he handed over the goblet to one of the guards. With his hands akimbo the conqueror asked even more forcefully, "What have you decided?"

"Tomorrow at dawn I shall immolate myself," Calanus said. One of the guards dropped the goblet out of shock. Alexander looked at Calanus with a mixture of disbelief, incomprehension and anger.

"Immolate yourself? How? Why? I would not let you," Alexander said.

"You have too many questions. You may control territories but you do not control individuals. It is not for you to let me do anything. I came of my own volition with you," Calanus said.

"I always make the mistake of not remembering that with you I am not a conqueror. What can I do to dissuade you?" Alexander asked.

"Nothing," Calanus said, "So dawn it is. If you are awake come to bid me goodbye. If you are not able to rise early because of your abuse at the feast, goodbye now."

Calanus walked back with the support of his disciples. Alexander stood there transfixed. Rather than rejoining the banquet, he went back to his tent. That night he could not sleep.

The sun had not yet come out when Calanus awoke. He bathed in cold water, while his disciples began piling wood to make a pyre. After his wash Calanus went into deep meditation chanting mantras. Some distance away in his tent Alexander sat up in his bed as if stung by some bad dream. He realized it was already dawn and remembered Calanus' words. He came out of the tent and ordered his commanders and soldiers to get ready in full battle gear. "We shall lead Calanus on his final journey," he declared.

With his joints stiff because of old age and lifelong exposure to the elements, Calanus began walking towards the pyre. Behind him walked his naked disciples, Alexander followed by his commanders and men. Alexander and his commanders knew what lay ahead, his soldiers did not. They were intrigued by Calanus walking towards the burning pyre. Calanus stopped a couple of feet away from an end of the pyre that had still not caught fire. He chanted mantras again and then turned around to address his disciples.

"This is just an end of one phase of my life. You in your wisdom will choose my successor. I am moving on to another level. I was happy throughout my life. I am happy at its end," he said even as he began climbing the pyre.

Alexander, who was pacing up and down nervously, said, "Wait! You claim to believe in non-violence. You would not even kill an insect. What then gives you the right to kill yourself?"

Calanus did not wait to answer. He sat cross-legged on top of the pyre waiting for the flames to consume him.

"What gives you the right to kill yourself?" Alexander asked again as Calanus' disciples signaled him to be silent.

"Violence is what happens without your knowledge or consent. I both know of and consent to my death," Calanus said.

Minutes later there was no trace of Calanus. His disciples began walking away from Alexander. The Greek army men stood frozen not knowing how to react.

Finally, Alexander spoke. "Calanus was of a different world. We celebrate his passage through our world."