Comrade Nikita was pleased as punch. As he slowly put the telegram back on the table, a smile crossed his lips. The man from Ukraine, more famously known as the "Butcher from Ukraine", had showed "them" "Kuzka's mother", after all.
The events of the past few months swiftly crossed his mind. He could never forget the tomatoes the boorish American public pasted on his limousine on his return from the luncheon meeting with the movie stars in California, when he had gone visiting. Nor could he shrug off the bitterness of not having been given access to Disneyland, his favorite cartoon character's home. He would show them; he had vowed.
Tit for tat. Eye for an eye. That was the credo Comrade Nikita lived by. When the ambassadors of the western countries came over on a social visit, spouses in tow, he couldn't resist the temptation of bursting out - "We will bury you!" How much he enjoyed the expression on the face of the poor chaps as the import of the translation sunk in! Oh, he cherished that moment all through his life.
Ah, and how could he forget the silly, childish tricks of the Americans with their U-2 toys? He had smirked and chortled when he produced Francis Powers with a flourish before the world. The discomfiture of poor Ike when he confronted him in Paris with solid evidence had to be seen to be believed. Ike refused to apologize of course. But Nikita had succeeded in making the Americans eat crow.
Not that it was the first time Nikita had beaten the Americans at their own game. He remembered how the West was shocked and stunned when he launched the Sputnik 1 into space on October 4, 1957. That lady, Clare Boothe, was moved by the beeps emitted by Sputnik to call it "an intercontinental outer-space raspberry" and a mockery of "a decade of American pretensions that the American way of life was a gilt-edged guarantee" of its national superiority.
And the sending up of the young boy, Yuri Gagarin? Ah, that was the cherry on the cake. The world loved this handsome boy, even though it squirmed at the political baggage he carried with him on his shoulders.
But the telegram in his hand now was the real crown of his political career. It carried the news of successful detonation of a 50 kiloton hydrogen bomb somewhere over Novaya Zemlya Island in the Arctic Sea.
Somebody said later that windows in homes as far away as Norway and Finland were shattered. The mushroom cloud rose to a height of 60 kilometers, and that's more than seven times higher than the highest mountain peak on earth, Everest. The ball of detonation "was powerful and arrogant, like Jupiter". The detonation went down as the "single-most powerful device ever utilized throughout the history of humanity." There was heard a "remote, indistinct and heavy blow, as if the earth has been killed!"
Hehehe. The blow was delivered by Nikita, my friend; the blow was delivered by none other than Nikita Khrushchev.
Yes, the telegram was clear and unambiguous. The test at Novaya Zemlya was a success. "Those participating in the tests have fulfilled the task of our Motherland". Nikita had detonated the King of Bombs. Nikita now Ruled the World.
The world observes the anniversary of Nikita's attempt to Rule the World, this day.
Why Is It Fun To Betray The One Who Trusts & Confides In You?
I am sure psychologists would have spent years upon years in analyzing the urge in human beings to betray a person who trusts and confides in them.
Take the case of Judas Iscariot. What made him go and make a deal with the priests to expose Jesus Christ? The story goes that the betrayal was plotted for thirty pieces of silver. But Judas used to carry the money bag of the apostles - so surely, was he really lured by money?
Take the case of Sandy Stranger, a student of Miss Jean Brodie, the conservative school teacher in Muriel Spark's novel - "The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie". From the time she was ten years old, Sandy grew up under the tutelage of Miss Brodie. The teacher even anoints Sandy as a trusted confidante from the entire lot of six girls who formed the "Brodie Group". Sandy has an affair with Miss Brodie's lover, the married Teddy Lloyd. (So, Lloyd betrays his wife when she is away, too.) And then Sandy turns her mentor to the dogs, by suggesting to the orthodox principal Miss Mackay that the latter frame Miss Brodie as a fascist. Now whatever drove Sandy to walk into the principal's office and spill the beans? Rebellion?
And then we have "that woman" whose famous "navy blue dress" was not sent to the Dry cleaners after all. It is now almost a decade since the stains became public, but I still wonder: what drew Monica to Linda Tripp, a woman older to her by twenty four years? Not only Monica, but Kathleen too - in fact, of all the possible confidantes in the world, these women would find only Linda whom to confide with. Granted, women do have this "need" (^|^) to have somebody to share their secrets with, especially if the catch happens to be so powerful a man. What void in Monica's and Kathleen's persona did Linda fill? How did the chemistry match so perfectly, like moth and flame?
"I hate Linda Tripp." - were her last words in the testimony. What exactly did Linda gain? Exactly what went on in her mind when she pressed the "RECORD" button on her cassette recorder? Now, let's keep the "sense of patriotic duty" story aside for the time being. If she was hoping for a book deal or some such lucrative transaction, nothing seems to have come of it. She got her fifteen minutes of limelight, of course.
I see this stark contrast in human existence day in and day out. I am sure we all do.
A tavern with barely concealing curtains that reveal more than hide the merriment and the good time that its customers are having inside, with an occasional one kicked out by a bouncer for creating trouble, sits cheek-by-jowl with a Christian missionary school with its ornate place of worship, groups of nuns shuffling silently by, and with students in their oh-so-neat uniforms talking animatedly about whatever it is that they talk about. A group of Samaritans distributing packaged foods to the kids of a government primary school as their mid-day meal, it being an incentive for the parents to send their kids to the school in the first place, just half-a-kilometer away from two groups of religion-and-dogma driven people with sticks and knives in their hands, aimed at each others' neck. Rows and rows of cages holding prostitutes decked up in colorful dresses, making come-hither gestures to passers-by, just a corner away from a famous temple, with its throng of women devotees paying obeisance to the goddess inside, and swaying to the hymns blaring out of the loud-speakers.
We are not discussing ethics or morality or altruism here. This is the whole gamut of human condition, as it is. Whether the tavern owner or the religious leader or the cage-owner... we all have a right to live and to be the way we are. It is the paradox of human existence. We leap to help survivors of Hurricane Katrina or the latest terrorism attack, and at the same time we don't hesitate to leap from a building top in order to take our life, when things don't pan out the way we hoped they would. We allow our minds to be inspired to achieve great things... and we also allow our minds to be inspired to commit atrocity over fellow beings.
The paradox of human existence.
This paradox is very much present in our life too. Joy and ecstatic moments find somehow a counterbalance in moments of pain and suffering. Theodicists attempt to reconcile between the two opposites, and try to arrive at some golden middle.
Philosophers ask us to delve into our own self and seek healing within.
I am inclined to go along with Kybalion's Principle of Polarity, which acknowledges the duality of nature. This principle asks you to not struggle with what actually is a fact of life. Simply be aware, it says, of the two sides of any question or issue.
"Everything is Dual; everything has poles; everything has its pair of opposites; like and unlike are the same; opposites are identical in nature, but different in degree; extremes meet; all truths are but half-truths; all paradoxes may be reconciled." (The Kybalion.)
When we are struggling through the phases of doom and gloom, keeping this thought before us, makes the going bearable! :) And when we are enjoying those moments of bliss and joy, again keeping this thought before us allows us to keep our feet on terra firma, very, very firmly.
This Confrontation Goes On In Us In Our Life Everyday...
The Background This is a story of three characters. Upon introspection, I find two of them to be fighting amongst themselves for supremacy even now; and they are within us. The third character is the circumstance that provokes and sparks the fight.
Shapur II, the only person in entire history to have been crowned king in utero. While he was still curled up blissfully in his mother's womb, the magnates placed the crown on his mother's belly. While he was washed and breastfed and clothed by maids and nannies, the government was run in his name. But when he came of age, boy! Did he make a name for himself!
It was under his reign that Persia consolidated itself and expanded its reach, and shrugged off the influence of Rome's Constantine's particular brand of religion.
Then we have Nersan, a satrap from Aria in Persia. Nersan followed the religion advocated by Constantine. A happy-go-lucky fellow, he any day preferred lolling around in the silky satins of his plush palace over the harsh discipline of abstention and frugal living.
Finally, we have Bademus. The Saint from Bethlapeta, another village in Persia. The man who founded an abbey, and followed the same religion as Constantine. The man with strong self-discipline and iron willpower. An icon to look up to.
Faith Conversion - The Circumstance One of the goals that Shapur II had set before him to accomplish in his lifetime was to eliminate Constantine's religion from his empire, and instead bring in and propagate his own brand of religion. Nersan and Bademus refused to change their faith. So Nersan and Bademus were enemies in Shapur II's eyes. He ordered both of them to be imprisoned, to be given a daily dose of tortures with the hope that they would change their mind.
Our friend, Nersan, weakling that he was - caved in soon. Not for him the daily flogging and the foot-roasting and the flesh grilling. Oh, he was not used to such discomforts and inconveniences at all! So he caved in, and supplanting himself at Shapur II's feet, agreed to apostatize.
Not so, Bademus. He refused to be broken. For four long months, the henchmen of Shapur II's crack team worked on the Saint from Bethlapeta, sweated and slogged, busy applying their tools of the torture trade on him. But not a cry of repentance left Bademus' lips. A time came when the team had to give up, and they reported to the King that this was a nut that could not be cracked.
Shapur II's pride was at stake. If you can't beat them, kill them!... was his motto. So he decided to execute Bademus. And he plotted a devious plan for execution. Instead of ordering his own men to do the sordid job, he decided to give the task to Nersan, as a test to prove the latter's disdain for people who were not part of his new faith.
Nersan had been given a chamber in the royal palace instead of the usual dungeons allotted for the non-faithful. Bademus was sent to Nersan's chamber, and a sword was handed to Nersan to carry out the execution.
The Execution - Who Finally Won? So the scene was set. Nersan, the weakling, a lifetime spent in lolling in satin cushions and comfy beds, and generally enjoying the goodies of life, stood face to face with Bademus - the man with enormous spiritual strength.
Bademus, as was his wont, was undeterred when his murderer came lurching towards him. He knew of course that his end was near. He had the option of falling on his knees, and cry for clemency. He had the option to fight Nersan, with whatever physical stamina left. But he didn't raise his little finger. Arms akimbo, he stood there, waiting for the inflictions to wound his body.
Surprisingly, it was Nersan who felt the guilt and the remorse and the shame at the act he was performing. But having agreed to perform, he couldn't go back, could he. So he lurched to the left and to the right, his shaking hand tearing the sword into the flesh of the body of Bademus. Finally, the blade hit the saint's neck. It took four hits to finally shear off the head.
It is said that Nersan himself committed harakiri later.
The Confrontation In Us Bademus and Nersan are two opposite poles. Nersan is the quintessential human being - vacillating between moral high stands and tempting depths. Bademus is an icon that humans look forward to, but seldom achieve.
We all have strains of Nersan in us. We enjoy our little indulgences. And at the same time, we try to make a song-and-dance about our set of values - they are our own version of Bademus. Circumstances take on the form of Shapur II to pose a threat to our material comfort and convenience. So it is comfort versus values. And we - like Nersan - are too willing to chuck our values out the window. To hell with them values! And then we whack ourselves with guilt and remorse and shame. And try to justify our existence by killing the ghost of our values that, Bademus-like, stands before us.
Almost all the time, it is the Nersan in us who ends up killing the Bademus in us.
And after wishing our Bademus away from our eyes, we realize that our existence no longer has any meaning. And we commit spiritual hara-kiri. So though we continue to live, it is an empty life.
Is Bademus, perfection that is impossible to achieve?
"There was such merriment when you were born, my love, in that White Lodge in Richmond in Surrey. Your parents and grandparents were such a happy lot! Everybody knew you were destined to greatness.
"It was so difficult to rein in your enthusiasm for military affairs... You won the Military Cross, and swiftly rose through the ranks - no doubt, both your valor and your family background were the motivators.
"My. You had become so popular then. With your handsome face and chiseled features, who wouldn't fall for you! You launched new fashion lines, and soon became an icon - to be envied and copied.
"Why were you so infatuated with married women, Dave? Like a moth attracted to the flames of a burning wick ... knowing fully well that such dalliances are doomed most of the time... Did you find the spinsters or the virgins less attractive? Lemme see ... there was this voluptuous, Freda girl,
Then there was this vivacious Mildred Harris ... the girl who married Charlie Chaplin in her teenage years - I think he and you fall in the same category? Of Philanderers... that is...
Of course, pretty Thelma was shocked to know that your infatuation with her lasted for such a short time...
And then you met me. You knew, of course, that I was married.
Unbeknown to you, I was also involved in my, ah, flings with other men. Yes, there have been so many men in my life. Just like the other women who had you in their bed. I was forever searching for that eternal satisfaction... you see...
Yet, you were attracted to me, as a moth is attracted to...
My husband knew about us, of course. He was actually proud of the fact that his wife was the mistress of such a big man!
That fateful day, you even agreed to abdicate and renounce the throne. I knew then, how much you loved me.
