Salman Rushdie Midnight's children Salman Rushdie Midnight's ...

1947 but in another version, that inescapable date is no more than one fl
eeting instant in the Age of Darkness, Kali Yuga, in which the cow of mora
lity has been reduced to standing, teeter ingly, on a single leg! Kali Yug
a the losing throw in our national dice game; the worst of everything; the
age when property gives a man rank, when wealth is equated with virtue, w
hen passion becomes the sole bond between men and women, when falsehood br
ings success (is it any wonder, in such a time, that I too have been confu
sed about good and evil?)… began on Friday, February 18th, 3102 b.c.; and
will last a mere 432,000 years! Already feeling somewhat dwarfed, I should
add nevertheless that the Age of Darkness is only the fourth phase of the
present Maha Yuga cycle which is, in total, ten times as long; and when y
ou consider that it takes a thousand Maha Yugas to make just one Day of Br
ahma, you'll see what I mean about proportion.
A little humility at this point (when I'm trembling on the brink of introducin
g the Children) does not, I feel, come amiss.
Padma shifts her weight, embarrassed. 'What are you talking?' she asks, redden
ing a little. 'That is brahmin's talk; what's it to do with me?'
… Born and raised in the Muslim tradition, I find myself overwhelmed al
l of a sudden by an older learning; while here beside me is my Padma, w
hose return I had so earnestly desired… my Padma! The Lotus Goddess; th
e One Who Possesses Dung; who is Honey Like, and Made of Gold; whose so
ns are Moisture and Mud…
'You must be fevered still,' she expostulates, giggling. 'How made of gold
, mister? And you know I have no chil…'
… Padma, who along with the yaksa genii, who represent the sacred treasur
e of the earth, and the sacred rivers, Ganga Yamuna Sarasvati, and the tr
ee goddesses, is one of the Guardians of Life, beguiling and comforting m
ortal men while they pass through the dream web of Maya .. Padma, the Lot
us calyx, which grew out of Vishnu's navel, and from which Brahma himself
was born; Padma the Source, the mother of Time!…
'Hey,' she is sounding worried now, 'let me feel your forehead!'
… And where, in this scheme of things, am I? Am I (beguiled and comforted
by her return) merely mortal or something more? Such as yes, why not mam
moth trunked, Ganesh nosed as I am perhaps, the Elephant. Who, like Sin t
he moon, controls the waters, bringing the gift of rain… whose mother was
Ira, queen consort of Kashyap, the Old Tortoise Man, lord and progenitor
of all creatures on the earth… the Elephant who is also the rainbow, and
lightning, and whose symbolic value, it must be added, is highly problem
atic and unclear.
Well, then: elusive as rainbows, unpredictable as lightning, garrulous as Ga
nesh, it seems I have my own place in the ancient wisdom, after all.
'My God.' Padma is rushing for a towel to wet in cold water, 'your forehead i