BIRTH: THE AGE OF MYTH

Birth of a Hero

Carrying that theme "the more things seem different, the more they are the same" I bring you three different myths of heroes from three different ancient civilizations from three vastly different ages but with bafflingly similar birth stories. These three stories propagate the thesis that all things come from THE ONE, in my humble understanding of such things. Even though each legend is unique, fitting comfortably into its own sphere of culture and mythical grouping, certain details are strong and remain constant in all three civilizations. I wonder what was so important about these unanimous details that would not let the three cultures separated by time, geography and philosophy tamper with them, even while  utterly changing the trappings surrounding the details.

The Common Theme: The newborn hero is the young sun rising from the waters, first confronted by lowering clouds, but finally triumphing over all obstacles.

SARGON

Probably the oldest transmitted hero myth in our possession is derived from the period of the foundation of Babylonia (about 2800 B.C.) and concerns the birth history of its founder, Sargon the First.

Sargon, the mighty king, King of Agade, am I. My mother was a vestal, my father I knew not, while my father's brother dwelt in the mountains. In my city Azuripani, which is situated on the bank of the Euphrates, my mother, the vestal, bore me. In a hidden place she brought me forth. She laid me in a vessel made of reeds, closed my door with pitch, and dropped me down into the river, which did not drown me. The river carried me to Akki, the water carrier. Akki the water carrier lifted me up in the kindness of his heart, Akki the water carrier raised me as his own son, Akki the water carrier made of me his gardener. In my work as a gardener I was beloved by Ishtar, I became the king, and for forty-five years I held kingly sway.

MOSES

The biblical birth history of Moses, which is told in the second chapter of Exodus, presents the greatest similarity to the Sargon legend, even an almost literal correspondence of individual traits. Already the first chapter (22) relates that Pharaoh commanded his people to throw into the river all sons that were born to Hebrews, while the daughters were permitted to live; the reason for this order is given as fear of the over-fertility of the Israelites. 

The second chapter:

And there went a man of the house of Levi, and took to wife a daughter of Levi. And the woman conceived, and bare a son: and when she saw him that he was a goodly child, she hid him three months. And when she could not longer hide him, she took for him an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch, and put the child therein; and she laid it in the flags by the river's brink. And his sister stood afar off, to wit what would be done to him. And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to wash herself at the river; and her maidens walked along by the river's side; and when she saw the ark among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it. And when she had opened it, she saw the child and, behold, the babe wept. And she had compassion on him and said, this is one of the Hebrews' children. Then said his sister to Pharaoh's daughter, Shall I go and call to thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for thee? And Pharaoh's daughter said to her, Go. And the maid went and called the child's mother. And Pharaoh's daughter said unto her, Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages. And the woman took the child, and nursed it. And the child grew, and she brought him unto Pharaoh's daughter, and he became her son. And she called his name Moses: and she said, Because I drew him out of the water.

KARNA

A close relationship with the Sargon legend is also shown in certain features of the ancient Hindu epic Mahabharata, in its account of the birth of the legendary hero Karna.

The princess Pritha, also known as Kunti, bore as a virgin the boy Karna, whose father was the sun-god Surya. The young Karna was born with golden ear ornaments of his father and with an unbreakable coat of mail. The mother in her distress concealed and abandoned the boy. 

"Then my nurse and I made a large basket of rushes, placed a lid thereon, and lined it with wax; into this basket I laid the boy and carried him down to the river."

Floating on the waves, the basket reaches the river Ganges and travels as far as the city of Campa. 

"There was passing along the bank of the river, the charioteer, the noble friend of Dhritarashtra, and with him was Radha, his beautiful and pious spouse. She was wrapt in deep sorrow, because no son had been given to her. On the river she saw the basket, which the waves carried close to her on the shore; she showed it to Adhirath, who went and drew it forth from the waves." 

The two take care of the boy and raise him as their own child.

What interests me is that Karna and Sargon were born as princes/demigods and raised as commoners then had to fight their way up to king-hood again, whereas Moses experiences the opposite phenomenon. Would that be a cultural more? And if so, for what? 

(source material and some paraphrasing from Sacred Texts.)

WRITING: THERE IS BUT ONE PLOT.

What's the fictional plot?

For a newbie writer (which I'm hoping I no longer am) that question daunted the hell out of me. I wanted to sound tres cool and say, "Well, the plot of my story is something like what Captain Kirk pulls off in Star Trek or Achilles in the Iliad or Frodo in LOTR etc." 

And so I did for a while. I would expound and explain and even dramatically demonstrate my plot (though I did draw the line at illustrating it). Anyway, I would literally give a verbal thesis on my "very special" plot, telling the hapless listener everything from HOW my "very special" hero got embroiled in his "very special" mess and WHY the "very special" hero got embroiled in the "very special" mess and WHAT he did to resolve said mess. That was, after all, the answer to "What's the fictional plot?" right?

It took me a while to realize that every story I wrote and verbalized basically had the same plot: the protagonist's journey through life. 

Any story ever written, be it fictional or not, has this common element. There's a Hero. He has a problem. And we get to know him as he tries to solve that problem. Whether he solves it or not doesn't matter so much as what he learns from solving it, how he grows as a character. (The plot arc.)

So, in my journey as an author, what I've learned, people, is that "What's the fictional plot?" is really a simple question or rather several simple questions in guise of one big, scary one:

WHO is my hero/heroine?

WHAT happens to him/her?

WHY does it happen to him/her?

HOW does he/she resolve it.

And that's really the beginning, middle and end of any story.

HERO: My Wordfreak.

How Aryan Rajaram Chawla came into existence:

Smoosh and blend this fellow...

With this one... 

And this one...

...and you will kind of, maybe, sorta get the yummy silhoutte of My Wordfreak. Strictly speaking, I have no clear image of him inside my head, even now. He changed and morphed physically with every scene of the novel till the very awesome end. What remained constant throughout that process was my fascination with character building. 
Who is he? What does he stand for? What makes him tick? Who will he be attracted to? Why would he run from love? The questions drove me on and I had to find their answers.
What he looked like on the outside was immaterial at that point and to the development of my story. That's not saying that I would ever imagine a physically non-appealing (appealing to me, only to me) hero or heroine. I chose to write a more or less good-looking book with a cast that was more or less good-looking with a more or less good-looking ending. Why? Because I chose to write a romance novel and romance is a thing of beauty (to me.) Read my Goodreads Blog about Beauty and the Romance Novel, HERE.

Anyway, getting back to the whole ridiculously good-looking guy that I kind of, maybe, sorta pictured...
Wordfreak was conceived on a happy February day on top of a  cyber Scrabble board between a lot of neatly arranged Scrabble tiles. I already had Worddiva sitting on a throne in my head (she came first, women always should) and had penned her down and pegged her pretty much in the first couple of pages of my creative writing assignment. As Worddiva's love interest, I wanted a superstar. Why? Why not? Anyway, I thought SRK? (Love him!) Nope, too old, I concluded after a great internal debate. So, hero should be someone who is not too old. Hm. How about if I go young? And here, I got inspired by JAMMF (Love him too!) Hence, my hero became a really tall, heart-poundingly good-looking superstar without red hair. Was sad about the no red hair bit but if my book's hero was to be of Indian descent then a crop of dark hair would be more believable. The hero, like JAMMF, would be younger than the heroine. 
Now, moving on to names...
My online gaming addiction paved the way for their handles: Worddiva was a no brainer (its a handle I have used in various spellings on various gaming sites.) Wordfreak was inspired by a book called Word Freak by Stefan Fatsis that explores the world of competitive Scrabble (interesting read, that.) The book was lent to me by a good friend, a fellow Scrabble player, my beta reader and general sounding board for a multitude of silly things, not the least of which is the Mahabharata. (That reminds me, I have to return the book to her one of these days. Ooops!)
Anyhoo, that's how I got "Wordfreak."
Then came the challenges. What about his real name? For that matter, Worddiva's real name? To answer those questions, I had to first decide where the two originated from. India or abroad? Indians or Anglos? North India or South? I liked the idea of "opposites attract" and went with that. So, Wordfreak's character sketch expanded. He was now a North Indian superstar, tall, good-looking, well-read (can't abide brainless characters on or off the pages of my novel) Scrabble lover, online gamer who would also...save the planet with his green home building! (Traces of my homeboy there. Not the home building but the "save the planet "hobby.) My imagination was in warp drive by then. Let's make him filthy rich too, I decided greedily. Why? No answer except that I was making this stuff up as I wrote without a plan or plot or even a goal to FINISH writing the novel. Having it PUBLISHED hadn't even entered the orbit of my elliptical thoughts at the time. I went with my instincts (and my fav superstar.) I got "Aryan" off SRK's son (sp might be diff.) The Rajaram and Chawla were plucked from the WWW. Same with Alisha Menon. As Wordfreak's polar opposite, she'd be a South Indian beauty, self-sufficient, brainy, opinionated, a borderline feminist and poor. Well, not poor but not rich. She'd be a divorce lawyer and would come from a broken family. That would take care of conflict. He would also come from a broken family. Yay! More delicious conflict. 
So now I had my heroine and hero, knew what they looked like, who they were and where they ought to go with their personal hurdles in place. I'd already written about their meet-cute (which happened off-page, riling up quite a number of readers who think I've cheated them out of it. Oops, again) and their happy ending.
Damn, the novel was no longer a kinda, maybe, sorta thing anymore. I had Wordfreak in my head and his story was unfolding better than fine. 
It's Your Move, Wordfreak! unfolded better than fine.

HERO: On Veteran's Day

Thank you, Jo-Anne Healy Trepanier, for sharing this POEM WORTH READING...

He was getting old and paunchy

And his hair was falling fast,

And he sat around the Legion,

Telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he once fought in

And the deeds that he had done,

In his exploits with his buddies;

They were heroes, every one.

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbours

His tales became a joke,

All his buddies listened quietly

For they knew whereof he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer,

For old Bob has passed away,

And the world's a little poorer

For a Soldier died today.

He won’t be mourned by many,

Just his children and his wife.

For he lived an ordinary,

Very quiet sort of life.

He held a job and raised a family,

Going quietly on his way;

And the world won't note his passing,

'Tho a Soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth,

Their bodies lie in state,

While thousands note their passing,

And proclaim that they were great.

Papers tell of their life stories

From the time that they were young

But the passing of a Soldier

Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution

To the welfare of our land,

Someone who breaks his promise

And cons his fellow man?

Or the ordinary fellow

Who in times of war and strife,

Goes off to serve his country

And offers up his life?

The politician's stipend

And the style in which he lives,

Are often disproportionate,

To the service that he gives.

While the ordinary Soldier,

Who offered up his all,

Is paid off with a medal

And perhaps a pension, small.

It is not the politicians

With their compromise and ploys,

Who won for us the freedom

That our country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger,

With your enemies at hand,

Would you really want some cop-out,

With his ever waffling stand?

Or would you want a Soldier--

His home, his country, his kin,

Just a common Soldier,

Who would fight until the end?

He was just a common Soldier,

And his ranks are growing thin,

But his presence should remind us

We may need his like again.

For when countries are in conflict,

We find the Soldier's part

Is to clean up all the troubles

That the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honour

While he's here to hear the praise,

Then at least let's give him homage

At the ending of his days.

Perhaps just a simple headline

In the paper that might say:

"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING."

HERO: The Electric Man

Oh! Heart thou art fickle! 

Not 20 minutes ago I was ready to kick, bite, stab, emasculate, set fire to Con Ed as a whole. No discrimination! The entire shebang of its employees needed to be roasted alive and stuffed in mass grave, ASAP. And now, 20 minutes later, after a whole cavalcade of trucks (fancy yellow ones with orange hazard lights rotating wildly on top of their roofs) arrived on my street, all I seem to be doing is watching them from my window like a love-struck Juliet. Oh, I did go out and offer them hot beverages which they very politely refused. So darn sweet of them. (No, don't gag. Not if you don't know what 11 days without proper power feels like.)

My heroes, my loves have promised me power by tonight! God and Con Ed have worked out their differences. They are Letting There Be Light. Right on time, on the eve of Diwali: The Festival of Lights and that's a whole other post.

Stay warm. Stay safe. Stay festive.

HERO: Mendez, the real deal.

November is Hero month, I suppose.

Yesterday, I saw Argo, a thriller starred and directed by Ben Affleck. Good movie, a bit slow in the beginning but when the end credits ran no one wanted to budge from their seats until the screen went blank. 
So it seems that Real Heroes are as impressive as fictional ones, even if they don't look as dashing. 
Antonio "Tony" Mendez is a retired ex-filtration officer of the CIA and Argo is his story. He went into Khomeini's Tehran during the Iranian Hostage Crisis and successfully pulled out six diplomats who were hiding inside the Canadian Embassy (Ambassador's home) in a fantastic, as in only believable in movies, covert op.
That took courage of the sheer balls variety and dedication to duty few people possess. But, I suppose that's what makes Tony a hero.

                                   Ben Affleck as Mendez.
More heroes and movies to come...

HERO: Let me start with Jamie Fraser.

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

The name spreads goosebumps all over my soul and beyond every time I utter it, read it, write it...and use it for any number of precipitous events. (Don't ask!) Who is he, you ask? Gasp! You do not know yet of JAMMF? (Yes, he also exists as an acronym.) 
Jamie is the hero (god) of this marvelous fiction series, The Outlander novels by author, Diana Gabaldon, who henceforth shall be known as Herself.

James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser (gooseflesh breaks out) aka Mac Dubh (Son of the Black One) aka Red Jamie: 

Born May 1st, 1721. Well over 6' 4" and sturdy of build, a Scottish Highlander who boasts a flaming red-gold mane that flows in waves to his mid-back. His startling dark blue eyes slant cat-like and he bears the flat cheekbones of a Viking (ahem god!). But even more impressive than being a god amongst men is his soul-melting ability to love. He loves people to such a degree that he would die for them. He proves that over and over in every wrenching scene of the seven 800-page novels (eighth being written as I write).

With Jamie, Herself has written a character that every man should aspire to be: strong, loyal, ruthless, gentle, cunning, sweet, practical and romantic. Yes, he is fictional. He is unreal but so what? Inspiration to emulate greatness can come from anywhere, even from fiction. 

To those who haven't yet read (or even heard of) The Outlander series...drop every single thing you are doing, run out and buy the books or download posthaste on your e-readers. Do not baulk at their size. Take a deep breath and take the plunge into a world where princes whine and the hero turns green from seasickness. You will enjoy the ride it takes you on. If you need more convincing of the visual variety then this is Sam Heughan, recently cast as JAMIE FRASER for the OUTLANDER mini series coming in 2014 on STARZ!

Now if that can't convince you to run out and inhale the books in time for the series release, I don't know what can.

This, readers, is my very first post on my very own blog. But I'm no Blog Virgin. I lost that status on my Goodreads blog a while ago. Still, I am feeling my way through this wild new labyrinth so please be patient. 

More Heroes coming soon...

OMG! This is addictive...