Vijaya Dashami: A Tale of Two Brothers
Sahana Narayan
“Dev! Get in the car!” Mom shrieked.
Twelve-year-old Dev Sharma scowled, pulling his sweater over his kurta pajamas. The ninth night of Navaratri was upon them, and they were going to the local temple to celebrate Sarasvati Pooja with the other Indian families in town. As far as he was concerned, Navaratri was a girl’s thing, and he had absolutely no interest in going. He grabbed his violin case, heading down the steps.
His fourteen-year-old brother, Raj, stood with Mom, holding his own violin case proudly in his hand. His hair was well-combed, and his poonal peeked slightly out from his collar. The poonal was a string, granted to young Tamil Brahmin boys just before their teenage years. They’d gone to Chennai this past summer for the stupid poonal ceremony, where the string was placed on their chests and they were proudly declared as new members of the community or whatever. Dev had made quite a fuss to take off his shirt and wear the string, standing in the insufferable Indian heat and tuning out boring shlokas sung by old swamis. Needless to say, Raj had loved it. He always enjoys being the center-of-attention, doesn’t he?
He got into the backseat with his brother, each holding his violin case on his lap. Mom got into the driver’s seat with a tray of food on her lap, reversing like a maniac. They narrowly avoided the neighbor’s trash can, jerkily stopping just before they could hit the curb. Then they zoomed off, straight towards the main road.
“Dev, you keep delaying us,” Mom chided. “Why can’t you be more like Raj? Raj is always on-time. Raj doesn’t put a fuss about celebrating our customs!”
Dev stopped himself from making a snarky comment back. Kaikeyi Sharma always favored her older son over Dev. Raj was always on-time, Raj was neat, Raj was a good student – in fact, he would probably be the valedictorian of his eighth-grade class come June. But worst of all, he was one of the best young violinists in the state. Whereas Dev was your average youth orchestra violinist, Raj had been the concertmaster of the New Jersey All-State Middle School Orchestra in May. He’d even been photographed with their representative from the New Jersey Legislature. Perfect Raj was way better than Dev, in all ways possible.
“This is gonna be fun,” Raj grinned, clapping Dev on the back. “Excited, little bro?”
“Don’t call me that,” Dev grumbled.
They pulled up at the temple, taking their shoes on at the front. Mostly women were there, flocking around in colorful sarees – but there were men and kids as well. Bored, Dev followed Raj and their mom into the temple, where hot food was being served by volunteers. There was choondal (dry black chickpeas), vada (fried lentil bagel), thiyrsadham (yogurt and rice), pongal (rice with moong dhal, coconut, raisins, cashews, and ghee), payasam (sweetened milk with fried vermicelli), and Mom’s coconut burfi (squares of sugared coconut). Dev didn’t like Indian food, not when he could have pasta and pizza, but of course Raj loved it. Dev took as little food as possible. While Raj and Mom went to say hi to the gossipy aunties and uncles, Dev stood with the other kids.
Ahead of him was a Golu – a stepped sort of altar with idols placed carefully atop. The Tamil tradition of Golu involved taking a set of steps, and placing on it dolls of the gods. These dolls were some of the hugest Dev had ever seen – clearly, the community had pitched in quite a bit. On the top step were the most important gods – including Maa Sarasvati herself, holding a veenai (stringed musical instrument) and sitting atop a lotus carried by a swan. The less important gods were placed lower and lower. At the base of the Golu was a set of toy cars and Lego men, placed by the other kids, who were walking around the Golu in admiration.
“Gather around, kids!” someone called. A swamini, wearing a plain white saree, motioned for Dev and the other kids to sit on the mat in front of her. “Want to hear a story?”
“Yes!” the kids shouted.
Dev rolled his eyes. The swamini told the same story every year, which was about as redundant as a math worksheet. Still, it was better than talking to the aunties and uncles about what grade he was in (one up from last year), if he liked school (he did not), how his violin was coming along (horrible), and to hear them fawning over his stupid kurta. None of the other boys and men even showed up in Indian dress; Mom, however, insisted her boys be held to the same standard as the girls.
“Navaratri means ‘nine nights’,” the swamini explained. “It is celebrated all over India, and is one of our proudest festivals. Today we are celebrating Sarasvati Pooja, the most special of them all. In Tamil Nadu, there are three main poojas – Durga Pooja on the third night, Lakshmi Pooja on the sixth night, and Sarasvati Pooja on the ninth night.
“It all started when the great demon Mahishasura received a boon from Lord Brahma. Mahishasura asked for complete invincibility, but Lord Brahma said there must be a limit, for everyone’s time in this world comes to an end eventually – even that of the gods. So Mahishasura wished neither man nor god would be able to kill him. Can you guess what happened next?”
“A cow stomped on his head!” a little boy shouted.
The swamini laughed. “No, that’s not it. When Mahishasura asked for neither man nor god to kill him, he left out woman! The celebration is of the nine nights of battle between Mahishasura and the Supreme Goddess, and Her eventual triumph. Today is the last night of the battle. Tomorrow, Vijaya Dashami, can be translated to mean ‘Victory on the Tenth Day’. Today, we celebrate Sarasvati, the Goddess of Music and Education.” She smiled. “I see plenty of you have come prepared to perform.”
It was the custom for people of the community to celebrate Navaratri with music and dancing. Most of the others were singing, though several girls had come dressed to perform Bharatnatyam – the traditional South Indian classical dance. There were other violinists too, but they played South Indian classical violin – Carnatic violin. In fact, Dev and his brother were the only ones there to perform Western classical violin. His head whirled as he thought of Raj’s upcoming performance that night.
While Dev was still stuck playing intermediate violin pieces, Raj was playing the Paganini Caprices. It was extremely advanced repertoire – after all, it was written by a guy who’d been able to play three octaves over all four strings, with just one handspan. How could Dev ever compete with that? He was instead playing a typical violin solo, with a family friend accompanying him on piano.
“Little Dev!” someone shouted. Dev gasped as someone grabbed him in a tight hug, and he whirled around. An aunty stood over him, her heavy makeup making her look like a vulture; she smacked two lipstick kisses on Dev’s cheeks.
“You’ve grown so much!” she beamed. “What grade are you in? How’s school? How’s your violin? That kurta looks amazing!”
“I’m fine,” Dev muttered, looking desperately around. There was just no way to avoid social interaction, it seemed. The aunty’s smile widened as she looked at him.
“I just spoke with your brother,” she said. “He says he’s doing excellently. Top of the class as always, right? Oh, and I can’t wait to hear him play violin! He’ll sound so good tonight!”
Dev wished he had his Air Pods right now. He would’ve shoved them into his ears and listened to music all night! But no, Mom had made him leave his phone at home. Not noticing his expression, the aunty continued talking.
“You must be very proud of your brother,” she declared. “He made that All-State thing last May – your mom was just telling me about it! College applications will be a breeze for” –
“Dev!” someone shouted. “There you are!”
Dev looked to see Raj run towards him. “Hi, Aunty,” he said.
“We were just talking about you,” the aunty smiled. “You are so talented! Dev is lucky to have a big brother like you!”
“Yeah.” To Dev’s surprise, Raj looked slightly embarrassed. “Thanks, Aunty.”
“Well, I’ll go speak to your mom now.” The aunty turned away. “I must sample the coconut burfi!” She headed off, straight towards the table.
“Good thing I caught you,” Raj panted. “It’s so boooooring, talking to the aunties and uncles! They ask the same questions every single time!”
“So?” Dev suddenly exploded. “You like the attention, don’t you? Everyone talking about how great you are and how well you play. It must suck to be so great at everything all the time!”
Raj took a step back. “What’re you talking about?”
“Everyone keeps talking about how you play so well!” Dev ranted. “No one looks at me. You’re so perfect all the time!”
“Do you think it’s easy for me?” Raj protested. “There’s so much pressure! Mom expects me to do well in everything. I can’t even do anything else!”
“At least Mom loves you!” Dev stormed out past the Golu, through the back door.
The night was cold as he reached the backside of the temple. A small garden was there, and stone benches all around; he sat on one, wincing at the cold. All he had with him was his violin case. For the first time since his practice that morning, he opened the case, picking his violin out.
It was a very old violin, passed from father to son in his family. His father had given it to him once he’d grown into a full-size violin – and was basically the only thing he had left of his father’s. It had originally been some old British dude’s violin, but an ancestor who’d worked as a sepoy had been gifted the violin. The sepoy had tuned the violin for Carnatic music, and then had begun the tradition of violin in his family. And now that Dev owned it, it was in Western tuning once more. He had a more professional violin at home, like the one Raj played, but he preferred this much more.
Then, tears flowed down his eyes. He’d put so much effort into his own music – he would be playing the J.B. Accolay concerto that night. It was such an intense piece, with ups and downs, and finally the big triumph at the end. However hard he’d practiced, however much he liked practicing – it was never enough. At the end of the day, everyone would be talking about Raj and no one would be talking about him.
“Dev!” The boy turned around to see Mom rushing out the door, nearly tripping over her saree. “Why’d you come out in the cold, Kanna? Raj told me you were upset!”
“Because you always talk about how good Raj is!” Dev cried. “He’s the best violinist ever! Meanwhile, you yell at me all the time!” He glared at the ground, tears falling straight onto the pavement.
For a second, Dev thought his mother was going to yell back at him. But she stayed silent. To Dev’s even bigger surprise, she sat next to him on the bench and placed her arm around his shoulder.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I do treat you differently from Raj. Sometimes, Raj is just easier to handle. Maybe it’s because he’s older… but whatever the case, he’s generally more sociable than you are. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less. Do you remember your poonal ceremony this summer, Kanna?”
“How could I forget?” Dev muttered.
“I never wanted to do a poonal for either of you boys,” Mom said, and Dev stared up at her in surprise. “Partially because there’s no equivalent for girls – and also, because I know it was another thing to stress about. You’ve just started middle-school, and Raj is now looking at exams to get into the magnet high-school. But your father insisted. We agreed if I took you boys for the poonal ceremony, he would come to visit more often, instead of just working in Chennai.
“But then he started talking about how he wouldn’t be able to come to visit the U.S., because of his work, and I just couldn’t deal with it. I told him he had to have a relationship with you kids, which he didn’t want. That’s why he cut us out of his life. It’s been a lot of pressure for all of us.”
“Raj doesn’t seem to be bothered,” Dev protested.
“Raj handles these things differently than you,” Mom answered. “When he’s stressed, he talks about how he feels. When you’re stressed, you keep it inside. You’re both so talented and hardworking – sometimes, I forget how young you are. Raj told me the other day I was putting pressure on him. I’ll try to stop pushing you both too much, and I’ll try to stop comparing, too.”
Silence. For the first time, Dev felt some sympathy for his brother, seeing how his position was difficult as well. Raj probably missed their dad a lot, too. And the pressure of being the best all the time – he understood how that was difficult.
“But I don’t want you to give up your violin because of this, Dev,” Mom continued. “You love it so much. I’ve seen how your eyes light up whenever you practice, especially that new concerto you really love. Raj may have lots of natural talent, but you work hard, Kanna. You both work hard, of course – but you show us how to not give up, even when things are hard. So go out there and play. No matter how you do, we will enjoy it.”
“Okay,” Dev sniffed, gazing down at his violin. How many hours he spent, figuring out phrases like a puzzle, working on proper technique, so it all flowed in a rapidless river. Mom was right – he couldn’t let it all go to waste.
“Now, let’s go in,” Mom said. “They’re about to start.”
They went into the temple again. Dev went to join Raj and the other performers, who were standing together in front of the stage – a small, elevated platform with a Radha-Krishna idol at its back. Raj was quietly tuning his violin, but he put it down when he saw Dev approach. “Sorry,” he said awkwardly.
“Thanks,” Dev muttered, equally unsure what to say. He still couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy – he knew it wouldn’t go away that easily. But somehow, looking at his older brother’s face, he almost felt like he understood him, and that Raj understood him. “It’s all good.”
“Get ready for a fun night of bhajans, music, and dancing – in the name of Maa Sarasvati!” the swamini called. Everyone sat cross-legged on the floor, silently watching the swamini as she prepared to start. The swamini then started to sing in Sanskrit – she would sing one line, then the rest of them would repeat it together. This went on for a good fifteen minutes.
And unlike before, Dev found himself enjoying it. When the bhajans were finished, then started the performances. They were performing in-order of age – first the young kids, then the older kids, then the adults. He took an interest in the cheerfully chromatic music, the Bharatnatyam dancers making colorful motions across the stage, the gamakas performed by the violinists. Carnatic violin was very different from Western violin; musicians relied more on their ears, and didn’t really have much of a concept of sheet music. Since they also balanced their violins on the floor, instead of holding them up on their shoulders, they had much more freedom with their hand movements. There was no doubt about it: South Indian classical music was expressive.
But our violin is expressive, too, Dev thought, but just in a different way. Even though their musical education had been very rigid and formal, there was still a certain excitement that came with learning a new piece. Listening to it on repeat, getting the music in his ears, playing with the beat, the excitement of creating that wonderful sound.
Finally, it was his turn to perform. All eyes were on him as he walked up the platform, standing directly in-front of Radha-Krishna. His heart was nervous, but his bow was ready. The second the piano started, he knew instantly he was at home.
And as his bow moved across the strings, a feeling of joy erupted inside of him–the real reason he practiced so hard. It wasn’t about being as good as his brother, or better than his brother, or even to get Mom’s approval. It was for him–and no one else. The magic of Maa Sarasvati flowed within him – a river which would never end. The excitement expressed in Accolay’s music, the vivacity, the triumph – it was like Vijaya Dashami within his heart. And, as he lifted his bow off the strings with a flourish, he was certain he would never forget this moment of pride.
Sahana Narayan is a junior at Rutgers University, with a history major and Persian language minor. She has been writing since the age of eight, and would spend all day doing it if it weren’t for school. She also enjoys researching history and mythology, playing the violin, and singing. When Sahana graduates, she wants to work in the State Department, providing humanitarian aid and relief in Persian-speaking countries–and of course, to continue writing as a hobby. To see more of her work, please visit: https://www.wattpad.com/user/the-faerie-queen