Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Shunya: A Novel Paperback - Amazon Offers

Shunya: A Novel Paperback - Amazon Offers

He appears out of nowhere in a sleepy little neighbourhood in suburban Kerala. He calls himself Shunya, the zero. Who is he? A lunatic? A dark magician? A fraud? Or an avadhuta, an enlightened soul? 
Saami—as they call him—settles into a small cottage in the backyard of the local toddy shop. Here he spins parables, blesses, curses, drinks endless glasses of black tea and lives in total freedom. On rare occasions, he plays soul-stirring melodies on his old, bamboo-reed flute.
Then, just as mysteriously as he arrived, Shunya vanishes, setting the path for a new avadhuta, a new era.
This first novel by Sri M is a meditation on the void which collapses the wall between reality and make-believe, the limited and the infinite. With its spare storytelling and profound wisdom, it leads us into the realm of ‘shunya’, the nothingness of profound and lasting peace, the beginning and end of all things. 

About the Author

Born Mumtaz Ali in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, Sri M is a spiritual guide, social reformer and educationist. He heads The Satsang Foundation.  
In 2011, he wrote his memoir, Apprenticed to a Himalayan Master: A Yogi’s Autobiography, which became an instant bestseller; the sequel, The Journey Continues, was published in 2017. He is the author of several other books on philosophy, yoga and Indian mysticism. Over the years, his mission has resulted in several initiatives including a number of alternative schools, the Satsang Swasthya Kendra, which provides affordable health care to people through holistic and comprehensive treatments, and the Manav Ekta Mission and Sarva Dharma Kendra, which promote inter-faith harmony.
This is his first novel.


Shunya: A Novel  Excerpt

For well over sixteen years, Sadasivan had to pass the old, abandoned cremation ground at midnight on his way back home from his toddy shop.
He prided himself on the fact that he didn’t believe in ghosts and ghouls and other superstitions and yet, every time he passed the gate of the crematorium, an unknown fear gripped him and his hair stood on end.
That night, too, as he whizzed past the gate on his Royal Enfield motorbike-an upgrade from his old bicycle which he had felt took ages to clear the distance-Sadasivan followed the simple rule he had devised to make things easier: ‘Don’t look in the direction of the crematorium.Go as fast as you can.’
He had almost passed its gate when he distinctly heard a voice calling him out by name. Try as he might, he couldn’t resist the temptation to turn and look. A shiver went up his spine.
A figure clad in white leapt out of the gate and, in the bright light of the solitary street lamp, Sadasivan could see him coming in his direction.
He lost control of his motorbike which hit a protruding flagstone, skid sideways, and sent him flying across the road.
As he picked himself up, he was scared stiff to see the white-robed figure right by his side.
‘Umph! Not bad. No major damage, Sadasiva. Get up and go home. Don’t be frightened. I am not a ghost, ha ha!’
Sadasivan got up, dusted his clothes and picked up the motorbike which had fallen a few metres away. The bike seemed fine except for a dent or two and one broken rear-view mirror. Then he noticed that the skin on both his elbows and his left knee had peeled off. No other damage.
The stranger followed him to the bike.
‘Who the hell are you,’ shouted Sadasivan, angrily, ‘popping up from the cremation ground at midnight like a ghost? Haven’t seen you in these parts and how do you know my name?’
‘Sadasiva, I’ll see you tomorrow at your toddy shop, okay? We’ll talk then. Now go home and take care of yourself. There are no ghosts—go home.’
Sadasivan started his bike and rode home wondering who this crazy man was. He had seen him at close quarters: a single piece of unwashed white mundu was wrapped around his waist with an equally unwashed, loose cotton shirt; he was barefooted and fair-complexioned, with a pointed Ho Chi Minh beard. Who was he? Didn’t Sadasivan notice a bamboo flute in his hand? Where did he spring from? He was certainly not a local and yet he spoke Malayalam. By the time he reached his house his anger had vanished and, for some strange reason, he was looking forward to seeing the stranger the next day.
In ten minutes he was home. His wife was shocked to see him injured. ‘Fell off the bike,’ he said and while she washed and dressed the wounds and served him dinner, he told her the story of the night’s adventure. ‘Very odd man, Bhavani,’ he told her. ‘Said he’ll see me at the toddy shop tomorrow. And for some mysterious reason, I am looking forward to seeing him.’
‘Be careful,’ said Bhavani after she’d had her dinner and they’d retired to the bedroom. ‘Maybe he’s a madman.’
‘How can a madman know my name?’ asked Sadasivan as he was falling asleep. He had taken a paracetamol and as the pain of his bruises slowly ebbed, sleep the ultimate reliever took over.

Product details

  • Paperback: 232 pages
  • Publisher: Westland (29 May 2018)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 8193655605
  • ISBN-13: 978-8193655603
  • Product Dimensions: 14 x 1.5 x 21.6 cm

[Link]: Buy, Order Shunya: A Novel Paperback from Amazon India