Balanandaswami, under a spell

Jags and Kracks wanted to have an evening brainstorming session.



“First off,” said Kracks, smacking his paws together with enthusiasm. “We need to upgrade our names. Jagaswami … Balanandaswami … Krackaswami … these could be any poor sadhus sitting in the street with empty begging bowls and dirty ochre robes … a raggletaggle crew who might at best pull in fifty rupees a day and a cold left-over hodgepodge of rice and sambar … not land, wives, back-up wives, off-shore accounts. We need some names that reflect our true stature … I could be Bhagavan …”

Jagaswami thrilled to the topic. “Bhagavan! Yes, that is the perfect name for me! I must be known as a sage, not just a swami … and hmmm … something that inspires some very serious awe, and perhaps a bit of fear … Kalki?”

“No, no, that will confuse people. They will think you are dyslexic and pretending to be me. And we can’t both be Bhagavan. The name suits me much better. You can be … hmmm … well, we will think more about you, but from now on I want you to refer to me as Bhagavan. And in special cases, as “that Sage”.



Jagaswami looked sulky and asked Balanandaswami, who had been unsually quiet, to go out to the kitchen and get him a glass of wine and a steak.

Bala continued looking out the window, as if he had not heard. After a while, he did get up, and they assumed he was going out to the kitchen to uncork some of the Germans’ wine and grill a steak.



But he had not even taken in the request.

He slipped quietly out the back door. “I must do some work on my reports,” he rationalized as he ran lightly along toward the lions’ cave.



Ah, there they were! And Spotty was with them.



They were wrestling and laughing and nipping each other. One was trying to do summersaults.

More memories of his brother came flooding back. How he longed to join in! But he could not explain that this time spying was his excuse for coming, but it was not what he really wanted to do. They would never believe him if he said he wanted to play. They would think it was a trick. So he hid behind a tree, thinking of unconvincing ways to introduce himself.

Just then Omcub turned in his direction. How did they always know he was there? Oh no, now the little cub was picking up one of those wands ….

“Abracadabra, cubsy-wubsy!”



What on earth? Balananadaswami felt himself shrinking. His fur became redicliously soft. He looked down at his paws and could not believe their tininess.



Suddenly, he was surrounded by the cubses, who seemed quite big to him now. For a moment he felt fear, but it vanished when he heard Tirucub exclaim, “Look how cute he is! Lift him on my back, Arunacub.”

He found himself being dashed along on Tiru’s back. The others kept up, leaping and jumping. “My toahrn!” said Arunacub. “No, mine!” said Omcub. Spotty nibbled him a little. Omcub licked him where some dirt had gotten on his side. What heaven!



“Let’s pretend he’s our baby!” said Arunacub.

“Mahabharata time!” they heard Mum Lioness calling. Through the trees they could see her coming out of the cave with a tray of snacks and the book.



“Look Mum Lioness! We shrank Balanandaswami. Can he have Maha time with us?”

“Of course,” said Mum Lioness, seeing that Bala looked delighted with the recent turn of events.

Omcub lay on Mum Lioness’ back and Balababy (as they were now calling him) lay on Arunacub. They all had iddlies and berry shakes.

Afterwards, they undid the spell so Balanandaswami could go home. Judging from the look on his face, it seemed he would have preferred the spell to be permanent.