Where Tradition and Marxism Coexist: The Journey of My Life.... (SIMPLIFIED AND FAITHFUL RENDERING OF THE ADI KAVYA-1): Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

 SIMPLIFIED AND FAITHFUL 

RENDERING OF THE ADI KAVYA-1

Where Tradition and Marxism Coexist: 

The Journey of My Life

(Author’s Introduction to This Ramayana Endeavor)

Vanam Jwala Narasimha Rao

Every journey has its turning points, but some journeys are not a sequence of turns, they are a gradual unfolding of inner landscapes. Some lives are not shaped by choices between philosophy and faith, but by conversations between the two. Mine is such a journey. I did not abandon tradition to embrace revolution, nor did I silence inquiry in the name of devotion. Instead, I discovered that sacredness and social consciousness can coexist, not as competing ideologies, but as balancing ways of understanding life, humanity, and oneself.

This introduction is not a proclamation of final truths; rather, it is the beginning of a lifelong dialogue, between Ramayana and Marxism, between inherited wisdom and awakened understanding, between the silence of prayer and the voice of justice. And this introduction is to the humble presentation of Valmiki Ramayana in English which is born of an inner urge to make India’s most sacred epic accessible to those who, though Indian by origin, have gradually lost touch with their mother tongues, often out of compulsion and in tune changing times.

Let me begin with my story which is neither an ideology, nor a defense of belief. It is the story of a consciousness, unfolding, evolving, resisting labels, refusing to be imprisoned by any single thought system. It is a journey across time and temperament, across scriptures and manifestoes, across bhakti and dialectical logic. It is a strong belief that, Ramayana is not merely a mythological text, and equally, Marxism merely not a political doctrine. They emerge instead as two languages and two distinct instruments in the grand symphony of human experience. One speaking in poetic depiction, surrender, devotion, and memory and the other responding in analysis, emancipation, and justice.

This reflection was not written in a moment of affirmation, but in a moment of discovery, when a person suddenly recognizes that he has never really been choosing between two worlds, but has been quietly stitching a bridge between them all his life. The honesty with which he holds both tradition and revolution, not as contradictions, but as parallel forms of wisdom, that transforms the personal narrative into a philosophical mirror. In that mirror, we do not merely see him, but we begin to see ourselves.

What emerges is not a linear argument, but a conversation, between childhood and maturity, between memory and reasoning, between inheritance and intuition. Here, Valmiki and Karl Marx do not oppose each other. They nod to each other in recognition, as fellow witnesses of humanity’s long struggle to understand itself. This is not a reconciliation, but it is an echo of an ancient truth: that human beings are not made for ideological allegiance, but for intellectual and emotional expansiveness. To hold the sacred and the revolutionary in the same heart is not confusion, but it is completeness.

Over centuries, India’s philosophical quest for truth has never been a static pursuit of metaphysical speculation but an unbroken stream of realization flowing through the Upanishadic Wisdom, tempered by time and rediscovered by great seers. Among them, following footsteps of Adi Kavi and Maharshi Valmiki, Maharshi Vedavyasa, the Great Philosophers of Pre-Modern Tomes, Adi Shankaracharya, Ramanujacharya, and Madhvacharya stand as luminous milestones who gave form and focus to Vedanta through their distinct visions.

Advaita, Visistadvaita, and Dvaita the three major schools of Hindu philosophy differ sharply on the relationship between the individual soul (Atman) and the ultimate reality (Brahman). Advaita (Absolute Non-dualism) postulates non-duality, where the individual soul is identical to Brahman, viewing the world as an illusion (Maya). Dvaita is dualistic, holding that the individual soul and Brahman are completely separate entities. Visistadvaita presents qualified non-dualism, stating the individual soul is part of the supreme soul but remains distinct, with the world being real, not an illusion. 

These philosophies were established by key acharyas (teachers) within the Vedanta Tradition, each offering a distinct interpretation of the relationship between the individual soul (Atman) and the ultimate reality (Brahman). These schools of thought are rooted in the interpretations of foundational Hindu Texts, primarily the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Brahma Sutras besides the Ramayana, Maha Bharatha, and Maha Bhagavta. While the foundational texts are ancient, these specific, formalized philosophical schools developed and gained prominence during the medieval period in India. Equally or even first among equally great has been the Marxian Philosophy and the thought of Dialectical Materialism.  

Hinduism born out of Vedic Thought, religion or not, but as a way of life, has its philosophical influence on me unequivocally. I am born, brought up, and continue to live as an ardent Hindu. Ever since my father performed my Upanayana (Sacred Thread Ceremony), I   have been chanting Gayatri Hymn, maybe not in the strictly prescribed manner, but do it anytime, anywhere and in any body position I am in when I feel like chanting. However, none of these influences on my early childhood, and later too, could prevent me from turning my eyes to Marxism and Communism, which according to me is the landmark theory on Humanism.

Karl Marx an unparalleled greatest thinkers of all ages and of all schools, through his writings mainly directed to the critical analysis of capitalist development and ultimate transition to socialism, all depicting humanism in some form or other. The originality of this thought lies in his immense efforts to synthesize, in a crucial way, the entire legacy of social knowledge since Aristotle. His purpose was, to achieve a better understanding of the conditions of human development, and with this understanding, to accelerate the actual process, by which mankind was moving towards a free association. The desired system would be a ‘People’s Democratic Secular society.’

Dialectical Materialism, a philosophical approach to reality derived from Karl Marx Philosophy, holds that, all phenomena exist objectively and independently of human perception and that reality is reducible to matter. According to Marxism, the history of society is the history of class struggles. History progresses from one stage to its diametrically opposite, and moves further to a higher level. All things contain contradictory sides or aspects-tensions and conflicts are the driving force of change. Thus, according to this theory, the inherent contradictions of any society will lead eventually to its overthrow by the rural workers. The final synthesis will be a classless society.

It all began as a simple blog post of mine. More precisely, it began as a fragment, a piece of memory, a conversation recorded not merely for the sake of documentation, but because it refused to fade away. Written in January 2010 and rediscovered many years later, recently in November 2025, it slowly revealed itself to be more than a blog entry. It was not an opinion. It was not a casual thought. It was a life moment, an evolution, a philosophical journey, a spiritual document of internal transformations, and a timeless conversation between one person’s past, present, and possible future.

I was born into a deeply traditional Hindu family, where classical wisdom flowed not from books but from daily conversations, rituals, fading lamps, slokas recited at dawn, and unspoken discipline. Yet I grew up among friends shaped by modern education, rationality, Marxist thought, activism, poetry, progressive literature, and revolutionary spirit. On one side stood the quiet dignity of the Valmiki Ramayana, Vedavyas Maha Bharatha, and Maha Bhagavatha, And, on the other, the fervent cry of Das Kapital, ‘A Critique of Political Economy’ the foundational theoretical text in Marxist philosophy, economics, and politics propounded by Karl Marx.

On one shoulder, faith and on the other, justice. In an ordinary world, these might have been enemies. But within me, they coexisted, not peacefully, not always, but powerfully. Not as contradictions, but as conversations. I did not live between them. I lived through them. I once wrote: I stand at an equal distance between Orthodoxy and Marxism. That statement perplexed many. But it resonated with one, by name Rajasekhara Raju, a literary critic, thinker, philosopher of human emotional intelligence, and a lifelong committed True Marxist-Leninist.

Instead of dismissing my statement, he questioned it, not to disagree, but to understand, and agree to disagree. He was simply astonished at my stance as to how can someone remain close to both tradition and revolution. How can one admire Valmiki Ramayana and Marxian Philosophy. In the common world, such a duality is considered flawed. To him, it was intriguing. He wrote that my statement was ‘Astonishing, Strangely Harmonious yet Deeply Paradoxical.’

He asked whether this was merely a poetic reconciliation, or a lived experience. Was it practical? Was it coherent? Was it even honest? He gently suggested that, perhaps my love for Marxism was only a Literary Fascination (I doubt!), and not lived realization. I could not dismiss his doubt. I reflected. I gave allowance to his doubt. I re-read my own words, not to defend them, but to comprehend whether I truly meant them, and whether living between two philosophical worlds was viable, or merely beautiful. I reconciled but, in my trusted way, and the same way that I have been sincerely believing and following, notwithstanding I was misunderstood or understood with a difference. 

Was it truly possible to live with two belief systems without slipping into hypocrisy? Was it possible to honor tradition without surrendering reason? Was it possible to embrace Marxist Humanism without rejecting Spiritual Wisdom? Was I simply caught in nostalgia? Or was I witnessing the evolution of a consciousness capable of embracing both devotion and inquiry, emotion and argument, memory, and revolution?

I realized that I was not trying to harmonize ideologies. I was trying to reconcile experiences. Hinduism had entered me not through temples, but through stories, through Dharma as ethics, through Karma as responsibility. Marxism entered not through manifestoes, but through people, through suffering, through the raw question: Why do some live well while so many struggle? For me, Hinduism was not ritualism and Marxism was not rebellion. They were both forms of human inquiry, one spiritual, the other social. One whispered, the other thundered. One invoked gods and the other invoked justice. Both demanded dignity.

In response to the thoughtful skepticism of Rajasekhara Raju which I held in highest esteem, I wrote: ‘Yes, I honor both. I am now 61 (then). Time may change me, or perhaps sustain me. I do not claim finality. I only claim sincerity.’ That response moved him. He wrote back not as a critic, but as a fellow traveler. He confessed that he too had grown between chanting and debating, between the sacred and the revolutionary. He wrote how his childhood had been filled with Vedic Hymns, Classical Music, Telugu Poetry, but his youth was ignited by Marxist Literature and progressive thought. He too loved both. He said, ‘I listen to Tyagaraja with the same trembling heart with which I read Marx.’

It was at that moment I realized I was not alone. Raju quoted a remarkable anecdote about the noted Marxist Critic KVR, who once said, ‘Yes, I read Capital and I listen to Tyagaraja’s compositions. Do you have any objection?’ That, more than anything, summarized the truth: it is not contradictory to love both tradition and revolution; it is human. To feel the grace of Annamayya's lyrics and the force of class struggle is not hypocrisy; it is depth. one need not choose between wisdom and justice, between sacredness and equality. One can simply be open to both without surrendering to either.

Our conversation sparked more dialogue. Couple of our mutual friends, including few lifelong friends and hidden literary jewels joined in it. The essence was: ‘A piece of writing becomes meaningful not when people read it, but when it compels people to think and respond.’ It was a great compliment. My conversation with Raju gave life to my writing with this. Words had transformed into living discourse. Later, even Raju wrote that this unexpected connection gave him a sense of spiritual companionship, a friendship not of personalities but of ideas. It was possible, he said, that some conversations are not between two people, but between two generations, two civilizations, two states of consciousness.

Over time, what began as a blog comment thread transformed into something much larger, a chronicle of two parallel lives shaped by scriptures and struggles, poetry and protest, memory, and imagination. We were not ‘balancing’ ideologies; we were recognizing that human experience cannot be confined to one. Marxism answers oppression; Bhakti answers loneliness. One speaks to injustice; the other speaks to yearning. One liberates the worker; the other comforts the soul. One fights for what is outside; the other heals what is within.

In a world obsessed with identity, with choosing sides, with declaring ‘Either Or’ I realized the most profound position is often ‘Both And.’ Not for convenience, but for completeness. It is easy to take sides. It is harder to hold space. But the human spirit matures not when it holds opinions; it matures when it holds questions. And I discovered that both Ramayana and Marxism are, at their deepest essence, not answers, but questions. Who is just? What is duty? What is suffering? Who owns what? What does life owe the individual? What does the individual owe life? Neither text provides an absolute answer, but both offer deep reflection.

Years later, when I rediscovered this entire conversation, the original article, the responses, the thoughtful reflections, it was as though I had discovered an old mirror that showed not my face, but my journey. I did not find who I was then. I found who I had been becoming all along. The real realization was this: I am not made of beliefs. I am made of dialogues. I do not live between ideologies. I live within evolving conversations. My beliefs are not my identity. My willingness to listen is only my ideology. I do not know if I have become more Marxist or more Spiritual or both or neither. But I have certainly become more human.

Today, I no longer ask whether Hinduism or Marxism is right. I ask whether I am becoming more compassionate, more truthful, more understanding, more just, more open. Whether I can still cry listening to Annamayya, still feel a tremor reading about factory workers, still feel disturbed when injustice happens, still tremble at the thought of human loneliness. Some of my writings over four decades may provide a clue.

I have not resolved the tension between tradition and revolution. I have simply learned to respect the tension, breathe with it, grow through it. I have become a pilgrim, not of a place, but of ideas. Not of certainty, but of humility. Not of answers, but of questions that keep me alive, awake, and beautifully uncertain. Sometimes, I still re-read that comment by Raju: ‘Your dual belief is not contradiction, but it is curiosity. It is not confusion; it is courage.’ That may be the best description I have ever received, that, not of what I believe, but of how I live.

If you ask me today whether I have chosen between Ramayana and Marxism, I would say, I no longer stand ‘between’ them. I now stand ‘beyond’ the need to choose. I stand where conversation begins. And that, I realize, is where humanity truly begins. In the end, this is not about choosing between history and change, between prayer and protest, between poetic truth and empirical truth.

It is about recognizing that a fully awakened human spirit does not confine itself to one vocabulary of meaning. It welcomes paradox as a companion and nurtures conflict into dialogue. It understands that tradition does not mean stagnation, and revolution does not always require rejection. That the Ramayana does not always silence Marx, nor does Marx always disprove Valmiki. Sometimes, they simply ask different questions of the same human heart. The wisdom of this journey lies not in its answers, but in its continued willingness to listen to scriptures, to society, to suffering, to poetry, to conscience.

When we can listen this way, without fear, without haste to resolve, without clinging to ideological comfort, something remarkable happens: we slowly cease being defenders of a position, and become witnesses of a process. A process called becoming. And perhaps that is the quiet revelation of this entire philosophical journey, that human beings are not meant to arrive at certainties, but to inhabit evolving consciousness. The destination, after all, is not belief, but it is understanding. So, the question is not, What do you believe? The question is, How wide is your heart, and how deeply can your mind hold wonder?

It is against this background and context, my daughters Bunti (Prema Malini) and Kinni (Kinnera) observation (and perhaps my son Aditya’s too) about me, and a recent acknowledgment by my daughter-in-law Parul, to adhere to an age-old ritualistic tradition, forming part of an auspicious occasion, and conscientiously following the practice step by step, as guided by her mother-in-law (My Wife) Vijayalakshmi, took me back to my childhood and later part of my life, especially after marriage. The result is this introductory write-up for consumption of my family members basically and for sharing with all near and dear.

This also had shown me the way to engage in a humble presentation of Valmiki Ramayana in English, which is born of an inner urge to make India’s most sacred epic accessible to those who, though Indian by origin, have gradually lost touch with their mother tongues, often out of compulsion and in tune with ever changing times. Living far from their roots, many Non-Resident Indians, and their children, including my close relations, desire to know what their ancestors read, revered, and lived by. To them this simplified yet faithful rendering of the Adi Kavya, not as a mere translation, as was done by many earlier, but as a bridge between languages, generations, and continents.

The effort is not scholastic but devotional, a sincere attempt to awaken curiosity, reverence, and reflection in minds that think in English but feel in Indian rhythm. With a firm belief that, the Valmiki Ramayana is not a book to be just finished the reading, but a companion to be cherished; not an ancient legend to be admired from far away, but a living light to be carried within. If these pages help even a few readers rediscover that light, the purpose of this endeavor shall stand fulfilled.

Coming from an orthodox rural family background, my earliest and most formative lessons were taught against a peculiar geographical, spiritual, and historical background. At seventy-seven years of age many of those impressions remain fresh. My life was shaped by the philosophy of Vedic Determinism or the Karma Siddhant, and by a reluctant, embryonic exposure to ancient scriptures, thanks to my father who used to make me sit by his side while he recited them from scriptures. He would read aloud and patiently explain meanings.

Only from my late fifties onwards, when I began to read these works for myself, I had drawn ‘A Little Knowledge and Nourishment’ from Indian ancient literature. In those texts which haunt me still, I have found comfort, profound strength, and a steadying peace. I remember Mark Twain’s line that India is ‘the land of religions, cradle of human race, birthplace of human speech, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of tradition,’ Aldous Huxley’s judgment that the Bhagavad Gita is ‘the most systematic statement of spiritual evolution,’ and Albert Einstein’s nod to the debt of mathematics to Indian thought. Well, I cannot agree more.’

Indian culture, Ancient Traditions and Customs has shown remarkable endurance. ‘Sanatana Dharma’ that unfolds secret of creation, also guarded, and continues to guard the universe, its stabilization, destruction, and recreation, which is like a wheel and continuum. It has been passed down from generation to generation, giving continuity to values, ethics, and organized life. Unfortunately, some drifted away from the path of dharma, and individual's moral responsibilities or duties.

Parallelly, in youth and adulthood, I turned my attention to Marxism and found in Marx’s dialectical materialism a different kind of determinism and a strong argument for humanism. Marxian modern thought, alongside the Vedic View, helped me interpret human action and social change. This collision and coexistence of ideas enriched my faith in the value of ancient learning. I found our texts are repositories, an ‘Akshaya Patra’ of wisdom. A little knowledge gleaned from such works, inherited from elders-especially from parents, heard as Pravachana, or read oneself, can become either routine or organized belief, way of life, wholesome practice, or, if taken without thought, blind ritual.

Against this background and context, I entered the married life on April 30, 1969. Through ‘Thick and Thin’ our 56 years of marital life has been a testimony to our unwavering commitment and deep ‘Untold Affection’ for each other, which refers to the deep, unspoken, emotional bonds that developed between both of us. We often followed the proverb of Agree to Disagree, recognized and honored each other's individuality while finding common ground. We perfectly practice navigating differences with utmost respect and understanding. Though we got married when my wife was 15+ and I was 20+, our journey revealed a profound affection, since everything has been enthused by the ‘Typically Guiding Traditions, Customs, and Principles.’ 

The quieter and everyday story of my wife has been the practical expression of many of the Maternal and Paternal Family Customs, Traditions, and Rituals which have been preserved, protected, adapted, and transmitted. In her childhood she learned from her mother to offer small prayers whenever she entered the kitchen. Sincerely, she used to recite the Laxmi Narasimha Swamy Karavalamba Stotra soon after her bath. She practiced intuitively, to touch the feet of elders when they came home or when she visited them.

In her mother’s house, she was seldom isolated during the days of menstruation, as the custom demanded. But after marriage the customs marginally hardened when she was asked to sit apart. In addition, she was allowed to bathe in an outdoor simple roofed structure, instead of the household bathroom after periods. Despite challenging, she adapted to them. She passed on, few of them, completely suiting to the modern practices, unhesitatingly and lovingly to our daughters, advising them to be meaningful in their adoption in case of our granddaughters. 

She was thrilled to find Photo Laxmi Narasimha Swamy in our house. She imbibed the temple and ritual culture of her father-in-law. Gradually, She started wearing a special saree after the bath while preparing food (Madi and Aaacharam), performing the Seemantham Ritual in the ninth month of pregnancy, Naming Ceremony Barasala and the eleventh-day bath after delivery of the child, attending Venkateswara (Amma Peta) and Seeta-Rama Kalyanam (Muttaram) Ceremonies, regularly setting apart one percentage of income for Tirumala visits, the periodic Satyanarayana Vratam for the family’s wellbeing etc. Her daily puja ritual that in the early years lasted a half-hour, later extended to two or three hours, including reading few pages from sacred books, in view of more time at her disposal as well as due to completion of family responsibilities. 

Few meaningful practices, such as, tying a bag full of rice over time (Vinayukudi Biyyam) to be offered at Vinayaka temple when a family undertaking was begun and completed; opening Raghavendra Swamy Dabba when she felt the need of spiritual help; Mudupulu, the small monetary offerings saved for the Tirumala Hundi in addition to Vaddi Kasulu (Replicas of Wish List items); offering hair in Tirumala for the family’s fortune; and performing the sacred thread ceremony (Upanayana) of male children at Tirumala etc. She observes Santoshi Ma puja with Sankalpam and restricted certain sour foods on Fridays. She performs Varalakshmi (Friday) and Shravana Mangala (Tuesday) Vrata in the Lunar Shravana Month. She invariably visits the house of Devudamma, the Godly Woman for blessings when she goes to Khammam.

Their human content, devotion behind them, steadiness with which she passed them on, quiet authority with which she maintained the family’s traditional way of life enthralls me. Our three children, their spouses, and six grandchildren-one granddaughter recently married-a household that stretches across the Globe, have accepted her path. They engage grandmother’s practices with curiosity, sometimes from a distance and many times by participating. The rituals change shape, may expand or be static, but the purpose, the consistency, blessing, the wish for wellbeing, remains steadfast as acts of care for the family and disciplined practices.

Now the question is, whether my attitude towards my wife’s beliefs is inconsistent? Am I actively supporting her or passively agreeing. Yes, at this stage of life, I must give her absolute freedom without even passive interference with respect, and autonomy, including practicing ritual intricacies. My wife who preserved and adapted family traditions, including few conceived by her must be continued the way she chooses.

This propels me to a larger realization. The Traditions and Customs, we call ancient and patriarchal have, over generations, been preserved, protected, interpreted, and carried forward by and large by women in their own way, and for the wellbeing of families. The structurally patriarchal has become, in practice, matriarchal in preservation. However, authority in a family is moral rather than merely formal, and the moral center in our family has been feminine.

Undoubtedly, my married life journey yields moral space to my wife. Traditions and Customs endure because women (Mainly) carry them with devotion and intelligence. The shift from implicit patriarchal dominance to an acknowledged matriarchal strength is a gain in wisdom and tenderness. Our enduring partnership exemplifies how affection, love, dedication, mutual support, understanding, reasonable differences etc. can lead to remarkable achievements and a fulfilling life together.  I learnt this and stepping back from the posture of command and marching forward as partners.

Against this background let me present this Adi Kavya beginning with Bala Kanda, but not without few interest reading subjects touching Ramayana in the Appendix.