There is a feeling of uncertainty writing about events that occurred 3,500 years ago in and around the Aegean Sea at the end of the Bronze Age and at the culmination of the Minoan-Mycenaean civilisation.
A long time ago, I read a prose version of The Odyssey translated by an eccentric British archaeologist, army colonel, diplomat, air force technician, motorcycle enthusiast, and academician, known as Lawrence of Arabia, who initiated the end of Ottoman rule in the Levant. He was a typical polymath, the likes of which are only produced by civilisations at their zenith. His list of published books would fill the life of an ordinary mortal. He also found time and motivation, among his onerous activities, to translate this epic poem a little before his accidental death in 1935. The book was intriguing to this scribe because it is surmised that he thought of translating it while repairing RAF aircraft in the late 1920s at RAF Drigh Road in Karachi, a place where this scribe has served briefly.
Having read The Iliad as well, and seen both versions of its picturisation—Helen of Troy (1956) and Troy (2004)—it was natural that, despite my health issues, I went to see The Odyssey. For good measure, I took my 14-year-old granddaughter with me, but not before I gave her a summary of the book to read.
Homer, the roaming bard, purportedly composed the two poems around 750 BC, about events that occurred some 400 years earlier. While archaeological finds now confirm the existence of Troy, Mycenae, Ithaca, Delphi, and other places named in the poems, it is not certain whether the events occurred exactly as they are narrated, or indeed if they are the works of a single individual. Oral traditions tend to get polluted with time, especially if they are written down after hundreds of years.
The demons that Odysseus faces on his return journey from the Spartan War are not external but internal
In these books, as is common in Greek and Hindu literature, a pantheon of gods freely interacts among themselves and with humans; each having their own favourites, whom they guide and advise through lesser gods, and antagonists whom they punish through guile. The fate of heroes is, thus, tied to the preferences of gods.
The Odyssey is a timeless story. Its narrative may be time-bound by an era and an area, but the essence of human character is universal. It is a story about us, each one of us, wherever we are and in whatever environment. It is a story of determined but imperfect human beings—which we all can best hope to be—who navigate their lives with limited understanding, wisdom, abilities, and many limitations. Then there are desires, greed, fears, and an individual sense of achievement inherent in all of us. Nature did not create any two humans as a replica of each other. Even identical twins have different thumb impressions, iris reflections, cardio-arterial layouts, social behaviour, ailments, and lifespans. We, as humans, are born to carry our individual demons with us as we grow, whether we are evil or good.
The demons that Odysseus faces on his return journey from the Spartan War are not external but internal. Of the ten years of his journey, he spends seven on the mythical island of Ogygia, where he was held captive by the nymph Calypso, daughter of the minor god Atlas; a god condemned by Zeus, the head of the pantheon, to hold the sky forever. A nymph is a beautiful enchantress who casts a carnal desire over her seducee. This has been witnessed in everyday life throughout the entire history of humankind. Kings, popes, clergy, and ordinary people alike fall victim to some kind of nymph and forget who they are and where their responsibilities lie.
In Julius Caesar, Shakespeare’s real-life character Cassius, a senator and a general who plots the murder of Caesar, tells his co-conspirator Brutus: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves." Our life is not shaped by our predetermined destiny or fate, but by our choices. It is essential that humans do not take any decision driven by greed or fear. These twin maladies are the Satan that the Almighty has set free against humans to misguide them from the righteous path. That is also the theme of The Odyssey. On his return journey, he faces many challenges like the man-eating Cyclops, the cannibalistic Laestrygonians, the six-headed monster Scylla, the sea-eating whirlpool Charybdis, the enchanting Sirens, and the amnesiac Lotus-eaters; not to forget Poseidon, the god of the sea, and Helios, the sun god, who also turn against our protagonist.
Then there is a deep similarity between the Pakhtun tradition of Melmasti and the ancient Greek concept of Xenia. Both dictate that security, hospitality, generosity, and respect must be offered to guests regardless of their background. In the Greek trading world, even a short journey meant that one had to throw oneself at the mercy of others. The Trojan prince Paris, whose elopement with Helen from Mycenae led to the war, broke this custom by charming away the wife of his host. It was punished by the gods by destroying Troy.
However, Odysseus too broke this law by treacherously turning a gift to Troy, a horse, into a weapon. That too brought punishment upon him through his ordeals, and also on the Mycenaean world, because other princes agreed to the wicked plan, unleashing the dreaded Sea Peoples, who destroyed their cities and killed their people; much like the Mongol scourge that brought an end to the Abbasid world.
Now, my readers, look inwards and search your heart for these demons within each and every one of us. The heavens created us imperfect with temptations to follow our animalistic desires that prevent us from going back home, to where we really belong. Even nature and circumstances—translated as gods in Mycenaean mythology—prevent us from attending to our duties. Nymphs do not release us, even after seven years of captivity. We are liberated by ourselves by recognising who we are and where we ought to be in our struggle to live a fruitful life. That is the lesson of the story of this great poem.