KM Munshi and Ayn Rand

Ayn Rand's magnum opus "Atlas Shrugged" was published in 1957. Sometime in the next decade, K.M. Munshi, then already in his seventies - and/or his wife- read the book. Something about it hit a resonance in him: either Ayn Rand's craft as novelist, or the character of John Galt, Ayn Rand's hero. (Perhaps it was just the artistic device used by Ayn Rand in the passage quoted below. ) Whatever, the ideal of John Galt fused to some unknown non-zero extent (the reader may be the best judge of this) in Munshi's imagination with his hero of the Krishnavatara. Thus, Krishna,hero of ancient times, met the twentieth century John Galt, an event that I, personally, find very fascinating (my image of Krishna has been shaped largely by Munshi's novels).

This is the Krishna whom we venerate, the Krishna who teaches in the Bhagavad Gita, the avataar of Vishnu:

Vasudeva sutam devam, Kamsa-Chanur mardanam
Devaki paramanandam, Krishnam vande jagatgurum.

Son of Vasudeva, destroyer of Kamsa and Chanur, the supreme joy of (his foster mother) Devaki, that Krishna we salute as a teacher to the world.

On what basis do I say this?

Well, here's a passage from Ayn Rand's 'Atlas Shrugged". Her heroine, Dagny Taggart has just recovered conciousness after her plane-crash. She opens her eyes, and (there is John Galt)

She was looking up at the face of a man who knelt by her side, and she knew that in all the years behind her, this was what she would have given her life to see: a face that bore no mark of pain or fear or guilt. The shape of his mouth was pride, and more: it was as if he took pride in being proud. The angular planes of his cheeks made her think of arrogance, of tension, of scorn -- yet the face had none of these qualities, it had their final sum: a look of serene determination and of certainity, and the look of a ruthless innocence which would not seek forgiveness or grant it. It was a face that had nothing to hide or escape, a face with no fear of being seen or of seeing, so that the first thing she grasped about him was the intense perceptiveness of his eyes -- he looked as if his faculty of sight were his best-loved tool and its exercise were a limitless, joyous adventure, as if his eyes imparted a superlative value to himself and the world-- to himself for his ability to see, to the world for being a place so eagerly worth seeing. It seemed to her for a moment that she was in the presence of a being who was pure conciousness-- yet she had never been so aware of a man's body . . . .

He was looking down at her with a faint trace of a smile . . .

This was her world, she thought, this was the way men were meant to be and to face their existence-- and all the rest of it, all the years of ugliness and struggle were someone's senseless joke. She smiled at him, as at a fellow conspirator, in relief, in deliverance, in radiant mockery of all the things she would never have to consider important again. He smiled in answer, it was the same smile as her own, as if he felt what she felt and knew what she meant."

Now, here is Munshi, in Krishnavatara, Volume V:

Satyabhama, knocked unconcious by a fall, wakes up (to see Krishna):

Now the man was kneeling by her side. She opened her eyes and gazed at him.

It was not a strange face at all. In all the years since childhood, she would have given her life to see this face --a face so unfamiliar to those living in her father's house; it bore no mark of pain or fear or guilt. She must be in a dream. How could this face be near hers?

She was struck by the face. Did it express pride, arrogance or scorn ? No. It had a look of serenity and innocence, a face which had nothing to hide, a face which had no fear of being seen or of seeing.

His eyes were bright and beautiful; they had an indefinable quality of seeing life as a limitless, joyous adventure; they imparted a superlative value to himself and to the world -- to himself for his ability to see; to the world for being a place so eagerly worth seeing.

Half-dazed as she was, she felt sure that she was in the presence of a divinity. She had never been so aware of a man's body . . .

She felt a strange struggle in her heart, for he was looking at her with amusement. All these years of loneliness, ugliness and struggle she had spent, she felt, were someone's senseless joke. She smiled at him and he smiled in answer as if he knew what she felt.

---

Perhaps the Munshis felt justified in borrowing because

Gita 10-41

Wherever you find strength, or beauty, or (spiritual) power, you may be sure that these have sprung from a spark of my essence.