I sit at the feet of my fellow thespians, still in their costume and make-up: looking every inch the Bheeshma and  the Drona of yore, as we moderns imagine.

An actor is always learning.

Above us a moon so full of itself, centre stage in its own lime-light.  The surf is high, the moon has such an effect, when full of itself, fulsome.  The front row palm trees fan their applause.

A special full moon this is Guru Poornima.

Shifting my gaze from my co-stars, to the small screen of my phone. 

Tik-tok, tic-toc, twits twitter, faces that look like they read no books. But they adore me, fantasise about me, I whet their appetites for heroic romance. 

Easy to get carried away. I am only an actor, handsome yes, only playing at being him, Arjuna.

They write their hot-fingered fan-fiction about him, portrayed by me. I must stay cool, and just be a pointer towards him, not me.

 I am learning so much from Arjuna. My guru.

I am learning too about those grey-beards he revered as his gurus. Full and luminous- their  pride in honour and vow.  Arjuna soon learnt that even such esteemed characters end up serving the wicked, on account of this misplaced honour for the word given to the unworthy and wicked, not in keeping with sanathana dharma. 

But they are by no means éminence grise.

That éminence emanates from Kṛṣṇa, the power behind the scenes.

So bright He is black- that he cannot be seen, except until Arjuna is guided on how to see.

He is the dispeller of darkness, the ultimate Guru - Yet he never claimed to be the sole prophet or anything like that. He only showed what a soul could profit from - the choices.

We make our way to the buffet provided for the film crew - the chef has churned out so many flavours! 

Tomorrow we shoot the battle-scenes - I think of Arjuna and the salt of his blood, sweat and tears.

Grit under sole abrades me back to earth.