One story at a time...

Menlo College. Atherton. California. It was Devdutt Pattanaik at his best. Sapient, funny, and sharp. He went on to explain how Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, is chanchal—restless. She thrives when she flows, not when she’s hoarded. “Let her circulate, and she will return. Trap her, and she disappears.”

By Monita Soni

Devdutt Pattanaik is a name synonymous with Indian mythology in the modern times. Born in Mumbai, trained as a physician, and once a pharmaceutical industry consultant, he has since transformed himself into India’s foremost mythologist and storyteller. With over 60 books, numerous TED Talks, podcasts, and a distinctive style of line drawings, Pattanaik bridges the ancient and the modern, infusing timeless tales with contemporary relevance. Rational yet symbolic, accessible yet profound—his work resonates with anyone seeking meaning beyond the obvious.

So when I learned that he would be speaking at the South Asian Literature and Arts Festival (SALA) 2025, held at Menlo College in Atherton, California, I knew this wasn’t going to be just another literary event. For me, it was the realization of a long-held dream.

My journey with Devdutt’s work began in 1997 with “Shiva,” a book that stirred conversations at home and laid the groundwork for a personal mythology that continued to grow with “Sita,” “Jaya,” “The Pregnant King,” “Business Sutra,” and “Shikhandi and Other Tales They Don’t Tell You.” As a fellow Mumbaikar and someone with a rational yet culturally curious upbringing, I often wondered what it would be like to meet the doctor-turned-storyteller in person.

On a bright Sunday morning at SALA 2025, that imagined moment became real. Dressed in a breezy cotton shirt, and an expensive watch, Pattanaik walked in with his signature confidence and an unmistakable clarity of purpose. When we shook hands, it felt like meeting someone who’d already been a part of my inner world for decades.

Devdutt reminded me of my father: Logical, somewhat unsentimental at times, yet deeply curious of Indian culture, and mythology. He told me his anatomical training in medical school helped shape the clean, symbolic illustrations that have become a hallmark of his books. “I find it easy to explain with my illustrations,” he said, describing how images and ideas are inextricably linked in his work.

Pattanaik spoke powerfully about the metaphor of Raktabeej, the demon whose spilled blood births more demons. “Hatred works the same way,” he warned. “The more we hate, the more hate multiplies.”

Humor, Honesty, and Hanuman

His conversation on Hanuman, delivered in dialogue with Dr. Anjali Arondekar, was as powerful as it was provocative. Pattanaik challenged popular representations, noting how Hanuman is in current years represented with a Brahmin’s sacred thread—a janeyu—when ancient sculptures depict him with ankle bells, symbols of service more closely tied to marginalized communities.

He pointed out the ironies in caste hierarchies with a sharp observation: Ravana, the demon king of the Ramayana, was born a Brahmin. “So when we burn Ravana on Dussehra, what are we really burning?” he asked.

“A Brahmin?”

The audience was shocked at the point Pattanaik made but the question lingered in my mind: How cultural rituals are often loaded with contradictions we rarely question.

He added, “Brahmin means one whose mind is expanded. But today, that mind seems to have contracted into narrow conservatism.” 

A Tuesday Without Eggs

Hearing him speak of Hanuman brought back a tender memory from my own life. My mother, a devout Hanuman devotee, had a firm rule—no eggs on Tuesdays. My son, then a fussy eater, thrived on soft scrambled eggs for breakfast. One Tuesday, my mother offered him bananas and cereal instead.

My father, noticing the absence of eggs, asked, “Where are his eggs?”

To which my mother replied, “It’s Tuesday.”

Without missing a beat, my father said, “It’s not his Tuesday.”

We laughed together, when I shared this anecdote with the author. At that moment, I had shared what Pattanaik calls “living mythology.” The small, constant negotiation between tradition and modern life, between reverence and nourishment.

He offered an antidote rooted in personal empowerment: “Evil thrives when we fear. The more we fear them, the more power we give them. Instead, we must turn inward and draw from our own strength.”

It was both ancient wisdom and a modern call to courage.

Discourse at Dinner

In a moment of delightful storytelling, Devdutt recounted a wealthy host who invited him for a discourse on the Bhagavad Gita. After being made to wait six hours and lectured during dinner, he quietly told the host, “You know everything. There’s nothing for me to teach.”

The host beamed, Devdutt was paid. “In that exchange,” he laughed, “I got Lakshmi, and he didn’t get Saraswati.”

It was Pattanaik at his best at SALA. Sapient, funny, and sharp. He went on to explain how Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, is chanchal—restless. She thrives when she flows, not when she’s hoarded. “Let her circulate, and she will return. Trap her, and she disappears.”

Despite his prolific output, Pattanaik writes for only three hours a day. “Because I enjoy it,” he said. “Writing is my prayer. Explaining scripture is my offering to the world.”

One of his most poetic moments came through a story of Yashoda, Krishna’s foster mother, who used both hands to knead dough, but only her right hand to feed. “Both hands serve a purpose,” he said, bringing his palms together in a Namaste. “This gesture symbolizes balance—between left and right, body and spirit, discipline and compassion.”

In a divided world, this simple act of harmony felt more powerful than ever.

I asked him whether his storytelling had roots in bedtime tales from his grandmother. He shook his head. “None,” he said. His parents, in fact, were upset when he left medicine and business. “They said I’d be sorry and broke.”

Storytelling led him to prosperity. Enough to buy a flat in Mumbai’s coveted Bandra Kurla Complex. “Now they don’t complain,” he smiled.

His story reminded me of Malcolm Gladwell’s “The Tipping Point.” Devdutt’s writing became the Tipping Point.

The Final Word

One image of Devdutt stays with me: Him holding a precarious tower of his own books, smiling. I remember myself in school, arms piled with prize-winning books, believing that stories were my superpower.

While I went on to practice medicine, Devdutt followed the lure of mythology. He questioned, he provoked, he translated sacred knowledge into common sense. And along the way, he built something rare: A legacy rooted in culture, but unafraid of transformation.

At night, when I settle in with my inner child, I still tell her the folk tales passed down by my great-grandmother. But now, another voice joins hers…Devdutt’s. Practical, powerful, and modern.

Pattnaik said in his parting remarks at SALA, that he could not care less about the trolls. And that, too, is a kind of mythic courage.

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.

Lead picture: Courtesy American Kahani

Courtesy American Kahani

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