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Forgotten Myths, Lasting Echoes: Sameer Gudhate on The Sage with Two Horns: Unusual Tales from Mythology by Sudha Murty

  • Writer: Sameer Gudhate
    Sameer Gudhate
  • 2 hours ago
  • 3 min read

There’s a certain kind of book that doesn’t arrive with noise—it sits beside you quietly, like an elder who doesn’t insist on being heard, but somehow ends up telling you exactly what you didn’t know you needed. That’s the space The Sage with Two Horns: Unusual Tales from Mythology by Sudha Murty occupies.

 

I didn’t approach this book expecting discovery. Mythology, after all, often comes wrapped in familiarity—stories retold so many times that they lose their edges. But somewhere between the first few tales, I realized this wasn’t about revisiting what we already know. It was about uncovering what quietly slipped through the cracks.

 

There’s something deeply intimate about the way these stories unfold. No grand declarations. No heavy-handed drama. Just a steady narrative voice that trusts you to listen. And that restraint becomes the book’s strength.

 

The premise is simple—lesser-known mythological tales, spanning kings, sages, gods, and ordinary individuals. But what gives the narrative its texture is the range of emotional undercurrents. One moment, you’re reading about sacrifice that feels almost impossible in today’s world; the next, you’re sitting with a character whose flaw feels uncomfortably familiar.

 

I found myself pausing—not because the prose demanded it, but because certain moments did. The story of the identical nose rings stayed with me longer than I expected. There’s something unsettling about a life that looks complete from the outside but quietly carries dissatisfaction within. It didn’t feel like mythology in that moment—it felt like observation.

 

And that’s where the book works best. Not as mythology. But as reflection.

 

Even characters like Sage Agastya, who could easily be presented as larger-than-life figures, are written with a kind of grounded intelligence. His encounter with the demon brothers isn’t just clever—it’s almost satisfying in a way that reminds you how intelligence often wins quietly, without spectacle.

 

Murty’s prose is deliberately uncomplicated. And that’s a choice that works in her favor—most of the time. The narrative flows easily, making it accessible across age groups. You don’t have to “prepare” yourself to read this book. You just open it, and it lets you in.

 

But that same simplicity occasionally feels like a missed opportunity. Some stories move too quickly, almost as if they’re eager to reach the end rather than sit with the weight of their own ideas. There were moments where I wanted the narrative to linger—to explore the emotional consequences just a little more.

 

And then there’s the unevenness. Not every story lands with the same impact. Some feel like quiet revelations. Others pass by without leaving much behind. It’s not a flaw as much as it is a natural outcome of a collection—but you do feel the difference.

 

What stood out to me, though, wasn’t just the storytelling—it was the underlying pattern. Almost every tale circles back to a set of values: truth, discipline, humility, consequence. Not in a moralizing way, but in a way that feels almost observational. As if these stories are less about teaching and more about reminding.

 

The illustrations by Priyankar Gupta add another layer—not overwhelming, but complementary. They don’t try to dominate the narrative. They simply sit beside it, much like the stories themselves.

 

If I had to describe the experience in one line—it would be this: this is not a book you race through; it’s one you dip into, like conversations you return to when the noise outside gets too loud.

 

For younger readers, this book opens a door—to a version of mythology that isn’t intimidating. For adults, it does something quieter. It reminds you that stories you thought you had outgrown might still have something to say.

 

Would I call it unforgettable? Not entirely.

 

But would I call it necessary in today’s pace-driven reading culture? Surprisingly, yes.

 

Because sometimes, what stays with you isn’t the loudest story—but the one that quietly shifts something inside you.

 

And maybe that’s exactly what this book is trying to do.

 

If you pick it up, don’t rush. Let a few stories sit with you. You might find yourself thinking about them long after you’ve moved on to the next page.

 

 

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