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Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of The New Age Arjuna by Abhishek Jain

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

It was one of those evenings when I sat at my window, watching the sun dip behind the buildings, my mind cluttered with to-do lists and existential questions. That’s when I stumbled upon The New Age Arjuna. I didn’t expect it to change anything. I was wrong.


Written by Abhishek Jain, this debut novel feels less like a story and more like a silent companion—a mentor in paperback. While Jain may be new to the literary world, the wisdom in his words feels ancient, as though passed down from a lineage of seekers and storytellers.


The story begins in the spiritual heart of India—Varanasi. Arjun, a young man riddled with confusion, fear, and self-doubt, arrives there, seeking answers. Life hasn’t been kind. He’s restless. Disconnected. And then he meets Rudra.


Rudra isn’t your usual sage. There’s no saffron robe, no dramatic sermons—just quiet eyes, timeless words, and an uncanny ability to speak exactly what your soul needs to hear. As Arjun follows Rudra through the ghats and alleys of the city, each walk becomes a lesson, each moment a mirror. But Rudra has secrets too. And the truth, when it arrives, is more divine than dramatic.


Jain writes the way a mentor would speak. Calm. Clear. Gentle. There’s no literary show-off here, no need to impress with jargon. His prose flows like the Ganga—sometimes still, sometimes swift, always deep. He manages to slip in productivity tools like the Eisenhower Matrix without making it feel like a TED Talk. That’s rare and admirable.


I saw shades of myself in Arjun—especially in those moments of quiet desperation. His struggles are universal, his questions our own. Rudra, on the other hand, is not just a mentor; he’s a metaphor. He reminded me of that one teacher, friend, or moment that shifts your entire trajectory. The beauty lies in their conversations—unhurried, layered, and so full of meaning you’ll want to underline every other line.


The plot doesn’t rely on action—it relies on evolution. Each chapter peels away a layer of Arjun’s confusion, and with it, yours too. There’s a gentle rhythm to the storytelling, like watching diyas float down the river—peaceful yet purposeful. The twist about Rudra’s identity is subtle, almost whispered, and it hits just the right chord.


At its core, the book is about mentorship, time, and the silent strength of introspection. Jain explores how ancient wisdom still holds power in modern chaos. The symbolic use of Varanasi—especially the haunting stillness of Manikarnika Ghat—reminds us of impermanence and the urgency to live meaningfully.


I didn’t cry, but I paused. Often. There’s a stillness the book brings. One moment that stayed with me was when Rudra and Arjun sit quietly, just watching the river, speaking nothing—but everything is being said. That silence? It echoed in me.



With a relatable protagonist grappling with genuine inner turmoil, The New Age Arjuna draws readers in through a deeply human lens. Set against a spiritual backdrop that pulses with the life and soul of Varanasi, the narrative weaves a seamless balance of ancient wisdom and modern self-help, making age-old lessons feel strikingly relevant. Jain’s elegant simplicity in language and message ensures that the story remains accessible while still delivering profound insights, making it both a comforting read and a quietly powerful one.


It’s not for everyone. Readers who crave plot-heavy drama might find it too slow. At times, the lessons could have been more dynamic. A few internal conflicts could’ve added emotional depth. But for what it aims to be—a spiritual, reflective companion—it succeeds.


This wasn’t just a read. It was an experience. A reminder that even in our loudest confusion, there’s quiet guidance waiting—if only we’d slow down. It made me rethink how I manage my time, how I seek meaning, and who I allow to guide me.


The New Age Arjuna is a soft, luminous book. It doesn’t shout. It doesn’t demand. It simply sits beside you and holds up a mirror. For every Arjun out there trying to make sense of the chaos, this book is a gentle Rudra. If you’re even slightly lost—or simply seeking something more—this book is for you. And perhaps, it’s not a coincidence that it found you.





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