The Roar at Twilight: Mahathi’s 108 Sonnets | Guest Review by Prasanna Kkumar

Prasanna Kkumar’s literary perspective, edited for publication by KVI Editorial.

Some works of poetry ask us to admire the language. Others invite us to think about what gives that language its spiritual force. In The Roar at Twilight: Sonnets on Lord Narasimha, Mahathi brings both pursuits together, retelling a sacred story through 108 sonnets.

Mahathi is the pen name of Mydavolu Venkata Sesha Satyanarayana, a writer deeply engaged with Vedic philosophy, literature and the Puranic tradition. His experience in public service and the legal profession belongs to one part of his life. His sustained study of sacred literature belongs to another. I find that combination remarkable. To fulfil one’s professional responsibilities while continuing to pursue knowledge and creative expression takes discipline and devotion.

A sacred narrative in sonnet form

At the heart of this collection is Prahlada, the young devotee whose faith remains steadfast despite the demands of his father, Hiranyakashipu. The king, convinced of his own supremacy, cannot accept his son’s devotion to Lord Vishnu. Their conflict becomes a larger meditation on power, humility and the limits of pride.

The story moves toward the manifestation of Lord Narasimha, Vishnu’s man-lion avatar, through whom divine order is restored. In this telling, the triumph is not simply one of strength over strength. It is the enduring force of devotion, truth and dharma in the face of arrogance.

What astonished me was the poet’s decision to carry a narrative of this scale through the sonnet. A form that demands compression, structure and a careful choice of words must now hold a sweeping spiritual account. Yet Mahathi has attempted precisely that. Across 108 poems, an ancient narrative takes shape in a form that readers of English poetry will recognise.

Devotion beyond the central story

The collection does not stop with the dramatic account of Prahlada and Narasimha. It also includes reflections on Sudarshana Alwar and Lord Narasimha, alongside material concerning Narada Muni and the meaning of bhakti, or devotion.

These additions matter because they draw the reader toward the spiritual ideas beneath the narrative. The story invites us to consider what happens when authority becomes confused with righteousness, and what it means to remain faithful when power demands surrender.

I was also struck by the sense of inspiration that runs through the work. The author has spoken of a creative force beyond his full understanding. Readers may approach that experience through their own beliefs, but the seriousness of his devotion is evident in the undertaking itself.

The lasting impression

I have deliberately avoided reproducing many of the sonnets here. Their effect deserves to be encountered on the page. The achievement, to my mind, lies in the effort to bring a monumental sacred narrative into a concise poetic structure without losing its central spirit.

Even the title, The Roar at Twilight, carries a sense of anticipation: a moment when pride meets its limits and devotion is answered. I invite readers to approach this collection with the patience that both poetry and spiritual thought deserve. Look at its cover, enter its verses, and consider what its account of Prahlada has to say about the life we lead now.

Mahathi’s poems offer more than a retelling. They offer an occasion to reflect.

A question for readers

How does a familiar sacred story change when told through a different poetic form?

Thoughtful responses are welcome in the moderated discussion.