Category: A01 — SHORT STORIES

 
 
One of the blunders committed by me in recent years was that I showed Ammalu a recent post where it was stated that if a crow strikes or defecates on your head or shoulder, it is an indication of your pitrus’ anger. I do not know why the very next day, a crow found my head, of all the places, an ideal spot to empty its bowl. It was not, after all, a big issue to be revealed to my wife, but I told Ammalu about it, as all good husbands do. ”Come on, let us go to Palakkad and consult an astrologer” she ordered. She knows my view on such beliefs but still insisted that I should obtain the expert opinion as the issue relates to pitrus, the departed souls of our ancestors.
” I will accompany you,” she said. Meaning- ” I don’t trust you; you may come back without meeting him and bluff”
“Was it a black crow?” asked Sri. Ramanunni jyolsiar, the astrologer, spreading a hand-full of the kavudi , dice on a mat. “Hyderabadil ella kakkakalum karuppa, jyolsyare- all crows are black in Hyderabad,” I replied.
He was not pleased with my reply.”You have not watched them carefully” The astrologer admonished me in a mild tone and looked outside and for his fortune, found a bird perched on a tree.
“Did you see that crow? It has a white patch around its neck. It is a brahmana pitru” I too projected my neck wondering what a ‘brahmana pitru’ was doing there.
‘’ The white patch is the viboothi mark of the previous janma “The learned man clarified. ‘Pathela, do you at least now realize why I want you to apply viboodhi on your forehead?” Ammalu asked me with a winner’s smile.” I do, I do,” I confessed, ” so that I can carry the white mark when I become a crow”
“Hmm, did the crow simply strike on your head or did it do malavisarjanam?” The astrologer.
” I am sure that it was not a strike, as there was a dirty paste on my finger when I touched my hair”
“Did the excreta fall on your shoulder or on any other part of the body?”
”It did fall on my shoulder ,” I confessed.
‘It is bad” His face became pale now.
”Right or left”
” Left”
‘It is very, very bad” He nodded his head to reveal that things were going wrong.
“The last question. Are you absolutely certain that no other part of your body touched the ‘malam, the bowl-waste?”
Now Ammalu’s face became pale. She looked at me sympathetically and perhaps wanted me to tell a lie as I am good in that. She knew that all our future and happiness depend on my reply to that one query.
But you know that I speak only truth. “My finger came into contact with the ‘malam”
“Which finger, right or left? The astrologer looked deep into my eyes and it was certain that was the last chance for our survival.
‘Paavi brahmana, oru poyyai chollappadatha-can’t you utter one lie and save the situation” Ammalu’s eyes pleaded.
‘Left finger”
That was the end of it. The astrologer got up.
He did not, however, pack off his dice. ‘Pitrukkal bayankaramai kopichiriikkunnu- the pitrus are extremely angry with you”
”Entha santhi jyolsyare ” It was a plead not a request from Ammalu.”Is there any solution?”
The astrologer took his seat again, re-spread the dice, and closed his eyes, in deep meditation. I knew that he was seeking the blessings of his gurus and the planets in the sky so that the correct solution evolves in his mind.
” Oru Ganapathi Homam in the morning, thilahomam at noon and Bagavathy seva in the evening” The learned man has at last found a solution, thanks to the blessings of his gurus and the planets in the sky.
‘Enthakum-how much will it cost?” asked Ammalu.
”You have come all the way from Hyderabad and therefore I should be considerate. ‘Oru pathayiram uruppikayil othukkam ‘ I will arrange for ten thousand Rupees”
I looked at Ammalu’s face. The astrologer’s demand was too big an amount to offset the ill effect of a bit of waste fallen accidentally on the body, she seems to be realizing.
I was enjoying the fun. ”You deserve it Ammalu” ( I didn’t tell her that )
Instantly the astrologer’s son yelled from the court yard, ‘Atcha, kakka ente thalayil kaashtichu – a crow defecated on my head”
The leaned father shouted back. ‘Kakka kashtichal kazhukada, kazhuthea -wash it off, you fool”
” Jyolsyare, athu brhamana kakkayo, atho ?” I was anxious to know.
‘Kakka kakka thanne-crow is a crow and all crows are black, whether in Hyderabad or Palakkad. ”
Ammalu’s face beamed. So simple. If a crow dirty your head, wipe it off and forget. And all crows are black, whether in Hyderabad or Palakkad.
“Jyolsarukku ampathonnu roopai dakshinai kudunkol-give fifty one Rupees as dakshina to the astrologer” Ammalu commanded, picked hp her things and moved to the exit gate.
“Our pitus will never let us down” She said, smile and confidence brightening her face.
“You said it, Ammalu “I endorsed her comment. “Don’t you think it is childish to imagine that our grand father or grand mother, in the form of a crow, will strike our head or shoulder or dumb their waste on us? They are on their way to the Godhood and will such unholy ideas ever enter their mind? If they too act in a vengeful way, what is the difference between them and us ? And every crow which flies in the air is not our pitru”
Sharing what we have with other living and non-living beings is a great concept of our culture and that is why every morning after bath, you pour a little water, for the Tulasi plant and place a handful of cooked rice on a clean surface, accessible to birds. Unlike other birds, crows are friendly, available freely in our premises and when you place a ball of rice, reverently remembering your pitrus , on the day of shradham, if you see the image of your pitrus in the crows, who rush and grab the offer, it is understandable. But that does not mean that you should consider every crow flying in the sky or one of them which strikes your head or scratches your face is your pitru. Mouse is the mount of Vigneswara baghavan and deserves our veneration. But will you allow a mice colony to come up in your kitchen ?
”Amma calls you for a tea” The astrologer’s son came running behind us. We went back and accepted the hot tea served along with banana and avil, puffed rice, by the astrologer’s wife and while taking leave of that affectionate family, Ammalu gifted the child some cash for buying books.
”Pitrukkalude anugraham paripoornam- your pitrus have blessed you” The astrologer blessed us raising his hands.
“How true!” Ammalu exclaimed.
“How true!” I too agreed.
”Look at that crow?” Ammalu, on reaching home, called for my attention towards a bird on the gate, cawing its heart out”
It announces the arrival of some guests today. Every crow is a friend, whether it is a pitru or not”
” Yes,” I agreed, “except that one which finds your head or shoulder an ideal spot for emptying its bowel”
Comments :
Namaskaram and thanks for the wonderfulful skit. Hope you are aware of our magazine Brahmintoday which is published from Chennai for the past 90 months. If not pl visit brahmintoday.org to know more
I would like to publish this article in one of the forth coming issue as it is or got it translated in Tamil of course with your kind permission and due acknowledgement
vasan
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Dear Siva,
Very nice article! Good satire on the crow, your favourite topic, our misplaced superstitions and dubious behaviour of astrologers! . With your permission, I take the liberty of forwarding it to my other friends.
Loving regards
KVG
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Sent from my iPad

NAGHABHARANAM
:
I am never tired of enjoying the beauty of the statues carved on the pillars  of the Ananthapadmanabha Swamy temple in the town which goes by His name. Every time I spend a few minutes before them I learn something new. Last week, I stood silently for a long time, before the great statue of Garuda, the divine mount of Mahavishnu, at the main entrance, facing the sanctum, with the statue of the same height, of Hanuman, the monkey king, to my left. These two magnificent representations of the non-human forms are installed there perhaps to remind the devotees, the two steps they have to cross before reaching the abode of the Purushothama, the Ultimate. Fly in the sky or jump from tree to tree but when you reach the abode of the Lord who mediates, reclined on a grand serpent, maintain absolute silence.
A stage comes in every one’s life, however fast and high he jumps or flies, when he has to cool down and go into silence.
I am looking at the statue of Garuda again. The Great bird is having an ‘odyanam’ a unique ornament around his hip – guess what it is? A serpent!
” The nagas or serpents have a special place in the Hindu tradition and they are worshiped in India and even is some countries outside, probably because, they are close to several gods. If Mahavishu is Nagasayana, Lord Shiva is naagabharana and  Mahaganapahty, Subrahmania  and Devi are serpent-jeweled .The snakes primarily represents rebirth, death and mortality and its periodical skin-shedding represent re-birth. It is said that snakes, by their appearance, symbolize the umbilical cord connecting the Mother Earth. Even the ‘Shakthi’ the prime energy, so say the learned, is dormant in the form of a kundalini serpent inside our body and when awakened it expands into a great force capable of performing fantastic feat. In Kerala, every temple has a mini shrine for Nagadevathas and in fact every house there had a shrine at their backyard where daily worship was performed. In some places, there are exclusive temples for the Nagaraja. The Ananthapadamnabha in Thiruvanthapuram reclines on the great Anantha, the serpent king ”
As per the legends, Lord Subramania after killing the asura  Soorapadman converted his body into two portions and made them an integral part of Him, one as peacock,  his mount and  and the other as cock decorating his flag. Every devotee longs for a new dawn in his life. The cock proclaims that. Every devotee aspires for a lovely, peaceful, colorful life. The peacock assures that.
I am looking again at the serpent-jeweled waist of Garuda.
Is not this an admirable Idea – Punish the powerful enemy for his devilish acts and later valuing his valor, grace him by adorning him on the body ?
Similarly can I get rid of my ego and similar other undesirable qualities and then with a fresh mind live ever as an ornament or mount or flag-decoration of the Ultimate?  The problem is that I do not want to annihilate my unwanted qualities which give some imaginary pleasure. The result is they accumulate, compress the mind and obstruct the entry of good qualities. They block the passage of fresh air. They choke. But that may not be forever. Often, a torrent of divine mercy gushes in high speed and cleanses the accumulated trash.
As a child, I used to watch with awe a tall figure, poonal hanging from his hairy chest, walking across the streets of Kalpathy, raising his right hand and shouting mostly nonsense, often abusing the national leaders. He was Kallukudiyan Krishna Iyer, a vagabond, often in a boozed state, had no family (that was what we all thought) or any other worldly possession . He used to survive on the neivedyam provided by Pattali, the temple priest and some petty amount parted by the kind village folks or the train passengers who move through the village.
On my side of the Kalpathy River, there was a Karukappilai Nadar a close friend of Krishna Iyer. Nadar’s given name was Kamaraju. His habit of stealthy collection of Karukappilai during night hours from the trees in the neighborhood and trying to sell the product to the owner of the same trees, earned him the title of karukappilai. The bosom friends became arch enemies on some silly issues and were not talking to each other for years together.
Krishna Iyer fell sick and some good soul admitted him in the hospital.  Karukappilai, knowing that his old friend’s end was nearing, went to meet and console him, forgetting the enmity.
“Iyyare nee pozhakka maatte- You will not survive, I am sure”  Karukappilai commented in a language familiar to his old friend.” On kadasi viruppam enna sollu-tell me, what is your last wish “People of my previous generation, especially those with little education were blunt in their talk, they said what they meant and there was no scope for misunderstanding. Words came forth without undergoing any brushing or polishing.
”Karuku, I have nothing to lose in death, nor the death has anything to gain by accepting me” Iyer, murmured holding his friend’s hand. “ I want you to fulfill my last wish. I have a son born to a Malayalee woman, growing up in the Pudiyangham tharai-village. ‘Tharkathu’ is the house name. I deserted him when he was hardly six months old and I am sure that his mother too would not have mentioned to him about me. I want him alone to do my last rites on the bank of the Kalpathy river.” Krishna Iyer, picked up a bundle of currency notes and an old photograph of his, in full suit and turban, taken several decades ago and handing them over to his friend he continued in broken voice and swollen eyes, ” tell his mother that I never touched another woman. My only bad habit is that I drink a lot and once I drink uncontrollably I think only her and my kid whom I left for ever and went to North for earning my bread. And tell my son that if he places a rice ball on the river bed, throw some water mingled with thil seeds over that and clap his hands shouting ‘ka,ka,ka, I will rush flying from where ever I will be then, like this, like this–” Iyer tried to move his semi-paralyzed long hands to exhibit how he will flap his wings and fly to pick up the rice fall. When he mimicked the crow, eagerly and expeditiously arriving from the distant sky to accept the rice ball offered by his son, Krishna Iyer’s face brightened, and eyes became moist, hairs and ear lobes stood erect and head tried to move as if he was visualizing a great event.
Then that flame slowly and surely went off.
Karuku sat in a corner of the hospital ward and wept inconsolably keeping his head pushed between his legs. Then suddenly he got up, picked up a handful of holy ash from a cloth bag from his shirt pocket, dipped it in the water available in a basin and applied that double filtered, scented viboothy from Pazhani all over Iyer’s body, on his forehead, chest,belly, hands, legs everywhere, shouting ‘Muruga, Muruga, Muruga ‘. Then he rushed out without looking at the body smeared all over with holy ash, shouting “’po Iyerea, po. Murugan onnai ethukkindan”-The Lord Subrahmania has accepted you. With no more familiar foul smell of country liquor emanating, Iyer’s body lay on the hospital bed spreading fragrance of Pazhani viboothy.
I do not know whether krishna Iyer’s son offered him rice ball or not but while returning from the school, I used to look for that familiar figure , in the form of a crow , amidst scores of birds who used to gather on the rocks of the river bank.
Now, after all these years, while standing before the Nagabarana-Garuda, I earnestly hope that Krishna Iyer’s memory would have become a garland in the minds of his wife and son whom he rejected but did not forget even under the influence of liquor. .

@ Recall my previous article on the nude damsel on a pillar facing the side entrance of the sanctum, ‘sex is devine Sivaswamy’
Love and regards,
sperinkulam
Hyderabad
28 June, 2011
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Comments :
Mama, I read the serpent jewel story.
‘Iyery nee pozhaikkamattai’ the open and innocent remark of Karukappilai and the Krishna Iyer’s confession at the last moment were brilliant.  We really don’t know how many Krishna Iyer’s are born and yet to born in this world.  I really felt sorry for the Iyer.  Hm… Why we feel sorry about some people who were had a tragic life experiences?   I strongly believe in Karma….
Regards,
UMA SUBU
http://indiatempletour.blog
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29 June 2011
Dear Sri Sivasubramanian Maamaa:
Namaskaram.
Your interpretation of the presence of two statues of Sri Aanchaneya Swamy and Sri Garudaazhwaar before approaching the Maha Swamy reclined on Aadisesha was very insightful. These are such special moments in our lives when we are shown Deva Rahasyaams in a flash. You may recall here that sometime back I had written on similar lines mentioning Sri Mahavishnu as the Divine Mother (and Mahadeva The Father) whenever I see pictures of Sri Mahavishnu with Sri Brahma seated at the tip of his umblical chord. Well.
Your write-up about Sri Krishna Iyer was very touching indeed as much as his friendship with Sri Naadaar.
With best regards,
– Raju
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Parasurama vaadyar was a power- house of Vedic knowledge. As a teacher, astrologer and Ayurveda practitioner, he was held in esteem by the society. His tall frame, broad chest, long hands with lines of sacred ash drawn at the appropriate places and majestic look and walk, did tell that he was someone in the village . Some say that the smart smile on his face reflected his satirical denunciation of ignorant and irritating Brahmins and their superstitious beliefs which have no Vedic sanctions. But everyone appreciated his outspokenness, unquestionable knowledge in traditional and religious rituals and practices. The moment he arrived in the scene of a ceremony, those assembled stopped waste talks, sat erect, ready to hear his metallic voice, reciting mantras in their pristine rhythm which reverberated the entire area. There was a unique charm in his very presence, his recitation and his dignified behavior. He occupied the center scene till the end, when people dispersed with smile and satisfaction.
Vaadyar manni, his wife, an epitome of selflessness and virtues, was the pride of vaadyar and his family, nay, the entire village. The unlettered lady’s assets of unbelievable common sense and practical thinking combined with her unflinching eagerness to help the needy, made her most admirable and the entire village wept for her, when she died within a few hours, after a fall from the slippery steps of the village pond. She was hardly thirty then. Vaadyar was shattered like a lightning -struck banana tree and shivered at the sight of the doom ahead, whose gates were opened before him, unexpected. He had never entered the kitchen before and was now compelled to take care of his aged mother and two kids. He spent several evenings under the banyan tree near the village pond where his wife fell and cracked her head, wondering how Fate inflicted such a severe blow on him, silently and surprisingly as if he had accumulated a mountain of sin to deserve that punishment.
‘Sin, what sin have I committed? Did I harm anyone, did I cheat anyone, and did I steal anyone’s property,’  he went on asking questions to himself knowing well that he would never receive any answers. Then, the thought of past karmas entered his mind and he was firm in his conviction that he would have never committed so many sins even in his past births too. ‘No, definitely not,’ he told himself, ‘had I committed such unpardonable crimes in my earlier births, I would not have born as a Brahmanan. Or is the rebirth story itself a humbug?’  The bricks of belief were slowly getting loosened and he consoled himself,  ‘certainly no. I have learned Vedas right from my childhood and such unholy thoughts should never enter my mind’
‘Maya! Damn it. Right in front of me is the pond with its slippery steps which became the grave yard for my wife. There is no Maya in this. I had a wonderful life with my wife and I am familiar with every inch of her external body and every beat of her internal vibrations. There was no Maya in that. It is a hard fact’
Vaadyar picked up a handful of betel leaves from the casket added other ingredients, chewed and spitted the waste forcefully, as if that was meant to deface the cause of his miseries, standing before him.
Ammu, Vaadyar’s elder daughter, hardly eight or nine, soaked in sorrow like the slippery granite stones of the pond, but soft and silent like her mother, came there, approached her father, held his hand and took him home.
‘Like her mother’s, Ammu’s hands are also long, lovely and sturdy,’ he said and wept. There was no change in the child’s face but, she quietly lifted the end of the upper cloth of her father and handed it over to him to wipe the tears. She was too short to reach his face.
‘Ammu  is strong -willed too, like her mother, though soft outwardly’, Vaadyar mused.
Several months went on.
One night, seeing her son gazing at the roof, without touching the food placed before him, Vaadyar’s mother asked,  ‘Parasu,  are you going to spend your remaining life thinking about Lakshmi? Please eat something’. Moving slowly towards her son, the mother pleaded and added to console him, ‘ithellam mayai aakkumta konthai-these are nothing but illusion, my child’
‘Maya , mannanghatti,’ Vaadyar yelled,  ‘Ethamma,  mayai, I spent 15 years with her, is that Mayai ? She gifted me two children; is that Mayai?’
He was getting choked with emotion. ‘Amma, vellam,’ He wanted water.
‘ Laksmiyai kooppudu-call Lakshmi, his mother asked him in a slow and cracked voice! I am not in a position to get up. My legs are paining’
‘Aval  varammaattalea-she won’t come,’ the son replied, helplessly looking at the shrunken face of his mother.
‘AthuthAn  mayayida, madaya! That exactly is the illusion,’  The mother replied, hugging him closely to her chest and patting her son’s head and back affectionately.
‘For several years, she was everything for you, though you had not seen or heard about her before. She was verily your world; she was your pranan- life breath, and now, my son, she does not respond to your call even when you ask for water!
‘Engeta  onnodu Lakshmi ? Aval engeta ponal- Where is your Lakshmi ? Where has she gone to? Ithuthan mayai-, ithuthanda mayai- This is illusion, this is illusion’
The old woman could no more control her tears. It flew like the waters of a perennial river, emerging from the cavern of a hard rock. Unable to sit further, she moved to her bed.
Sleep evaded vaadyar.
As usual, he was lying on a pai or dry grass mat on the thinnai , the front platform of the house. It was a full moon night and the sky and the hills, forests and streets were immersed in the divinely extravaganza. ‘Enna!’ it was Lakshmi’s voice; she was calling him. None else would call him so dearly, so sweetly. ‘It was she, it was she alone. No doubt about it. But she was dead, I burned that fragile body with these hands, I collected her ashes and dipped it into the flowing waters. How could she come here? No, she cannot. But, I see her moving ahead, turning head backwards, on and off, asking me to follow. No doubt it is she and I can recognize her sari, her body movement. I can even recognize her shadow.’
Vadyaar got up from the bed and walked towards the banyan tree on the bank of the village pond. A farmer was going around his fully-grown paddy fields to make sure that none was hiding behind the plants to steal the crops. A couple of young boys were returning after the late movie show. Some night birds were chirping and flapping their wings. “No, she is not there. It was nothing but a delirium ‘ He cursed himself and asked, ‘ how can a dead person come back? What a fool I am!”
Vadyar returned home woke up his mother and told her what happened. ‘Satyam amma, she called me and led me to the tank , but when I reached there, she had gone’
‘Ithellam mayai aakkumda Parasu, Poyi paduthukkoda konthai- these are nothing but illusion, go and sleep, my dear.’ The mother consoled, came near his mat, placed his head over her lap, massaged slowly his face and hands and back and sung a cradle song, slowly in a shivering voice, in a low pitch to put her son to sleep.
Tears flowing through his cheeks, Vaadyar, in a choking voice said,  ‘Ithu mayayi alla amma -this is not illusion.’
‘Ithum  mayayi thanda- this too is nothing but illusion:’ the mother replied,  ‘nee patichavan, Vedajnani; nan onakku chollanaoda Parasu ? You are a scholar, you know everything .There is nothing that I can teach you.’  Vaadyar felt that he was a small boy lying on the lap of his mother, enjoying her inundated love and care. He forgot for a moment Lakshmi, her sari, her call, the village pond, the banyan tree, the cemetery, the land behind that-everything. The merciful sleep hugged him in no time.
He slept for hours and hours and woke up. His mother didn’t.
Vaadyar was speechless. He didn’t weep till his younger daughter entered and asked the grandmother to get up. Then, entered the elder one. The smart girl, intelligent like her mother, looked alternately at her grandma’s body and father’s gloomy face. His face was swollen like a summer cloud getting ready for a heavy down pour. She didn’t cry. Seeing her not crying the father cried and cried.
‘ Ithum mayayi thane, amma – this too is illusion, isn’t it mother?’  He hoped that it was also an illusion though he knew well that it was not.
After the funeral rites were over, he spent more time meditating near the village tank. The cremation ground where the bodies of two of his most loved ones were turned to ash could be seen from there and often he lost in thoughts about the soul and body relationship.
‘What was it that I loved and what was it that I lost? I loved my wife’s body, no doubt, but I did not love that alone. I came out of my mother’s body but mere body cannot generate another life.
When Lakshmi’s and Amma’s heart stopped beating and when their pranavayu, breaths, left the bodies, they were dead. No. you are wrong. It was not just the cease of air circulation or blood circulation that made them dead. You did not love that blood or air but something much more than that. What was it then, which made them dead, apart from the body and breaths? Is that the one called soul? So, there are three components in the play of life: body, pranavayu and soul. Or is the Jeevan and the soul same? The breath stopped, the body is burnt. So, we have to account only for the third component of life ie ‘the soul”.
Vaadyar, who was musing like a lay man till then, suddenly, at his remembering the word ‘soul’ emerged from the hibernation and his thoughts flapped its wings and roared high in the sky of Upanishads and other spiritual , philosophical areas. . He got up, went to the waters and performed the sandhyavandahanam.
‘What a wonderful concept this daily ritual is! Every day we do this looking at the rising and waning sun and also when the sun is at its top position. Thus, every day we watch the movement of the Sun’s udayam, unnathi and asthamanam . If the omnipotent source, the cause of generation, maintenance and destruction in the world has to undergo such rise, halt at the top for a while and then fall, what are we, the ordinary human being! Are we not assigned this ritual to keep us in alert always about the three factors involved in our life too?
And what do we do actually while worshiping sandhya? Collect palms-full of water from the vast resource, recite a few mantras, and pour it back into it. Is it not to tell us that our soul comes from the Ultimate and goes back to it and during the short interim period it is with us, we should keep it serene and sacred? ‘I took this sacred, moving liquid from you, it was mine for a short while; here I am giving it back-it is yours, it has been always yours and in fact it is YOU- I return with all humbleness You, back to You-Is this not tharpanam- Is not our life itself a tharpanam ?’
‘That is true, that is true, Vaadhyar,’ his mind muttered.
While returning home, again his thoughts went back to its lay-man status and wondered: ‘Why did this happen to me when I was least prepared and when the presence of my wife and later my mother was required for my children. If the calamities are planned and executed by someone, who is he and why should he interfere with my life? If that ‘he’ is God, why did He do it to me?” He asked and got back the reply.  ‘Parasu , such things happen in the world, people die and for many, death comes without warning and, death leaves a trail of agony behind, some time, unmanageable. You are not the first one selected for this treatment and you are not going to be the last one.’
‘That is true, that is true, Vaadhyar,’ his mind muttered.
Vaadyar took up a temporary job of performing daily poojas in a Devi temple in the outskirt of the village, managed by a Nair family. It was a convenient assignment , two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening, leaving him sufficient time to look after the children. The head of the Nair family, valia amman, who held vaadhyar in esteem, extended every help and even provided one family member, Madhavi amma not only to assist the Vaadhyar by providing pooja materials, washing the vessels, cleaning the premises etc. and also to take care of the kids by bringing them home if necessary.
Vaadhyar was attracted by the simplicity and gentle manners of Madhaavi amma and also by her looks. Wearing a daily-washed snow white sari and sandal paste on her fore-head, just a pair of golden bangles on her fair, long, sturdy hands, she used to spend minutes before the deity, closing eyes and the opened palms held together close to her chest.
‘Madhi, Madhavi amma, ini nale aakam,’. enough for the day, keep some prayers for tomorrow too.’ Vaadyar used to joke.
‘Para , Swamy, madhiyavunniall,’ she used to reply, devotion surging in her words. “I am not satisfied seeing the divine face of the Mother.’
One day Vaadhyar called for a meeting of the elders, below the flag-post of the Temple and announced:
‘Ellarukkum Namaskram-salutation to you all. The purpose of my request for your assembly here is to convey my decision to live with a Nair woman, as her husband. I hear your murmur of discomfort but you should realize that my children need a woman’s care. I am only forty and I need a woman’s company and such a woman is not there in our caste except widows. Widows are not allowed the privilege of re-marriage in our society. I am not the first in our village to choose a non-brahmin woman for partnership and if you threaten that I will be excommunicate for the crime, almost half the number of houses in this village has to remain empty. I have heard, I have seen who all have sneaked into the Malayalee houses, holding a chhootu in their hand, under the cover of night. If you have not done that, your father or his father had done it. I do not believe in doing anything clandestinely. Now, the next point is allowing Madhavi to stay in my house. She will not enter my house. We do allow Nair women in our houses for services but I do not want her to enter my house as a servant maid. The next point. You may say that you will not allow me to do pooja in our temple or call me to your homes for upadyayam-to perform religious rituals. I have no complaints. My ayurvedam, astrology and poojas in ‘kavus’ run by non-Brahmin trusts will take care of my daily needs.
And when you come to those ‘kavus’, I hope that you will not hesitate to accept prasadam from my hand.
The last point-. My ancestral house in this village, after I leave this world, will become the property of the temple. I hope before I die both my children will be married off and if not, it will be Madhavi’s look out.
But I want to die in my house, where my ancestors and wife breathed their last-that is my only wish but that again is not in my hand.’
No one raised an objection. The temple bell rang for harati. Everyone went inside for the evening worship. When Vaadyar was left alone, a woman came from the side entrance and fell at his feet. Parsurama vaadhyar was to spend the next long thirty years with her . And those thirty years flew off like thirty months days thanks to Madhavi’s affection, care and ability to run a house smoothly. Both the daughters were married off and settled well in life. Vaadyar spent his time reading and teaching scriptures.
His health started deteriorating. He thought the end was fast approaching. “You are left with only a few hours”, he heard some one telling “get ready vaadyar”
He was not sad. ‘Get ready Madhavi,’ he prompted his wife to accompany him to the ancestral house in the village, spread some dabha grass on the floor and lied over that.
Madhavi, with swollen eyes, open the small copper vessel containing the water from the Gnnges, on his request and poured a few drops into his mouth. A few drops of tears too, got mixed with the water poured from the pot.
‘Sing, ‘Kanikanum neram’ Madhavi.’, he requested her, then closed the eyes and went into deep meditation, his mind floating in the mellifluous devotional song of Madhavi..
Suddenly, the copper pot fell on his chest splashing the left- over water followed by Madhavi . She passed away within a few minutes lying on her husband’s chest and warmly hugged by him, her long hair wet by the Gangajel, her right hand touching vaadyar’s sacred thread, the left one touching the darba grass below. The woman, who spent maximum years with him, other than his mother, had left him now.
‘You seem to be in deep contemplation;’ I remarked while passing through, seeing him sitting alone on the porch of his house, When I went to our village during the last vacation. Raising the spectacle, he looked at and recognized me and invited to go closer to him.
‘All the three women in my life have left me unannounced,’ said Vaadyar, closing the book he was reading.
‘I came to die in my ancestral house .But Madhavi, who had not stepped into this house even once during the past forty years and who came along with me just to see me off, breathed her last,’ he continued, showing the floor where his wife died, ‘she breathed her last, on this floor, where my ancestors died and in addition, she chose my chest as a stepping stool to go up’
Words were refusing to come out of his throat. He paused, pushed the chellppetti, pan-leaf-mix casket towards me and continued in a slow, shattered voice,
‘I came to catch the train; she boarded it leaving me alone in the platform!’
Slowly collecting the ingredients from the brass casket and applying the white calcium oxide paste on the back of the betel leaves and gently extending his neck towards me, he added, ‘Ultimately, I have realized that I am now free of all my illusions’
I couldn’t catch his message, but just smiled and accepted the pan leaf package from his trembling hand.

My short stay under the wrap of the Baltimore winter, though in its waning phase, had dampened my spirit, despite the warmth of affection showered on me by eldest son and his family. I was, therefore, moving towards my daughter’s house in Ocala, Florida to seek solace under the solar sky.
Soon after I came out of the Tampa airport, sighed in relief, ‘ah, what a bright son! ‘. It was so refreshing to see the bright sun. For a moment I thought that I was back in Hyderabad. What a difference the climate, like your wife, can make on your mood, thoughts, life and longevity!
While walking towards the car, led by my alludu (son-in-law, in Telugu), I paused for a moment to enjoy the sunlight.
‘You are excited like a school child hearing the evening bell,’ comments Vuday, opening the door for me.
‘Look at those tall, green trees, moving behind us on both the sides of this broad, well -laid road,’ I tell Vuday while we were moving forward.  ‘I feel sorry for those cherry and maple trees in Baltimore, deprived of their rich wealth of foliage, by the winter’
‘Why worry about it,’  he asks  ‘season’s impact are to be endured and according to the nature of the trees and power of resistance they shine or shiver’
‘Seems to be in a pensive mood, Uncle’, Vuday  remarks, turning to me, while reducing the speed of the vehicle to 65 mph.
“Along with those tall trees rushing back, my thoughts too fly back to my childhood and surge around playmate Kamu. I answer without moving my eyes away from the palm trees on the road side. ‘I don’t know whether it is the thought of the fading foliage in Baltimore or the sight of the sportive trees here, which kindles her memory now”
‘Juvenile relationship,’ Vuday  wonders with the anxiety of a child,  ‘ I am ready to hear your love story.’
‘I was only ten or eleven then, when Kamu’s family moved to Kalpathy, close to my uncle’s house, which I used to visit often. I lived in the small town in the opposite bank but had to pass through the village to reach my high school and later my college. Kamu’s father was in business, mother worked as a teacher and Kamu was their only daughter. I liked that naughty girl, always laughing for nothing, bright, long, lovely bewitching eyes true to her name Kamakshi. We used to play together in the evening hours either in the backyard of her our house where the river was flowing or in the open land before the Kasi Viswanatha swamy temple’
‘She didn’t go to school?’
‘She did, till the tenth standard. Her parents were not inclined to send her for higher education.
‘Kamu  was an ultra sensitive girl, used to get scared when two dogs or cats fought on the street. She used to close her eyes with her palms when a cart -man cracked his whip to control the bullock or horse and her ears when her parents scolded her.
I was sharing the waning sun- rays along with her on the bank of the Kalpathy River when she noticed a fish struggling from the fishing rod held by a boy on the opposite bank.
‘’It is dying, it is dying!,’  She screamed, jumped into the waters, pulled the rod from the hands of the boy and threw it into the flowing river. Both of us shot towards the village to escape from the wrath of the kin of the boy, who were bound to chase us’
‘I didn’t sleep last night,’ Kamu  told me the next morning, ‘ the  fishing rod and the struggling fish were dangling before my eyes’
‘One evening, she had almost finished her bath, while I was getting down the granite steps of the river for a wash. She mentioned casually that her marriage was fixed with a boy from a far away village.
“Do you like him?’
“My parents liked,’ she said and disappeared with the bundle of washed clothes.
That was the last I saw her. I could not attend her wedding. After a few days, she left for her husband’s place in Thanjavur and soon after, I left for Hyderabad to work.
A couple of years later someone told me how the thunderbolts of tragedy struck her life one after the other. Her husband, after gifting her progeny, died in an accident. Her mother-in-law lost her eyesight due to an epidemic of smallpox and soon after, her father in law had a stroke which made him immobile. The responsibility of looking after the invalid old couple and raising the child fell on her shoulders.
Time passed by, as it happens always. I did make some attempts to trace her but did not succeed.
‘It was an everlasting winter for her, Vuday,’  I commented removing my eye glasses and placing it back.
‘It might have been a prolonged winter, not ever lasting,’ my ever- optimistic son-in-law said, ‘her son would have brought real sun light into her life’
‘I really wish so. Anyway, the best part of her life was ruined’
Aparna , my daughter and grand kids, Raagahav and Divyaa were waiting at the gate to receive me . While hugging them close to my chest, there was a lingering pain inside me since the thought on the misfortune of my childhood friend was still churning the inner peace vigorously.
I could not but tell the story to my daughter before going to bed.
‘Appa, sleep well,’ she consoled me,  ‘ every one of us is sent to this world with a purpose’
She might be right; but I had a disturbed sleep.
Recently, while coming out of the Indian Society hall in Ocala after attending the Ugadi celebration, Alludu introduced me to a physician friend of him who invited us for dinner in his house the next day.
Seeing the photos of the musical trinities on the wall, I asked, Sekhar, our host, about his interest in music. ‘My wife sings; she is from Kalpathy’
‘In Kalpathy, every child comes out of the womb of its mother singing a swara or beating a thala And you are from?’
‘Thanjavur; you would have visited our town’
‘Yes, I love that place. My first visit was in search of a childhood friend of mine, in a village called Kapisthalam in Papnasam district’
‘I am from Kapisthalam, though my family shifted to Madras, when I was a kid’
It did not take long to learn that Sekhar was Kamu’s foster child. My face beamed, eyes sparkled and sharpening my ears, I sat closer to him to know about Kamu’s life history.
‘kamu Chithy was our neighbor in Kapisthalam and she used to help my mother in her household work,’ Sekhar continued.
‘My mom, I was told, delivered me on to her hands as chithy was the only person available for help when I was born at midnight.
Raghu, chithy’s son died when he was hardly five and within a couple of months, her in laws also passed away. She was alone. Acceding to my parents’ request chithy joined our family and we shifted to Madras. I was five years old then.
‘Within a few months after shifting to Madras, while returning from a relative’s house, a turbulent , speeding lorry knocked down and killed my parents . I escaped unhurt as chithy pushed me aside. Then on, she was my, father, mother, care taker, guide and living God.
‘Some money was available for my studies and day to day expenses but she had to struggle to augment the resources especially when my higher education started. As a caterer initially, then as a teacher and Insurance agent and then as a dress designer and in many roles she earned enough money to provide me professional education and then for my foreign trip and studies abroad. Words are inadequate to talk about the sacrifice she made for my uplift.
It was a real saga , a great yagna of self sacrifice of a single woman which brought me to this peak in life.
‘Chithy  had no wants, no desires, and no aspiration except my welfare. She hardly thought about her. She was always seen with a genuine smile on her face. She laughed often, sometime loudly. With so many burdens on her shoulders and so deep in problems, how could chithy remain happy always, I used to wonder. ‘How is it possible, chithy ?  I asked her once, ‘for you to smile so child-like and laugh like a mad one?’
‘Those are available free of cost, available with in and I need not step out to buy them. Then, where is the problem?’
Her last wish was to have a dip in the Kalpathy river, walk around the village, touch Siva’s chariot once, recline on the river bed for some time and pick up some pebbles from the river bed. The smell of the soil was inviting her.
Last year, around this time, I took her to her village. She roamed around like a kid, smiling and talking to every known and unknown woman met on the streets. Threw and cracked a few coconuts as offering and wept for a few minutes before the Chathapuram Ganapathy ; went down the steps to touch the tail of the elephant which was tied to a tree on the river bed, relaxed there for some time, walked along the river side, spent an hour looking at the Western Ghats, jumped into the river, drank palm-cup full of water several time, washed her sari beating it on the granite step producing loud sound, swam for a while, climbed the steps up and worshiped at the Viswantha temple for an hour. She would have perhaps rolled on the soil, which gave her birth and raised her, had she been alone.
‘Okkaruda kanna’. She sat on the sand floor before the temple and asked me to sit close to her.
‘The sun is about to set,’ Chithy  said looking at the sinking disk in the western sky. “If I die here, immerse my ashes in the waters flowing below and that is the place where the last rites are to be performed” . She showed me the appropriate place in the temple premises.
“What happened to you chithy?” I was shocked, “you never used to talk like this!”
“chumma chonnainda madaya – I was just joking” . She made some sound and it was unclear whether she was weeping or laughing. Then she slowly, got up holding my hand, turned towards the temple to have a last look at the sanctum.
In Kalpathy, the Viswanatha temple is at a level lower than the village ground and steps are there to go up or down. The river flows further down and again steps are there to go down, from the temple. While climbing the steps to reach the village, holding my hand, chithy said that she wanted to touch the chariot which was parked on the ground above. But before reaching the ground level, she collapsed on the granite steps. Her pulse was becoming weak and she was sweating profusely. I knew that it was a massive heart attack and her end was imminent. I collected her on my hands, took her near the chariot and pulled her right hand towards the divine mount. My eyes were swollen and watery by then and therefore do not remember now whether her hands could really reach the chariot or not.
But I am confident that her soul would have reached the great Occupant of it. Because, He was with her and within her always, available to her free of cost and she had no need to step out to possess Him.’ Sekhar got up from his seat and moved towards the wash basin.
Unwilling to reveal my facial expression in front of others, I too moved towards the window, picked up the paper tissue from the hands of my daughter who had silently followed me and pressed it close to my eyes.
“I will come for dinner another evening, Sekhar. You and Shyamala should excuse me,’  I told the hosts and was about to move towards the car, when Sekhar held my hand. ‘Uncle, you should always smile like your childhood friend; come and eat whatever you can. An ever green tree she was, unaffected by the onslaught of the summer or winter’
‘And appa,’ my daughter added, ‘remember what I said last night- everyone is sent into this world with a purpose.’
I never question the wisdom or words of my children.
Ocala,Florida
April 13,2011
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Comments
Respected Siva Mama,
Excellent and wonderful piece of write up … torn out of somebody inner core of the heart! when I finished reading, I had developed a lump in my throat and my vision a bit blurred and they were wet!
Thanks …. Small things they may seem, but they mean a lot! Please keep writing.
Best Regards
Radhakrishnan, Al-Khobar, Saudi Arabia
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Dear Siva Anna
What a touching real time life story. My eyes filled with tears and could not control their fall on my cheeks……. reading about Kamakshi and the tragedies that she meted out………………
Extremely saddened about her and once again proved that the world is small where you come across people that you thought will never ever. Mr. Sekhar is truly sent by God to calm your memories that are rekindling you about your childhood friend or sweet heart Kamu.
Take care……. Happy Vishu.
Shanti
Dear Kamu’s lucky friend,
The tale you just narrated so well was not only poignant but should stir the hornet’s nest in every soul.A similar tale, well written by M K Indira “Phaniamma” in Kannada was as absorbing and I think kamakshi was either related to the novelist(she happens to be Mysore Iyer) because it is hard to think kamu as a fictional character. That you were bestowed by her friendship platonically, gives me an urge to visit Kalpathy with you and Meena and perhaps film those places and just add the character of Kamu and you would have made an epic. Very well narrated and the dialogue with Vuday and chance meeting with Shekar comes once in one’s lifetime. Preserve the tale to posterity.
Prasanna
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Mahadevan Venkitasubbaiyer
April 17, 2011
What a poignant story ! I wish Shri Sivasubamanian had met the physician earlier or that the doctor had brought his “Chitthi” to Florida for a visit and perhaps Shri Sivasubramanian could have met his childhood sweet heart.
“Our Sweetest songs are those that tell us of
Saddest thoughts”.How prophetic Shelley’s words were!I agree with Shri Sivasubamanian’s daughter that every body is sent with a purpose. Sometimes even to complete an unfulfilled task of the earlier birth.From the flow of words I could gauge the intensity of the feelings. This real life story would remain long in the minds of those with poetic sensibilities.
V.Mahadevan
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sraiyerr@yahoo.com
15 April 2011
Dear Sri Perinkulam Sivasubramanian Maama:
Namaskaram.
This mail of yours literally made me sob and cry aloud. To be burdened with an aged imbecile in-laws, a child, and herself a young widow, my goodness, after all how much sorrow can a human heart endure!! ? But your Kamakshi, she endured it all. She had a wonderful death. I pray for her to have a happier birth full of wealth, health and prosperity, and a satisfying one. May her childhood love (I am sure she must have had you in her heart before she was married) fructify then.
Maama, I can understand your feelings. You must be a great soul to have such sublime endearing thoughts after so many years spread over continents. It must be a privilege to be even acquainted with you!
With best regards,
Affectionately yours,
Raju
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Dear Sri.Perinkulam Sivasubramanian,Very well narrated.In fact i too was looking for a napkin to cover my moist eyes the moment i had finished reading the mail.
Keep it up SIR :
With Warm Regards,
S R Iyer
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Regarding such a poignant narration early in the morning, makes my eyes misty. I can empathise with you for your feelings.
regards
saikrishnan-
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Sir,
The message made me to weep. wonderful anecdote.
From
swaminathan
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sir
Story of Kamu is really touching. Most of us have some one in our younger life. I too had some one and miss that friend even now, wwhen I am 65.
I could not slee3p after reading Kamu story. I wish I am there with you to console you.
namaskarams
Veeraswami V
Chennai
Home: +91 44 24934730
Mobile: +91 9962 117 843
veeraswamiv@yahoo.com
Dear Sir,
I am touched by the story of Kamu. Needless to mention, there might have many Kamus in this world living just for others’ sake. They might die, but their souls live ever for generations to come!
Regards,
N Raghupathy, D6/14, Kendriya Vihar, Yelahanka, Bangalore 560064; Tel: 22930014 / (M) 9844172976
Date: Sun, 17 Apr 2011 10:25:08 +0530
From: ramageetha1983@yahoo.co.in
Subject: Re: [Iyer123] Kamu, my childhood friend
To: sivaratna@hotmail.com
Dear SIR,
I am a great FAN or your’s and I read all ur WIRTE UPS More than once and I enjoy it.
Just yesterday I was very much moved after reading ur write up on MADAM KAMU and tears in ur eyes at this age.
Really Sir you are a nice and noble person and I pray that the Almighty give you a very long healthy life and always be happy with your SON,DAUGHTER AND THEIR FAMILIES.
The summary of my life so far ( AGED 59.5 now )nearing the grave,is
EVERYONE NEEDS ME BUT NO ONE LIKES ME
but still I continue moving the same way with everyone and continue to think good of everyone friend or foe because as your Daughter says
EVERYONE IS SENT WITH A PURPOSE.
MY Namaskarams to you SIR, and wishes to all in your FAMILY.
A5 Ramani
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VEERARAGHAVAN <pulacode.veeraraghavan@gmail.com
–
Interesting and a moving story!
Thank you sperinkulam.
Pulacode Veera
ashok k <ashokchembai@yahoo.co.in
Dear Mama
Pranams to you ,Kamu chiti and ofcourse to your Daughter and son in law who were their to support u .
It is very much true every person in the world would have a balya kala sakhi which they cant forget in their life till the last breath the luckier together and the destined away,
but its truth that definitely they will meet in their life time again before their last breath like in your case in the form of shekar .
Thanks for sharing your experience
Regards
A k Iyer
jai ramnath <jai.ramnath@gmail.com>
Dear Mama
A truly gut wrenching story – destiny, unwavering purpose & simplicity, all intertwined to deliver a simple yet strong message in todays turbulent times where in pursuit of temporary & meaningless goals, most of us lose the essence of Living a simple yet effective life
I am sure that the story has touched a nerve among all readers, meaning different things for different people, remembering an incident, a distant relative, another simple soul whom we have all known in our lives and most important – a strong message on ancient values that we need to pass on . . .
Best,
Jai Ganesh Ramnath
Chennai
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arkm
arkm1934@yahoo.com
DEAR APPUGARU:
I JUST WENT THROUGH YR SERIAL -NAY REAL STORY OF SOW.KAMAKSHI, YOUR CHILDHOOD FRIEND, ADHEREVERLASTING MISERIES, BUT EVER SMILING FACE.I WAS REALLY MOVED FOR A WHILE BUT WHEN I READ THE OORUKAIPADAM OF YOUR BELOVED DAUGHTER, “EVERYONE ISSENTTO THIS WORLD WITH APUPOSE” I COULD CONTROL MYFEELINGS,SILENTLY WIPNG MY TEARSWITHOUT THE KNOWLEDGE OFMYBELOVED DAUGHTER INLAW WHO WAS BUSYIN THE KITCHEN MAKING SOME DINNER.
MY HUMBLE REQUEST TO YOU WITH FOLDED HANDS PLEASE CONTINUE WRITING SUCH ARTICLES.IT WAS VERY INTERESTNG, INFORMATIVE AND OFCOURSE A BIT TOCHING, B/COZ UR TAKING THE CHARACTERS TO THE VERY FRONT OF THEREADER. MAYGOD GURUVAURAPPAN BLESS YOU WITH SUCH BRILLIANT IDEAS TO KEEP THE READERS HAPPY.
BEST REGARDS,
KRISHAMURTHY
Krishnamoorthy Pazhayanur Shivaram <pazhayanurshivaram@yahoo.co.in>
Sir,
I am also as old as you are now.
The childhood friend’s story is very touching and tears were rolling down my eyes
as I was reading the final return of your friend Kamu to Kalpathy.
This has taken me back to my own younger days in Pazhayanur where I had the
same experience and now lost forever.
Words fail me to write further, sorry
P.S.Krishnamoorthy
Dear SP,
I read your post “Kamu, my childhood friend”.What a real life story.
It brought tears to my eyes.Many helpless women would have given
up after such successive disasters in their life and languished their life
in self pity and depression.But Kamu chose to adopt a neighbor’s child
and made her life meaningful.I salute this courageous woman.
Thanks for this post.
Sitaraman Balachandran
Natraj from Canada
To sivaratna@hotmail.com
Hi Siva,
ou must be enjoying the Florida sunshine and your flare of the Englishlanguage is outstanding indeed. Every wordin your recent writing email was excelent and if Shakesphere was here
he would have prostrated in your “Padam” I like it very much.
So here is how I satart my day:
OH GOD THOUGH ART THE GIVER OF LIFE
REMOVER OF PAIN AND SORROW
THE BESTOWER OF HAPPINESS
OH CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE
MAY WE RECEIVE THEY SIN DESTROYING LIGHT
MAY THOU GUIDE OUR INTELLECT
IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION
ATHEIST’S PLEADING TO THE UNKNOWN POWER OF THE UNIVRSE.
ENJOY FLORIDA. WHEN R U LEAVING FOR INDIA? WHEN U RETURN DONT FORGET THE MAHANI KIZHANGU PICKLE.
BLESSINGS ALWAYS
NATRAJAN
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Dear Shri Siva Subramanian Perinkulam,
That was one of the most touching write-ups I have ever come across. The goodness and determination in the hearts of many unsung heroes is often not known to us and the life of Ms. Kamu hold valuable lessons for all of us. She is truly a great inspiration. Thank you for sharing this tale of courage and sacrifice with us.
Incidentally, my father-in-law Shri Perinkulam Ramaier Subramania Iyer carries the name of your village. He migrated to Ceylon in the 1930s and died there in 1983. I marriied his 3rd daughter Lalitha. My father (Lakshminarayanapuran Narayanaier Krishnamurthy) also went to Ceylon from Lakshminarayanapuram in the 1920s. He too passed away in 1995 in Colombo. My father and my father-in-law were life-long friends. I have heard so much about Palghat from both of them. Although we lived in Colombo we used to make regular trips to Tamil Nadu and Kerala. I now live in Sydney, Australia.
With respectful namsakarams and fond regards.
Sincerely,
Ramanathan