Category: A01 — SHORT STORIES

After confirming from my son that he hasn’t t already chosen a girl for pairing, I started searching for one and within a day or two, located a girl  through the net, showed the profile to my son and when he conveyed his approval, sent his horoscope to the girl’s father with a note that I am prepared to accept his astrologer’s verdict as I am not keen on the horoscope- matching.

After confirming from my son Atchu hat he had not already chosen a girl for pairing, I started searching for one and within a day or two, located a girl  through the net, showed the profile to my son and when he conveyed his approval, sent his horoscope to the girl’s father with a note that I was prepared to accept his astrologer’s verdict as  I was not keen on the horoscope- matching.
He called me immediately and said,’ the girl’s star is the third from that of the boy’s and therefore— ,”  he paused for a moment and continued ,” ‘my wife says…” .
I intervened, “the counting is done from the star of the girl in which case there is stree ——deer– ——rgham, I presume”
He did not say ‘yes’ or ‘no’  but posed a question as to which part of Kerala we belong to.
” The boy’s mother was from the south, me from the middle and the boy was born and raised in Hyderabad. You are free to decide his nativity”.  I told him.
His wife was probably prompting him from behind ( I am not sure as there was no web camera connection ) and wanted some details about the boy, which I offered as below:
“He did his engineering in Hyderabad, MS from the Massachusetts and is now working for Vonage.  Unlike his father, he is intelligent, good looking, tall, and speaks truth always. Unlike his father again, who used to, during his young days, occasionally enjoy  a cigarette or two as well as a sip or two  of Italian wine in parties, the boy doesn’t smoke or drink . Unlike his father once again, who stands before any vertical object which resembles an idol of worship, spends hours together praying and singing, this son of mine does not visit a temple nor has any pictures of the Gods in his room”
“Hasn’t got any likeness to his father?'”
“He has. He doesn’t know cooking”
“I really like you and the way you talk”. He expressed his satisfaction,” I’m sure that my wife too will like you”
“Excuse me sir,” I interrupted, “you seems to have forgotten that the proposal is for my son ”
“Yes,I know, I know”  He continued, “I forgot, thank God, you reminded me. My  wife says that if your son’s star can be pushed a bit either to the front or to the back– ”
‘Extremely sorry, gentle man,” I had to close the conversation, ” My son is a straight- forward type  and  he will not agree to your proposal of shifting the star. And one more ‘unlike his father’,  he has never pulled or pushed a girl while commuting in a crowded bus in Hyderabad.
“Aren’t you Ammalu’s  arrogant husband with a flat nose?”  That voice was sweeter. I could guess that his madam there, had taken over.
‘Yes madam,” I replied, “unlike his father’s Atchuth’s nose is sharp”
“Sir, I’m the girl’s mother. My husband doesn’t know what to talk and how to talk,” the voice was sweet but strong. Unlike him, I can talk well and handle people like you better. Shall I release more ‘unlinkes?'”
“Oh, no madam. I’m convinced that you are capable of releasing anything”
“Good. Ok. Let us talk business”.
“Business?” I was taken back, but managed to say,”madam , marriage is a business? I thought it is a relationship, a sacred one”
“Ok. I am prepared to come down. Can you arrange to push your son’s star this side or that side? If not, let us talk business”
I handed over the phone to Ammalu.” You deal with her” I said.
“NamaskAram! My husband can only write stories, not talk business. Shall we start? Ask your daughter to read one or two Ammalu stories and then decide whether she should become our daughter in law. If she is agreeable I’m ready for any of your conditions, including pushing the star. And, my decision is final in this house”
There was no response. Ammalu turned to me and said,
“Why did you waste your time talking to them, when they are not interested in doing business with us?”
“Ammalu, business?” I asked.
Ocala, Florida
May 24, 2010

.“Mayi sarvamidaM protaM suutre maNigaNaa iva:

“You often deviate from the main story” comments a reader, referring to the last paragraph of the previous chapter. I admit that I do. The problem with me is that I write as thoughts come to my mind; I don’t arrange them  in an alphabetical order, before writing. It has an advantage: the flow will be incessant. The disadvantage is that the main story gets distorted. Anyway, I shall try to keep an index file in my head and place things in order; till then kindly bear with my deviation.
For the annual day program in our college, Sri Vijayan master, our Malayalam professor, wanted to stage a kathakali.  He had learned the dance during his young days. He was looking for an actor for the roll of Kuchelan.  There were no takers for the roll of the poor Brahmin. None wanted even to imitate the deprived even on a stage and therefore, he asked me to take up that roll.
“But sir, I haven’t learned ‘kathakali’” I said, scratching the back of my head.
“That doesn’t matter,” Master assured. There will be no action for you and your very presence on the stage will reveal the intensity of poverty among Brahmins even during the ‘Thretha Yuga’ right under the nose of Lord Krishna. I will do all the acting and you have to simply walk across the stage, revealing the empty space between your chest and hip, till I offer you a seat close to me and grab the small packet from your hand.
How  simple!
No, it was not, when the play was staged.
Something which the learned professor never expected happened.
Seated near Krishna, the poor Brahmin, that was me, out of curiosity, opened the small bundle in his hand, tasted a grain of the sweet puffed rice, continued to put the grains, one by one, into his mouth till the last grain had been eaten!
That is not kathakali.
But, believe me when I say that the audience enjoyed every bit of my action. The open air-theater at the Victoria college, reverberated with the thunderous applause of the students and teaching staff. Everyone forgot that in kathakali, you have only ‘mudras’, hand and finger movement, facial and eye expressions and dance. Every part of the body, except the tongue, speaks. The success of my Kutchela was that my action revealed the level of his poverty. When you are hungry, you will eat any thing that comes to your hand, even a packet of puffed rice meant for the God. Our Gods are not hungry; that is why they are not eating   the ‘neyyappams’ and ‘ payasam’, we offer.  And  if  they  were,  you will offer only, ‘pushpam, jalam and thoyam’. ‘Phalam ‘ . Fruits, either you will eat or give to your children, if you are not hungry.
Vijayan master, I expected, would pulverize my bones and make puffed rice out of them. But he didn’t .He simply said,” I thank my stars, I didn’t stage “Dussana vadham” and  ask you to do the leading roll. You would have unrobed the boy playing the role of Panchali”  He continued,” in the history of Kathakali, this is the first time,  Kutchela actually ate the puffed rice, handed over by his wife, to be given to Krishna. More than regretting your idiotic action on the stage, I feel sorry for the audience, who applauded your action.  It is unfortunate that, there was not a single boy or girl in that vast crowd, to throw a few stones at your head, alarmingly vacant.”
His pain was understandable.
He was not the first person to keep his finger on his nose in dismay and ask himself, a question which several of my readers are asking every time they open my post. “How this fellow is allowed to walk free in this globe, after creating so much trash!”
When I was about to leave his room, hanging my head down, sad about his comments on my head’s poverty, he said, “next time when we act, leave a few grains for me too, just for tasting!”
Unlike many other people of my age, I seek the company of women, for my morning walk.( again deviation from the topic of discussion, for which I seek your pardon).  They talk about their daughters-in-law and mothers-in-law with equal dislike . They have that impartiality and I like that. And they never talk about their disease unlike my male friends.
I asked an old colleague of mine, a butter-fly in her early seventies but still attractive with an air of authority, wisdom and wits. They are her original attributes; otherwise, everything is duplicate, with  her – hairs, teeth, ear, eyes, heart, kidney, jewels and even husband! Her name is Parvadha vardhini and she insists that everyone should call her ‘ Puppy’ and not  Parvadham, though by virtue of her body-size, she deserved to be called so .
“How is that you never talk about any disease, Puppy, whereas, my other friends talk only about that topic”, I asked her once.” Glad  that  you have none.”
“Who said I have no disease?” Puppy retorted.” My disease is at home, reading newspaper or searching for some sweet preparations, in the kitchen”. She was joking. She always jokes; mostly about me but this time about her hubby.
Next to kids, I love the company of youngsters. Life becomes vibrant and lively when you join them and enjoy their pranks. I never question their action or advise them .They hate both.  Anyway they won’t obey you; there is no need also.
My children have mostly disobeyed me and  I am proud of them. If your children, obey every nonsense you utter and move their head like puppets, be careful; there is danger around the corner. Take them to a psychiatrist-earlier the better!
“If you have stopped asking questions, you have stopped growing”  Jaddu has said something to this effect. His words were more beautiful. Open your old books and see how your ancestors have questioned their mother, father, guru and even God.
“Mother, tell me” asked Satyakama.” Who is my father?”
There can’t be a simpler question any mother would expect from her child.  Ajapala was a honest woman. She told the truth. Her lovely body had no cloth to cover upon, except poverty. So our ancestors, Kousika or Kasyapa gothras, exploited her poverty. When I start “abhivadaye,Viswamitra —,I pause for a moment and visualize  my great ancestor’s posture with his face turned and  hand extended, refusing to accept his own child. He had no answer when asked how he could forsake his own child. I respect him for his other virtues, but those don’t come before my mind, when I think of his name; Bad acts  always precede  good  ones, when you try to recall  anyone’s activities, except your own !
“Father, to whom wilt I be given” asked the virtuous Nachiketha, frustrated by his father’s act in donating the worthless cows to the needy Brahmins”. A second time and a third time he asked that question
Vachasravas, in an angry mood, shouted, “To death I give thee”.( “Vayai moodeda –shut up”, we will tell our children, in the same situation. That is equally bad ). The little man, tender in age, stood like a rock, waited at the door of Death, unmindful of hunger and thirst for three nights and when the Lord of Death arrived, he asked a simple question, “Is death, a comma or full-stop?” He didn’t yield to Yama’s inducements and ultimately, he was sent back to earth, with the lamp of wisdom. We should also not dampen our children’s inquisitiveness by asking them to shut their mouth.
Seated on the chariot, in between the two warring groups when the war was about to start, Arjuna asked Krishna, ”Why should  I kill all these people, my cousins, my teachers, my uncles and grandparents and so many other close relatives, just to get back the lost kingdom? I don’t mind loosing it for ever rather than living on wealth and pleasures soaked in their blood. Vyasa’s  poetry shines in “Bhunjeeya boghan rudhira pradigdhan” Krishna was not only Arjuna’s  best friend, but his  guide and guru also. So, he elaborately explained to him the reasons. He didn’t say ‘shut-up and fight’, though he could have said that. Arjuna would have obeyed,. but would have lost the battle and  we wouldn’t have got that  philosophical  marvel, laced with  dazzling poetry.
Yes, “Mayi sarvamitham proktham, Soothrey manigana iva:” Is upper most in my mind, when I mention about the poetic beauty interwoven in that rare masterpiece.
Krishna, in his inimitable kindness, mentions all living and non-living things, as cluster of pearls . The string in the center is the connecting factor. The string remains as such, even after the pearls get loosened and separated but if the string is broken all the pearls scatter .Then there is no garland.
When the inherent divinity or faith or whatever you name for that belief in a supreme power, is broken, we just scatter, loosing our identity, our shine.
While climbing up the steps of the Ganges in Dakshineswar, with a pitcher of water for pouring over the twelve lingas on both sides, one of the pictures for sale, on the side shop used to attract me always- that of the mother Goddess holding the uthareeyam, upper garment of Sri.Ramakrishna and happily following him like a child. That picture vibrated my heart so much that, gazing the twinkling stars and smiling moon, I used to weep silently, wondering how great is the love of the God for his creations! He follows you, holding your T-shirt ( like me you do not have an uthareeyam, I guess),  if you think of Him once a while, like me.  ‘Ennada, Krishna, ippidi prananai vangahari-why do you trouble me like this, God?” I used to ask him, when tormented by difficulties. Suddenly I see his smiling face in a corner  or on a tree -top across my front or side doors of the house. He is ready for performing the celestial dance, ‘Kaliyamardhanam’- But there is no need for that. The poisonous multihodded Kaliya has already withdrawn and escaped into the deep waters.
I am sure that you too would have seen that smile or heard that melody of his flute and if not so far unfortunately, will feel His presence very close to you, very very close to you -why within you, when you read these lines.
Do not worry if the time and circumstances not favour your performing the prescribed rituals, but remember that He is the string on which you stay, move and shine ; He is the string which holds you in tact and once you get loose from its hold, you fall down and scatter on the floor,unsung and unmourned. And also remember that He will not easily allow you to strip and fall, because you are a precious pearl (mani) for him!
.“Mayi sarvamidaM protaM suutre maNigaNaa iva:


Love,
Siva, Hyderabad
July16, 2009
My Website : http://perinkulams.wordpress.com/
To be edited:



Generally, no body likes  to be questioned, especially some of our religious leaders, to whom we look at, to clear our doubts.
Either they feel that we are too small to interact with them or expect us to swallow their words of wisdom as they come out of their holy mouth
Sometime ago, I took some youngsters from US, on vacation to India, to the head of a religious place .When the young men  prostrated before the Sanyasi, he neither raised his hand to bless nor opened his mouth to say a few words. He  turned his face away and engaged in talking to others, as if those fallen at his feet were objects of no concern for him.
“The statues in temples, when we prostrated before them, didn’t speak; but they didn’t turn their head away,“ lamented  the youngsters “:What do you expect us to learn from His holiness?’.
The great teachers, in the good olden days, treated their visitors with respect and  disciples as their own children. They didn’t push them with the handle of their palm-leaf fans!
When I returned to my hotel room, one of the NRI guests had left a small peace of paper on my table, with a quotation from Jaddu Krishnamurti,scribbled on it:
“Do experiment with what I am saying. Put aside your religions, your customs, your racial taboos and all the rest of it, for they are not life. If you are caught in those things, you will never discover life;  and the  functions of education, surely, is to discover life, all the time.”
When I finished reading it, my guests entered. ”Yes, I understand your feeling” I tried to pacify them, “Do, you know what we should do? –”.
Before I completed, they said,” we certainly do, uncle. We should say good bye”.
“Young men, say good bye to me,” I murmured, “but not to the treasure house, you have acquired from your ancestors, just because a few men clad in colour cloths or bare chest, didn’t treat you like human beings.”
.But they were not there  to hear my words of wisdom; They had already left the place.
Even the “Gurunam Guru”,Dakshinamurthy, while explaining the true nature of the Supreme to a group of  old sages, through his silence, was full of smiles, “muditha vadanam”, says the great Thirumeni of my native land.
I am reminded of the gracious and affectionate, though wrinkled face of that great seer of Kanchi, the late chandra sekharasaraswathy, to meet whom I used to run like a thirsty calf towards it’s mother. In the year 1985, he was camping at Kurnool, in a mill- compound, on the shores of the Tungabhadra river. I went there, along with a friend of mine, V.K.Krishnaswamy iyengar, a retired navy officer.  He had no family of his own, had enough money to lead a comfortable life, despite the large amount he wasted, during his young days, on vices, both major and minor. .
We were lucky to bathe in the river, along with the saint and walk along with him to his place. I had to physically, push Iyengar, down at the feet of the  acharya, as he didn’t know how to greet a saint, when I took him to the great Guru.  I explained to the master about my friend’s background and the old man just smiled, as usual. That innocent, child-like smile, activates every micro organisms in the body and bring tears to your eyes. That was his attraction.
“Avidhyanam’ chollu” The saint ordered remembering the ‘Soundarayalahari’ slokas I recited before him,as a ten-year old child.
“I never visited a temple or a mutt for the past 30 years,” V.K told the saint, “Still, while bathing in the river this morning along with you, I felt that I was bathing in Ganges. I haven’t yet, recovered from that feeling .The peace and pleasure, I enjoy now, I never had in my life so far. Can I spend the remaining part of my life, serving you and the math?  Will you accept this sinner and his money?”
“You are not a sinner,  let it be very clear to you.” The Acharya said,” If you were, you wouldn’t have come here.The traces of sin, if any also vanished when we took bath together, this morning.
You wants to serve the math. Let me take the opinion of our learned Iyengar friend, who has been serving me and the math, for quite some time now” The saint,turned his head and with a twinkle in his eyes and a naughty smile asked the Iyengar sitting in a corner, busy with his ledger work,”  Intha madathukku,nee oru  poratha – you, one, not enough for our mutt?”
Every one laughed.
Then, he looked at V.K and said,” one Ranghachari is running a Samskrita  patasala, near Kumbhakonam,. He badly needs some support, physical and financial. You can collect his address and other details, from the mutt. Try to help him. If you are still left with some money, after keeping the required amount for your expenses, spent the rest on poor and needy.”
While we took leave of Acharya, V.K, was sobbing like a child.
“Guru is he, whose life is mingled with God’s life, who is intoxicated with the bliss of the eternal and whose heart is overflowing with compassion and love for all creatures and beings in the world. The touch, society or even a sight of such a great and illumined personality would be at once bring a sense of indescribable relief to the struggling soul, and set him on the path of immortality, peace and bliss” said  Swami Ramadas, of  anandhasramam.
In fact, almost all the troubles, in our society is due to peoples’ yes, yes’ attitude .I have seen elderly people standing before someone they respect, bending their body at 90 degrees, closing the mouth with
their right hand, left hand hidden behind. The respected souls, instead of dissuading them, enjoy that sight and encourage them to do so.
Arjuna, didn’t stand like that.
.Have you seen any pictures, Arjuna, standing before Krishna, bending his body, in the shape of inverted ‘L’ and blocking the air passages, with both the hands? And, sirs, he was questioning whom? ‘Krishnam vande jagadgurum.’
The moment you stop asking questions, you stop living. Jaddu said something like that. I don’t remember his actual words which are more beautiful.
Droupathi was a great woman. She was fire-born, brought up as a prince and the legitimate  co-occupant of the of the great Hathinapura throne, which she didn’t occupy most of the time .She had to spend the best part of her life, walking in the forest and serving others.  She was treated shabbily, by every one, right from the moment she entered her in-law’s house. She was, undoubtedly, Arujuna’s asset and she belonged only to him . When Kunthi realized her mistake of unknowingly asking her five sons to share her, she would have corrected her words .She didn’t do it. What right she had to ask her ‘bahu’ to accept her five sons as her husband? Did she want to perpetuate the stupidly committed by her earlier? And the great Yudhistira, son of the king of ‘Dharma’, happily accepted his mother’s orders! And  his younger brothers respectfully obeyed him.
But what about the pride and dignity of that poor girl ? None bothered.
And she was mortgaged as if she was a lifeless article, when the elder pandava, the epic man of wisdom, lost a game! And the great warrior princes known for their valour and strength, courage and pride, simply stood as stone statues, when their helpless  wife was de-robed, right before their eyes!
The ill-treatment continued till the end. Yudhistira, preferred a dog, to his devoted wife, while ascending the portals of Heaven. Leave away giving her a  fitting farewell, he didn’t  stand near the beautiful body of his beloved, when it fell on the road side and  shed a few tears for her or, even for his brothers .And the Lord Yama, the  master of virtues and righteousness accepted him. The reason for his action was ridiculously simple- Yudhishtira happened to be his son! Let us boycott him.
I missed the main point. Drowpadi asked the elders assembled in the royal court, “How can Yudhishtira mortgage me, when he himself had mortgaged himself, first?”
Even, the Great Bhishma, didn’t answer her question.
Valid questions, many times remain unanswered. But, still you ask. That is how the society progresses. That is how the world advances.
“The exciting thing is that we don’t know what lies beyond the unopened door— and each door will open to many more doors—each answer leading to many more questions— that is discovery”

” Ma nishadaprathishtam thwamagassasswathee sama

Yad krownchamidunadekam avadee kamamohitham”

The screaming in unbearable anguish, by one of the krowncha birds left alive and alone, after her male partner was shot down by a hunter while indulging in innocent love-making, on the banks of the Thamasa stream, inundated the sage Valmiki with immeasurable pain and along with the pearls of tears that flew from his eyes, emanated from the cavern of his compassionate heart an effluence of poetic extravaganza which turned into the second Ganges to give solace and salvation to several souls.

Killing a bird or an animal is matter of routine in the forest and in his previous avatar, Valmiki  himself would have decimated ruthlessly hundreds of lives and looted belongings of  unexpected hapless victims. For a person for whom tormenting others was a habit and profession, another hunter’s act should not have created even a ripple in his heart. But, he is now,  no more Ratnakara, the dreaded hunter and highway robber that he was, once. He is now Maharishi Valmiki, who has come out of the ant-hill, his soul purified by constant chanting of the name of the ocean of compassion and his every tiny cell in his blood, bones and skin regenerated and refined by the slashing rains, slaughtering heat and savage cold. .

That is the reward of ‘THAPASYA’, dedicating one’s body and soul to a great cause, with unwavering mind and unpolluted sincerity.

Sir. C.V.Raman, was one of the chief guests in the golden jubilee celebration of the Osmania University, Hyderabad in June 1967 and  as a P.G. Diploma student in French and German, I had the fortune of meeting and hearing him.  He gave a guest lecture on diamonds. At the end of the lecture, a science graduate stood up and asked, “Sir, you have discussed the different aspects of the nature of diamonds but you have not shown us how to make the diamonds?”

Sir Raman retorted immediately, “It is quite easy. Take a piece of charcoal, bury it one thousand feet deep in the bowls of earth and wait for one thousand years”

There was gleeful clapping in the hall. His message was loud and clear.

When the virus of Vulgar thoughts and vultures of vices slaughter one’s mind and body and his soul gets encapsulated in an ant-hill of ego and ignorance, the celestial melody awakens it, if there is a sincere prayer for liberation. Liberation is not flying into the land of angels, beyond the clouds. It is here, in this soil, where you live and grow. And every one of us turns into a piece of charcoal at one stage or other and get buried deep and deep into difficulties and distress, defamation and mental stress and it takes long, long time for our conversion into diamond.

Osho offers a helping hand :

“It is such a tremendous phenomenon to face oneself. You will need all your energies. .It is such an absorbing job; it cannot be done half-heartedly—And the God is available only when you are unburdened”

Unburdened? How?

Osho also  suggests a way:

“”Life is like a play-don’t make it a business; otherwise you will miss it. Play well, but don’t think in terms of achieving something out of it. Just be like a child. He plays, he is not worried what he achieves out of it. Small children, even if they are defeated in a game, jump and play very well, feel happy. Failure is not a failure even if it is only a play. Otherwise, if it is business, even victory is a defeat. You are victorious but nothing has been achieved. You longed for this goal so much and now you have reached it, but you simply feel frustrated and your whole life is lost. Remember, your life will be lost if you are after some goals, because life has no goals.  It is a purposeless play. It is not going anywhere, it is simply enjoying itself.

If there is purpose, all life will lose its poetry”

This man is talking nonsense, you may say.

Melpathur Mahakavi sings about such a  life full of poetry.

“Venunadakritha thanadana kala ganaraga gathi yogana-

Alopaneeya mridhu pada patha kritha thala melana manoharam

Panisamkwanitha kankanancha muhurasalambhitha karambujam,

Sronibimba chaladambharam bhajatha rasakeli rasa dambharam”

“For Lord Krishana, it is OK”  I hear Ammalu murmuring from the kitchen, “but if you enter the dance club, the doors of this house will be ever shut for you”

I am not unaware that symphony in our  life is more a dream than a reality but there are ways to lessen the sharpness of the thorns though we may not succeed in converting them into roses.

Is there any other  person who lived a more purposeful life than Lord Krishna, all the way smiling, singing and dancing though right from his birth in  captivity he was  hunted  by foes and  and haunted by problems, both of not his making. He never treated his life as serious but acted always seriously, with a smile on his face .  We enjoy that ‘Krishna Leela’ but when our three year old kid plays for  more than a couple of hours, we thrust a paper and pencil into his hand ask him to write ABCD!  We recite day and night Krishana’s dictum that we should work without worrying what we achieve out of it, but we are shattered the moment our child misses an entrance test.

Not that type, I am.  I go cranky only when  dosa refuses to get up from the iron tawa in one piece or my arthritic knees refuse to get straightened before the pressure cooker go to the alert mode for giving out the forth whistle.

Now you are getting impatient. ” Damn with your kitchen experience”   you scream.”There is ocean of difference between Osho and Valmiki. Why bring them together?”

While inhabited in the intensely inimical ambiance and  despite the damages  delivered on his body by the devilish insects and devouring natural elements, Ratnakara was floating in the bliss of the Lord. The celestial saint Narada, while inducting him into the path of devotion also passed on the melody of his Veena with the result that Ratnakara’s life was just a play, as Osho says.  Thereafter, when he came out of the ant hill, he did not become rigid, as would have happened in the normal course under the adverse atmosphere he was in. He could enjoy two birds flying  and love-making on the shore of the stream but got angry and cursed the hunter who separated the pair.   His humaneness was the biggest achievement of his thapas in the ant hill. And what is there in a human if he is not humane!

‘Ma Nishada!”

And what an ideal  beginning for a wonderful life story ! ” Ma nishada! No hunter, no”  That pleading, soaked in compassion and tinged with anger runs through out the great epic.

“Ma Kaikeyi, Ma Soorpanakha, Ma Mareecha, Ma Ravana, Ma kumbhkarna and ultimately  “Ma Ramachandra” -when his hero was about to throw his pregnant wife, the precious jewel which he recovered after great sacrifice,  into wild forest. But none heard his voice!

Valmiki could not prevent the disaster of the love birds but he could give shelter and  solace  to the heroin of his epic and thus  save the royal lineage, educate the children and serve to unite the broken royal couple. He was fortunate to receive a wonderful gift too- he could hear his own songs by the children trained by him who are none other than his hero’s sons and the ‘ arangettam’ (maiden exposition)  of the epic was in the court of Lord himself, in His royal presence!

Blessed was he and to receive such an honor, one  can spend a life time inside the anthill.

Hyderabad,

May 13, 2009

Another trip to down south and attendance at another inter-caste wedding.
A big iron ‘oral’ used for de-husking  paddy and pounding rice, occupies the center of the stage and  a small trunk of  peepul tree wrapped with yellow cloth, nearby.
The girl is sweet with a graceful smile and satisfied look; the boy is nervous, glances now and then to catch the reaction of his orthodox father and whispers at my ear, ” manage the situation if it turns ugly”. The bride’s group do not mingle with the bride-groom’s and the division is awkward . Children are playing around blissfully unaware of the heat around. The vadyar leads  the proceedings in the conventional Brahmin style and intermittently the purohit from the girl’s side proceeds according to their style. While inhumanly enjoying the unnecessary  confusion in conducting the wedding, by clubbing the two styles, I think of my nephew’s wedding  in Guwhati, a few years ago.The day’s proceedings were as per the Brahmin customs and at night, it was according to the practice of Assameese Kashtriyas, the community to which the girl belongs to.There was fun there too. I had to act as a Vadyar there, in the absence of the professional who missed the flight from Kolkata and I managed the show too well. albeit with a little  knowledge of the proceedings and zero ability in chanting mantras.The real fun was when I distributed the ‘akshatai( the sacred rice mixed with turmeric powder, for placing on the head of the newly wedded couple when they bow before the elders, as a mark of their showering the blessing. The elders placed the yellow rice on their own head ! I should have foreseen the problem and counseled them in advance. Even experts err, sometime!.
I move towards the gigantic  figure with a  gorgeous mustache standing near the girl on the stage  and utter a  few words to gain his friendship. He clasps his hands and laughs  loudly as if he was enjoying a joke, to make which I had no courage in his presence. Leading me to the stage, he  asks me to collect  rice, thrice, from the heap already arranged, by both hands, and  drop the cereal down.”The couple needs your blessings” he remarks.
No confusion here as to the selection of heads to place the sacred symbol of blessing;  Simply drop it down allowing to get it  mixed with the heap below, its original place. Ultimately that is what happens to us all, whether you wear a thread around your shoulder or not, is it not?
The bride-grooms father calls me aside to admonish, “Avankitte unnkku ennada petchu?(What on earth are you talking to him) and mutters helplessly, “nan ennada seiven?”(What could I do now?).
I arrange his ‘panjagatcham’ in proper shape and tell him in a low voice, ” if you were less traditional and younger to me, I would have invited you to share my bottle of  Italian wine or at least to play Rummy.There is only one thing we can do now-” I drag him towards a big peepul tree in the garden, make him to sit on its platform and loudly sing a couplet from the Nalacharitham’ Kathakali.
‘Aakrithy kandal athi rambheyam
Aaral ivalude atharam peyam”
Like me, my friend is a lover of Kathakakali and he enjoys the music, forgetting for a moment his unwanted anxieties about the inter-cast marriage that has just taken place in his family .A colorfully dressed damsel passes through, gazing at us and gurgles. Blissfully she does not know the meaning of the song which is somewhat like this:
‘ She is extremely beautiful;  I feel kissing her lips”‘
Had she known the meaning, the mustached ‘Kownder’ would have tied me to the tree and de-skinned or even smashed my bones to tiny particles- He had, anticipating such eventuality, made readily available, both the tree and the iron de-husker, on the stage.
Moral of the story:
If your ward is marrying a girl sans your approval, call me to sing a Kathakali song, but make sure that no iron ‘oral’ or trunk on the stage.
Hyderabad
March 14, 2009

This happened several years ago. After a holy dip in the Ganges, I was meditating on its shore at Haridwar, when I noticed two kids playing in the waters. They were not alone .There were several others taking bath and the kids’ parents also would have been there. Notwithstanding, a strange fear got into my mind that the KIDS MIGHT BE WASHED AWAY by the swirling waters of the river. My meditation got disturbed and more and more I concentrated on the flowing river and the playful kids, my only prayer was that nothing should happen to them and they should  return to the shore safely.
My next place of visit was Kasi and the fear followed me there also and instead of concentrating on Baba Viswanath and allowing my mind to melt in the soul stirring sounds of the gongs, conch and bells accompanying the harti, my mind was wandering on the banks  of the Ganges at Haridwar worrying about the fate of the kids. From Varanasi, I proceed to Gaya and other places, but everywhere, the turbulent mind  was occupied exclusively by the  Haridwar kids leaving no space for other thoughts. The well planned pilgrimage, several months in advance, was thus ruined.
Now, sitting before my desk top in the study at my son’s house at Baltimore, when everyone at home is in sound sleep, my trip down memory lane  is marked with several such uncalled for agonies. As a kid, I used to pray that my father should not be bitten by snake or struck by lightning, when he returns from our agricultural land, long after dusk. But such fear never entered my mind, when I used to walk across the paddy fields, holding his hand, to watch Kathakali dance at the Kallyikulangara temple, which commences late night. I thought that my father was safe, when I accompanied him!
The Haridwar kids would have been, perhaps, good swimmers,and their parents would have been there to take care of them. Being a non-swimmer myself, I would have been of little help to them and my anxiety was therefore unwarranted.  The Ganges have been flowing for centuries and  several kids would have played in the waters and some of them, unfortunately ,would have been even washed off!. The Holy river will continue to flow for several more years( let us hope and pray that her cruel sons do not choke her to death), and I am not going to stand eternally on the banks of the river!
My pacing up and down the foyer of the maternity ward where my wife was admitted for delivery, packed with fear and worry, was absolutely unnecessary. So was my sorrowful wait in front of the gate of my son’s examination hall.In both  these cases and several such others, even the access  to the  areas was denied  or unavailable to me.  would I have have been able to deliver the baby on behalf of my wife or write the examination on behalf of my son, had I been given the permission? Impossible. Then why did I make my life miserable,  gripped  by fear and  robbed  of  my reason?
Fear in any form, is an enemy. When fear enters in the space between husband and wife, father and son, employer and employee,  it destroys the uniting thread and burns the parties too.
The most unreasonable fear is that of God and Death. God is the ocean of love and compassion and to fear Him is to go away from Him. Death is the only assured event in our life after birth and fear of the death is to invite it nearer and to kill the joy of the remaining part of our journey.
J. Krishnamurti said, ” the mind creates the problem , and then becomes the soil in which they take root; and once the problem is well  established in the mind it is very difficult to uproot it. What is essential is for the mind itself to see the problem and  NOT to give it the soil to grow.”

She was there, with us, in the family when I was born, when my siblings were born and also when our children were born; she was there with us through the vicissitudes of life for over 50 years, when our parents and a few others passed away, when we got married and when some of our children got married,and in almost all family functions, when we went on pilgrimage or almost wherever we went.She helped our parents to bring us up and helped us to bring up our children.. Her habits were clean, her hands cleaner with the result that the house always remained unlocked when she was at home and never had we to regret on that count. She quarreled some time with us, collected her cloth bundle and walked away, vowing that she would never step into our house again, only to return before the next meal time for the kids. Father used to shout at her and threaten to throw her out, but in the next five minutes he could be seen pleading for a tobacco bit from her. “She behaves like a mother-in-law” the daughters -in-law of the house used to complain to their husbands but used to rush to her for her advice if their kids sneeze more than once or wet their garment more than twice. All the children in the family loved,respected and treated her as they would treat their mother or grand mother as they all were aware of the role played by her in nourishing and nursing them up with unalloyed affection and undiluted care.. She served our family for several years with the faith and sincerity of a dog and died like a sanyasini leaving only lovable memories behind her.
She was Appaachi.
She had no clue as where exactly she was born and when, or  who her parents were, though her foster mother told her that someone located her near a grove in Kodaimalai in Nilgiri gardens.She grew along with the foster mother’s only son, Yellakki and brought him up as her own brother, after the boy’s mother passed away .Yellakki did no know that their origin was different.
“I would have been then sixteen, seventeen or even twenty, when I came to the city ” She used to say.
She worked as a servant maid here and there and Yellakki worked as a helper, a broker, a supporting actor in cine field and all such things.The absence of parental love combined with poverty and hardship led him to lead a reckless life and he never worried about his sister nor about his own self.
Appaachi grew all alone into a lovely,matured woman and managed to meet both the ends by selling vegetables,milk products and other sundry stuff. She fell in love with a brahmin cook in a hotel in Coimbatore,where she was supplying milk and married him.Doraisamy was most unorthodox in his out look, a dare devil but a loving and caring husband.it was a smooth run for them, till a male child was born. Now this son, Ramsamy, was born in Rohini star and someone told the stupid superstitious drunkard Yellakki, that he would meet his end as Kamsa did in the hands of his nephew. Appaachi had to reveal the truth now that Yellakki was not her brother and in fact they had no blood relationship; it was too late. He did not believe her.Till then Yellaki never bothered about his life, its existence or extinction but now he started worrying about his end in the hands of the little devil born to the woman, known to him as his sister. Suddenly he felt that his life was very precious.
Appaachi learned that her brother was trying to kill the baby during the coming new-moon night and frantic with fear, fled to Madras along with her husband, who could find a job easily fit to his skill . Doraisamy had discarded his sacred thread and deviated from the brahminical path long ago, but now that a son was born to him, he suddenly developed interest in his religious practices and performed every ceremony right from the first one, as is in vogue when a boy is born in brahmin family. Not only that, he developed a deep remorse in his failure to do justice to his ancestry and also to his son, by marrying a woman whose origin was unknown.’Neither me nor his mother will make my son proud”,  he worried.
“The only way to atone for my sin is to bring up my son in a strictly braminical discipline”, he said and admitted him in a vedic Patasala in a distant place, Bhuvaneswar, so that the child’s maternal lineage would not be easily exposed..His wife also agreed for that because she too had developed a feeling that she had sinned by marrying a higher caste person and the only way to atone was to allow the child to develop in his father’s path. Moreover, farther from her village, safer for her son. “My ruffian brother would attack my son anytime, if he were around here” she feared.
“Appa told me once” Respectfully reminiscing his father’s affection, Ramsamy happened to mention to me, later.” When I watched your innocent lovely face, at the heart of my heart, I had a guilty complex that I am not able to pass on the same pleasure and privileges I received from my father, to you. I woke up form my bed hearing the temple bells and father’s melodious recital of vedic hymes where as, you start your day, hearing the barking of the street dogs and  the clatters of the clumsy women from the ghettos . Surprisingly, I longed to sit by your side and change the sacred thread every year on the auspicious day, though I tore and tossed my sacred thread long before you were born. And, when I leave this world for good, I wanted you to do the rituals as I did on my father’s demise, though I did not believe in such rituals till yesterday” .
Doraisamy did not live long. He passed away with the satisfaction that his son had become a vedic scholar . “Your son will take good care of you,” he consoled his wife holding her trembling hand, affectionately. “he is learned and therefore pious, unlike me”. After performing the last rites of his father, the son requested his mother to go with him. She refused.”You have blossomed into a lotus, though born in my muddy pond” She argued. “Marry a brahmin girl and lead the life of a good brahmin for which you are trained. Fulfill your father’s dream. I will live in isolation with the satisfaction that I am not standing in your way of progress ”
“With broad chest and long hands, my Ramsamy stood six feet tall with a thick black tuft sitting like a crown on his head and his broad forehead smeared with ‘vibhoothi’ and ‘kukumamam’ at its center. Am I fit to be called his mother?” she used asked us, with over helming proud and satisfaction.
The son also had, in a corner of his heart, the feeling that she would be a misfit to live with him, though he deeply loved his mother.They both agreed to live separately. He left her mother in a village, went back to Orissa and completed his studies . Later he went to Rishikesh and started a school.
Kuppuswamy Iyer, the owner of the hotel where Doraisamy worked, brought Appachi to my house and told my father:” Anantha Iyer, have this good woman in your house to take care of your kids. She will not pilfer, she will not lie and she will give you a tip or two in selecting top class tobacco” . “I like all the three qualities” Appa commented and added in a lighter vein, “especially the last.”‘ That was how Appachi entered our family.
For the first of couple of years Ramsamy used to visit his mother regularly but  in due course, the frequency dwindled and the visit ceased completely.
I sent a couple of letters to Ramsamy, though Appaachi did not ask to do that, but there was no response.
How long can a mother conceal her longing to meet her son. Appaachi started grumbling, when she advanced in age, that Ramsami had forgotten her.
“I have only one desire in life” she started murmuring” I should see him once before I die and my son should lit my pyre; otherwise, my atma will never be at peace”
I went to Rishikesh and met him. He had,by then, become poojya swamyji, Sri.sri.sri. Ramananthji Maharaj, having his own Ashram teaching yoga and meditation.His immaculate white robes reaching his knees and long hairs falling below the shoulder gave him, an aura of divinity.
I explained that his mother was longing to see him and at least once, he should come down to south so that the old woman could close her eyes for ever, with the satisfaction of seeing her son.
“Oh, my younger brother” He hugged me heartily ” what a great soul you are! The Heaven’s choicest blessings are awaiting you, for taking care of my mother so affectionately”.
“The Heavens have to wait, Ramsamy- oh, sorry Guruji, as I am not in a hurry to leave this world” I replied with a tinge of anger in my voice.” Now let us come to business. you are learned and have no need for an advice from me.,Full filling the last wishes of the woman who brought you to this world is more important than your other activities”. He smiled again charismatically .I continued “what purpose does your ‘ gyanopadesas-preaching spirituality, serve-if you neglect your own mother?” .
“I understand your feelings” He tried to hug me again but I moved aside.”Pitha naiva mea, neiva matha nah janmah” He quoted one line from the ‘Nirvanasktakam’ closing his eyes and moving his long fingers over his braids and beard.
‘Your Guru who sang that ‘I am neither this nor that; I have no mother no father–” went down south to lit the pyre of his mother . At least do that when the time comes”
I got up from my seat , fretting and fuming; when he tried to hug me again I avoided and came out of his room, yelling ” had your father trained you as a cook and dumped in a hotel, his wife would not have lost her son. Curse on him.”
I never mentioned to Appachi about the interview.
Appachi’s last days were nearing.She grew weaker and weaker.I received a call from my ancestral house one day,  that she was critical..
I rushed to Palakkad. Before starting from Hyderabad I sent a telegram to Ramsamy and also requested a friend in Rishikesh, to inform the Guruji that he should rush to Palakkad to meet his dying mother.
She managed to utter a few words while I was trying to pour drops of Gangajel into her parched mouth.”Rasa, Will my son come to lit my pyre?”
“He will Appachi, he will. In fact he is on his way” I was ashamed to lie to a dying woman whom I treated like my own mother.
She died after 3 days. I tried again to contact Ramsamy, through phones, telegrams and friends – he could not be contacted.
After waiting for 2 days, I carried the dead body to the burning ghat.
“Hand over that torch to me” I heard a voice from behind while I was about to lit her pyre.”Permit me to have at lest that privilege of a son. I am late “
I turned around and gazed at the tall and graceful figure, standing like ‘Ramar in cinema’ in his mother’s words.’You are not late Ramsamy” I told him while handing over the burning torch. “You are in time. In fact she did not expect any thing more than this, from you.”
Looking at the enormous flame engulfing the mortal remains of Appachi and sitting on the shore of the river whose lucid waters carried the charred bones and ashes of my ancestors and which will shortly carry those of the woman whom I respected as my own mother , I told her son who was by my side,”there are still hidden springs in the cavern of your heart, Ramsami.Your father’s efforts did not go waste.The ‘dhiyoyona prajodhayad’ prayers have really enlightened your mind at the appropriate time and brought you here”.He did not speak a word.. He was gazing at the gigantically growing flames.
The sun was sinking below the western hills in full splendor and the crows were flying to wards their nests and nestling. The air was becoming cooler.
“The fascinatingly smiling face and the fragile body of Appachi is turning into ashes” I whispered, holding the hand of Ramsamy,”this woman, no way related to us, not from our village or caste and with a hazy origin, pervaded the life of three generation of our family so intimately that I find her loss unbearable”.
“True, I can understand your feeling” Ramsamy replied in a very casual manner and added, “but what was her contribution to her own son?”
“That was a stupid question and deserves no answer” I retorted. ” But I don’t like you to carry that question for ever with you. She not only gifted you a life but also preserved it by saving you from the clutches of Yellakki; allowed you to grow and prosper by encouraging your father to take you away from her nasty surroundings, She remained aloof to help you enjoy your glory untarnished and above all, she showed you, your father- even Sathykama did not enjoy that privilege. Unlike him, you need not bend your head in shame, while placing ‘haviss’- the cooked rice soaked in ghee at the sacred fire, reciting the manthra,
“Yam ne matha pralulobha saratyananu vrada thanme retha:pitha
Vringtha mapuranayo papathathamam”
‘You are a Sanskrit scholar and I am sure that you know the meaning of it?” I asked him .
‘Yes, I should” he replied meekly, ” if my mother has deviated from the path of righteousness, let this offering reach my biological father”
I did not wish to remain in his company any longer. I moved away; he was following me with moist eyes.
“Can I come to your house” he asked ” to visit the place my mother spent most of her life?”
“You can” I replied, “but no more stupid questions”
“Yes, no more stupid questions” his voice was shivering and eyes were watery. He hugged me and   this time, I did not try to avoid him.
Appaachy would have liked the way, we walked away from her salvation ground- holding hands together.
Ocala,
May 16, 2008

“Ellam Avan thalaile podu’ was an oft- repeated catch phrase of Kunju athai, who was neither ‘kunju’ petit nor my ‘athai’, aunty. . It was  her colloquial way of expressing ‘leave everything to God’ or “unload all your burden on him” though the literal meaning is ‘throw everything on His head’. Here “HE” for her, was Ganesha, the God with the elephant’s head, the remover of obstacles and the presiding deity of  her village.

Due to heavy rains and consequent thin attendance for a function in her house, large amount of food was left over and the cooks, sought Athai’s suggestion for its  disposal. Without realizing for a moment what she was uttering, she, made her parrot-like pronouncement, “Ellam avan thalile podu”! .The cooks had enough common sense not to take the old woman’s words literally but believe me, within ten minutes, there was an avalanche of beggars who, within no time, emptied all vessels and made every one, including Athai and the God, happy. After depositing, as usual, a small coin in the ‘hundi’, a small mud pot, provided with a narrow opening on the top, to thank the God for sending spontaneously food-seekers, Athai went around the village to proclaim about the miracle.

“Podi, paithiyame, you foolish woman!”  professor Iyer, chided  his wife  for her claim, before moving  towards the neighboring  house for playing cards. He  told his friends there that the huts below the bridge nearby got inundated due to floods and the hapless people came running for food, when they noticed that there was a celebration in his house.

“Neither my wife nor the God has any roll in it” He declared.

“That is why every one calls him  “kundamandi krishna iyer'” Athai told her friends when her husband’s clarification was brought to her notice by someone.

The Lord’s head is big and strong enough, no doubt, to carry the load she throws incessantly  but there is a limit for everything. When any one seeks the divine intervention too frequently and on too insignificant issues, even the gods would get irritated and that is exactly what happened in my case.

When she knew that I was preparing to face the devil known as ‘mathematics test’, Athai hurriedly collected a picture of  Ganesh from the calendar hanging on the wall and pasted it on a file pad.

“Before leaving the house, at the entry point of the examination hall and every time you start answering a question, do like this” Athai instructed giving a visual demonstration of what I should do. “Touch the feet of the God with your right hand and take it to your head so that at least a corner of the big vacuum in your head is  filled by the divine intelligence”

None had taught me such an easy way  and I obeyed her order strictly , by doing the ‘kara-sira asan-hand to head exercise several time. Despite the divine dispersement, I could  attend only a few questions, while the class teacher was observing me keenly and wondering what trick I had adopted this time other than the usual copying.

After a week, my teacher  came home with a poverty-stricken single paper sheet and showed my father and explained how I was performing some  aerobatics in the examination hall.

“Not a single answer is correct” father exclaimed looking at the smiling face of the teacher, “how did you give him five marks, Chuppea?”

‘That is for his bakthi, devotion to Ganesa, Anna ” He replied pushing a pinch of snuff into his nostril .”You know that I too am a Ganesha devotee.”

After the teacher had left praising the delicious food provided to him by my mother, father told her sarcastically, ‘Uppu chitho ppodu on puthra sikhamanikku’- this was a practice to remove the ill effects of evil eyes cast by the jealous people around, when some one achieves a feat . A hand full of salt is rotated around the achiever’s head or whole body and thrown into water, signifying that ill effects would meet the same fate as the dissolving salt.  Athai however denied that privilege to a proud mother, by collecting a handful of dry chillies and throwing them into the fire oven, after rotating the red stuff around my head and also that of my mother.

The ‘put,put’ sound from the kitchen confirmed that the  ill effects had been burnt and dispersed  successfully.

“But why for her?” my father enquired athai pointing his finger towards my mother, “does she also has a share in the five marks?’

“

For giving birth to a brilliant son” Athai replied innocently  “how many would have cast their evil eyes on her!”.

‘Then Kunju, you too deserve one or two rotations”  My father  chided her again. “After all it was your master plan that fetched my son five marks”

Athai became smaller in size due to shyness and humility.

Though of insignificant nature, these childhood  incidents surface on my mind not infrequently.

Like Kunja athai,  many women, during my childhood , with unstained heart  and  unalloyed  devotion used to rush for divine  intervention and firmly believed that their prayers would be answered. Faith is faith and no questions asked. But questions have been asked right from the beginning man appeared in this planet and will continued to be asked. Otherwise we will not be flying to moon and mars but still  jumping from branches to branches.

Even before a child comes out of the womb of his mother, it starts asking questions by kicking, from within. I am not joking .You already  know this if you are a mother and if you are a father, hmm, you have missed like me, the thrill of  those kicks.  But you will still enjoy a part of that joy if you have a two or three years old child at home . I have that  privilege now and  you should  therefore read this  story further,   if you haven’t gone into sleep already.

Raaghav is a petit, shy kid, hardly four, who firmly believes that he can lift a mountain and fly through the sky as his roll model  Hanuman did once or twice, without efforts. Tyeing his father’s leather belt at his back, to cover the deficiency of a natural growth there, he climbs over the dining table and asks me,. ‘Why don’t you also jump thatha?”

“I am old, my dear, and I can’t jump like you.” It is a fact and all children accept facts. But he shoots the next question.

“‘Why did you become old, Appooth?”

“To be frank, Raaghav,” I disclose another fact,  “I didn’t want to, but I became.”

He was not there to listen. I could hear his compassionate murmuring from the library.” Thathakkemayindi? why he is not jumping? what happened to his tail etc, etc.

“You continue to ask such questions, my child” I tell myself. ‘You will one day recover something new about genes”

Divaya is hardly one year younger to him and she is like a fresh flower glistening under the morning son. She follows me to the toilet. I ask her to move out but she doesn’t listen

“Is it a good choice Divya to be in the rest room when someone is there?’ I ask and plead again to quit. She neither obeys nor disobeys but tells me  that she wants to use the rest room.

“Go ahead, and tell me when you are done so that I can clean your butt” I wait there . She twists her tongue to perfect the pronunciation in American style and chimes:

“Is it a good choice Appooth, to be in the rest room, when someone is there?”  The words are broken but the message is clear.

‘One day, you will become a lawyer, Divya” I tell myself, “and then fight on principles , for week and oppressed”

Ananya,- a power pack with the speed of wind and enough energy to illuminate half the Baltimore city, will be three shortly. She wants me to tell her the ‘crow story’ but the moment I utter the word ‘crow’ she shoots questions, one after the other :

“Kakkai enna karuppa irukku-why the crow is black?, athodu mooku enna ippidi irukku- why is its nose in  this shape ,  why your nose is not like that of the crow, why the crow flies away and doesn’t live in our house etc etc.

When her questions, with the speed of arrows, attack me incessantly, I think about my forebears, who, looking at the glowing sun, thundering sky and flowing rivers went on asking questions and acquired admirable knowledge in various subjects, ranging from grammar, philosophy,astronomy,psychology, etymology and so on . They gave so much importance for questioning that an Upanishad is named, ‘Kena-by whom?’ though all the Upanishads are in essence, treasure houses of intelligent questions asked and transparent answers provided by the enlightened Rishies, who have gone deeper and deeper into the secrets of micro human minds and macro Universe.

Wearing a thread across your shoulder or applying mud or ash in two parallel lines or three horizontal lines on your forehead serves no purpose if you do not probe into the secrets of the Universe, for which an alert mind and strong body are required. Our ancient Masters had both.

If you  are not  prepared  for the above adventurous journey and simply stand on the bank of  the Kalpthy river, wearing three or even thirty threads across the shoulder, your houses  might be washed  off  by the gushing waters of Time”Kalapravaham’ and you may have to hunt for the left over food or be satisfied with with five marks, just five marks, in your test paper.

Remember, Kunja athai is not there now to provide you food or rotate a handful of dry chillies around your head to ward off the ill effects of evil eyes.

Baltimore,

July 4, 2008

Fear and suspicion strike and strangulate weak minds, effortlessly.
‘Banian’ uncle came for night halt, a month after Kakkamma’s stealthy disappearnce with Kunjunni and looked hear and there as though she was still hiding,somewhere in a corner.
” I will not go near the backyard, to be on the safe side” he said thrice voluntarily, before going to bed.
However, next morning he was waiting near the pond within our compound, for father to come out, after his bath and morning prayers. He followed him with slow, measured steps,cleared his throat and asked in a voice scarcely above that of a whisper,”can I have a word with you, Anna?”
“Certainly, if it cannot wait till I complete my morning poojas”
“It can wait, it can wait” he murmered but father knew that it cannot wait and asked him to go ahead “You want to tell me something about Kakkamma, I presume?’
“Yes, Anna. Are you aboslutely certain that Kakkamma has left this place, for good?”
“Yes, I am. why, you have any doubt?”
“No doubt; I have no doubt; in fact I saw her in the Coimbatore market driving a bullock cart, yesterday”
“Then why did you ask me that stupid question, Venkitaraman?”
“No, Anna. just to confirm” He stammered and muttered,” because I saw a woman exactly like her, puffing a ‘churuttu’, in our back yard and immediately, I started reciting Panchakshari..”
“Even Sahsranamam, reciting God’s one thousand names, will not help you to come out of your fear” Father said indignantly.”because you do not trust your own eyes”
Did ‘Banian’ uncle really saw Kakkamma puffing her churuttu? Is she still visiting our house to smoke, incognito, during night hours?” I started worrying.
Next day morning, a chicken was found dead with twisted neck, on the road across.
” Has Kochunni also returned along with Kakkamma?” The old fear which was slowly subsiding got a sudden push but I had no courage to raise the topic with my father.
I glanced through the window. Suppu patty was entering our house. She was a distant relative, staying in the village,not far and used to visit my grand mother often, under some pretext or other.
“Revathy did not serve me coffee today in my brass tumbler and so I got angry and came off” She told to every person she met in the corridor, unasked. Revathy was her daughter- in- law, you would have presumed. The brass tumbler,she had brought with her from her mother’s house on her wedding day.
“A chicken was found strangulated in front of our house” I told her without bothering much about the brass tumbler . Though I made the remark in a casual tone, I expected her to reply that it was the handiwork of ‘odiyan’.
“It is Chudalachami’s work” She said confidently. Now here is a new name and a new devil.
“Who is he?” I enquired.”I know Ramchami who supplies us vegetables and Kittachami who comes from our village to enquire about grand mother’s health; but not this Chami”.
“He is the colourfully dressed,’kudukuduppandi’, who stands in front of your house, before you wake up,makes a ‘kudu,kudu’ sound from his mini drum and predicts future”
Suppu explained,moving her right hand to show the movement of the mini drum and the left one to prevent the slip of her pudavai’s tip from her clean shaven head.
“He goes to the creamation ground at mid-night and invokes Sudalaikkali, the goddess of the place and applies the holy ash collected from her hands all over his body, before dancing on the dead bodies along with the Kali”
“Does he also hold a trident and the blood-dripping head of a dead demon?” I enquired Suppu. “He doesn’t” she clarified.”He carries the trident only when he comes out on the street, with a skull hanging from his his neck suspended by a snake. The prophesy he makes facing the first house he visits on his return,will become true and then he returns only the next morning to stand before another house and tell the furture “
Now, that was a terrible image, strong enough to replace the shadows of Kakkamma and her odiyan lover
There was one good aspect about my head; There was no confusion of fears; A new fear always replaced the old one.
I was anxious to meet Chudalichami though I was afraid of his fearsome figure.
I woke up the next morning and the mornig after that, much earlier to my usual time, peeped through the window waited for some time to see the awesome figure but he did not come. I went back to my bed.
After a couple of days, cloth merchant Chettiar passed away. Whether he had accumulated wealth or not, he, undoubteldy had saved a lot of fat in his belly and other areas of his small body,with no excercise whatsoever and it was therefore not a big news that he was called back to the pavilion.But there was a rumour in the town that Chudalaippandi had predicted his death in his pre-dawn visit. Who kept awake to see his visit so early in the morning was not known but surely it was not me,.I developed a new fear now. Did Chudalai make some such prophesy in front of our house too? And I silently prayed that nothing should happen to my grandmother who was the oldest among us..
I asked my grandmother,whether Chudali would have predicted something adverse infront of our house too.”Don’t believe a word of what Suppu tells” She consoled me “Chudalai is a poor man who lives on the tricks of his pet monkey”
.When I returned form school next day, a coloufully dressed and turbaned tall man was standing in a corner of our shop at a respectable distance from my father, bowing his head a bit and holding a small monkey tied to a rope. He complained to may father that his wife was missing from the morning and would like to know when she would return. Father asked him to extend his palm and predicted that she would not return. “Look for another woman”. He suggested.
“Who was he, Appa?” I enquired after the turbaned man left.
‘Chudalaichamy.” Appa replied, pushing a betelnut preparation into his mouth. I was stunned. Chudalichami who could predict the death of Kuppan chettiar seeking father’s advice to know about his wife’s return!
“I never knew that you are an expert in prediction” I wondered. He smiled,”Shall I predict your next question?”
“Yes, Appa”
“‘ Appa, how did you predict so confidently?’ right?”
“Yes, yes. How did you predict so confidentley?’
“Simple common sense” Appa answered with a twinkle in his eye.”Last time he complained about a friend who visits his house often,looks smarter and earns more because his monkey plays better tricks”
What was the connection between missing wife and monkey tricks, I did not know, then. But no more questions; time to play.
Ocala
April 30, 2008