Sri gurubhyo namaha!
“…Āditya Hṛudayam Puṇyam Sarva Śatru Vināśanam….”
Although he did not have to, Seetaraama Sastry Chief Archaka of the oldest surviving Surya Devata temple in the land, decided to dress his lord for the last time. The one in charge of this duty was brusquely told to go and fetch the requisite garments and garlands and various other accessories that would adorn Suryanarayana today while the Chief Archaka himself made sure that he anointed the deity with the best of oils, fragrant with natural essences. His hands trembled while they massaged the stone as though he was afraid to hurt a frail man or a very important personage. Who can hurt the god of health himself! What a foolish thought! I must not let any negativity come my way today he told himself. He had not consulted his wife or children about this sudden life-changing decision of his which would cause furore not just in his household, but statewide, he was sure of that. Maybe even a nationwide stir, given how news carried far and wide these days so quickly. No, I will not let anything or anyone change my decision. For now, let me serve my lord with devotion one last time.
Knowing the hymns and verses by rote, having learnt them even while he was in the womb, he took his time bathing and anointing and then carefully wiping down every droplet of milk, curd, ghee, honey, and water off the body off the one who had been in his safekeeping all these years. What a privilege it has been for a poor braahmaNa from Undi Agraharam to have made it to this level. Sought after by devotees, by politicians, by bureaucrats and bigwigs, he had managed to carve out a name for himself amongst the very people who looked down on his community and poked fun, at the slightest pretext. Between the lack of wealth and lands, between the lack of power and pelf, the lot of vaidikas was pitiful. He had grown up in near poverty, sleeping hungry every second day, and he had been mocked and derided for being who he was, for his family background, for his shikha, for his vegetarianism, for his daily habits of bathing in the river, doing sandhyaa, his japa, his various vratas. He had braved them all had he not, all the insults that are reserved solely for braahmaNas.
Filled with helplessness and anger against a society that targeted him mindlessly for the supposed or imaginary sins of his ancestors, Seetaaraama Sastry had become a hard man, tough to crack, and quick to rise. There is no point in being soft and kind, the world does not appreciate such warm hearts he told himself and his family, every chance he got. And somewhere along the way, he lost his humility that must accompany any great knowledge. If he had been a humble purohit would he have been appointed Chief Archaka at such a young age? Of course not! The world respects only those who are go-getters, people who fix an aim and take that shot. He had done exactly that. And his Suryanarayana had helped him in this endeavour. Now he was planning to give all that up. He would be leaving his mentor, friend, guide, and god. For he could not take it anymore. He put out his hand expecting his subordinates to lay the clothes of the day into his palm, which they did. The ornaments, the accessories, the numerous flower garlands in various varieties, shapes, and sizes, were all handed to him one by one. He was deliberately slow in his proceedings, while the queue outside the doors kept growing. After dhoopa, deepa, naivedyam, and all the sixteen steps and more were completed as per the Agamas, with a final touch of fixing the kumkumam on the deity’s forehead, applied with great finesse and flourish, and offering of flowers, he announced that he was done. “Hmm, teravanDi” – Open the Gates.
His beloved Surya was now ready to receive his devotees. And they came by the hundreds. Yes, today is a good day to leave all this behind me thought the middle-aged Sastry, a paunch now evident from all the sitting and conducting of ceremonies. His once frail body was now filled up with age and lack of exercise. Fair in the face and fast in gait despite the excess fat in his belly, he tied his tuft of hair once again in a top knot tightly so that it would not come off easily. Tucking his dhoti high above his ankles he navigated the neighbourhood naalaa with ease. Cyclists passing by the purohit residences, vegetable cart vendors, children playing on the street, all of them wished him reverentially. Some out of genuine admiration and love, some out of grudging respect and fear. “namaskaaramanDi!” they would say and he would nod hardly smiling but acknowledging “challagaa unDu”, that was enough for many of the housewives who came out just to be able to wish him and take his blessings. This was an area full of his admirers. Had he not been the only one who would pay their children’s fees, their husband’s salaries, and offer his wife’s brand new saris if the women had a wedding or a function? After all, what could these poor families afford with the paltry almost non-existing income from the Endowments? But for his largesses, they would have given up their lives out of hunger and shame. Thus Sastry had no friends or equals or peers except for one, and that one he mostly disagreed with.
He walked past his home via a long-winded narrow kutcha road towards his friend Swami Tattvavedananda’s house. While the crowds behind him went ooh! and aah! in the temple, falling over one another to catch a glimpse of the sun rays falling at the feet of the murti. This happened only once or twice a year, an architectural wonder that is common to all Surya temples in Bharat. Today being rathasaptami, the Sun-God was celebrating his own birth, as though. Sastry had been upset for a while. All the interference from the Endowments Officer, the lack of funds, the misuse of money, the mismanagement of the temple logistics, the very reason for the EO to be there in the first place was defeated. He was unable to pay attention to his main duties of serving the Lord without constant nagging of the bureaucrats and constant visits of politicians. The security cover that was provided each time when some big shot landed here for taking blessings for a campaign or an election caused insurmountable pain and inconvenience to the devotees. You could accuse him of being haughty but not of being impervious to devotees’ needs. That is how he was able to survive so long in this mad jungle. No one could kick him from his position knowing that the whole town would go up in arms against this decision.
So they made his life very difficult and he was sure to leave voluntarily one day, and that was today. “You should not take it to heart pantulu, the EO maybe Christian but he is not anti-Hindu, some others are not so accommodating …you must let him take some decisions, if not it will become a fight every day, do you want that, so much unpleasantness?” his friend had warned him sometime back. “But how can I watch some kaun kiska fellow who knows nothing of shaastra with absolutely no bhakti in his heart to take charge over our temple, our traditions, our land..don’t you feel any sense of loyalty to our dharma?” Sastry had been most upset with his friend’s nonchalance than the Christain EO’s un-Hindu behaviour. When our own people have no understanding of the dangers facing our kind, what to speak of others! He had wanted to say more but had bit his tongue. His upbringing did not allow him to deride a sannyasi, especially someone as erudite and as disciplined as this one. Swami TV as he was affectionately called by his students had always been so. Brusque, gruff, and quick to cut you off when you said anything remotely emotional. It was all about buddhi with him, you could not make an appeal of the heart in his company.
It had turned out just as he had predicted, a daily battle and tussle of power. “But how can they anDi? How can they trample over our beliefs and feelings this way? 228 temples and murtis desecrated! And that is the official number, the reality must be very scary even for them. So much hate they have filled against us. How long will we keep quiet, why should we keep quiet! Do we have any say in their Church matters? Will they even listen if we interfere? Don’t you think it is unjust? How can you smile at me like this…my blood is boiling…no no don’t give me your Vedanta please!” so saying Sastry had left his friend’s humble residence in a huff last time.
The door was open as usual as is the paddhati in these parts, but Sastry did not want to barge in. Last time he was this familiar with his childhood friend and classmate he was made to wait almost three hours, while Swami vaaru completed his correspondence, his japa, his dhyaana, his….unable to take this insult any longer, being used to the hangers-on and junior archakas scampering about in his presence, Sastry had shouted aloud turning away from the house, “saray anDi, I got the message, you have no time to see me, you could have told me kadaa, instead of treating me so poorly, like a stranger”, from behind him a gravelly voice retorted from the grilled window, “when you know that I meet people only after my evening coffee, why do you show up unannounced…like a stranger!” There was no remorse in that voice nor any anxiety. Plain and straight talk.
That was the problem with these Vedanta types, no emotions only. Everything was about their saadhana and how one must dance around it. What if it was an urgency, would he still have sent me away from his doorstep so unceremoniously? Thank god for these old fashioned houses, one could sit outside on the gaTTu. So Sastry sat and waited while steaming inside. It was cool weather for January, yet his head and heart had been on fire ever since his only son had started frequenting Swami vaaru’s Vedanta classes. Their friendship had started to sour just as Anjaneya had started to question the various prayers, rituals, customs, that were meticulously followed by his father. I could have easily found him a job as an archaka in a good temple till he got enough experience to assist me at Arasavalli, but no. Karma, karma….look at him now serving Swamulavaaru day in and out, as if I am dead. Don’t I need some assistance too?
Everyone but my own son has high regard for me thought Sastry ruefully fanning himself in the easy chair on the verandah, where he made himself comfortable and waited for it to be 4.00 pm. The clock tower from across the street showed it to be quarter to, so another fifteen minutes to go, he took a deep breath and sunk deeper into the cloth, which was almost like a hammock under his weight. Too lazy to check his cell phone which showed signs of life with incoming messages, he called out to the man across the street taking his bullocks all decorated, from house to house…”aenvoyi Sankranti is over, you are still going around with those bulls of yours…did I not give you enough for a whole year….one should not be so greedy….”, the turbaned man came running towards Sastry with folded hands, “ayyiyo ledayyaa, they wanted Shiva and Nandi for a film shooting ayyaa…I told them to put some donation in the temple Hundi, I don’t need payment…you are there to look after the likes of us…please don’t misunderstand..” having thus assuaged Sastry the man sat down at his elder’s feet massaging it. “saray saray, don’t put any money in the Hundi..your hard-earned money will go to some Christian or Muslim, can’t trust these officials…give it to Swami vaaru, he will come out at 4.00 pm. He has hardly anything to his name…he will say no…but you must force it …saray na?”
Anjaneya had informed Sastry of the dire straits that his friend was in. A sannyaasi needs to be fed and looked after by the householders, but if the householders around him had all but converted to a different religion, taught to hate and mock their parent culture, Swami TV’s fate was obvious. Sticking to some honour code of the sannyaasis, he never sought food from beyond one kilometre of his residence, hence Sastry could not be of much help on a daily basis. Many a time the Swami slept hungry. But he was never angered. If this is what eeshwara wants.. he would say with a smile which exasperated Sastry. Although upset at his friend for not helping the Hindu cause and for weaning his only son away from him, he was not oblivious to the plight of an honest sannyaasi in this day and age. Serves him right, how many times I have offered him to come and take classes for the EO, for the political bigwigs, to meet and greet….he does not listen…
And then he remembered, in his hurry to quit and resign from that hate-filled situation of the daily encumbrance in dealing with a Christian EO, he had forgotten to bring along the de-husked coconuts that had come from his farm. How could he come empty-handed to meet a man in ochre even if it is his childhood pal? He must get them before the doors opened, he could not be caught unawares. ..pramaadam…such inadvertence on my part….all this is that EO’s doing, he has put his evil influence on me. “idigo…go to my house…you know where it is….ask ammagaaru to give you the coconuts that have come from Tanuku, they are in a gunny bag on the gaTTu, tell her I asked for it….go go run, run…and come back as quickly…don’t loiter and smoke a beeDi…” so saying Sastry thrust himself out of the self-made hammock gently nudging the turbaned man away towards the gate. “I will keep an eye on your bulls, don’t worry”. With the figure of the running man receding in the corner of his eyes, he turned his attention to the bulls.
Walking over to them in his trademark quick gait, he stopped before them with a start when one of them, Shiva or was it ..what was the other one’s name..snorted a warning. Oho! Even these animals do not respect me anymore thought Sastry! The world has lost all propriety, there is no sense of order anymore, everything is falling apart. Even animals do not behave the way they are supposed to. How many times have I fed your master and you, in fact it is because of me that you are surviving. Sastry was upset at all the ingratitude around him. Not even the bulls showed any affection towards him. His only son was not his anymore, his daughter now all womanly and distant, while his wife had no time for him from all her household work and poojas. Who could he turn to for advice, for support, for an easy banter where he could unburden himself.
“They don’t know you are the Chief Archaka of our famous temple pantulu, don’t be upset at them poor mute beings!” The door to moksha had opened unbeknownst to him while he was in his reverie and there he was, Sastry’s only recourse, a vision in saffron.
Just as Sastry turned his head and was crossing the street to make way to his friend’s meagre lodgings Shiva and Nandi’s owner came jogging along out of breath carrying a heavy sack over his shoulders. “Where should I put them ayya?” he asked Sastry, who took the heap from him quickly and dropped it near his friend’s feet. “Teach your bulls some manners, they don’t seem to know who I am..” so saying he started to cross the threshold into the local gurukulam. “Ammagaaru gave me these”, panting the turbaned man showed up a carry bag with 2-3 coconuts. “Hmm Hmm ok…remember what I said..no Hundi”
Swami TV looked at his friend with deep affection and asked jokingly, “I look forward to the day when you will come to me empty-handed! Do you have to bring something every time, this is what I keep warning about, this blind adherence to some shaastra, some injunction, I would prefer it if you came here with more viveka and vairaagya….with your type of shraddha…you would not need to worry about the likes of the EO anymore..” He followed Sastry inside the old fashioned tiled house with a courtyard in the centre. They sat down in the far right corner on two old and worn rickety cane chairs gifted by a student. “And I wait for the day when you get some worldly wisdom in you, if we are not careful we will fall from these and break our bones!” retorted Sastry who was in no mood for jokes. He was also upset noticing how the table heater was working. “So Anjaneya has been helping you repair this…there are a thousand things at home that need fixing but he will not touch them….” Swami TV stopped his friend’s complaining with a gentle touch on his hand and smilingly said, “bring them all here, whatever needs repairs, your son will work here in peace and I will make sure to send them back to you..”
“You should allow someone in to do the cleaning at least, look how everything is so dusty. How do you wash your clothes? And all those vessels with so many students streaming in every day at all odd hours…” Sastry looked very concerned at the condition of Swami’s residence cum gurukulam. “You know what happened last time is not going to be repeated, not all women will try to file a case against you and claim crores” he added gently. It was a well-known fact in town that a maidservant working at this place had filed false harassment charges against Swami TV and the non-bailable warrant under the SC/ST Act was somehow squashed at the last moment with great difficulty due to the good offices of Sastry, who had used all his Chief Archaka powers and network to get that woman to drop her ill-intentioned case. She had taken a fancy for Swami who would not entertain her base desires, so this is how she had repaid his naivete. Given that his small abode sat on prime land it gave enough impetus to other unsavoury elements to join forces with the maid in making his life miserable. But for Sastry, Swami would have been in jail now. Was he thankful though? Not at all! Look at him, no iota of gratitude despite everything and he continues to tell me that my ways are wrong, are false. Where would he be without me and the power I carry with me. Now that too is gone.
“As long as I am physically able, let me look after this body, I will come to you only when I can no longer support myself, don’t worry”, Swami TV said from the kitchen. “I am making coffee for you also, don’t run away!”
“I have resigned anDi” Sastry stated matter of factly, although he was searing within with heartache and unresolved issues. “Good” so saying Swami TV went back to pouring the filter coffee into two cups after a brief pause. He did not ask his friend for more details but continued while bringing the two cups in his hands and offering one to Sastry, “you should have done this long ago, or you should have kept your ego in check, you cannot have it both ways..like the monkey that has to let go of the nuts, to get his hand out from the pot, or else its fist will get stuck in the pot…let go..let go…”.
Sastry who was already upset since morning flared up, “ego, me! ego! This is dharmayuddham that I am fighting anDi..what do you know sitting in this corner day after day teaching everything is mithyaa. People like us are facing so much injustice from the converts, from other kulas, you yourself had to face so much, yet you tell me I should not fight and sit at home like you?” Pacing angrily up and down with a coffee cup in hand, avoiding the puddles of water that had formed due to the untimely rain, he looked questioningly at Swami TV. “You and I both studied the same thing, have you forgotten? We are not the body, nor the mind, we are the aatmaa which is the one and only, there is no other, how can you expect me to see duality where there is none?” Swami answered gravely and kept looking serenely at Sastry until the latter calmed down a bit. Then he continued, “with your bhakti and jnaanam you can take care of your own family temple, why all this tension for you at this age. Your son is a mature man, he does not depend on you, if you agree to your daughter’s match, what else do you need? Tell me!” Sastry gulped down his coffee and almost singed his throat, “my son is not mature enough, this is no age for Vedanta, he should marry and settle down, he should continue our family line like a good son, he refuses to even talk to me about it, and my daughter wants to marry a Reddy, you want me to agree to such a preposterous idea?”
“Come, come, sit here” Swami TV called to his friend gently, “listen, is not the Reddy boy Hindu, what would you do if he was a Muslim or Christian, and she was proper enough to tell him to talk to you, instead of announcing her marriage like other young girls. He is a devout sincere man, visits the temple and comes here daily to learn more. He asked me to help him do sandhyavandanam too, recording the mantras to practice, how many of our people are following these customs? And please don’t underestimate Anjaneya, he reminds me of myself when I was young..such a sharp brain, if you think my life is a waste then…what can I say…look you love Suryanarayana..he rises and sets daily and is answerable to no one…..you are free to go to the river like always and offer arghyam to him…who will stop you? No EO can. Do your daily nitya karma, and take care of your ancestral temple. What else do you need? What is power? Here today gone tomorrow..if you want it so badly, play by the rules of the game…show some humility and cooperate with the EO then…wanting peace of mind in this world is laughable Sastry!”
It had been six months since Sastry had quit his post and that was definitely the talk of the town and of all the surrounding towns too. The news, as predicted, travelled all the way to Vizag and Vijayawada and made it to the numerous Telugu Channels which vied with one another to bring in the latest scoop, citing caste politics and religious divides as the reason for his untimely unexpected resignation. Although he was approached by many journalists and politicians, taking Swami TV’s advice, he decided not to bad mouth the EO and instead told everyone that he was getting old for such a strenuous job, someone younger was needed for the rigorous daily routine as was demanded of a Chief Archaka, and that he wanted to take care of his kula daivam.
So Sastry went from being the most powerful person in Srikakulam Jilla to being a nobody almost overnight. The small vaidika temple that he continued his daily worship in was built for his family, for his particular clan. It was not meant for the public. No wonder all the roadside salutations from strangers, from people on his street and the neighbours, all that stopped. Everyone kept a dignified distance from him. The turbaned man with his bulls did not frequent their house anymore, where had all the affection and familiarity gone? Where had he gone wrong? Did he not study conscientiously, did he not keep up his aachaaram, anuShThaanam, without fail, had he not been always the first to rush and help! Yet here he was, all alone.
Anjaneya had officially taken up residence at Swami TV’s place saying he wanted to study shaastra and be a sannyaasi, what a waste of a robust life! His daughter Seetaamahaalakshmi got married to that Reddy in Court without informing him and did not even try to make amends after his stern refusal of the match. Only his wife stuck around but with a long face, now that he was no longer the powerful man he once was. He was no longer a man whom people looked upto, for favours, for advice, for basking in the reflection of his erstwhile glory. He felt worn out, weak, low, and devoid of any enthusiasm for life or living. On one such day, Sastry saw Swami TV approach his house! In all these years Swami had not come here saying that bhiksha must be had only from houses within one kilometer of one’s residence. So what was his sannyaasi friend doing here today? At this lunch hour? He called out to his wife hurriedly, “Osayi….osayi…swamulavaaru vastunnaaru vistara vaDDinchu..”, his wife scurried about excitedly clanging vessels and laying out banana leaves to serve food when she heard him. What an honour! What puNyam! This visit would surely change their diminishing fortunes.
Unfortunately, that happy meal was never to be, it was not in Sastry’s destiny to offer bhiksha to his one and only friend. No sooner did he see the Swami at the door Sastry brought water in a brass chembu to wash his feet, excited with this sudden advent of good luck. Even while he was pouring water over Swami’s soles, he kept muttering how wonderful it was, how happy he was, how absolutely delightful it was to have his childhood friend come home like this without notice. And while he offered a towel for Swami to wipe off the wet legs dry, he looked at this sannyaasi before him endearingly. Of all of the people in town, he was the only one who had continued to be loyal to Sastry. With the trappings of his power gone, people too had disappeared from Sastry’s life. They now walked past him without acknowledging him or his scholarship. That hurt him the most. So many years he had given to the temple, to the people here, yet in a matter of months he was a nobody! All the more reason to sit down and chat with his friend. To wash away all the troubles of the mind with his friend’s insistence of the world being mithyaa, of the need for vairaagya and what not. That would surely assuage his injured heart.
Just as they were about to cross the threshold and step inside, Swami TV looking over his shoulder towards Sastry and said, “…tomorrow is very auspicious I am giving sannyaasa deeksha to Anjaneya, I wanted to let you know, he wants it and he is ready…his Viraja Homam is tonight….if you want to be there…” Sastry, who was following his friend eagerly, his whole body throbbing with delight, crumbled completely on the inside and outwardly fell into a heap unable to get up. His voice got stuck in his throat and he could not answer his wife, nor call out to her for help, his smile flew away to the past remembering another horrific episode such as this. Swami TV oblivious of what happened behind him kept walking indoors. First his daughter, thought Sastry, now his son. He was left with nothing and no one. He managed to crawl up bit by bit, picking up the umbrella which was sitting outside waiting for the monsoons. He helped himself into the house and just as his wife was about to serve food to Swami TV, he pushed her away. She looked aghast at him, his rude behaviour in front of an esteemed guest and a dear friend. Before she could start reproaching him, her husband had led Swami by the crook of his arm out of the front door and into the street, shutting the gate behind him. Taking a deep breath he announced to his wife, “..your son will murder us tonite”.
Sastry’s memories thrashed around helplessly blindly until they landed on that particular year when his close friend had decided to leave the familiar world and take on the vow of sannyaasa. Swami’s father, a famous Veda Pandita, was also upset just as they all were to lose him to kaashaayam. Why did he want to be different, why leave such a grand legacy behind, why discard, why shed, why..why..if all is indeed one, how should it matter…This question had troubled him then as it did now. Neti Neti – have you forgotten what we were taught is what his friend had answered in reply chuckling, obviously delighted with his new attire. Sastry had not slept a wink that night after watching his friend keenly during his Viraja Homam, where he had to give up all, where he renounced his, his parents, his friends..declaring them dead to him. Sastry had sat forlorn hoping, just in case..just somehow there is a change of mind…but no. Not then, not now, you could never budge his stubborn friend. He never gave in. When Sastry went to him the next morning, shy and unsure on how to greet his closest buddy as a sannyaasi and offer dakshiNa, his friend had teased him again, eyes twinkling,
“I give you abhaya daanam Raamu, you will have nothing to fear from me. No one has anything to fear from me..that is the vratam we take…did you know?”.
No, he did not..he did not care..he simply wanted his friend back. Sastry had stopped talking to him after that for a long time.
It has been almost a year now, so many dramatic events took place in the last twelve months. I left my heavy-duty post, started worship in my own family temple, my daughter left us, my son took up sannyaasa, and my wife took refuge in her yatras, never at home, I am all alone now, not even a friend to keep me company… thought Sastry lying on his cot looking up at the breaking dawn….the emerging sunrays soothed his damp lungs and nourished his frail body. He felt a resurgence of vigour after so many months. Sastry had been cold constantly and coughing badly. Lack of proper food, proper nourishment and proper upkeep of his house had turned him into some sort of a beggar. He looked gaunt, wore torn dhotis, and his slippers needed mending. He cooked his own food which was mostly just rice which he mixed with milk. He refused all help from his daughter when she offered to come and stay with him for a while to help him get back into shape…he refused help from his son who sent his minions to do odd jobs for Sastry. Swami TV would call on his cell phone every few days and wait until the call was deliberately cut by Sastry to send a positive message or two from the scriptures. Sastry was unable to forgive Swami TV for weaning his only son away from him, for preventing the continuation of his family name.
Yet amongst all these troubles he did not once miss his routine or his nitya karmas. Getting up before dawn he would go to the river, bathe and do sandhyaavandanam, he would repeat it in the afternoon and evening. Today was the first time since his upanayanam where he was caught lying in bed at sunrise. Almost sixty years of a hard disciplined life, of course only his Suryanarayana did not forsake him like the rest. He had started noticing this the past few days, each time he felt depressed or felt low, the sun would shine brightly twinkling as though only at him, for him, even through the clouds…he had tested it a few times like Prithaa had, only to beget Karna, what would he beget? Suryanarayana, how much more should I endure, help me, pull me out of this pit, so sighing Sastry turned his body sideways from left to right and stared blankly at the dying Tulasi plant in front of him in the open courtyard from his bare cot. The morning was dull, grey, and cloudy. He had no energy left for anything anymore.
That moment it started raining, pouring heavily, and he felt miserable inside out. He automatically chanted the Aditya Hridayam as was his habit and suddenly he saw the sun peeping from behind a cumulus gently and the skies cleared up as swiftly. It was astonishing. He was filled with inexplicable joy. Lying on his cot watching the sun respond to him so instantly, he felt ashamed. He felt humble. He felt like a new man. A transformed devotee. Despite feeling very feeble he wrapped himself up in his uttariyam and took his umbrella and walked out of his house. Everything looked foreign to his fresh eyes. He was smiling genially at everyone and people looked surprised and returned his smile with a genuine “namaskaaramanDi”. His very bearing had undergone a marked change in the past year without his knowledge. Having known pain and hurt, with his ego taking a thorough beating, he had been left at the mercy of his own self. Thanks to his bhakti and shraddhaa, here he was standing in line, waiting in queue, to have darshan of his beloved Suryanarayana, the one whom Sastry had treated as his own son all these years. No one recognized him. Devotees thronging the temple did not pay attention to him, he was one among them. He joined his palms together and stood patiently, waiting his turn.
The couple standing in the queue behind him were young, with a small child who was crying, the queue was long and the mother was unable to quieten the boy. People around her were making her feel guilty and gave her exasperated looks as they could not bear the boy’s screaming any longer, “..why don’t you take him outside, he must be suffocated…such a small child, we all had kids too, we didn’t torture them like this….”, one after the other some old lady or man started admonishing the poor girl. She was his Anjali’s age, she reminded him of his daughter whom he had not met for months. Suddenly out of nowhere, he offered, “This must be your first time here, I have not seen you in these parts, if you can trust me with your boy, I will leave the queue and sit by that tree there – you can see us from here, I will wait there for you to finish your darshan and then you can come and get him”..the young girl wanted to believe him and she was tempted to do what he suggested but the boy’s father protested with his eyes. He would naturally not trust a stranger especially these days, so Sastry was forced to do the next best thing. He called out to the guard who recognized him, “Prasaadu take this couple to Shankara, tell him I sent them, they cannot wait in the queue, the child is not well and they have to leave soon…”. Sastry was confident of the power of his word even after twelve months of being away from his post. The EO may dislike him, the people may have forgotten him, his own children may have disowned him, his wife might have abandoned him, but he had confidence in his vRutti, he had given his all to this temple, and the young archakas he had trained knew this very well.
Nothing was below his dignity at the temple, Sastry had done everything here from the most menial of labour to the highest seva, from cleaning the tank, to serving bhaktas at annadaanam, to conducting kalyaNam of the deities, everything. No task was too small or big, and that is what he had taught to his team, even the guards knew this and the moment Prasad spotted his old master his face showed surprise and then broke into an affectionate respectful smile, “pantulu gaaru…meeraa!?” so saying he quickly nodded his head and lead the couple onwards to the main garbha griha for a quick and hassle free darshanam, “..come come…your darshanam will be over in half an hour…he used to be our Chief Archaka….he made sure all old people and couples with young children have a separate queue …..” Sastry heard Prasad tell the couple proudly.
When Sastry came out from the inner sanctum after his first darshan of Suryanarayana as a devotee, he saw the young couple waiting for him with their boy, now asleep and quiet. They walked with Sastry to his house and went inside on his invitation. After resting for a few hours and talking about the world, about the country, the state, the politics of it all, and laughing and chatting merrily with one other, the trio with the young boy who was now prancing ahead of them went to the temple again for annadaanam at noon. Sastry showed them the temple tank, told them about the various other shrines there, regaled them with stories from the past, and he felt light and content. So odd…these people are strangers to me, I knew them not yesterday, yet today I am happy to be in their company! Is it because I am all alone? Is it because I want to talk to someone? Sastry questioned himself. Or is it because they know nothing about me and accept me as I am without burdening me with expectation, and I, them? This is what had weighed down his relationship with his family, with his one and only friend, had it not?
It became a weekly habit, the couple would take the bus from the nearby Ponduru and spend Saturdays with him. His house soon began to sparkle, his manner began to soften, his gait was as quick but he spent more time getting to know his neighbours, the kids, the women, the vendors. And on one such Saturday when he went with his newfound family to the temple as usual, he overheard a few people in the queue talk, “..yes yes he is very good, I heard him on TV, such a young sannyaasi, what tejas! After all, it is genetic, his father was a Chief Archaka here for many years, the terrible EO made his life miserable so he had to leave…” Hearing this Sastry’s chest puffed up but he remembered just in time to stay on the ground and not let people’s words of praise lift him sky-high, he knew the pitfalls of such elation, it would not take long for someone to say something negative and he would be deflated…this is what Swami TV had kept warning him about…now he understood…days of loneliness, followed by self-pity, and then a slow awareness, the enjoyment of forced solitude, spontaneous happiness of sharing and caring for those other than his near and dear…it had been too sudden and too intense for Sastry but he had matched up to his circumstances and had grown into a more mature wise man. This was evident from how he conducted himself these days.
While his weekly visits to the Suryanarayana guDi reminded him of the tough days he had faced against the EO, how he had stood upto him and prevented further dilution of the rites in the temple, Sastry did not let his bad memories get in the way of his enjoying the sheer joy of being a simple devotee, without any other agenda in hand. There was no responsibility, no directives or measures enforced by the EO to follow, no team to lead, no logistics to juggle…nothing…right now he was simply a bhakta at the mercy of the elements and only his praarabdha to face.
The last day of his tenure as Chief Archaka when he was absolutely helpless and was forced to resign flashed in his mind when he navigated the halls of the temple premises in line, he had been standing for almost 2 hrs now, waiting his turn. Although the young archakas trained by him came up to him and offered to take him ahead as a senior citizen, he refused their generous offer, he did not want them to be caught in the crossfire of politics and lose their jobs. Already the situation of Hindus and braahmaNas especially was precarious in the state. Temples were being vandalized, murtis broken, chariots set on fire…he would not add fuel to this conflagration. Just before he had entered the garbha griha on that fateful day he had gotten into a huge confrontation with the EO who although sporting a Hindu name was a practising Christian. This was a well-known game and no one dare say a word, lest they be slapped with a legal case which was anyway in favour of the minorities and skewed against braahmaNas. The whole atmosphere at the temple had vitiated due to this type of daily tug of war between the bureaucrats and the archakas.
“You were all chattering too much, we have live telecasts of the darshanam these days, be mindful” admonished the EO. Who would tell him that they had been discussing the garments that were to be worn by Suryanarayana today, even though there was a system in place, discussions are bound to happen when there are 4-5 people working together. Was this a dictatorship, it sure felt like it! “Why are you on the phone so early in the morning, come and do the chanting..” Sastry was aghast at this very undecorous statement by the EO, one, he could be on an emergency call, two, he knew his duty very well having done this diligently for the past forty-odd years, three, it was not yet time for the chanting…the EO was simply showing him who was in charge, throwing his weight about. When it came to the abhishekam items, for example, he had started telling them that they did not need 11 dravyas that 9 would suffice, why to spend so much on rakta chandanam…..what! spend? The EO thought of offerings to the lord as an expense! No wonder they clashed every day. Our whole life is an offering to bhagavaan is it not? Where is the question of expense here, of profit and loss and keeping accounts? The final blow was when the EO refused to take off his shoes during his inspection of the back rooms where a lot of pooja items were kept since he felt cold and did not want to walk bare feet and get wet given the freshly washed floors… he had walked in gracelessly with his shoes on….and all of them had looked at one another with disdain but were unable to utter a single word as a retort. ..the EO had no devotion, no respect for what was before him, and had only one thought in mind, how to boss around, make use of the temple funds for other government projects. Surya was simply his blank cheque to encash. The devotees standing in serpentine queues waiting for a short darshan did not know any of this of course. When the policemen and women on duty pushed them with a ‘jaraganDi jaraganDi’, all of them blamed the evil brahmins for their misery, as though we have any power or say thought Sastry woefully.
Swami TV was right about one thing, ever since he had given up reacting from his ego and accepting everything as bhagavaan’s prasaadam, life had become much more pleasurable. So here he was ambling along the line awaiting early morning darshanam of Surya while the queue moved like a tortoise on hunger strike. He was in no rush. He was simply happy to have his independence back, to pray and to offer oblations to Surya by the riverbanks every dawn and dusk, with a morning visit to the temple before going home to cook and eat, afternoons were reserved for his japa and listening to pravachanams, and evenings would be spent in taking walks around the neighbourhood greeting and meeting people and offering sane advice for free. Only his nights brought out the old Sastry, who felt a tinge of self-pity at the state of affairs of his house which was once so full of people and resounding with laughter. But ever since he had started to reflect on life and its ways, he missed his old times less and less and grew into accepting what was in the moment.
Each time he approached the Arasavalli Suryanarayanswamy temple, Sastry felt as though approaching a lover after a long separation. People said that Lord Indra himself had built this temple here and that Kashyapa Muni himself installed the deity. In pristine white, so different from the regular Andhra temples, it was indeed built more in the Odiya style, after all being commissioned by a Kalinga king who was also called Devendra. The deft hands and subtle minds of the Maharana architects conceived of this sublime beauty way back in the seventh century. Although records show complete destruction by religious fanatics in the 16th century, had Pullaji Pantulu not financed the rebuilding of this temple after two hundred years, Sastry would not be here today. The one good thing that the Endowments did was building the Surya Namaskara Mandapam, where people of all ages came and performed their suryanamaskaarams, as did the priests, indeed the best way to worship Surya, not in some yoga studio! Passing by the Indra Pushkarini and the swaying coconut palms dotting it, he was overwhelmed with pride and humility at once. To have been the Chief Archaka here for so many decades, what more could I have asked for, thought Sastry as he started to get into the queue for darshan. His five feet tall Padmapani must be getting dressed now…..Sastry knew of every step that was being undertaken in the garbha gRiha and revisited it mentally while awaiting darshan.
Standing in the queue he checked the photos sent by his wife from her teertha yatra of the Sun temples across the country. None of them were live temples with pooja performed in them, except for the one dedicated to Suryan in Tamil Nadu, the rest were all broken down by invaders, looted by colonizers, taken over by ASI, turned into some sort of tourist spots with museums of desecrated murties. He scrolled through the photos of Konark, of Martand, of Modhera; she had been gone for months now. Tour operators knew what to sell and to whom, they had come out with this ‘Sun Temples of India’ package which cost a lot but she was adamant and on the verge of depression due to their son taking sannyaasa, so he had given in. The group that travelled together were all elderly and looked out for one another, so he was not particularly concerned about her well-being, plus she was street smart and could take care of herself. These photos made his heart sink deeper into a dilemma…if he got angry and reacted, Swami TV would say that he had given vent to his ego for nothing ..all this was mithyaa…he would feel helpless and upset for days being unable to do anything…if he did not react he would feel like a traitor not doing anything for his chosen iShTa. Analysing the whole situation he finally convinced himself that he was doing what was in his capacity to the best of his abilities. To unnecessarily worry about situations one cannot change or are beyond one’s dealings is foolish and the unfortunate nature of our times. So much information comes into our heads from WhatsApp and Facebook…we are constantly caught on the wrong foot…at his age his father had been a content man, having done his duty as a gRihastha, he had semi-retired from public and family life staying at an aashrama in the outskirts of the city until his demise a few years ago. Swami TV was right…I have been unduly egoistic in my approach with the EO, if I really cared for Surya, I would not have minded the petty insults ..no no I would not have thought of them as insults…I would have continued to do my job with love …I would have continued to serve my Surya…
Thinking of his old friend fondly for the first time ever since that dreadful day, Sastry decided to visit Swami TV after his darshanam here at the temple, he had a lot to thank him for. And to apologize. For taking in his son, for shaping his destiny and bringing out the best in his Anjaneya, even though this is not what he had dreamed of, but he had grown enough in the past year to appreciate that each person has his own karma to play out. His wife was doing what she enjoyed, she was happy, his son was doing well, his daughter was apparently very happy too. Her husband, also a student of Swami TV, was the sponsor for Anjaneya’s public talks…everything was going well…Anjali had named their son after him ‘Ramprasad’…I suppose I should be happy, I should consider myself lucky…my children are dhaarmika, and continue to respect me….looking at the situation and the world around…I am indeed blessed.
With this feeling of completeness, Sastry walked by his friend’s house to thank him for teaching him what was important about life, for taking care of his son and daughter in his absence, for being a role model to society, for living the teachings. He remembered his childhood with Swami TV, how they would memorize the Vedas, how they chanted them together and raced to the river in the morning, jumping into it and playing around, fooling around, while being admonished by their Acharya for being frivolous…he knocked at the door even though this was not Swami TV’s visiting hours, Sastry knew he would be scolded but that was fine….he should have done this months ago…but what to do, only now did he feel like this…only now did it all make sense to him…
“pantulu gaaru, have you come to take the keys?” a student called him from behind, turning around he spotted a Brahmachari in white looking pale and crestfallen. “Swamulavaaru told us many stories about your childhood with him at the gurukulam anDi, in his last moments, he kept taking your name, we wanted to call you but he said, ‘let him come when he is ready’…” so saying the young boy started to tear up. “He left this place in your name anDi…we are having so much problems anDi, some people have been throwing meat in front of the house every night.. …they were harassing Swamulavaaru daily to sell this land..they started putting Yeshu Prabhu songs loudly early in the morning to disturb him, everyday someone would come and knock on his door with pamphlets asking him to join this church or that…he went through so much anDi…thank god you are here…it all happened so quickly….he did not suffer…stroke anTa….we are unable to manage anDi..”, sobbing loudly the young man thrust the keys in Sastry’s palm and held on. Sastry stood there transfixed. Unable to move or say a word he crumpled into his favourite easy chair. The very chair where he would wait for Swami TV for hours on end. And now these doors would never open for him….he would never be admonished by his one and only friend with an antaa mithyaa….
He must have sat there for an hour or a day. Perhaps longer. But when he got up, he was the same old Sastry who was in charge of the Arasavalli Temple for decades. Sastry had found his cause, he had found his voice, and with it, he found his old self. “..evaDraa…Who dares to put meat here?” he roared going out into the street in absolute anger. “Come show yourself, cowards!”. Going inside he told the frightened students, “..change the board tomorrow to ‘Swami Tattvavedananda Surya Temple and Gurukulam’. I will build a Surya temple right here. The time for keeping quiet is over.” so saying Sastry rattled off a list of items for the now bright-faced students to bring, pressing some cash into his palms he said, “..go, go with courage, there is nothing to fear, this world is mithyaa, what is there to worry, but while we are here, we better fight for what is right!” He thought of his dear departed friend, who would have laughed at his righteous anger. But one lives as per his own nature, is it not? I am only doing what comes naturally to me, defending dharma. Perhaps in my next life, I will be able to rise up above all this Krishna thought Sastry calling out to his childhood friend by his given name. He hardly slept that night, reminiscing old days with tears flowing down his now emaciated cheeks involuntarily.
It was not yet dawn, Surya was on his way to Arasavalli, his brightness as Aryama though shone through the sky and illuminated the small patch which was holding out against land grabbers, evangelists, corrupt officials and greedy politicians. That mound in the central courtyard where Swami Tattvavedananda lay buried as per custom but without fanfare as per his instructions gave Sastry dhairyam veeryam saamarthyam. No one knew of Swamiji’s passing but for the few students whom he had taught diligently, who had given up everything for shaastra study. Swami TV came and went like that sweet scent wafting from the sampangi on a long thick braid of a beautiful lady who has just received it from the lord in the temple, who does the fragrance belong to? One can only take a whiff and hope that it lasts.
Sastry was up today earlier than usual and blared his baritone voice on the loudspeaker from the rooftop at four-thirty in the morning before anyone else got a chance to do so –
“हँसः शुचिषद्वसुरान्तरिक्शसद्धोता वेदिषदतिथिर्दुरोणसत् ।
नृषद्वरसदृतसद्व्योमसदब्जा गोजा ऋतजा अद्रिजा ऋतं बृहत्
ham̐saḥ śuciṣadvasurāntarikśasaddhotā vediṣadatithirduroṇasat ।
nṛṣadvarasadṛtasadvyomasadabjā gojā ṛtajā adrijā ṛtaṃ bṛhat ॥”
As a mover, he dwells in the heavens; as a pervader, he is in interspace; as fire, in the altar; as guest, in a house; he dwells in man, dwells in the betters, dwells in truth and dwells in the âkâśa. He is all that is born in water, all that is born of earth, all that is born of sacrifices and all that is born of mountains; indeed he alone is true and great!