An innocous old-age syndrome-part 2

Visiting the lush green Kerala is always a pleasure.
“Koodugal pottichuyarunnithon nai,Walayar-
Kkadugal kanke yullil aayiram paravakal”
At the sight of the Walayar forests ,thousands of birds fly high in my mind, breaking their nests”. I started singing aloud, when the train left Podanur.
Ammalu and Nair visually exchanged their anxiety about my mental status while Ammini, who was my college –mate, continued the poem composed and recited by me during a college festival.
“Paduga padinjarenkatte, enmalanattil
Padathe kkathirukal kaikotti kkalikkumbhol”
Oh, western wind! Sing to the dancing paddy fields in my land of hillocks,”-
When we alighted at Palakkad station, the OAS tried to overtake me.
Our ancestral house was close to the railway station; as children we used to go and play there. The station master and other staff were my father’s customers and friendly with us. Sadagopachari, a short man with practically no neck and a big head sporting an equally big ‘namam’ and Suppudu, a tall man with an areca nut size head fused over a baby giraffe neck, were my heroes. They were called ‘water-carriers and their duty was to serve clean water to the passengers. Sadgopan used to look down upon Suppudu, as someone belonging to a lower caste.
“You don’t touch my water-can but gobble Anantha mama’s (my father’s) free food” Sambu used to chide his colleague and laugh very loudly.
“Mama is not an Iyyengar, I know” Sada used to confess,” but what to do when you are hungry?”
‘Fill your stomach with water and you are not scarce of that” Sambu’s advice.
“I do that many times” Sada’s reply, “but it drains of, in no time”
Sambu used to laugh and laugh.
One day, Sada conveyed his decision to change the barber who was not performing to his satisfaction, Suppu replied, “no use. Change the head”
“But I can’t change my head every time the barber does a bad job”
“Then it is not worth having a head” Suppu replied and laughed loudly.
Later in life, the dialogue of those simple men, used to flash in my mind, while dealing with sophisticated men and women with crooked thoughts and selfish behaviour.”
Suppu in fact used to laugh often loudly, indeed very loudly. The irrepressible and irrelevant laughter could be due to a nervous disorder but we enjoyed the sound and his facial action. The station master Rama Iyer threatened to dismiss him from service if he didn’t stop laughing or at least laugh without sound, but when he learned that his wife and children were Suppu’s fans , he too joined that group. More over, laughter is not an offense, punishable under the Service Rules.
Fire-man Fernandez, a tall Anglo- Indian with well developed muscles, throwing shovel-full of black coal lumps into the burning furnace of the steam engine was my another hero. I also used to admire the posture of Kelu Nair, the train guard, dressed in immaculate white uniform, standing at the threshold of the last carriage, proudly waving his green flag as if the whole world was at his command. I wanted to become like one of them but landed in a scientific organization. In one way, it was good because the jobs of water carrier and fire-man have ceased to exist now.
I was excited to learn, when we reached home, that the Mariamman temple near our house was celebrating the annual festival. After the Kalpathy car festival and Kallaikkulangari kathakali programme lasting for a full week close to Sivarathry, the Mariamman poojai was the most enjoyable festival during our childhood days.
After a quick wash , we went to the temple . I closed my eyes and tried to pray but the mind was already packed with the moving trains and activities on the platform leaving little room for the Goddess .The porter Kuppusami is striking his iron hammer forcefully on the rail piece hanging from a hook in front of the SM’s office, to announce the arrival of the No.2 down Madras Mail. The Station Master in his white uniform and the ticket examiners donning black coats, are coming out of their room to receive the train. Sadagopa Iyengar and Suppudu, wearing white dothies and proudly sporting their caste marks on their foreheads are moving forward with their hand carts loaded with big water jars. Servers from Ambi Iyer’s vegetarian restaurant are ready with packed foods and hot coffee vessels. Slowly but majestically the No. 2 down enters the platform, proudly announcing its arrival by prolonged whistling from a distance, unlike the present day trains which come and go unceremoniously. Chembai Vaidyanatha Bagavather, followed by Mridangam Mani Iyer, is alighting from the first class compartment. Bagavathar mama is twisting my ear affectionately with a query, ”karikkar irukkaroda?’. He used to address my father as Kariakkar or executive, the nick name given by our villagers.
I was now completely under the influence of OAS, despite Ammini’s signaling asking me to be cautious. Suddenly I see Suppu laughing loudly and every one on the platform including the SM and Bagavathar mama joining him and filling the entire platform with waves of laughter .Usually Chembai mama makes others to laugh by his witty jokes and it is an experience to watch Mama laughing uncontrollably at Suppu’s triggering. The nearby Eamoorbagavthy hillocks echo the laughter and the far off Kalpathy river re-echo the sound. I laugh and laugh hysterically imitating Suppu.
So far I was under the influence of the OAS and my behavior was due to the impulses in my subconscious mind. Suddenly I started shaking all over, but now I was fully conscious and my action was intentional and with a purpose. A couple of insects had secretly entered into my undergarment making my body to shake from top to bottom! That was the precursor of my woes.
The temple oracle was absent and the devotees whispered that the Goddess had chosen me to play his roll. The priest should know better and alas, he did. He thrust a long sword on my palm which was shivering intermittently due to the uneasiness spreading from the bottom of my body and threw a hand-full of ash on my head. I was to act as the official oracle who picked up a petty quarrel with his wife and absented from the function!.
· I could have cried “stop this non-sense. I am not the Goddess incognito” and walked away. But I did not have the courage to do that or perhaps had a silly desire to enjoy the divine status for a short while.

I realized that I was in deep waters. The only cutting instrument I had handled in my life was the pen knife to open the bundles of envelopes I used to receive by post, before the advent of emails. Now I am made to handle a sword and shortly, the crowd would expect me to incise my head and bring out blood!
I looked pathetically at the Goddess.[i] She smiled in full glory as if my problem was a non-issue for her. Obviously there were no insects beneath her clothes.
I was tired of flittering and quivering. Despite jumping with all the energy at my disposal, I did not succeed in getting rid of the insects. In fact they were moving upwards and sideways. I was worn out and sat on a stool opposite to the sanctum sanctoram. The devotees were falling on my feet seeking blessings or placing small coins on the blade of my sword as their offerings to the Goddess.
I looked around.

Ammalu was lost in prayers ; Nair was sneaking around counting the coins falling on the sword. With her eyes planted on my face and body movement, Ammini was becoming restless and concerned.
Men and women and children continued to touch my feet and offer their contributions.
“How small I am when compared to these innocent and mostly uneducated devotees around, many of them from the families of petty shop keepers or low paid wage earners!. I woke up from my cradle and went to sleep hearing the Vedic sounds and I have spent almost my entire life practicing rituals and religious practices. Still, why am I far below the level of the spiritual ecstasy and mental elevation of these folks? What purpose does my parrot-like rhythmic recitals of Rudram and Chamakam serve when I am not able to live in God and feel His presence within? Whenever I see women with tearful eyes and palm on their chest, cry from the cavern of their heart, ‘ente Sreekanteswara or ente Guruvayoorappa ” I used to long for such a status for me once, at least once in my life time. They might be praying for their vagabond husbands and handicapped children.
Fully absorbed by such thoughts, I glanced at the Goddess. She smiled in full glory .
The devotees, who had vowed to walk across the sacred fire- field , fresh from a bath in the river, turmeric water dripping from their wet dothies and holding bunches of neem leaves had just arrived . They circumambulated the deity and touched my feet seeking my blessings, since I was representing the GODDESS in flesh and blood.
One of them, suddenly started quivering and screamed ‘Thaye raktham kami-mother show us the blood and lead us through our fire walk”. I came to know later that he is the son of Karuppu cchami chettiar, a shop owner to whom I owed a small amount during my college days but failed to play. Chettiar, before closing his eyes for ever, would have instructed his worthy son to collect the due from me by threat or force!
A streak of lightning passed through my nerves as more and more devotees joined the chorus, danced and sang and wanted me to lead them on the fire-walk, slicing my forehead all through and allow it bleed . That was the custom in the temple.
Like the riksha- puller who cries, ‘Ma’ while passing through the frontage of the Calcutta Kali temple, like the women folks who cries ‘ente Sreekanteswara or ‘ente Guruvayoorappa’ in front of the respective temples, I placed my right palm flat on my chest, closed my eyes and cried ’Ente Amme!-My Mother’, completely unaware of what I was doing
At that time, I felt my body as light as a feather; I could feel the flow of the ice-cold water of the Ganges through my nerves and micro cells .
Suddenly I observed a jerk nearby. Spreading her long hairs all over her face, Ammalu jogged to and fro the sanctum sanctoram, grabbed the sword from my hand, moved towards the crowd spreading her arms as if she was going to gather them and swallow and screamed “come on, my children! I am Mahishasuramardhini . I will lead you on your fire-walk”. The crowd moved away; the drum-beats stopped. There was pin-drop silence. Pointing her finger towards me, she then said in a melodious voice.”You too come near me. You are Bala, Leela, Vinodini. There is lotus everywhere around you. Your hands, your legs, your face, your body, your abode- everywhere, everywhere there is lotus. You should not burn your lotus feet in fire. You are Padmini”
Along with the devotees who fell on her feet seeking pardon for their clarion call, I too went near her, my lips uttering a couplet from the Devi sthuthy, learned long ago from my father.
‘ Ya Devi sarva bootheshu mathruroopena samsthitha
Namsthasyai, namasthasyai, namasthasyai namonnamha:”
"To the Goddess who dwells in all beings in the form of mother-salutations to Her, Salutations to Her, salutations to Her"
She embraced me and kept me close to her body for short while, when I felt completely safe and secure, fully protected – the same feeling I had, several years ago, when I rushed to take refuge in my mother’s arms while returning from school, fully drenched, water dripping from my school bag, shorts and shirt.
And I was sure that I was not under the influence of OAS or any other syndrome.
written by shiva brought to you by sunkan

Dear Sundari

Fine. Nostalgia. Do you speak Malayala.

I also want to go to the village I spent my 5years. Village is called Monkompu. kanaka

Originally Posted by kanaka

Dear Sundari

Fine. Nostalgia. Do you speak Malayala.

I also want to go to the village I spent my 5years. Village is called Monkompu. kanaka

i dont speak but can follow and read with a little effort, yes these are the scenes of kerala all changing those homes with wood carvings giving way to multistoreyed, hope some should keep them and children should make it their holiday homes..sunkan