The Missing Link

Shankar stopped the car near Ernakulam. He took out the tourist guide to check whether he was going in the right direction towards the temple town of Chottanikkara.
‘The temple is situated 10 miles to the south of Ernakulam,’ the pamphlet indicated. ‘The nearest railhead is at Trippunithura on the Ernakulam- Kottayam section of Southern Railway.’
So, he was following the correct route to the place, he knew, but he was not sure whether he was in the right track in his search for witnessing miracles. Once at Chottanikkara, he might as well be disappointed in achieving his objective.
As a social scientist, he had all along disputed the very capacity of any individual to show miracles, leave alone the power of a stone idol to cause the occurrence of such phenomena. He wanted to see them, examine them critically and then base his conclusions. Experience had proved to him that people overstated everything just for the heck of it and any ordinary event was clothed in the veneer of exaggeration. If any cynic like him became too inquisitive, they would be brushed aside as ignorant fools.
Still he persisted in his line of thinking that no one could bring about miracles. Faith healing was nothing but a hoax to hoodwink the poor and the illiterate for the survival of the temple priests.
It was his quest for truth that brought him face to face with Vishwanath, the professor, and Krishnaswamy, a District Officer. He met them in the local Officers’ Club where he had gone to lecture on the ‘Inexplicable’. In the course of his speech he quoted instances where people believed more through hearsay than by actually witnessing the occurrences.
Shankar did not have an easy time during the question hour . Many of the listeners grilled him seeking more clarifications. Some questioned his competence to talk on such a subject. The most vehement of them was Vishwanath, a learned theologist.
“I do not agree with your observations,” he commented. “for in the field of religious faiths there are many things which are least understood by man.”
“Such as what?” Shankar was sarcastic in his query.“May be that I have only a limited idea on such subjects, but as a scientist I would like to know this much- how can faith alone cause miracles? Is it not a fraud being perpetrated on gullible human beings?”
“There is nothing fraudulent about it,” Viswanath reiterated. “Unfortunately, we have been trained to think only in terms of materialistic ethics. We therefore forget the fact that old religious practices retreated to the background when people turned to scientific methods to get their afflictions cured. Even then, in times of great insecurity, the very same people seek the shelter of religions, such as in faith healing and in miracles.
“My reasoning is simple”, Vishwanath continued, observing the cynical look of Shankar. “There are unusual psychic powers such as telepathy and psycho-kinesis which cannot be just explained. The
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truth of these so much overwhelm you that you term them as fraud. Yet there are no scientific explanations to these occurrences.”
“I have ample proof in support of this,” Krishnaswamy intervened to say. “I have seen many people affected by what they call demoniac forces, getting their relief at Chottanikkara temple. You have to see for yourself to believe it- how they hammer nails into a tree with their bare heads in the process of getting rid of such spirits.”
“It is quite possible that the serene atmosphere of the temple and the pervading spirituality there creates an environment for concentrating one’s diffused feelings,” Vishwanath explained. “More- over, the psychological belief that ‘Mother would cure them’ brings about ultimate relief to these persons. Whatever be the case, I for one would say that we need not go on searching for explanations. There is the result and that is what everybody wants.”
“It is difficult to believe that most of the disorders are cured in such barbaric fashion, ”Shankar commented. ”This goes much beyond the comprehension of any educated man.”
“Do you think that such cases cannot be cured by present day knowledge in psychiatry?,” Shankar continued. “After all, you yourself agree that these disturbances are the outcome of an unbalanced mind.”
“I can authoritatively say that whatever be the advancement in the medical research, there are instances where medical knowledge failed and faith in ‘Mother ‘ helped,” Krishnaswamy emphasised.
“Have you experienced it?”, Shankar asked. “Or is this also a story passed on among relatives and friends?”
“It is from my personal experience”, Krishnaswamy replied. He ignored the biting sarcasm in the query.”By the way do you know what ‘amnesia’ is?”
“Yes, is it not something connected with the damage of brain- loss of memory or something like that?”
“Yes. It happened to my sister-in-law about three years ago”, Krishnaswamy said. “A car accident caused it. We took her to almost all the leading specialists in the country, but to no avail. Her memory had failed to such an extent that she could not even recognise her husband and her own children.”
“Oh! What a pity!”, Shankar gave vent to his feelings.
“You can imagine the mental turmoil of the family members,” Krishnaswamy continued. “They spent a lot of money going to specialists, moving from one hospital to another. But it was only disappointment that awaited them everywhere.”
“We were all puzzled. We did not know what to do next. There seemed to be nothing to look forward and the future appeared dark.”
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“One day , one of my subordinates suggested to me to take the patient to Chottanikkara for ‘Upasana’ . I had faith in the grace of the Divine Mother, but not so her people, i.e. my sister’s-in-laws. They did not want to waste time in such foolish pursuits, they said.”
“’But you do not have anything to do at present,’ I told them. ‘You are not going to lose anything by giving it a trial.’
“ Unwillingly they agreed and without much hope, they took her to the temple.”
Krishnaswamy heaved a sigh of relief.
“Did she recover?” Shankar asked. “Or did it turn out to be a futile experiment?”
“The prayer had its effect on the patient. To-day, they are a happy lot,” Krishnaswamy said.
For some time none spoke.
“You are still not convinced?” Vishwanath suddenly asked breaking the silence. “Even now-a-days, miracles occur at Chottanikkara Kali temple. Why can’t you go and see for yourself and draw your conclusions?”
The discussions had its effect on Shankar. The very next day saw him driving towards Chottanikkara in pursuit of the truth about miracles.
The ‘Gopuram’ presented an imposing sight with its gabled roof towering into the clear blue sky. Once inside, it looked like any other Kerala temple. The courtyard with a paved path for circumambulation, the cloister and the ‘Srikoil’ where the presiding deity of Chottanikkara was installed- all proclaimed the master craftsmanship of the temple architects of an era bygone. There were smaller temples dedicated to Sastha, Ganesh and Siva within its precincts. Then there was the temple tank facing the Srikoil.
Shankar headed straight to the Kali temple where, according to his friends, miracles occurred almost daily.
The Kali temple was located adjoining the tank. It had its own courtyard enclosed in a masonry wall and a paved path for circumambulation. A tree virtually covered with nails of various sizes stood in a corner. It was the spiked tree, Shankar remembered, where the devils were pinned down so as not to disturb the mental peace of the devotees.
Suddenly, he heard a shriek, a hideous scream arising as if from fear through intolerable pain. He turned back only to see that it was the agonised scream of a woman standing behind him. Again, the woman opened her mouth to yell, but the sound did not emanate. It collapsed as an awful gurgle as if strangled half-way.
People crowded around her to watch what she was upto.

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The woman started dancing, lifting her arms towards the sky and swaying her head sideways. It was a dance without rhythm, without any accompaniment. She then leapt and circled the Kali shrine in wild abandon, all along mumbling brief, unintelligible sounds.
The blabberings of the woman took the form of a conversation. It became more intelligible. Surprisingly, the words emanating from the same mouth had different intonations. Probably a case of split personality, Shankar presumed.
“Yes, I am going, Mother,” he heard her saying. “I wo’nt trouble her any more”
Then, even before he had time to realise what she intended to do, he saw the woman hammering a nail into the tree. First she drove it with her fist and then with her forehead. After it had gone sufficiently deep, she fell back.
Those standing around her laid her slowly to the ground. Some one sprinkled holy water on her.
Shankar noticed that there was not even a drop of blood on her forehead with which she had driven in that nail. There was something inexplicable in the action and so in the result, he thought. What had happened there was beyond his reasoning capacity. It could be called even mystical.
“She was a patient of hysteria,” one of those present told him.”For the last 11 days, she was here on an ‘Upasana’. Today is the last day and I am sure that she will be her normal self by the time she takes the ‘Prasad’.”
“Is there any specific ritual to be followed?” Shankar asked with growing interest.
“Yes, such patients have to stay within the temple premises during the entire period of the puja. All through the day, they have to be in prayer.”
A sort of concentration, Shankar thought. But what about the feat- the lack of blood or injury after driving in a couple of inches of a metallic peace?
“Faith in the Mother,” the onlooker said as if reading his thoughts. “An ardent, unshaken belief in the supremacy of the Mother- that is what helps them.”
Shankar wanted to see what happened to that afflicted woman. He wanted to make himself sure that the particular claim of faith healing proved a genuine one.
He proceeded to the main temple.
Inside the cloister, a small crowd was watching the antics of a young lady. She was well dressed and could be around 20, Shankar observed. From her appearance, she seemed to come from a well-to-do family.
“What is happening? “ Shankar asked one of the onlookers. “Why is she behaving like a circus artiste twisting her limbs and body as if she has no bones in her?”

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“Don’t you know about her?”, a devotee standing near him asked. “She is Leela, the only daughter of that rich chap, Damodar Shenoy. She has been afflicted since childhood by epilepsy and there is no treatment left either in allopathy or ayurveda which they have not tried. Now they have turned to seek the blessings of the Mother and today is the culmination of her month-long ‘vratha.’”
Shankar watched the girl writhing in agony.
In the beginning her actions were slow and erratic without following any specific pattern. For some time she kept rolling her eyes as if she was watching invisible forces. Gradually the movements became faster and her eyes remained closed. She looked more like a puppet moving her body hither and thither in all directions, in all sorts of manner.
A couple of young men tried to hold her down but they were thrown away as if they were young kids playing with a rogue elephant. The attempt only aggravated the fierceness in her movements.
Shankar was amazed to see such a show of unmatched strength. On her own, such a delicate, slim woman could not have pushed away even a single man. But then, who gave her the strength? Granted that mad people had immense strength in the face of an apprehended attack, how could such a bad case become normal by a month-long prayer in that temple? He reserved his judgement.
All of a sudden, he heard a thud. He saw Leela lying flat on the ground and slowly moving her limbs at random.
A priest came and sprinkled holy turmeric powder on her face. The movements quietened down and she lay motionless for some time.
Gradually she opened her eyes, as if she was waking up from a deep slumber. She got up, folded her hands and started mumbling her prayers to Divine Mother as if nothing had happened. She looked as fresh as anyone else in that crowd.
Shankar tried to collect his thoughts. He felt that he had lost sight of something important in his analysis. What could be that missing link?
A woman with two kids brushed past him. Even before he could mumble his protests, he noticed some familiarity in the face. Where and when had he seen her?
Yes, he could locate the place. She was the same woman who, an hour ago was dancing in frenzy in front of the Kali temple! She was moving towards the Srikoil. Shankar followed her.
She stood with folded hands in front of the Sanctum Sanctorum. She closed her eyes chanting the prayers to the Mother, seeking Her blessings. She appeared normal.
There was something unique about the place, Shankar thought. Strange phenomena were occurring there right in front of him. Without even spilling a drop of blood, a woman could drive a nail into an almost dry tree with her forehead! The same woman was standing there in front of him as if she was

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questioning his very right to exist! And then there was that epileptic woman ,who after having exhibited the strength of a rogue elephant waking up from her slumber as fresh as a lily!
What had happened to him? Where did his calculations go wrong?
The place was unique, he agreed- unique in such occurrences. But what gave it that distinction? Certainly not the wood and masonry work which went into its construction. Could it be the presence of that stone idol which bestowed an exceptional supremacy to that place?
Shankar looked into the Srikoil seeking an explanation.
Something stirred within him. It was an unusual voice, a voice which he had heard very rarely, a voice which asserted its supremacy as it rose within him.
“Could you not learn anything by witnessing these incidents, you silly man?”- it questioned. “If not, listen. It is nothing but Faith, faith in themselves, faith in the Divine Mother. It is this motivating force that made them seek their refuge here.”
The words rang within him, shaking up his very mental processes. He felt that there was something candid about the statement. The history of mankind testified to it. The lives of the great authenticated it. All the difference between man and man emanated from it- from the existence and nonexistence of that faith.
Suddenly, he realised that inside the Srikoil what he saw was not just a stone idol. Instead ,he saw before him the Divine Mother, the all pervading mass of spirituality that vitalised the Universe through Her Cosmic Energy. He saw there the nerve centre of creation, the primal force of life underlying all existence. The mighty Mother revealed before him as the energy in the sun, as the life force pulsating in every living being, as the authority controlling every activity in the macrocosm.
Shankar stood there dazed and his hands remained folded in silent prayer.
Realisation dawned on him that he was part of that energy comprising many powers, containing many forces. He never knew that such a tremendous power existed within him.
The recognition came as a bomb shell exploding on his ignorance, shattering into pieces the ego-centred edifice he had built within him since ages. And then out of the shambles rose a new ego, manifesting the ‘Divine within’, unfolding the truth of the ‘Hidden Self’
He was getting a new direction in life, a new orientation to his philosophy. He knew why Vishwanath asked him to visit the place, why many people gathered there to have a ‘darsan’ of the Divine Mother. For, he had found the ‘missing link’ in the chain of his analytical thoughts- the Faith in the Supreme Power.
(Bhavan’s Journal- November, 1977)

The Call Of Sabarimala .

The Call of Sabarimala-1.
The sky was a heavenly blue dotted with mottled chalky clouds. The slanting rays of the morning sun tried hard to reach each and every corner of that coastal village of Kerala, to project its glorious landscape in a panoramic fusion.
Rajan looked out of his bedroom window to watch the awakening of that sleepy village.
Ever since he left that place two decades ago, there was no visible change in that village, Rajan thought. If any , it was only in the attitude of those villagers. He felt that they appeared more idiotic and superstitious than when he had seen them years ago.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa!, Swami Saranam!”. A young boy attired in a black lungi was treading his way to the nearby temple. Any stranger to that village would have looked askance as to why the boy had taken to ‘Sanyasa’ at such an impressionable age. But not so to the people of the locality. To them, the boy symbolised a young ‘Ayyappan’, a pilgrim to the shrine of Lord Ayyappa in the distant Sabari Hills, a ‘Swami’ abiding by the strict ‘Vrathas’-austerities-enunciated for such a pilgrimage.
“Can’t these people be a bit more sensible?”. Rajan could not suppress his annoyance. He had always held the view that religious activities were directed only to cover up one’s defects in the name of God, a mere myth. To him these subjects seemed good only up to the stage of publishing books on moral education and nothing beyond that.
True, his mother was a pious woman who believed in the existence of some super power. But she was an uneducated rustic who had hardly seen any place outside the village. To her a televised speech or for that matter a radio programme would have appeared the handiwork of that super power, God! Any enterprising mandarin could have fooled her explaining away such programmes as the commands from the Lord!
It was quite understandable in those days for people to be superstitious, Rajan knew. Then the illiterate masses were not trained to reason out the validity of such religious contentions. They were frowned upon by the elders, if they ever dared to raise a questioning finger as to its basis. But to think that even in this space age there could be people nourishing superstitions and encouraging religious activities, was something he could not understand. He scoffed at them.
“Congenital idiots!” Rajan spat out his contempt for those rustics.
Rajan wondered how he would be able to spend the coming days among those near-tribal people. Civilisation had reached the village, by way of electricity and public transport system. But the people continued to remain far away from civilisation, he thought. He would not have come all the way from Bombay to Cochin and to this village, but for his sister’s marriage. The marriage over, he wished that he could get back soon to his way of life in Bombay after completing necessary formalities. To spend even a day more than necessary, with this sort of people, was disgusting.
Even with all his contempt for those superstitious folk, Rajan could not but feel surprised about their happy disposition. They were poor, but they looked happy. They did not have good food, but

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they appeared healthy. And they did not have air-conditioners or ceiling fans, but they slept peacefully.
They seemed to be a contented lot of people.
He could not understand this. He had money, he had every facility at his command. As chief of a chain of tourist hotels spread all over the country, he could spend cool days at Simla while the plains suffered from sweltering heat or spend warm days at Bangalore while the country shivered in cold waves.
“Why should fate make me so restless?”, Rajan murmured.”Why should it be partial to these people in giving them a happy and cheerful attitude?. I have enough money to burn, but I do not have the peace of mind. I have comfortable environment, but sleep eludes me. Why should it happen to me alone?”
Rajan felt that nature had been uncharitable to him.
The scenic splendours of the coastline and the palm fringed groves of coconut trees swaying in the November breeze failed to enthuse him. Neither the emerald green forests nor the sunny beaches could revive his spirits. He wanted mental peace, he craved for a good sleep without taking recourse to drugs. The scenes around him failed to get him his minimum demands.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!” From yonder, amongst the cluster of trees, rose the fervent prayers of some devotees.
“Even if there was someone in the heavens, these fools would have driven him out of existence,” Rajan blurted out, though there was none to hear him. “Why ca’nt these people keep religion to themselves instead of being vociferous about it?. When will better sense prevail upon them?”
He knew that his lone voice would not be heard in that village. Rather, he was certain that it would be drowned in a volley of protests if he even attempted to educate these people. Even in Bombay where the society was considered as educated and enlightened, he had come across many who refused to listen to him.
He recollected the argument he had the other day with one of his friends in Bombay. Kedarnath, a staunch protagonist of traditional religious activities, did not agree with his observation that religion was a fraud on mankind, a blot on the fair name of humanity.
“You may have your views about it,” Rajan said getting disgusted with the way the discussions prolonged. “But you have to agree with me that religion is meant only to exploit the weaker, ignorant sections of the society.”
Kedarnath was not the type to be hood- winked like that.
“May be, you have some point there”, he said. “It is true that in religion, exploitation of believers is involved to some extent. But to categorise all religions as fraud on this basis is unwarranted. After all, these religious faiths provide some sort of relief to people who need them.”
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To drive the point home further, Kedarnath continued. “Can you imagine this world existing without any religious faith? There will be utter confusion since people will not have any place to look for succour. There will be chaos when their spiritual needs are not satisfied even if their material comforts are looked after. There will then be a vacuum drawing in the forces of evil and sin.”
“Well, I do not agree with that,” Rajan was cool in his reply. He did not like to prolong the argument with people who had preset notions.
He was surprised that even educated people like Kedarnath talked and believed such nonsense about religion.
“The people are yet to go a long way to reach civilisation”, he muttered.”What use is education to such people like Kedarnath?”.
It was not the opinion expressed by him alone, Rajan knew that. His friend Shyamlal also shared his views.
“Most of the educated public live in a world of illiteracy as far as their religious attitudes are concerned,” Shyamlal used to say frequently. “They surrender themselves to God and consider that everything good or bad occurs at his behest!”
Shyamlal was right , Rajan agreed. It reminded him of the incidents he had witnessed in the village as a young boy. If anybody died of snake bite it was termed as fate. If anyone failed in the examinations, the evil hand of destiny was recognised . In short, the villagers were happy if they could find out the reasons for such mishaps. They never looked into the details , they never worried to argue about it on a scientific basis. They were satisfied if some religious explanations were forthcoming.
After all, they could not be blamed. They were illiterate.
But, the outlook and environment of the villagers had changed since then, Rajan observed. People , most of them at least, were educated. They knew something about science. They knew how to argue if they were not convinced of the facts. They were not that blind to follow the traditional path of ignorance. They were literate enough to question every action concerning them.
Still, there were people like Kedarnath. There were people who followed the dictates enshrined in religious books. They organised pilgrimages and ‘bhajans’ to proclaim their faith in God. They fought each other in the name of religion, in the name of God. They left everything to God, surrendering themselves to the so called unknown superpower. They never wanted even to think that it was they alone who could improve their position and wealth and not some stone piece, nor a place of worship.
“Idiots;” Rajan summarised his feelings for those people in one word.


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The Call of Sabarimala—2

“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!” The voice seemed to come from behind. It sounded familiar. Ramu, his cousin, dressed in a black lungi and sporting a beard presented himself before Rajan as an ‘Ayyappan’.
“You too have joined the fray? Pray, what for?” Rajan could not conceal the sarcasm in his voice. He was astonished that even his cousin, who used to despise religions and activities connected with them, had chosen to become a pilgrim.
“Oh! That is a long story,” Ramu said. “You know me too well to know that I would have been the last person to take up’ vratha’ at this stage, when life is a thing to be enjoyed . Do’nt you?”
“Yes, I do.” Rajan said, “and that is why i was shocked to see you in this dress”.
“But that was a long time back,” Ramu said. “In fact I consider myself to have had a second birth in this regard. It all happened when I had that never ending stomach ache. I consulted the best of doctors, but I was told that it was a hopeless case. I suffered and suffered.”
Then one day, our old teacher Sankara Menon came to see me,” Ramu continued. “He had some financial problems and had come to me for advice. He saw me suffering and heard my story. He had an immediate cure for it-a pilgrimage to Sabarimala!”
“You know very well the characteristics of that Sanskrit Pundit,” Ramu said. “He believes that every affliction can be got rid of by seeking the help of the divine power. He asked me to give it a fair trial since all known venues I approached had failed to cure the disease. Because of his insistence, and he was too vehement about it, I went to Sabarimala and have never once regretted it. Since then, I go regularly to Sabarimala.”
“Probably the clean surroundings and the strict austerities you had ,helped to cure the disease. Why do’nt you analyse so?” Rajan was critical.
“Well, that cannot be ruled out,” Ramu said. “But I learnt one thing the hard way –that I should have faith in the Omnipotence of Ayyappa. He gave me good health and a life worth living. Because of His blessings, I am a happy man to-day. Swami Saranam!”
“By the way, I am going to the fields. Are you coming?”
“No,” Rajan said. “See you tomorrow.”
Rajan watched his cousin disappearing behind a cluster of trees. “By chance he got cured and he attributes it to his pilgrimage to Sabarimala .Stupid”, Rajan muttered. ”How could a sensible man like him become so irrational and senseless in the name of God?”
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“Letter for Rajan Saheb,” the postman woke him up from his reverie. “You have a registered letter. Please sign here,” he said beaming with smile. He was also clad in black lungi and sported the traditional beard of a pilgrim.
The fellow looked happy, Rajan observed. “Would he be earning even Rs.300 a month? How could the man survive with such a meagre sum and yet be happy in such hard days?”
Those were not the questions to be asked to a stranger, he knew. The city folk would have resented such inquisitiveness. But those villagers never minded such queries.
“Days are hard Sir,” the postman said. “Still due to the blessings of Ayyappa, life is not as bad as it was earlier.”
Again the same foolish talk, Rajan murmured.
“What more is required in life Sir, than having a healthy family and bright children?,” the postman asked. “Ever since I surrendered to Ayyappa, He has taken care of us. I go to Sabarimala every year to worship Him. After all, I should not be ungrateful to Him”.
“What do you gain by going to Sabarimala except the rigours of an arduous walk for miles together and the stresses and strains of an uncomfortable life for days?” Rajan asked him.
“Oh! No!” The post man looked shocked. “How can you ever talk like that ? Swami Saranam!”
After a pause, the postman continued.
“Well, I do not blame you for this. You seem to be ignorant of the powers of Ayyappa. I too was once unaware of His miraculous powers. In those days, I used to live a precarious life, spending the entire salary on medical treatment. One after the other they used to fall sick, either the mother or the children. I thought it to be the effect of black magic cast on me by some of my enemies. I tried to propitiate the evil gods by offering them ‘pujas ‘and sacrifices, but that did not work.
“When one of my friends, a devotee of Ayyappa, heard of my plight, he suggested that I seek the blessings of the Lord- a pilgrimage to Sabarimala. I did not want to spend money on this pilgrimage as I did not have sufficient money even to get medicines for my ailing family. But Ayyappa helped me and I could have His ‘darsan’. Since then, I never had a problem. All due to the blessings of Ayyappa. ‘Swami Saranam.’
The postman left chanting the prayers of the Lord.
“What a fervent and unshaken faith!”, Rajan could not help making the remarks. But he was surprised to find that a moderately educated villager like that postman was not bothered to find out the reasons for such a change in his family life except to think that it was all due to the blessings of the Lord. Probably, he and many more like him, were not interested in knowing the scientific explanations for such miracles- they never needed any. What they were interested in was only the results and they were happy if the outcome was good. What else was required except results for people like them?
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That man appeared quite happy, Rajan thought. He radiated peace and cheer. It was a pleasure to talk to him.
Rajan remembered that for years he had not seen a happy face among the friends he had in Bombay. Everyone of them grumbled about their problems, their worries and troubles, though they seldom had to face financial problems. In their company, he had never once got that mental peace and happiness which he enjoyed while listening to that poor postman. But was that man really poor? May be financially, but certainly not spiritually.
For once Rajan recognised how a happy man would look like. Such a man radiated happiness on those around, he understood now. In such a company one forgot the troubles and cares one had.
The letter was from Kumar, the owner of the giant industrial complex- the Kumar Enterprises.
“Must be the usual stuff’, R ajan thought, all about his improved environment, latest interior decoration, his movement among the higher –ups. What else has he to write?”
He was not very much mistaken about the contents of the letter. It contained an additional item, a request to purchase some handicrafts from Kerala for which he had enclosed a cheque.
“These are the latest in demand here”, the letter read, “and when everyone else has acquired them we may be looked down upon if we do not possess them”.
“What an interesting world is this!”Rajan could not contain his contempt for the society. “A place full of contradictions? Here there is a postman who is happy and contended with whatever he has in life while there are people unhappy with the thought that they do not have the latest pieces in handicraft!”
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam !” The prayer arose from a boy returning from school. He was dressed as a young ‘Ayyappan’. From his appearance one could conclude that he belonged to a poor family. How cheerful the boy looked! Rajan wondered. His own children, though well fed and well dressed, never looked so happy and healthy. They always complained of something or other. They were so conscious of the material side of life that a small inconvenience made them unhappy, left them grumbling.
Rajan realised that like him, his children too were restless. They too would have to face a life without peace and happiness.
He felt disgusted with the entire world.




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The Call of Sabarimala—3
The setting sun brought about a rapid change of colours in the distant horizon, investing the entire countryside with an yellow pallor. The sky turned to a transparent amber and then to a greyish white as the dying sun descended beyond the distant hills. Slowly the blue background of the sky was filled with clusters of trembling stars peeping hesitantly into the world below. They glittered like myriads of diamonds stitched on to the velvety robe of the dark heavens.
With the arrival of night, a shroud of gloominess spread over the entire countryside, plunging it into lethargy and inactivity. One by one, the flickering lights went off till the village was enveloped in utter darkness. Except for the howl of a stray dog or the footsteps of the night chowkidar, perfect stillness reigned.
To Rajan, the arrival of night was heralded by that troubled feeling of restlessness, an experience he was afflicted with since years. He noticed that his stock of sleeping pills, the only solace he had, was over.
“I have to spend tonight and probably many more nights to come without a wink of sleep! What a fate!”,he muttered.
Were those villagers like him, fearing the arrival of night and spending sleepless hours till dawn? Rajan had his doubts. No, they did not appear to be so.
The radiant smiling face of his cousin rose up before him. Ramu, who had always been a grumbling, complaining type, who had always remained a worried man in the earlier days, looked now the very personification of happiness. He could not have been so if he did not have good sleep.
What about that postman? His face too was indicative of a happy life. He would not be having any such problem.
Rajan felt that nature had been too cruel to him. He could purchase anything with the money he had, but neither the happiness nor the mental peace of that low paid postman. Why should he alone be singled out to be tortured like this? What sin did he commit to be illtreated in this fashion with restlessness and lack of sleep?
In his younger days, his problem was something different. He needed money to go for higher education, to lead a life of some comfort. His parents could not help him much except pray for his health and happiness in life. He was blessed in a way, for he was healthy and happy, but he had no money.
Then his ambition in life was to become a rich man, a multimillionaire. He worked hard, he did odd jobs with the sole determination of a man possessed, to achieve his objective. In the process, he became wealthy only to moan the loss of his mental tranquillity, to weep over the lack of sleep in the night. What did he gain? What was his achievement?
Rajan felt bitter.
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“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam! “ The fervent prayer of a devotee came piercing through the stillness of the night. It was so sincere, Rajan thought, so appealing. It seemed to originate from the very core of his heart.
Rajan liked to hear it again. It was so soothing, so refreshing.
Deep within him, his religious background stirred to life. It urged him to seek the blessings of the Lord. It conquered his protesting nature. It enslaved his critical attitude.
“If blind faith in something supreme yielded results to people, why not you too give it a fair trial?” it asked him. If religious faiths could survive centuries of stiff opposition there must be something eternal, something special in them which could keep them alive. Was he the only wise man to be critical of God and religion in all these centuries? Were there not reformers in the past who rebelled against superstitions and eradicated the evils in these faiths? Still they did not doubt the existence of a Supreme power.
At last his religious self mastered his ever critical attitude to religion and God. It overwhelmed his feeble objections. It beckoned him to pray to the Lord, to seek His blessings. It hypnotised him into chanting the words “Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa!”
Rajan chanted the prayer again and again. Slowly he was engulfed in its magic spell, in its soothing effect. His body responded to its powerful appeal. Enchantment befell him as a prelude to mental happiness and sleep.
The music of jubilant birds announcing the arrival of dawn gently woke up Rajan. He saw that the cold grey shade of the dawn had given way to a veritable conflagration of colours across the heavens. White smoke from house tops soared skywards indicating that the house-wives were busy with their daily chores. Another day of inactivity to be followed by a restless night, Rajan thought.
Suddenly he remembered that he had a comfortable sleep the previous night, that too without taking recourse to any drug. It was not a strenuous day either to dull him into instant sleep. In fact there were days when he used to return from his office dead tired, still not getting even a wink of sleep. He could not recollect any special reason for such a transformation in him-from a monotonous state of sleeplessness into a blissful state of deep slumber.
Rajan tried hard to collect his thoughts.
Slowly he realised that he had a trouble free sleep under the hypnotic spell of those magic words-“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa”! The old timers had told him that those were the magic words which gave solace to many people, but then he had not accepted their contention. Now he recognised that he too got some mental relief by the very chant of those sacred words.
“Now that I am here, I shall go on pilgrimage to Sabarimala,” Rajan thought. It did not matter if his friends made fun of his interest in religion. If he could get back that long lost peace and happiness, it was worth the trial, Rajan decided.
His cousin Ramu appreciated him, but he had his doubts about the strength of Rajan’s conviction.
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“You a townsman thinking of all these spiritual things? I ca’nt understand that,” Ramu said. “Anyway, I am glad that you will also join us for the pilgrimage. But remember, it is not going to be that easy. You have to abide by certain religious rites inconveniencing yourself.”
“I am prepared to undergo any trouble whatsoever if it gives me some happiness in the end. Please let me know what all I should do,” Rajan was emphatic.
“You have to undergo rigorous austerities at least for 41 days. You have to wear a Rudraksha or Tulsi bead garland as a token of your determination to observe the ‘vratha’”, Ramu said.
“Is that all? I can easily do it,” Rajan was eager.
“Not only that, you have to withdraw from all social activities, which I am sure you may find difficult. And remember, no more drinks, meat and spicy food. You can have only ‘satwik’ food. Can you, as a city dweller, suffer all these?” Ramu threw up a challenge.
After a pause, he continued.” May be that you can do all these. After all, I myself was a cynic like you before my eyes opened to the joys of such a life. With complete surrender to Ayyappa, you will not find any difficulty at all in leading the life of a pilgrim.
“From tomorrow, you also join us . Black clothes, unshaven beard- in short you have to be a sanyasi. May Ayyappa help you to get the mental peace you are seeking. Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa!
Rajan joined him in repeating the sacred chant. He felt a new wave of joy surging within him.













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The Call of Sabarimala--4

The first few days of the ‘vratha’ were arduous as Rajan was not used to such a life. He had to wake up in the early hours of the dawn every day and rush through a quick bath to be in time to reach the temple as the morning worship began. He had to forego the eagerly sought bed tea as the austerities demanded the pilgrims to worship in the temple before they could partake of even a drop of water. Many a time Rajan was tempted to get back to the mundane life instead of getting inconvenienced by the strict discipline enjoined for the pilgrimage. But the mental peace he enjoyed by participating in religious activities and the inner satisfaction he achieved by leading a regulated life of worship and prayers made him happy and contented. Never before he had led such a peaceful life. He who was never satisfied with anything this life offered, was transformed into a man of modest needs, even happy with the simple life he had to lead. He was convinced that he had the blessings of Lord Ayyappa in achieving this.
The 41 days of austerities were over quickly and the scheduled day for the pilgrimage came. It was a bright morning and the air was rent with the chants of “Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa!” Many pilgrims from the village had already left for Sabarimala and the few who were left out had assembled for the “Kettunira’ ceremony- the filling of the two compartment cloth bag called ‘Irumudi’.
“This is the kit you have to carry on your head through out your pilgrimage,” Ramu said. “The front portion is reserved for keeping all the puja articles and the rear part is meant to hold the personal requisites of the pilgrim”.
“The main offering to the Lord is a ghee filled coconut,” Ramu continued while emptying a ripe coconut of its contents for filling it with pure ghee. “This is to be placed along with other ‘ puja’ articles like camphor and rice in the front part of the Irumudi.”
“Who has prescribed such a procedure? Has it any religious significance?” Rajan was curious to know.
“The pilgrimage itself is symbolic of the soul’s journey to unite with the Supreme. Hence the rear part of the ‘irumudi’ signifies the “Prarabdha Karma’, the worldly desires, the pilgrim consumes during his journey. When he reaches the destination, the remains are only the coconuts filled with ghee symbolising the bodies throbbing with souls”.
“Don’t you find it interesting that the act of pouring ghee on the idol represents the merger of the soul with the Supreme?” Ramu asked.”The emptied coconut is then thrown into the fire indicative of the burning of the body after salvation.”
“The symbolic meaning apart, the ‘Irumudi’ typifies the bundle carried by the Lord himself during his forest expedition,” Ramu continued. “I hope you know the legend.”
Yes, he knew the story, Rajan remembered. When he was a young boy, his mother used to recite it in the praise of the Lord.
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His mother had told him that the Lord was born of Siva and the Mohini form of Vishnu. The child was left on the banks of the river Pampa only to be found by the King of Pandalam.
“Was it not cruel on the part of the parents to leave a child just like that?” He remembered to have asked her then. He could not understand how such a new born child would survive in those jungles escaping the prowling eyes of wild animals.
“It was necessary to leave the child like that,” his mother said, “for the Lord was born with a mission and He had to fulfil it.”
“Then what happened, mother?,” he was curious to know. “What did the King do?”
“The King was happy to see such a lovely baby. Childless as he was, he considered the infant as God-sent in recognition of his prayers. Those who saw the child took Him to be the incarnation of God Almighty himself. He was golden in colour and had sported a jewel around His neck. The proud King and Queen adopted Him as their child and named him ‘Manikantha’.
“Manikantha grew up amidst the luxury of the Pandalam palace.
“As years rolled by, the Queen gave birth to a bonny child. They were all happy of the new born as they thought that the Gods were really very much pleased with them. Manikantha too was happy for He had somebody to play with. The children grew up as brothers.”
“Just like us ,mother?” Rajan had then wanted to know whether the Lord’s childhood was in anyway different from him .
“Yes, the same way as you kids,” his mother replied. “But the Lord was never mischievous like you.”
“He would not be a God if he was mischievous, mother,” Rajan did not like to be blamed then.
“Do you want to hear the story or you want to argue with me.” His mother was annoyed. She never liked anyone arguing with her while she spoke.
“Continue the story, mother, I won’t interrupt,” Rajan calmed her down.
“The children learnt all the skills that were required to be known by princes, the techniques of war and the intrigues in administration. When they came of age, the King decided to install Manikantha as the crown prince as he was the eldest. The Queen did not appreciate such a move; she wanted her son to ascend the throne. The only way to fulfil her ambition was to remove Manikantha from the scene.
“One day she feigned illness. With the connivance of some of the ministers she managed to get an unusual prescription for her disease- the milk of a tigress.”
“A tigress?” Rajan asked in shocked surprise. “How could the Queen be so callous as to demand such a medicine?”

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“Intrigues find a place where power is involved, my son, “ his mother philosophised on the situation. “The Lord was too willing to go to the forests, for His mission in life was still to be achieved. He set out for the forests to get the medicine, carrying with Him the ‘Irumudi’. In the thick jungles of the Western Ghats, He encountered the demoness Mahishi who had been giving trouble to the gods in heaven. In the battle that ensued He killed her and thereby accomplished the task of His incarnation. The gods chanted “Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa!”when they saw that the Mahishi was killed. They sang His praises and craved for His blessing which He readily granted.
“Manikantha returned to the kingdom not with the milk of the tigress but with hundreds of tigresses so that the Queen could take as much milk as she wanted. The frightened Queen sought His mercy. The King was dumb-founded. He pleaded for His forbearance and compassion.
“The Lord blessed them both. Before disappearing from there, He requested the King to construct a temple in Sabarimala where devotees could have his ‘darsan’.”
His mother concluded her story. She prayed with deep fervour and sang hymns in praise of the Lord. Rajan too joined her.
Those days were vivid in his memory.
“Oh! Those days were wonderful’, Rajan thought. “Then there was nothing to worry about, nothing to care about. Those days have gone never to come back.”
His sole ambition to become a millionaire had wrecked his life, he knew. He became greedy and thereby restless He amassed plenty of money and with that the vices which followed. He lost faith in everything, even in life and became a cynic. He thought that with the backing of money he could do wonders, but he found to his dismay that even such a simple bare necessity as sleep eluded him. What did he gain by this mad rush for wealth and power? Social status? What?
Question after question assailed him. He recognised the futility of life he had led in those money-mad days.
He was glad that he had at least discovered the meaning of life, though belatedly. He was happy that he could get mental peace by completely surrendering to the Lord. He was enchanted with the thought that he would be going to Sabarimala to regain the happiness of those younger days.






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The Call of Sabarimala- 5
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Sharanam!” The place was transformed into a holy abode of divinity with the voice of devotees seeking the blessings of Ayyappa. The arduous but exciting journey to Sabarimala had begun.
As if it had a date with destiny, the car carrying the pilgrims sped past the towns and villages dotting the coastline of Kerala. The occupants, 5 of them in all, were a queer mixture of persons whom fate seemed to have brought together. Besides Rajan and his cousin Ramu, there was Prof.Pillai, an acknowledged critic of arts and literature, and religion and culture. But his critical attitude to religious activities appeared to soften where pilgrimage to Sabarimala was concerned!
Then there was Ramesh, holder of a doctorate in philosophy and principal of a neighbouring college. He was noted for his analytical study of various aspects of religion and particularly for his pungent criticism of man’s abject dependence on religion. He was a man of caution as he himself used to claim. Rajan wondered how the reasoning power of such an intellectual giant failed when it came to the worship at Sabarimala shrine.
The youngster at the wheel, Krishnan, was an interesting person too. He did not look more than 24, but seemed to be wiser than people double his age. True, he was reckless in driving and he appeared reckless about his life too.” Life starts at 70 m.p.h.to me,” he used to say whenever the other pilgrims cautioned him about his fast driving.
They were people of different tastes and outlook, but they had one thing in common-unquestioned devotion to Lord Ayyappa.
“Yours is the first pilgrimage to the shrine, ”Ramu said while discussing the route to reach Sabarimala.”So we have to go via Erumeli, the traditional route. You have to walk about 50 miles. But do not worry. The Lord will take care of you.”
“It is not the 50 miles of walk that makes the journey strenuous,” Krishnan intervened to say . “It is the hilly terrain that taxes the body. The ascent of the Azhutha ranges is as tedious as the descent of the Karimala. Anyway, you will forget all that once you bathe in the Pampa.
“What about the Neeli mala? Is it not that difficult to cross?” Rajan asked him.
“Yes, it is also formidable. But these hardships are forgotten with the ‘darsan’ of the Lord” , the Professor butted in to reply.
The pilgrims reached Erumeli as the sun began setting.
Erumeli, Rajan observed, looked a small town, a small patch of land against the backdrop provided by the mighty Western Ghats. It must be a sleepy town during other months, he was certain, but during the season, it gave the appearance of a holy place reverberating with the chants of thousands of Ayyappa devotees. From every corner one could hear the inspiring words ‘Swami Saranam’ . Everywhere one could see black-robed pilgrims busily engaged in worship and spiritual discourses.
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It looked a vast ‘dharma shala’ under the benevolent sky where everybody looked equal in dress and in action, where everybody sought only one object- the blessings of the Lord.
Resting over a sheet spread on an uneven ground, Rajan watched his friends getting ready for preparing dinner. He wanted to assist them, but he was tired. He was not used to such a long and strenuous journey. His body resented it, his limbs reacted to it, his muscles ached.
He knew that the day ahead was not going to be better. They had planned to ascend the Azhutha hill ranges and to cross over to the Karimala to spend the night on top of that elephant –infested hill. He knew too that he was not alone in this pilgrimage and that the protective arms of Ayyappa guarded him constantly.
The cool breeze that came whispering through the jungles, lulled the travel-weary pilgrims to instant sleep.
The trek across the forests abound with wild life, was exhilarating to Rajan. He enjoyed the scenic splendour of nature, the sylvan settings and the lush green hills of the formidable Western Ghats. He was thrilled to see the pilgrims wending their way, through the tortuous , hazardous, mountain track, entirely motivated by the deep devotion to the Lord. He recognised that faith alone could have moved such a sea of humanity to carry the heavy ‘Irumudi’ on their heads and walk bare-footed through dense forests with prayers to Ayyappa on their lips.
There were old people and young ones ,and children who would have hardly walked a mile at a stretch; there were the rich and the poor, highly paid officers and low paid employees; there were lame pilgrims, there were sick people too- all seeking the blessings of the Lord, all motivated by the eagerness to have a ‘darsan’ of Ayyappa.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa!’, Rajan chanted. He was happy that he could also take part in such a holy journey, just because he had come to his native place in time. He was glad that he could get rid of that restlessness which was haunting him for years. He was overjoyed at the thought that by the grace of the Lord he would be getting rid of that uneasiness which had gripped him and was eating into his sleep and health all these years.
The ascent of the Azhutha was strenuous. The path was rugged, steep and strewn with boulders hurled down the hill slopes by howling monsoon winds. It was a self inflicted suffering which he would not have courted but for the promise of the supreme reward. He stopped half-way panting for breath. Ahead, the endless forest track wound its toilsome way upward.
“Swamiji,” one of the pilgrims addressed him “You seem to be tired. Want any help?”
“Thank you Swamiji”, Rajan reciprocated. “With the blessings of Ayyappa, I will make it, though I am tired.”
“Swami Saranam”, the pilgrim moved away.

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Rajan felt tired. In fact he would not have missed such an offer had it been made in some other situation, at some other place. It was always his firm belief that there was not need to suffer one-self when one could avoid it. But he was not going to Sabarimala on a picnic, or on a sightseeing tour.
When he reached the top of the Azhutha mala, he was so exhuberant as if he had conquered Mt, Everest. But he could not rest long for the pilgrims wanted to move on for the descent. They had to ascend Karimala before sun-set, they said.
Ahead, Rajan saw the breath- taking scenic beauty of the hill ranges with their peaks shooting upwards as if in supplication to the Lord of Sabarimala.
“Karimala, the abode of the wild elephants”, Ramu explained its significance pointing towards them.
“There they are,” some one jerked his index finger to a group of wild elephants roaming carelessly in the valley below. “Let us pray to Ayyappa so that they leave us in peace.”
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa,” Prof. Pillai chanted. Others joined him in a chorus. They did not wish to have any chance encounter with those wild animals while they climbed Karimala.
They knew that in those dense forests situated far from civilisation only the Lord could help them. They slept with nothing but the sky above them, with no protection other than what nature provided them. Not that they could not afford the luxury of a small bamboo hut if they wanted to. But they had the firm conviction that the Lord would take care of them. And He did!













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-The Call of Sabarimala- 6
Rajan lay awake watching the star-studded sky. The ascent of the Karimala was too much for him. Every part of his body ached. He did not have the strength to undertake the journey further. His determination and enthusiasm to go ahead slowly diminished. Doubts arose within him about the very wisdom of his action. Was he not following a blind path without verifying whether it could provide the much-needed solace to him at all, he doubted. Could it not be possible that all those who were vociferous about the miraculous powers of Ayyappa were doing so by sheer faith alone without having anything to substantiate their claims? Would not their arguments collapse under a heavy storm of cold reasoning?
Ramu, his cousin, could not have bluffed him about his experiences. For Rajan knew what sort of a person his cousin was before. There was no doubt that his way of life had changed. But what about others? What was the reason for that Professor to be so fervent about the pilgrimage that even without raising a finger against the beliefs, he joined the group of the black-robed Ayyappans? And how come that an intellectual like Dr. Ramesh was so enthusiastic to go to Sabarimala that he threw away his reasoning power to winds? What about the young driver who, instead of pursuing the pleasures of life, decided to seek the blessings of the Lord?
Rajan was in a dilemma. Should he ask them his doubts? Would he be misunderstood?
Ask he must, he knew. Other-wise, he would not have the conviction to undertake the pilgrimage further.
“You know Rajan that I am critical of every religious faith, every traditional belief which makes a myth out of religion,” the Professor said. “I cannot help it for it is in my blood. But as regards the pilgrimage to Sabarimala, I did not subject it to the ususal dose of criticism. You may ask why. It is purely for selfish reasons!”
“My son was an average boy in studies and I did not care much about it then,” the Professor continued. “But as years went by, I found him getting duller and duller and I feared that he was heading to become a mentally retarded boy. I consulted leading doctors who in turn referred him to psychiatrics, but all of no avail. Soon I found to my dismay that his memory had started failing. I did not know what to do.
“Then one day, one of my friends who saw the boy suggested that a pilgrimage to Sabarimala would solve my problem. I was annoyed at such a suggestion. I was not prepared to heed his advice. I told him that in this age of science and technology, only illiterates could think of such a treatment.
“But he was not upset; he gave me a patient hearing. After I calmed down, he convinced me that since science, for which I gave so much importance, had failed to cure the boy, there was nothing to lose if the traditional methods based on faith were tried.
“I did not then have any belief in the powers of the Lord. Still, due to the insistence of my relatives, I took the boy on pilgrimage that year. However, I did not have to repent for this. My boy is now one
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of the best students of the University. I do not know how the change occurred. But it did occur . It is there before my very eyes. I cannot doubt it.
“Since then, I go to Sabarimala every year. Swami Saranam!” The Professor concluded his story.
“Mine is also more or less a similar story,” the Doctor said. “Never a believer in the efficacy of faith healing, I have now become one due to the revelations made by Lord Ayyappa.
“You may not believe it- well I myself would not have believed it if it were narrated by somebody else before I experienced this. When life was slowly ebbing out of my son, minute by minute, coughing blood, I knew that the end was near. The doctors were certain that nothing could save him except probably an operation. The Chief Surgeon told me that he himself could not be certain of the outcome of the operation, but he was sure that without it death would claim the boy. Himself a devotee of Ayyappa, the surgeon suggested that I should pray to the Lord for the success of the operation.
“I found myself in an embarrassing situation,” the doctor continued.” Here I was , watching the slow and painful death of my son, debating within whether I should pray to a god whose existence I always questioned. I would be termed a hypocrite if I ever did any such action. I would be blatantly criticised as an imposter if I ever accepted the existence of a super power. It was against my conviction, it was against my theory.
“There was no time to hold a seminar on this. There was no time to carry out a detailed discussion on this. My son’s life was involved and I did not have much to think about it. I never cared for what reaction it would have on my career.
“I prayed to the Lord to save my child. I prayed to Him to forgive my lapses and to bring the child back to life.
“The operation was a success. The surgeon complimented me for my fervent faith in Ayyappa but for whose help it would have been a lost case.
“Since then I never gave a second thought to my action. Ayyappa saved my child from the portals of death and I never wanted anything more than that. As it always happens where selfish ends are involved, I tried to rationalise my action subsequently. I argued that if I could believe in an abstract matter like luck, why could not I accept the superiority of an abstract body like God? If I could entrust my entire life to an un-understanding, unreliable, nothingness called chance, would it not be better if I left everything to the care of an understanding, benign, supreme power? People might say that I had propounded this theory only to wriggle out of a situation, to escape public criticism. But now I don’t care.” The doctor concluded his part of the story.
“I had never doubted nor criticised the existence of a supreme power,” Krishnan said. “But I did not give much serious thought to it in the early days of my business ventures. I thought that with my wisdom and business acumen I could build up a good commercial set up. The results proved me wrong.

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“One after the other, the business ventures I undertook failed, shaking the very foundation of my financial position and my confidence. When, as a last attempt I took up this taxi business, my friend, a great devotee of Lord Ayyappa, who had known my difficulties, suggested to me to have the ‘darsan’ of the Lord before launching the venture.
“Needless to say,” Krishnan continued, “if you find me a happy and carefree man, it is due to His blessings. I am well off in this business and I am sure that Ayyappa will help me in my difficulties. ‘Swami Saranam!’ “
They had their reasons for the pilgrimage, Rajan was convinced. But what about him?
He never faced any difficulty in life as the others did. His finances always remained sound. Then, why did he, who would not have walked a mile in Bombay, undertake such an arduous journey? How could he undertake such a pilgrimage full of lurking dangers from wild elephants and dizzy heights? Was it not that faith, that unflinching faith in Lord Ayyappa which lured him away from the easy and comfortable city life to the irksome and uncomfortable journey through those inhospitable jungles? Was it not that feeling that Ayyappa would bless him with the much needed mental peace that made him plod all the way through a strenuous mountain terrain? Why should he still doubt the wisdom of his action?
Something surged up from within him. It was a command summoning him to Sabarimala, a command he could not resist, a command he had to obey.
The flickering butterlamps in the camps around slowly died down. Sleep suddenly engulfed the entire area. But for the stray howls of the nocturnal wild life, nothing disturbed the strange stillness of those dark forests.
Rajan woke up with a start. It was dawn. Jubilant birds were chirping away. The conflagration of colours blazing across the skies made it a strikingly superb scene, the like of which he had never seen before.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!” The pilgrims were ready to start the day’s arduous journey.
The descent down the Karimala had its inherent dangers. The gradients were perilously steep. A false step would hurl the victim down the depths of those dark valleys, to the inner recesses of that yawning abyss. The very thought was chilling.
Down below, skirting the precipitous hills, there appeared what seemed like a greyish ribbon stretching along the entire valley.
“That is the Pampa river on whose banks the King of Pandalam found the Lord”, Ramu explained. “A dip in those cool waters will refresh everyone,” Krishnan interjected.
Rajan sat down on a boulder watching the foaming river flow past him, lapping at his feet. Most of the pilgrims were engaged in a holy dip while he sat drinking in nature’s beauty. Higher up, he saw the stream putting up a relentless struggle with the massive rock outcrops, plunging over rapids and
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swirling over boulders. It surged victoriously through the enemy ranks, roaring and cascading with laughter. For years, Rajan thought, the restless river was engaged in this struggle to reach its destination, to wet the parched throats of the travel-weary pilgrims, to refresh them. For years to come, it would go on entertaining millions of pilgrims without complaining, without expecting any favour in return.
Nature was in her wildest, grandest and the most magnanimous form there. It was a grand feeling which he could not express in words; there was something enchanting about the environment. Was he under the hypnotic spell of the Lord or was it the change of place which had brought about this attitude? He was not certain.
“If we try hard, we can reach Sabarimala by to-night,” Ramu’s words awakened him from his reverie. Yonder, Rajan could see the towering heights of the Neelimala and the stream of pilgrims wending their way. It was going to be the last lap of the journey but by no means less arduous.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!” The pilgrims moved on chanting the praise of the Lord to ascend the soaring heights of the Neelimala. Sometimes the trail was very steep and at other times dangerously slippery. Slowly they climbed atop the ridge.
“We don’t have much to go now,” his cousin said. “Possibly another hour should take us to the ‘Sannidhanam’-the temple premises.”
Rajan watched the untiring enthusiasm of the pilgrims while descending the Neelimala. For years, he had wandered throughout the country amid the seething crowd of the towns. He had come across different type of people during his business tours, but he never had gained the impression that people could be serious or enthusiastic about anything. Now he was being proved wrong.
The descent was slow, for one had to be steady. The scenes below were wild yet exquisite The emerald green valleys, the deep ravines and the lofty mountains, all gave a soothing feeling to the travel-weary pilgrims.
“These forests are the favourite haunts of wild animals”, Ramu said. “But we need not worry. Ayyappa is merciful and he will protect us. Swami saranam!
Faith again, Rajan thought. It was true that they had never experienced any difficulty in their journey. Otherwise, how could they have slept comfortably in their camps without any protection whatsoever while wild animals prowled about? Was it a mere chance? Or coincidence? No, he preferred to believe in the protection of the Supreme Power. He was already convinced of it during their camp on the Karimala. Such a thought was more comforting.
“There”, Ramu pointed out, “there you see the golden temple of Ayyappa!’“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!”. Others chanted in unison. The hills reverberated with the hymns in praise of the Lord.
They had reached the destination.

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The Call of Sabarimala- 7

Rajan saw ahead the ‘Pathinettam padi’ -the 18 steps- which led to the sanctum sanctorum. The steps were choked with devotees treading their way up. The serene atmosphere resounded with the chant –“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam !”
“These 18 steps signify the various ‘Indriyas’ (senses) and ‘Gunas’(qualities),” Ramu explained. “They are also said to represent the 18 chapters of the ‘Bhagavad Gita’ and also the 18 ‘Puranas’(the sacred legends). These can be trodden only by those who faithfully observe the severe austerities and carry the ‘Irumudi’.
Rajajn stood mystified. No where he had seen or heard of the steps leading to a temple held as sacred as those in Sabarimala.
With ‘Irumudi on his head and the prayers of the Lord on his lips, Rajan too ascended the steps. He felt as if some unknown force lifted and took him to the ‘sanctum sanctorum.
He had never seen such a congregation of bearded, black-robed ‘sadhus’. Never before in his life had he seen so many people assembling in one place to seek the blessings of the Divine Power. Their faces beamed with peace and serenity. They seemed engulfed in a sea of bliss, unable to recover from its charming spell, never attempting to shake off its magic spell. They seemed to have left everything at the feet of the Lord, to drink the perennial flow of spiritual bliss which made them forget what they craved for.
Rajan bowed before the Lord. He joined his palms in salutation. He remained bowed in reverent prayer chanting the praise of Ayyappa.
The idol was not a tall one, Rajan observed, not like the ones he had seen in other temples. It was hardly one foot high and made of Pancha Loha‘ – an alloy of five metals. The light from the butter lamps around made it glitter. The fragrance from the joss sticks permeated the hall where the pilgrims stood in prayer.
Rajan became aware of the mysterious atmosphere of the place. He stood enchanted, watching the glittering face of the idol. He felt as if the Universal Mystery had revealed His calm, reassuring and soothing face to him. He felt the benign beams of grace from the idol entering deep into his inner being , giving him mental peace and joy, giving him a supreme sense of tranquillity.
He knew then that he was blessed by the Divine Power, by the Lord of Sabarimala.
It was a moment unforgettable in his life. It was a peerless moment.
It suddenly dawned on him why thousands of pilgrims converge there despite the strain of the arduous and hazardous journey. He knew then why all- high and low, rich and poor- assembled there forgetting all their social positions and status.

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To Rajan, it was a unique experience. In His presence, he felt instant peace. It appeared to him as if he was enjoying the mystical ecstacies of the spirit of which he had read so much. It seemed as if all his travel-weariness had suddenly vanished and all his problems had been solved the moment he had surrendered himself to the Lord.
In His presence , he forgot his egotism, his avarice and his contempt for fellow beings. Every body seemed to be a part of his body. The environment, the very ground on which he stood and the very earth of Sabarimala seemed to him to be a part of his own self. The life force which throbbed within him looked to be the same life force pulsating within every pilgrim around him. He felt humble, he felt modest, he felt submissive in the presence of that Supreme Power.
The utter foolishness of his vanity and greed for money which had brought him nothing but internal conflict and mental strain became clear to him. His delusion that he alone was responsible for his success in life , a feeling which made him restless and miserable, also disappeared.
How ridiculous it was to have relied solely on the advice of ordinary mortals in times of difficulty, while he could have had the infallible advice of the Lord Ayyappa, if only he had cared to seek it!
All these days he was harbouring a mistaken notion about himself, his capacity and about his greatness. And now he realised his limitations.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!” All the assembled pilgrims chanted in unison. That awakened Rajan to the world around him, refreshed him, inspired him.
“These pilgrims have not come here just for nothing” , he muttered to himself. “They have firm conviction that the Lord will reveal Himself before them to solve their problems and worries, and they are right.!”
“It is time to return,” Ramu said. The temple closes soon. Tomorrow morning we can have the next ‘darsan’ and then we return home.”
The night was calm and still. Stray trembling stars appeared in the distant skies, while the moon seemed still undecided about her appearance. A cool breeze came floating through the hills spreading the fragrance of some wild flowers.
For the first time since the pilgrimage had begun, Rajan found sleep eluding him. It was not because of restlessness, Rajan recognised, but because of sheer excitement. It was not the agonising sleeplessness of the neurotic , but the ecstatic wakefulness of a lover, a lover of God.
He remembered that not so long ago he was one of those who regarded God as a hallucination of human fancy, a symbol propagated by religious leaders to hoodwink the ignorant for sustaining themselves. He recollected that he was one of those who had always maintained a hostile attitude towards all religious performances and towards all activities in the name of God. But now he realised that he was not fully justified in such an approach. Now he experienced that state wherein the presence of that superior power Ayyappa was felt. Now he saw that he had been unnecessarily carrying the burden of his troubles which he could have left right at the feet of the Lord and remained a happy carefree man.
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“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!”,he chanted fervently. He knew that the mere chanting of those words brought about a serenity in him which he cherished. It uplifted his soul. It made him happy. He felt tranquilised when he heard it echoing from far beyond the distant hills. Lulled by the intangible yet palpable peace ensured by the proximity of the shrine, slowly he slipped into sound sleep.
“Swamy, get up,” the Professor woke him up. Time was up and they had to hurry up for the ‘darsan’.
The atmosphere around him seemed to be throbbing with the vibrations of a superior nature, Rajan felt. The hall where the pilgrims assembled, reverberated with the chant “Swami Saranam! Ayyappa Saranam!” The mountains echoed back the prayers in perfect agreement.
Rajan felt thrilled. He had again experienced that Omnipresence of Ayyappa, materialising before him to solve the problems, to remove his difficulties. He had seen the Real, the Enduring , the Eternal and his eyes were blinded by tears of ecstacy.
Deep within him, he became aware of a silent, unhindered revolution taking place. His needs and desires of daily life faded for a while into oblivion. The requests he wanted to make, as any other pilgrim would make at the temple altar escaped his memory. He did not know what to ask for. For a minute, he forgot about himself, about his own existence.
He knew only the quietness around him, the great peace descending on him and the grace of the Lord transporting him to a state of rapture. He saw only the new way of life shown to him by Ayyappa, leading him out of darkness, misery and wretchedness. He recognised only the pervading spirit of His existence which penetrated through the inner recesses of his being, flooding him with happiness.
He never had anything to ask from the Lord. His doubts had vanished, his problems never existed.
“Swamiye Saranam Ayyappa! Swami Saranam!” The pilgrims surged forward offering their final salutations to the Lord before the shrine closed.
“Ayyappa! I do not know what to seek from you. You have already blessed me with that inner peace and mental tranquillity. I do not seek anything more than that. With your blessings, I hope to come again next year to have your ‘darsan’”.
Rajan prostrated before the Lord.
As he descended the ‘Pathinettam Padi’, tears rolled down his cheeks. Those were the tears of joy, of awakening, and of understanding.
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(Bhavan's Journals--August-November, 1973)

The Revelation

The car sped past the flat countryside dotted with cultivated patchwork of land. Row upon row of coconut trees stretched into infinity, suffocating the docile villages on either side of the road to Guruvayur. Buildings with red tile roofs peeped out of lush-green enclaves to make their presence felt, amidst the picturesque splendour of the Western Coast.
The morning drive was exhilarating, Ramanujam thought. The cool breeze coming from the green countryside had a rejuvenating effect.
Suddenly, the driver stopped the vehicle. Something must have gone wrong with it and what could it be, Ramanujam was about to ask him. But, instead of tools, the driver was taking out some ‘agarbathies’ and a match-box.
He watched the driver with curiosity.
The man walked towards a nearby banyan tree. He paid his salutations to an idol installed below it on a raised platform. He lit the ‘agarbathies’ and placed them in front of the idol. Then he prostrated before the deity, took some ‘vibhuthi’ from there and smeared it on his forehead.
“I pray here regularly”, the driver said following the gaze of Ramanujam. “My job is such that only He can help me to avoid untoward incidents”.
Ramanujam smiled understandingly. Bitter experiences in the past had inculcated in him some faith in religious exercises.
There was a time when he used to consider religion as a curse to mankind, as a perennial spring from which only evils sprouted out. To him, then, religion was just a casual incident in life than being the rule of life. And god to him was nothing but a creation of the blundering humanity to suit its selfish interests.
The passage of time had softened his outlook towards religion. Trying circumstances had made him recognise the existence of powers which were beyond his comprehension till then. The furnace of experience had moulded him to realise that he was only a plaything in the hands of that Supreme Power, a speck of sand in the vast beach of humanity to be kicked about by that invisible being , if it desired so.
Still, he knew that deep within him, he nourished an agnostic who was not willing to accept miracles as the sole proof to vindicate the existence of a God. There were conflicts of thought within, he was certain. Unless he could win over the rebel in him, he could never remain at peace, he knew. But how to go about it?
He posed his problem to his intimate friends seeking their advice.
“Go to Guruvayur; seek the blessings of the Lord there,” Dr. Bhaskar, the Civil Surgeon, advised him. “I am sure that the ‘darsan’ of the Lord will set your doubts at rest. Till then, none can give you solace, no gospel can appeal to the rebel in you “.

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He was surprised to hear such a reply from a person whom he considered as the living incarnation of God. The doctor’s healing touch had saved many a life at the verge of collapse. And who would ever think that the doctor would make such a funny statement?
He stared at the surgeon in half belief.
“You are shocked to hear this?” the doctor asked him. “Well, it is a long story, a story of my life.”
“I never knew that”, Ramanujam said. “Mind telling me?’
“Certainly not,” the doctor said. “Stop me when you feel bored,” he added with a chuckle.
“Ever since I realised that religion was a bundle of superstitions, I was contemptuous of it and its related activities. In a family with a religious background, this attitude of mine was considered outrageous by my people. I don’t know why I behaved like that. Probably my company of friends and the environment in the school might have influenced my attitude then.”
The doctor paused for a while to collect the thoughts.
“Thinking of that period, I still cannot understand how I became an ardent believer of religion, a devotee of the Lord. Whether the change was on my own or whether the circumstances forced it on me , I cannot say. My firm belief is that environments alone did the trick of making me believe in that Supreme Power.
“The transformation occurred when I was an undergraduate”, the doctor continued. “Being the first to be a college student in our family for generations, I prided myself to be the very personification of knowledge. Added to this , the fact that I was to be a medical graduate in a couple of years, filled in me an erroneous sense of superiority over others. I was just waiting for that day, when, as a doctor, I could tell my people that a scientifically trained person could do much more than what the Lord could, to reduce the sufferings and ills of the people.
“I do not recollect the exact date, but it was sometime in January during the third year of my medical studies, that I got the first shock of my life. My uncle from the village came to the hostel to inform me that my father was admitted to the hospital.
“ ‘I would not have disturbed you but for the seriousness of the situation,’ my uncle said. ‘Your father is unconscious and he is fighting death. Your mother and others do not know so much about it’.
“I did not wait to hear further. I rushed to the ward.
“’It is a case of blood cancer,’ the superintendent of the hospital confided in me. ‘I do not have much hope. It is a chance if he survived, a chance in a million’.
“For some time, my mind went blank,” Bhaskar said in an affected manner as if he still shuddered from the very thought of it. “Slowly the graveness of the situation dawned on me that I have to stop my studies, that I have to look for a job to shoulder the responsibility of feeding half a dozen mouths.
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“It shattered the vision I held of a bright future for my people. It shattered my own ambitions of becoming a doctor.
“I stood there dazed not knowing whether to cry or to laugh at the way circumstances treated me!
“’I can understand your predicament, my son,’ the doctor said consoling me. ‘You need not look so lost in life. Pray to that Supreme Power for granting long life to your father. After all, quite a lot of inexplicable things do happen, inexplicable to sound logic and reasoning even in this age.’
“I stared at the doctor, ”Bhaskar said. “The guy must be a nut to talk like that, I thought. Otherwise, how could such an eminent physician talk of philosophy?
“’You are surprised to hear me preaching like this?’, he asked. ‘I am talking this out of experience. I have witnessed many cases where the patients, pronounced to be a case of certain death medically, walked out of their beds to the wonder of famous doctors.
“’Any way we are doing our best to save him,’ the doctor concluded. ‘What I wanted you to know is that anything is possible for that Supreme Being.’
“ I had never prayed all those years,” Bhaskar continued.” For I had never believed in the efficacy of prayer nor did I feel any need for it. With such a background, it was difficult for me to convince myself that some miracle could happen by prayer. But there was no alternative left for me as science had recommended the recourse to religion. I was puzzled.
“The picture of my mother, my brothers and sisters looking towards me for help and protection flashed across my mind. Their beseeching eyes implored me to provide them assistance to come up in life. I found that there was no option left to me except to seek the blessings of the Lord Guruvayurappan, our family deity.
“What else could you have done in such a case?”,the doctor asked Ramanujam .
He had no solution to such a problem, for he had not faced any such situation, Ramanujam thought. He felt it better to keep quiet and permit the doctor to continue.
“I do not know, even now, how I could pray so long.” Bhaskar said. “It could be due to the responsibility I felt for my people, it could be due to my selfishness to become a doctor. Anyway, it yielded results and I am happy of the outcome.”
The doctor breathed a sigh of relief thinking of those days.
“Now coming back to the topic, my advice to you is to go and seek the blessings of the Lord, the Lord of Guruvayur,” the doctor hastened to add.
A sudden brake on the car woke up Ramanujam from his reverie. The driver had permitted a herd of buffaloes to cross the road. A small village hemmed by solid barriers of trees came into view.

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It was a charming village, a charm made radiant by yellow paddy stubbles and the sombre foliage of trees. There was nothing sensational about the place, but it looked as though the landscape stood poised there in its hour of peace.
The only paradox was the black serpentine tarmac that slithered over the countryside to disappear abruptly.
As the car accelerated, Ramanujam drifted into his thoughts once again.
Yes, he was thinking of God and His miracles. He had no doubt about what Bhaskar narrated to him, of the miraculous survival of the doctor’s father. But doubts assailed him.
If the existence of God could be proved by the miracles He performed, a magician or a hypnotist who performed many such miracles could claim to be God incarnate. Why then should those people be deprived of their legitimate rights by the society?
A volley of questions burst forth within him.
Was it going to be something different, something new at Guruvayur? Was there anything extraordinary about that temple where, according to the doctor, he could achieve mental solace?
He still nourished doubts.
“We have neared the temple,” the driver said. “I am parking the car here.”
A few yards away stood the ‘Gopuram’, the main gateway to the temple. Its gabled roof towering into the clear blue sky presented an imposing sight against the backdrop provided by the rising sun.
The layout of the temple was similar to what he had read about such places of worship in Kerala. Its courtyard had a paved path for circumambulation enclosing within it the cloister and the central shrine- the ‘Srikoil’- where the idol of Lord Krishna was seated.
Years had elapsed since he visited any religious place. For he could not control the critic within him which was contemptuous of religious practices and of religious places. He was a slave to his own emotions.
His was the only rebellious voice in an otherwise religious house whose members were devout worshippers of Krishna, the Lord of Guruvayur. All except him, believed in the omnipotence of Guruvayurappan and accepted blindly His guiding presence in their day to day life. They seemed to be happy to live in the aura of Krishna, under the protective grace of that Supreme Power.
For years, his comments about the institution of God were sarcastic even to the extent of being termed as nasty.
“Never make fun of Him”, his mother used to reprimand him. “I do not want His wrath to befall our family just due to your arrogance.”

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He considered it as downright stupidity. If the God of their imagination was a reservoir of all ideal things in life, how could He entertain silly feelings of wrath and vengeance like those of human beings? Did it not suffice to prove that the God of their concept was the conjured up ideas of some deceased brain?
Most of his relatives did not care to answer all his criticism. Those who ventured could not exactly tell him in understandable terms the meaning of God.
Was he going to be anyway wiser by visiting the Guruvayur temple, as advised by Bhaskar? Or was he to return from there disillusioned and disappointed?
He was not sure.
The central shrine- the ‘Srikoil’- was closed for Puja by the time Ramanujam reached the temple. They had to wait for another 15 minutes, someone told him.
In the temple courtyard he saw a group of devotees squatting, listening to a spiritual discourse. He went nearer, just out of curiosity, to know what it was all about.
“Religion cannot be understood by doctrines. Nor can it be comprehended by intellectual argumentation”, he heard the speaker quoting some ‘slokas’ and explaining to the audience.
A waste of time to listen to such idle talks, he thought. He moved towards the cloister.
All sorts of people had assembled there, he observed. All of them were eagerly waiting for the ‘darsan’ of the Lord.
Ramanujam could not understand their sense of values. What did they get by wasting their time there? What did they expect to gain by looking at a stone idol decorated with silk and gold? Would anyone care to explain to him?
As if in response to his provocative thoughts, the doors of the Srikoil opened revealing Balakrishna, the presiding deity of Guruvayur. The devotees chanted prayers in glorification of the Lord, and songs of praise invoking His blessings rent the air.
The sudden opening of the doors amidst the prayers of the congregation looked as if the flood gates of knowledge were thrown open before him challenging his thought processes. The rebel in him faltered as it could not survive the onslaught of enlightenment that gushed through the inner recesses of his mind.
An unusual feeling stirred within him at the very sight of the idol- a mixed feeling of awe and surprise, of wonder and bewilderment. He felt within him a glorious sense of inner freedom and detachment, a sense of elation reaching beyond the iron shackles of self consciousness.
Realisation came to him that all along he was leading a life enveloped in the dark veil of ego. All along he was under the delusion that he was facing the life intelligently, while he was actually chasing the false values of life, living in the suffocating sphere of endless limitations.
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He understood the ‘Truth’, he experienced the’ Absolute’ as he watched the idol of Guruvayurappan glittering amidst oil lamps. He perceived the Lord, the oracle of divinity, reflected within him. The understanding of ‘His Being ‘ gave him comfort, solace and joy of a kind he had never undergone before.
Ramanujam came out of the temple in an exalted feeling.
“The subject of God cannot be appreciated by holding seminars or conferences”, he heard the speaker explaining his contention to the audience.”He can be comprehended only by ‘Realisation’, only by removing that veiled ego which envelopes the ‘True Self’”
Ramanujam accepted the statement without even a murmur. He had experienced the revelation in those fleeting moments when he was face to face with that sublime inspiration, the Lord of Guruvayur.
(Bhavan’s Journal- August 15, 1976 )

The Bonus Issue

God Almighty was furious. His staff had moved a resolution defying all norms of office decorum. It lay mocking at Him on His table, challenging His very authority.
He glanced over their resolution once again.
“We, the staff of the heavenly administration, hereby affirm that the well-being of earthlings is our main concern .We had worked hard all these years to achieve this end and none need entertain any doubt about it. We consider that the progress the earthlings achieved is mostly due to our devoted and sincere efforts in efficiently disposing of the files, thereby facilitating to quickly grant the blessings sought by them, without causing any administrative delay. It is therefore our unanimous demand that a minimum bonus be granted to every employee of this administration in appreciation of the services rendered in the quick disposal of cases, without adopting the usual delay tactic of seeking further clarifications.
“We fully understand that there is no accepted norm to assess the degree of improvement in people’s welfare. In our humble way, we therefore suggest that since any progress is dependent on speedy file-work, the growth of files may be considered as the yardstick for deciding the quantum of bonus.”
A deputation of His administrative staff was impatiently waiting outside His room to discuss the issue. They demanded an immediate response from Him.
He felt unhappy of the way events took control of the situation and was therefore upset. Toning up the administration was His aim and, when He heard of the great reforms brought about in the administration of ‘God’s Own Country’, He was tempted to change the then existing ‘ Paradise Model’ to the version followed in that country. He appointed an earthling as His administrative Manager who wasted no time to bring in an army of Deputies, Assistants and other supporting staff for effective administration. He gave them all powers even to recast the constitution, keeping with Him only the over-riding powers to scrap the ‘model’ when and if necessary.
The troubles started when the welfare of the earthlings became the first casualty after the reforms came into effect.
He did express his concern to the Manager in resorting to unnecessary correspondence and building up volumes of files, while dealing with the earthly issues. He did not mind the officials framing codes and rules and establishing procedures and precedents for administering the Planet. But He found that though the rules covered a wide range of situations, the interpretation was subjective; they were framed with good intentions , but implementation was bad.
He also found to His dismay that He was not giving enough time to look into the welfare of the Planet Earth as most of the time was spent to attend to the complaints and allegations of His administrative staff. There were grumblings over seniority, bickering s over promotion and squabbles for status. They were vociferous about their rights, but not so about their duties!
The tragedy was waiting to happen. Complaints from earthlings which started as a trickle soon turned into an avalanche .Their prayers went unheeded, they wailed. There was bias and partiality in dealing with their applications, they lamented..
He knew that the jealousies, vindictiveness and intrigues among the staff were slowly eroding the foundations of His administration. But He did not anticipate the events to move so fast culminating in the present state of revolt.
Being a model employer, he had conceded to their demand for over-time wages, some time back. His action was unwarranted, He knew, since work was rarely done during office hours!
“It is my right to get pay for attending the office”, He heard one of them telling his colleagues. “But to do work, I want over time allowance.”
Irresponsible people they were, still He tolerated them.
The group outside was getting restless, it appeared. Cat calls and shouts indicated their impatience.
“What do you mean by demanding bonus?”, He thundered. “What important work have you done, each and every one of you, to deserve such an incentive?”
“The management should understand that the voice of the working class cannot be hustled into silence by such bourgeoise methods,” the Union leader cautioned him.
The Almighty was startled to hear such an impertinent reply. Never before He had faced such an arrogant crowd. He was used to seeing people seeking favours from Him only in a submissive manner.
In the present explosive situation, He had to change the tone and tenor in the approach to make them see reason, He felt.
“Well, you have to satisfy me with your performance in the past few years before making such a demand,” He told them softly.
“We are satisfied with our performance and that is a good enough reason”, the leader was cool in his reply.
“You may be satisfied with your work,” He said. “But earthlings are unhappy and are complaining”
“Keep the earthlings out of this issue,” they shouted in unison. “This is a matter between us. The earthlings have no role in this discussion.”
“But”, He wanted to point out to them their deficiencies in their work.”If you were so good”,
“No ifs and buts”, the group surged towards Him with threatening gestures, “Are you going to accept the demand?”
“No”. He was firm.
“Then we are giving notice of going on strike. We want to see how an unreasonable, autocratic management can function without the active support of the working class .Sure, the Planet Earth is going to suffer and we are sorry for that, but we don’t care.”
They trooped out of His office shouting slogans.
The staff need to be disciplined and exemplary punishment is the only way out , He decided.
He referred to the provisions in the ‘Rule Book’.
Para 3.1.2 of the rule dealing with disciplinary actions and dismissal from service (as amended from time to time), read as under:
“No member of the administrative staff shall be dismissed from service without framing proper charges against the accused and without holding an enquiry by an officer not below the rank of a Deputy Administrative Officer , if the available evidence indicated that a case worth investigating existed; provided that the worthiness or otherwise of the case has been recommended by a committee set up exclusively for the purpose; and provided further that the official has been warned a sufficient number of times in writing after getting his explanation in writing by a competent authority, and after affording him as many chances as possible to improve.
Note: For the purpose of this rule , a competent authority is defined as one who is specially designated to act as such by general or special orders of the administration.”
God realised that He had become a prisoner of rules and regulations in His own Kingdom, by bringing in the much hyped ‘ Earth model’ in administration. He could do nothing immediately to discipline the erring staff as a set of long drawn procedure has to be followed as per rules to take any penal action.
He asked His consultant , a retired administrator from earth, for advice. The consultant ,an authority on rules and regulations, had a ready-made solution to tide over the situation- the setting up of an Administrative Reforms Commission to come up with suitable recommendations!
He scratched His bald pate to find a way out. Soon, He got the solution He wanted from the old adage-‘a hair on the head is worth two in the brush.’
Using His over-riding powers available in the ‘Rule Book’ , God Almighty scrapped all the earthly rules, sent the staff and the consultant to the Netherlands of hell, and reverted back to the ‘Paradise Model’ of administration, to take care of the affairs of the Planet Earth.

how to appear well read

Any homosapien(I do not want to use the word man or person,lest I be accused of being a MCP),dealing with the subject of management has to be like a journalist or lawyer, a know-all chap in the society, brimming with information, knowledge etc., on all aspects of life. Naturally, such a chap cannot and should not be seen in the society without having not read the latest fiction and or nonfiction books doing rounds at any point of time in the market . The fellow has to pretend ,if necessary, wellread to meet the society’s needs.
“Joshi Puranam” contains pearls of wisdom as to how bookish knowledge can be acquired without reading books. (Never heard of this 19th Purana of our ancient texts? Well, you have to get training from the Kintergarten level itself to look wellread.)
According to this Purana espoused by the great Joshi of yesteryears,the first and foremost principle to be followed is never to have a guilt feeling of having missed out on books. No one is obliged to read books,but what is required is to talk and argue about these in any assembly or seminar without glancing through or opening the pages Even a slight familiarity with books and authors is enough to put on a show of enlightenment.Further,
by going through book covers,reviews and gossip columns on authors,one can get adequately equipped to participate in any literary discussion.
For example, after reading about the controversy on Da Vinci Code, one would get an idea of what the book is about
A dramatic presentation, throwing in some quotations which you would have accidentally picked up in your school days (and continued to remember) would help a lot in the demonstration of your knowledge.To illustrate , quoting Thomas Gray’s famous lines ,“the paths of glory lead but to the grave”, you can outwit your literary critics and get your reputation etched in their memory as a scholar on classics.Or for that matter, you can appear as an authority on Shakespeare, by looking pensive and walking around with hands held behind your back muttering the lines “To be or not to be”Afterall, it is impossible to read the hundreds of books being churned out in the market every week,with each book containing not less than 500-1000 pages. .
Frequently, when ,you as an authority, are called upon for literary exchanges on such books (mostly with those who have also not read those books), if you know the basic principles eschewed in the Purana, you would be the winner to claim the well read people award!
Of course, there are books like ‘Oxford Companion to English Lierature’ to help you to show acquaintance with some of the past works.However, if you want to appear well read,take part in literary proceedings and pepper your conversations with quotes, and not to get the feeling of dismay among those who appear familiar with all the latest books,an understanding of the Purana is the answer.
Unfortunately, like our ancestral texts, this Purana is also not available in a printed version.But do not lose heart.Prof.Pierre Bayard, Literature Professor at Paris University has come out with a unique best seller-‘How to talk about books which you have not read.”The book is making waves all over Europe and getting translated into dozens of languages. I recommend this book to be read by all who want to appear wellread.Sorry, you cannot get this book from me on loan for the simple reason that I am an ardent follower of Joshi Purana and hence do not waste time to buy and read.books!