by Ruth Vanita
Umanath was sitting nearby. His clinic was running at a loss, so he was always worried, and kept flattering his brother and sister-in-law. He said, ‘Let her go, Bhaiya. She lorded it over her daughters-in-law for a long time, now let her do penance.’
The Ganga was swollen, like an ocean. The horizon was lost in the far shore. Only the crests of the trees on shore were visible above the water. The steps leading down to the water were completely immersed. Phulmati went down the steps with her pitcher. She filled it and was climbing up when her foot slipped. She couldn’t regain her balance and fell. She struggled for a few moments, and then the waves drew her down. A few priests who were on the shore began to shout, ‘Help! Help! An old woman is drowning.’ A couple of men did run up, but Phulmati was lost in the waves, in those crashing waves the sight of which sets the heart trembling.
One asked, ‘Who was the old woman?’
‘Oh, that Pandit Ayodhyanath’s widow.’
‘Wasn’t Ayodhyanath a rich man?’
‘Yes, he was, but she was fated to suffer ignominy.’
‘Doesn’t she have several grown-up sons, who are all earning?’
‘Yes, that’s true, brother, but fate counts for something too!’
Atmaram
MAHADEV THE GOLDSMITH WAS A WELL-KNOWN MAN IN VEDI VILLAGE. He sat in his shed from dawn to dusk, hammering away before his furnace. People were so used to hearing this continuous sound that whenever it stopped for some reason, they felt as if something was missing. Every morning, at sunrise, he would take his parrot in its cage and go down to the lake, singing a devotional song. A stranger, seeing his bony body, wrinkled face and bent back in the misty light of dawn might have taken him for a ghost. As soon as people heard his voice, chanting ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata’, they knew that the sun had risen.
Mahadev’s family life was not happy. He had three sons, three daughters-in-law, and dozens of grandchildren. But there was no one to share his burdens. The boys thought, ‘As long as father is alive, let us enjoy life; after that, this millstone will be fastened to our necks.’ Sometimes, poor Mahadev had to go without food. At mealtimes, communism was practised so vigorously that he would leave, still hungry, smoke his coconut shell pipe, and go to sleep.
His professional life was even less peaceful. Although he was skilled at his work, his washing of jewellery much purer, and his use of chemicals much more painstaking than others’, he constantly had to put up with incivility from suspicious and impatient people. Mahadev would listen to all they said with undisturbed gravity, his head bowed. When the rantings subsided, he would look at his parrot and call out, ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata.’ As soon as he recited this mantra, he would feel at peace once again.
2
One day, by accident, a boy left the cage door open. When Mahadev looked up at the cage, his heart almost stopped. Where had the parrot gone? He looked again at the cage. The parrot was not there. Mahadev got up in a hurry and began running his eyes over the thatched roofs nearby. If there was anyone dear to him in this world it was the parrot. He was tired of his children and grandchildren. The children’s mischief disturbed his work. And he was not fond of his sons—not because they were wastrels but because, on their account, he was often deprived of his regular number of drinks. He was fed up with the neighbours because they took fire from his furnace. He found relief from all these only in his parrot. The parrot gave him no trouble at all. He was now at an age when a person desires nothing but peace.
The parrot was sitting on a thatched roof. Mahadev picked up the cage, showed it to the parrot, and said, ‘Come, come, Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata.’ But the children of his family and the village had gathered, and were yelling and clapping their hands. To add to the din, the crows too began cawing. The parrot took wing and landed on a tree outside the village. Mahadev ran after it, still holding the empty cage. People were astonished at his lightning speed. A more perfect, more animated, more emotional metaphor for attachment could not be imagined.
It was now afternoon. The peasants were returning from the fields. This proved a fine source of entertainment for them. All of them had fun teasing Mahadev. One threw pebbles, another clapped his hands. The parrot flew off again and landed on the crest of a mango tree in an orchard far away. Mahadev ran along, leaping like a frog, cage in hand. By the time he reached the orchard, the soles of his feet were burning, and his head was spinning. He steadied himself a bit, then picked up the cage again and said, ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata.’ The parrot came down from the top to a lower branch, but it looked at Mahadev suspiciously. Mahadev thought it was afraid. He left the cage on the ground and went and hid behind a tree. The parrot carefully looked around, and once reassured, came down and sat on top of the cage. Mahadev’s heart began to race. Reciting ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Data’ he gradually came before the parrot and darted forward to catch it, but the parrot flew away and sat on the tree again.
This continued till evening. The parrot would sit first on one branch and then on another. Sometimes it would sit on the cage, and sometimes at its door, looking at the bowls inside containing water and grain, but then it would fly off again. If the old man personified Moha or attachment, the parrot was an embodiment of Maya, the illusion that inspires that attachment. Evening fell. The combat between illusion and attachment was lost in darkness.
3
Night fell. An impenetrable darkness lay over the orchard. The parrot was hiding somewhere in the leaves. Mahadev knew the parrot could not fly away during the night nor could it enter the cage, yet he did not stir from the spot. He had not eaten anything all day. Dinner time went by, and not a drop of water passed his lips. Yet he was neither hungry nor thirsty. Without the parrot, life seemed to him meaningless, dry and empty. He worked day and night because it was a habit. It did not inspire in him the slightest sensation of being alive. The parrot was the only thing that gave him the feeling of consciousness. Losing it was like life leaving his body.
Hungry, thirsty, tired from the day’s work, Mahadev would doze off now and again; but in a moment, he would wake up with a start, and his voice would be heard in that all-pervading darkness: ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata.’
Half the night had passed. Suddenly he was startled by a sound. He saw a dim lamp shining under another tree, and some men sitting and talking. They were all smoking. The odour of tobacco filled him with desire. He said loudly, ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata,’ and walked towards the men to get a smoke from them, but just as a deer flees at the sound of a gun, all of them took to their heels when they saw him coming. They ran helter-skelter. Mahadev shouted, ‘Wait, wait!’ Then suddenly it dawned on him that they were thieves. He shouted loudly, ‘Thief, thief, catch them!’ The thieves did not look back.
Mahadev went near the lamp, and saw a jar there. It was blackened with rust. His heart began to race. He put his hand inside the jar and found that it was full of gold coins. He pulled one out and examined it by the light of the lamp. Yes, it was a gold coin all right. He immediately extinguished the lamp, picked up the jar, and hid himself behind the tree. From a merchant he became a thief.
Then it occurred to him that the thieves might return, and, seeing him alone, might snatch away the coins. He dug a hole in the ground with a dry stick, filled it with the coins and covered it up with mud.
4
Another world opened up before Mahadev’s inner eye, a world full of anxieties and fancies. Desire started manifesting itself although he was still afraid that the treasure might slip out of his hands. A big house came up, a large jeweller’s shop was opened, he re-established relations with his kinsfolk, and all kinds of luxury items were bought. Then he went on a pilgrimage, and when he returned, he held a sacrifice ritual and feasted Brahmans with great pomp. Then a Shiva temple and a well were built, an orchard was planted, and he began to regularly listen to readings of sacred texts. He began to honour and serve sages and ascetics.
Suddenly, he wondered how he would escape if the th
ieves returned. To test himself, he picked up the jar and ran at a furious pace for two hundred feet or so. He felt as if his feet had grown wings. His anxieties were allayed. The night passed in these imaginings. Day dawned, a breeze awakened, the birds began to sing. Suddenly, a voice struck Mahadev’s ears: ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata, lay your heart at Ram’s feet.’
These words had always been on Mahadev’s lips. He repeated them hundreds of times a day, but the devotional feeling in them had never touched his inner being. The words used to emerge from his mouth as a tune arises from a musical instrument. They were meaningless and ineffectual. While the tree of his heart was devoid of leaves and blossoms, this pure breeze could not stir it, but now that the tree had sprouted buds and twigs, it swayed in the breeze and resounded to it.
The sky was red at sunrise. Nature was immersed in the light of love. At that moment, the parrot sailed down from a high branch, like a star falling from the sky, went into the cage and sat down. Mahadev ran forward, thrilled, and said, picking up the cage, ‘Come, Atmaram, you gave me a lot of trouble but you also made my life fruitful. Now I will keep you in a cage of silver and shower you with gold.’ Praises to God rose from every pore in his body. Oh Lord, how merciful you are! You have boundless love for your children otherwise a sinner like me, a fallen being, is in no way deserving of this grace! His soul was filled with these pure emotions and he lovingly cried out: ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata, lay your heart at Ram’s feet.’
He took the cage in one hand, the jar in the other, and set out for home.
5
When Mahadev reached home it was still somewhat dark. He met only a dog on the way, and dogs are not particularly fond of gold coins. He hid the jar in a larger earthenware jar, covered it with coal, and kept it in his room. When day dawned, he went straight to the priest’s house. The priest was sitting at worship, worrying about how to find the money for a lawsuit hearing that was scheduled for the next day, since none of his patrons would help him. Just then, Mahadev called out a greeting. The priest turned his face away. Why had this inauspicious fellow turned up? Now he might not get a morsel to eat all day. He asked crossly, ‘Yes sir, what do you want? Don’t you know I’m busy with worship at this hour?’
Mahadev said, ‘Maharaj, there is a Satyanarayan recitation at my house today.’
The priest could not believe his ears. A recitation at Mahadev’s house was as unprecedented an event as a beggar being given alms at his own house. He asked, ‘What’s the occasion?’
Mahadev said, ‘None. I just wanted to hear God’s name today.’
There was an invitation to a feast too, after the recitation. Whoever heard about it was amazed. How had grass sprung up in sand today?
In the evening, when everyone had arrived, and the priest was ensconced on his special seat, Mahadev stood up and said in a loud voice, ‘Brothers, I have spent my whole life in fraud and deceit. I don’t know how many people I have cheated or how many times I have said the true is false, but now God has been merciful to me, and he wants to wipe the stains off my face. I call on all of you, brothers, whoever I owe something to, anyone from whom I have taken a deposit, whoever’s genuine metal I have said is artificial, to come and take every paisa belonging to you. Please go and tell anyone who is not here today, to come whenever he likes, within a month from tomorrow, and clear his accounts. No need for witnesses or evidence.’
Everyone was stunned. One shook his head in a knowing way, and said, ‘Didn’t I foretell this?’ Another said, disbelievingly, ‘How’s he going to repay everyone? It will run into thousands.’
One Thakur raised a doubt, ‘What about those who have died?’
Mahadev replied, ‘Their family members must be around!’
But right now, people were not as interested in getting their money as in finding out where he had come across so much wealth. No one dared approach Mahadev. They were rustics, and did not know how to dig up things dead and buried. Furthermore, most people did not even remember how much Mahadev owed them, and for fear of making a mistake on such a chaste occasion, they kept their mouths shut. Most important, Mahadev’s goodness had them spellbound.
Suddenly, the priest spoke up, ‘Do you remember, I gave you gold to make a neckband. You made it lighter than it should have been.’
Mahadev: ‘Yes, I remember. How much did you lose?’
Priest: ‘Not less than fifty rupees.’
Mahadev brought two coins from his room and put them before the priest.
People began to comment on the priest’s greed. ‘He is dishonest; at most, he must have lost three or four rupees. He’s extorted fifty rupees from the poor fellow. He has no fear of God. And he’s supposed to be a priest! Ram, Ram!’
People began to feel a kind of devotion towards Mahadev. An hour passed, but not one among the hundreds gathered came forward. Then Mahadev said again, ‘It seems that you have forgotten your accounts, so let the recitation take place today. I’ll wait for you for a month. Then I will go on pilgrimage. I request all of you, brothers, to help me redeem myself.’
For a month, Mahadev waited for the creditors. He could not sleep at night for fear of thieves. He lost his taste for liquor too. He respectfully entertained any ascetic and stranger who came to his door. He was honoured far and wide as his fame spread. A month passed, and no one came to settle accounts. Now Mahadev realized that the world is bad for bad people and good for good people.
6
Fifty years have passed since this incident occurred. Go to Vedi village, and from a distance you will see a golden dome. This is the pinnacle of the temple. Next to it is a tank, in which lotuses bloom. No one catches the fish in this tank; there is a large tomb on its banks. This is the memorial of Atmaram. Legends about him abound. It is said that he ascended to heaven in a jewelled cage; others say he disappeared while reciting ‘Sat Gurudutt’. But the truth is that an eclipse-like cat swallowed the moonlike bird. People say that even today, at midnight, you can hear a voice on the banks of the tank: ‘Sat Gurudutt Shivdutt Daata, lay your heart at Ram’s feet.’
There are many folk beliefs about Mahadev too. The most widely prevalent is that after Atmaram’s burial, he accompanied several ascetics to the Himalayas, and never returned. He became famous by the name of Atmaram.
Intoxication
ISHWARI WAS THE SON OF A BIG LANDLORD, AND I THE SON OF A poor clerk who had no property and was a wage labourer. We constantly debated with each other. I would denounce landlords, calling them ferocious animals, bloodsucking leeches and parasites. He would defend landlords, but his position was naturally somewhat weak, because he had no good arguments on their behalf. He would say that all humans are not equal; there have always been the high and the low, and there always will be. This was a feeble argument. It was difficult to prove the propriety of the system by any human or ethical principle. In the heat of the debate, I would often become harsh and make hurtful remarks, but Ishwari, even though he lost the debate, would keep smiling. I never saw him lose his cool. Perhaps because he understood the weakness of his position.
He never spoke politely to the servants. He had plenty of the heartlessness and arrogance that is found in the wealthy. He lost his temper if a servant slightly delayed making the bed, or if the milk was warmer or colder than it should have been, or if the bicycle was not well cleaned. He had no patience with laziness or indolence, yet with his friends, especially with me, he was empathetic and gentle. Perhaps in his place, I would have developed the callousness that he had, because my love for the people was based not on principle but on my personal circumstances, while in my place he would perhaps have remained lordly, because temperamentally he loved pleasure and luxury.
I had decided not to go home for the Dasehra holidays. I didn’t have money for the fare and I didn’t want to trouble my family by asking for it. I know that they give me much more than they can afford. Also, I was concerned about the exams. I had a lot to study, and who studies at home? But I didn’t feel
like staying alone in the boarding house like a ghost. So when Ishwari invited me to go home with him, I accepted without demur. I would study well in Ishwari’s company. Despite his wealth, he is hardworking and intelligent. Ishwari said to me, ‘Listen, brother, remember one thing. If you criticize landlords while you are there, things will get complicated and my family will feel bad. They reign over the labourers on the grounds that God has made the labourers to serve them. The labourers too think the same way. If they are told that there is no basic difference between landlord and worker that will be the end of the landlords.’
I said, ‘So you think I will change when I get there?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘You are mistaken.’
Ishwari did not respond. He left the matter to my judgement. That was sensible of him. Had he insisted on his point, I would have taken offence.
2
I had never travelled even in the intermediate class, let alone in second class. Now I had the good fortune of travelling by second class. The train was due at nine at night, but in our eagerness to get going, we arrived at the station in the evening. We walked around for a while and then went to have dinner in the refreshment room. The cooks did not take long to figure out from my dress and demeanour who the master was and who the hanger-on, but for some reason I resented their insolence. It was Ishwari who paid for everything. Perhaps these cooks got more by way of tips than my father’s monthly salary. When we left, Ishwari gave them eight annas. Yet I expected them all to wait on me with the same alacrity and humility that they showed to Ishwari. Why did all of them run to obey Ishwari’s orders, while if I asked for something, they were not particularly eager to bring it? I didn’t enjoy the meal. This distinction absorbed all my attention.
