Crowds thronged the Charayas’ door.
‘Must be a pure soul residing in this old woman. Otherwise, how could a frail, thin old body, blown four miles away, like a leaf in a sandstorm, survive and sit up unhurt? Come everyone, fold your hands and do pairipauna.’
When Bebe Kichhi saw the heads bowing before her, she became saintly herself. Raised a hand and blessed the crowd, ‘Children, man is nothing. The Cause and Creator is Vaheguru Sachche Patshah. He whom God protects none can harm. Vaheguru beyond time, only You, always You!’
As soon as they were informed, Bebe Kichhi’s family arrived to fetch her. Maha Singh astride the Shahs’ Lakkha horse, and with him, his sons and grandsons. When all the boys touched her feet in turn, Mai Kichhi glowed with the radiance of a queen.
‘Puttaro, all Rabb’s mercies …’
White-haired Maha Singh wiped his eyes. ‘Bebe, if anything had happened to you, your clan wouldn’t have known where to hide their shame.’
When Maha Singh lifted his mother onto the horse, Satwanti of the Charayas got a heartfelt blessing. ‘Long life to you, dhiye! May your husband live and prosper. Dhiya, you must have been my bahooti in some past life, or else why would I reach here to be served by you in this winter of life? Malla, have you ever heard that someone finds her previous home herself like this? Maha Singh, from this day, she is your youngest bharjaaee. Any festival or occasion at home, any wedding-birth, and she must get her due gifts and auspicious offerings. Don’t you forget!’
‘Your command is our privilege, Bebe!’
Satwanti wept happy tears into her dupatta.
When Bebe’s horse started for home, it were as if a divine procession was passing before their eyes in a darshani jhanki.
Vaheguru, Vaheguru, Bebe looks as resplendent as a queen mother. Rabba, may everyone have a family-clan like this!
When the Brahmins had feasted and worshipped the last Shraddh, the women picked up pots of water and went to bid farewell to their ancestors who were said to return to earth during the fortnight of Shraddh. Sprinkling water on the path as they went, they reached the pond of the Satis. Here, the women folded their hands, bowed their heads and prayed, ‘Godly ancestors, now please depart for Vaikunth. Feasted and feted by your family-clans, now ascend to your heavenly abode, content and sated. May you and your homes and families always remain secure in their ordained place.’
The ancestors departed.
The women returned home and refilled their pots with water, laid out low wooden peedhis and took up their spinning wheels. As the threads began to emerge from the spindles, so too, in peace and joy, did homes return to their natural rhythms of life.
Come noon, the boys set up a clamour: ‘Dayanand has come, brought the four Vedas home.’
Shahni said, ‘Chachi, this Arya Samaji comes around this time every year; either just before the Shraddhs, or immediately afterwards. But he wants no daan-dakshina, no asking or accepting money-gifts, nothing. Only discusses religious topics and chants mantras.’
‘Bachchi, this one’s mind and feet are focused upon travelling. He only says, perform the purifying havan-yagna with fire. Read from the Vedas and dwell upon their meaning. Don’t observe fasts and meaningless rituals. Don’t worship your ancestors. The eccentric fellow is forever after the Shraddhs! Anyhow, just send him a platter of food. Even if he’s not a pandit-priest, he is still a guest.’
One of the children made a jingle, and they ran around chanting it the whole day:
‘A shelf here a shelf there
In the central shelf a gnat
When Arya’s mother died
He gave away a cat.’
When Kashi Shah heard their ditty, he admonished the children, ‘This is not a nice thing to say. No one shall repeat this jingle.’
Come evening, the Vedic preacher settled down in the community centre, collected all the children together and made them shout out the jaikara, ‘Jai Vedic dharma! Jai Rishi Dayanand! Jai Arya Samaj!’ The children came and sat down in rows. The women sat on one side, the men on the other.
The Arya preacher first addressed the young, ‘Children, the whole day I kept hearing words that were bitter to my ears. They were unpleasant and illogical. Boys, my respected mother is alive and well and, by God’s grace, does everything herself. Children, tomorrow morning we will perform the havan-yagna. All children should finish their ablutions, bathe and gather here at the janjghar. Mothers and sisters, this time I will teach your children the Gayatri Mantra. Repeat after me:
“Mother is God
Father is God
Teacher is God.”
‘Mothers and sisters, pay attention to what I have said. First is our mother, second is our father, and third is our teacher; meaning, only if these three are wise and impart the right learning does a man grow up to be wise. When I reached this pleasant village this morning, the ladies were giving a send-off to their ancestors. I come here every year during this time, and every year I tell them that performing shraddh in the name of your ancestors is against the Vedic dharma. Because it is mere superstition.
‘How can dead loved ones, whose bodies have been cremated and become one with the five elements, come back to you to feast? This is nothing but a façade. A superstition. Dear villagers, just think – your ancestors and loved ones who have completed their life’s journey and separated from this earthly world, how can they possibly return to eat your kheer-puri? I want to tell you, I want to say this emphatically, that avaricious, scheming Brahmins have devised this pretend-world of rituals, fasts and worship out of sheer greed. In our country, good-for-nothing, lazy and idle Brahmin sadhus and heads of religious institutions have fabricated this vicious system of false beliefs and empty ritualism to satisfy their vested interests.
‘Listen to this story of Kashi’s greatest deity Laat Bhairav – the Brahmins of Kashi spread a rumour that Kashi’s Laat Bhairav is a miracle-worker. That he has divine powers. This was during the time of Aurangzeb. When Mughal armies reached the Laat Bhairav, the cowardly priests and pujaris all ran away, scared. When cannon shells were fired at the temple, the smoke disturbed the beehives and wasp nests on the temple roof. When the Mughal forces left after consolidating their attack, the charlatans returned to their seats, collected the simple devotees and started singing Bhairav’s glories, inviting them to behold the divine power of Laat Bhairav! Claiming that the lord came in the guise of bees and wasps and routed the great Mughal armies!
‘Dear villagers, this was not a miracle of stone. What leela, what divine play of Laat Bhairav? You must see wasp nests in your village every day. Brothers, I am a humble and lowly preacher of the Arya Samaj founded by Rishi Dayanand. I travel around the country. And I have seen countless instances of cheating and befooling at the hands of these pretenders.’
‘Glory to that Kaliya Kant, who gave a hukkah to a sant!’
‘In the south, there is a statue of Kaliya Kant, may he be praised, who is always smoking a hukkah. Yours truly, this Arya sevak, reached there. When I looked closely, I saw that the mouth of the deity was hollow. The real story was that the priest would place the hukkah before the deity, put the pipe into its mouth, and sit before the deity with folded hands while someone sitting behind the wall would smoke the hukkah, and billow smoke from the mouth. Offerings upon offerings would pour in.’
Kriparamji believed in Sanatan Dharma. Stood up and said, ‘Mahashayji, where is this temple and who was the priest? What do we have to gain by these refutations and allegations?’
The women started laughing.
‘Dear brother, there is deep truth in what I’m saying. If there is a real God in the deity being worshipped in that southern temple, doesn’t he have anything better to do than smoke hukkah?’
The women laughed, then grew serious, shaking their heads in censure. ‘Satnam, Satnam.’
‘Deviyon, let me narrate how these fakes and charlatans of the temple were exposed when Mahmood Ghazni reached Somnath. The news reached that Ghazni
, with his colossal army, was headed towards Somnath to attack the rich temple. So what did the humbug priests do? They all got busy with prayers and rituals, helped by their devotees. They rang the bells, chanted God’s name. The king was most anxious. But the priests reassured him – Rajan, fear not. Lord Somnath himself will destroy the Yavans.
‘When Ghazni’s forces laid siege to the city, the priests ran for their lives. There was a terrible stampede. When the temple doors were broken open, some civilians beseeched Ghazni with folded hands, “Please take three crore guineas, but don’t break the idol.” Ghazni laughed and said, “We are not idol-worshippers. We are idol-breakers.”
‘They broke the idols. Looted mounds and mounds of diamonds, jewels, rubies and pearls. When the golden kalash on the temple roof was felled, the world-famous idol was no longer held aloft by a magnet and fell, shattering to the ground.
‘Dear listeners, if the people had got together to form an army of brave warriors instead of chanting prayers and ringing bells, at least someone would have been there to confront Ghazni! A race and country that does not respect its warriors crumbles to dust. Brothers, one Hindu community has been repeatedly divided and sub-divided into a thousand million sub-castes by these Brahmin charlatans, and so greatly weakened in consequence. Listen:
“Just as a banana leaf unfurls into more
Just as the word of a poet reveals many more
Just as a donkey can never stop kicking
So the Hindu castes can never stop dividing.’’’
The audience roared with laughter. The children took up the rhyme and started singing it in unison.
‘There are a million such shames to their name! Listen, there are fish-eating Brahmins, kheer-eating Brahmins, Ved-patra Brahmins and many more.’
Kundan Chira stood up. ‘Aryaji, what is this you’ve taken up? If you really want to talk to us, then tell us something useful. Or else I’m off.’
‘I will tell you what these shams did. Rejecting Vedic ways of chanting mantras, they suggested reciting God’s name with prayer beads. Then, as they did with their idols, they prescribed different beads for different gods and goddesses. Shaivites should pray with rudraksh. Vaishnavites should pray with tulsi or sandalwood. Those worshipping Shakti should use beads of nardrish. Rich Brahmins, Khatris and Bania traders can use the muktmala. Remember, the Brahmin priests also decreed that poor folk can use prayer beads of lotus fruit. So mothers and sisters, always be wary of these crocodile-like pandit-gosains.’
The women began to grumble, ‘Why always bad mouth Brahmins?’
Mahashayji immediately changed the topic. ‘Listen, my good people, once a self-acclaimed guru had two pupils. Every day they would press his feet. They both decided to serve one foot each. One day, one pupil went to the market. The other was pressing his allotted foot when the guru turned over and the other foot came upon the foot the pupil was pressing. The pupil didn’t wait a second. Took a stick and hit the other foot. Guruji screamed, “Arey dushta, what have you done!” Pupil said, “Why did the other foot come upon the foot I was serving?”
‘In the meantime, the other pupil arrived. When he started pressing his allotted foot, he saw that it was swollen. He asked, “Guruji, what happened to the foot I am serving?” When Guruji narrated what had happened, the pupil got up and beat the other foot to a pulp. Guruji howled and screamed in pain. There was an uproar. People gathered and asked, “What happened, Baba?” When Baba described his pupils’ antics, a wise man said, “Ignorant fools, don’t you know that both legs belong to the same guru?’”
The hall resounded with laughter.
The Arya teacher grew serious. ‘Maulvi Zakaullah has defined Arya. According to him the word Arya means respectable, distinguished and of righteous conduct.’
The women got restless. ‘Come, sisters, let us go. Once the Arya gets started, he goes on and on.’
‘Come on, let’s get on with our cooking.’
‘Ari, if the fire goes out, how will I light the milk boiler!’
When the Arya pracharak saw people dispersing, he touched on a new topic. ‘Once Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh tried to force their attentions on Rishi Atri’s wife, Sati Anusuya. I needn’t go into details. Just understand that as per Indian law, Act 497, these three gods could be tried for mentally torturing a woman.’
‘Get up, ri, come on, let’s go, this is not good talk. Who has seen the gods and who, the rishi’s wife?’
Bhagwan Panda arrived with an impressive turban on his head; looked around, his eyes flashing in anger, then said to Shahji, ‘What sort of blasphemy are you listening to from this sinner, Swamiji? Does your Arya credo teach you to to malign the gods like this?’
Shahji remained quiet and shook his head. ‘We are not quarrelling here, we are having a discourse. Speak, as well as listen.’
Pandaji lost his temper. ‘Gag this Swamiji! These Dayanandis insulted the Shivling in Bhere Miyani as well. These Arya pracharaks are the enemy within for Hindus!’
Chhote Shah mediated, ‘Mahashayji, talk about wisdom and meditation, mantra-havan. Drop this point-counterpoint debate.’
The Arya started singing a bhajan:
‘Come into God’s shelter, dear,
For now is the time
Hearts dwell on the truth
Cast off falsehood
For now is the time
Om has risen like the sun,
Come, behold
Drink this nectar,
Earn a name in gold
For now is the time.’
Kriparam stood up fuming. ‘Bhajneek Ji, do you think this village is made up of ignorant fools?’
‘Mothers, sisters, and brothers, that is all for today. Tomorrow, I shall tell you the story of the Vedas. Sing with me:
“A canvas that is fake, a colour that is untrue
What is this sublime image in my head that this picture so offends?
Why do my eyes alone see this fraud of society
And why do I let their doubts cloud my vision of reality
Only an idol of man’s low design
Yet even supposed iconoclasts assign
Their respect.
“Do Mahmoods rise only from Ghazni’s ashes?
Is there not one idol-breaker in Hindostan?
I will be an idol-breaker, I’ll destroy every bust
You’ll see my power, I’ll reduce them to dust
Mahmood left home and broke the idols of Agiyar
I won’t rest till I break every last idol at home!”
‘The rest, tomorrow. Say Jai Swami Dayanand! Jai Arya Samaj!’
Bodda joined in without really comprehending what the preacher was saying: ‘Say jai to idol-breaking!’
‘Waah son, you will earn a high name! You will go far!’
Bodda’s mother was pleased at these blessings for her son. She went up to the Arya with folded hands and said, ‘Maharaj, whatever little I have, please have food at my home.’
Shano’s mother called from behind, ‘I say, I have some halwa and black lentils from the morning. Send your son to fetch them.’
Bhagwan Panda was consumed with jealousy. ‘Feed burnt black brinjals to this Dayanandi, may his heart burn to cinders! May he get the bleeding piles!’
The women chuckled. ‘Panda Ji, why such envy for the poor bhajan singer? Rest assured that your kheer is guaranteed for the next seven generations. A Brahmin doesn’t change caste so easily even in the next birth. And surely, the Shraddh feasts must still be fresh in your belly! Let the Arya, too, eat something.’
When Mitth Chand and Roop Chand, Shahni’s cousins, the sons of her aunt from Bhimbar, arrived to meet their sister, the whole village was abuzz with talk of the brothers. Soldiers of the Jammu army, they looked like royal princes in full regalia. As the two dashing riders of the state’s jagirdari brigade dismounted their horses, people went into hushed raptures. Faces aglow, milk-white complexions, Dogri turbans on head, smart gait, they were handsome as a pair of Y
usufs.
‘Mallaji, the Jammu army has arrived at the Shahs.’
‘Don’t be silly, this is the British Raj. What work does a native army have here?’
‘They are Shahni’s cousins, it is heard.’
As Shahni took their balaiyyan to ward off the evil eye and laid out plates of food in the kitchen, the children of the village wouldn’t give them a moment’s peace. One came, peeped in, and scampered off. A second came, stared unblinking. A third giggled and hid behind the wall. Girls with younger siblings in their arms peeped in, balanced on their tiptoes, then hid their blushing faces in their dupattas.
Chachi Mehri scolded, ‘Be off with you girls! When they come towards the prayer hut in the evening, you can gaze to your heart’s content. Kudiyon, these are your uncles!’
Sitting in the kitchen, Chachi teased the brothers, ‘Sons, the girls are eager for a glimpse of your handsome faces. The girls of your mountains are, of course, so fair, the very touch would spoil them. But if you happen to like any of ours, then do tell your sister!’ Shahni put a roti on the heated tava, smiling at her brothers. They sat still as a picture. Neither spoke a word, nor blinked. Having sweetened their mouths with khand-malai after the meal, they washed their hands and stopped out.
They looked at Lali in Rabeyan’s lap. Mitthi, Channi, Doddo and Kammo were also sitting with her. Channi’s round face glowed in a faded dupatta covering her plaited hair. Mitthi’s eyes glistened like juicy crescents of fruit; the girl marjani gave them such a look that even the handsome Dogras had nothing to match it. Channi pinched Mitthi’s arm and pulled her dupatta. ‘Come to your senses, ri! What are you thinking!’
Giving auspicious offerings to Lali, the brothers went downstairs, but Mitthi’s gaze remained locked on the doorway. Kammo chided, ‘Ari, my peahen, first look at your ugly feet!’
Mitthi actually looked down at her feet. So Mabibi came up to her and asked, ‘Why ri, what happened to your feet?’
‘Nothing, Mabibi!’
‘Then why the surprised look?’
Shano bent double with laughter. ‘Mabibi, the breath within is stuck within and the breath without can’t go in.’
Zindaginama Page 32
