It was a dark evening. Appayya Dikshitar and Dhanapal had reached a river near an old temple. Dhanapal was quite sure that Haider Ali would realize what had happened and send people to track them down. Careful as they had been, he was certain there were soldiers no more than a few hours behind them.
The temple usually served food to travellers, and Dikshitar and Dhanapal held plantain-leaf bowls in their hands filled with curd rice. As the wayfarers conversed, it was clear that the temple of Tirumala, while being a huge temple, had also become very public. A few travellers who were returning from Tirumala were narrating how much good work the temple was doing for the people. One of the pilgrims was narrating the story about how Venkateshwara, the lord of that temple, had taken a massive loan from Kubera to pay for his marriage to Padmavati, and how he was now destined to spend eternity in the hills of Tirumala, earning money to pay off his loan by doing charitable work for all the people all around, while his love awaited him at the foot of the hills.
After a while, Dikshitar beckoned to Dhanapal. ‘I don’t think Tirumala is the right place!’ he said. ‘The only reason we decided on Tirumala was because we know the priest but too many people visit the temple nowadays. We should hide it somewhere else.’
‘But where, Ayya? Another temple?’
‘Who said it has to be a temple? It can be anywhere.’
‘You think of a place, Ayya, I’ll think too,’ Dhanapal replied. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning.’
When they returned to the group of travellers, they found that the topic of the conversation had changed.
‘There are many lost temples in the area,’ a bearded sanyasi was saying to the group at large. ‘I have heard tales about a lingam found thousands of years ago, not more than half a day’s walk from here. Most of the temple has been destroyed, but some of the walls still stand.’
As he said this, he took a large chillum out of his bag and proceeded to fill it. He lit the chillum and took a deep drag before offering it around.
‘Anyway, this Shiva temple,’ he continued, clouds of smoke billowing from his nostrils, ‘is supposed to have been the first temple ever built.’
‘Where is it?’ one of the travellers asked.
‘It is about two yojanas along that line,’ he said, pointing in a north-westerly direction. ‘On the riverbank.’
Dikshitar turned to Dhanapal. An imperceptible signal passed between the two.
‘Wake up, Dhanapal. We must be on our way,’ Dikshitar woke him in an urgent voice.
‘Is it morning already, Ayya?’ Dhanapal asked, rubbing his eyes groggily.
‘No, you’ve only been asleep two hours or so. I’m sorry to wake you up, but we should leave right away. I don’t want to risk anyone catching up with us.’
‘But they won’t travel at night,’ Dhanapal replied.
‘That may or may not be. Either way, we should carry on. I want to reach the temple before sunrise.’
‘Ayya, I wanted to talk to you about this. The sanyasi said there is nothing left now except a few walls.’
‘We must see this place, Dhanapal. Get ready, we’ll leave soon.’
‘All right, Ayya,’ Dhanapal replied. He was not sure changing the plan was the best idea, but Periamma had told him to obey Chinnayya. Finding himself a neem stick to clean his teeth with, Dhanapal went near the river and started to wash himself while Dikshitar put away their things.
A few minutes later, as Dikshitar was walking towards the river to join Dhanapal, he heard a voice in the dark say, ‘And where are you going at this hour?’
He turned to check on the sleeping forms of the travellers and make sure no one had woken up. Satisfied that no one had stirred, Appayya turned in the direction the voice had come from and asked, ‘Who is there?’
‘Come forward and see me,’ was the reply.
Taking a few steps forward, Dikshitar saw the sanyasi who had spoken about the lost Shiva temple. The man sat in the lotus position, holding the chillum in one of his hands. He could not have been more than thirty years old, but his manner of speaking made him seem much older. His beard and hair were knotted and his clothes were an old and worn-out shade of saffron. But his eyes were what caught Dikshitar’s attention—they glowed like gems with a fire from within.
‘Join me,’ he told Dikshitar.
‘I wasn’t able to sleep.’
‘This will change all that, if you want it to,’ the sanyasi said, offering the chillum.
Dikshitar sat next to the man, facing the river to see if Dhanapal approached. He didn’t want the man to know they were planning to leave or think there was something suspicious going on.
‘Anyway, I thought you were leaving. Isn’t that what you told your companion?’
Dikshitar looked at the sanyasi silently. The man seemed to have heard all that he had said to Dhanapal, but something inside Appaya told him that he had nothing to fear from the stranger. The sanyasi handed him the chillum and said, ‘My name is Kailas. What is yours?’
‘Bala,’ Dikshitar lied. ‘I come from Vellore.’
Kailas looked at him with a slight smile, as if he knew it was a lie.
Dikshitar inhaled deeply on the chillum, and handed it back to Kailas, saying, ‘I was fascinated by that story you were narrating about the old temple, but I couldn’t remember the name of the place.’
Kailas smiled mysteriously. ‘It stands on the opposite bank of the Swarnamukhi river, across from the village of Gudimallam,’ he said. ‘It’s completely deserted now; you should have no trouble there.’
‘Why would I have trouble?’ asked Dikshitar. ‘I am just a curious traveller.’
‘You’re carrying something very valuable in that bag, Appayya Dikshithar. Just remember, Shiva travels with you.’
Startled, Appayya Dikshithar looked at the sanyasi, who was busy stoking the chillum. ‘How do you know my name? Who are you?’
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is why. I am here to help you. Although all that can be seen of the temple are walls, most of the structure still stands below the ground. You can’t reach the inner sanctum except by a cave along the eastern wall of the temple—that’s still above the surface. If you walk along that line until you reach the river’s bank, and get into the water, about two gajams under the surface, you will come to a tunnel. If you swim through this tunnel, you will come out of a pond inside an underground chamber, the far northern wall of which will lead you directly under the inner sanctum. You will find many secret passages there, so remember to mark your movements. Now leave, I don’t want Dhanapal to see me.’
Dikshitar’s eyes widened as he heard Kailas. He stood up, clutching his bag, and turned towards the river. He took a few steps then stopped and looked back, ‘Who are you? How do you know so much?’
‘I told you before; who I am does not matter. I am here to help you. Remember my instructions. Now go, Dhanapal approaches.’
Dikshitar whipped his head around and saw Dhanapal walking towards him. When he turned back Kailas had disappeared.
‘Shall we go, Ayya?’ Dhanapal whispered urgently.
Dikshitar looked at Dhanapal in silence for a couple of minutes, and said, ‘Yes of course. We don’t have a minute to lose.’
eight
The loud ringing of the morning bell roused Rama. Jumping to his feet, he called out, ‘That’s the bell. Wake up, everyone.’
The sleeping forms on the mats stirred. It was four-thirty in the morning; milk would be served in half an hour. Rama was one of the twenty-five boys sleeping in that room of the Veda pathashala.
‘What day is it today, Rama?’ one of the boys asked.
‘Thursday. The first hour starts at six-thirty, with Muthurama Shastri.’
‘Aiyyo! I hate that man!’ exclaimed another.
‘Come on, Nilu. Get ready,’ Rama said.
Nilu looked up at Rama resentfully as the sleepy haze slowly cleared. He was a short boy with a shaved head and the mandatory tuft of h
air on top of his head. Rama was not the most popular boy in the pathashala. Teachers did not like him because he disobeyed them. And while this should have endeared him to his peers, his classmates did not like him because he was at the top of his class and Rama reciprocated their feelings. In the five years that he had been at the school, he had not made a single friend. He found their customs irritating, hated their smug Brahmin superiority and their contempt of the lower castes.
On his second day at the pathashala, Rama had arrived late and hid behind the door, waiting for his teacher’s back to turn before he could sneak in. He had barely gone halfway when the boys in his class almost unanimously called the teacher’s attention to his misdemeanour. Rama was caned severely that day, and from that day onward, he kept to himself.
Rolling up his mat and blanket, Rama put them away in his cupboard. He then took his towel and neem-twig toothbrush and went to the pond to bathe. His classmates were all slowly getting up, some talking to each other, some arguing. Muthurama Shastri was a strict master and they were all nervous.
After he had finished dressing, Rama took out his panchapathra and udharani and proceeded to the dining room, where the cook was waiting with their boiled milk. He drank his milk, and went to the room where all the boys performed their morning sandhyavandanam. He sat at the very front, and mechanically went through the morning rituals that were expected of him.
Two hours into Muthurama Shastri’s class, a boy came and said that someone had come to see Rama. He left the class and went to the headmaster’s room to get his permission to meet the visitor.
‘Yes Ramaswami? What do you want?’ the headmaster asked.
‘I was told that there is someone here to see me, sir.’
‘Ah yes, Ramaswami. The boy said his name is Mohan. Do you know someone by that name?’
‘Yes, sir. He is my friend.’
‘You have Shudra friends?’
For a second, Rama stared at him uncomprehendingly, ‘Yes sir. He is my oldest and best friend.’
‘This will have to stop, Rama. You are a Brahmin, and must not spend time with a Shudra.’
‘Why not, sir?’
‘Because that is the way of life. They eat meat and you cannot associate with such people.’
Putting on his stoniest face, Rama asked, ‘May I go down and find out what he wants, sir?’
‘Yes, yes, go on. I shall expect you to come back as soon as you are finished and tell me what this was all about.’
Rama was seething with anger when he left the headmaster’s room. Why did they persist with this nonsense? Hadn’t they learned enough from the past? The very fact that the land was filled with foreign invaders was because of this segregation.
He found Mohan standing outside the entrance of the pathashala, looking anxiously at something on the other side of the street.
‘Hello Mohan, how are things in the village?’ he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Mohan jumped up, startled. He knew life in the cities, and he didn’t want Rama to get into trouble by touching him.
‘Hello, Rama. How are your classes?’
‘I was on the point of falling asleep when you rescued me,’ Rama replied with an affectionate smile. ‘Is everything all right, Mohan? You look worried about something.’
In response Mohan slowly removed Rama’s hand from his shoulder and said, ‘Things are a little strained in the village, Rama. Periamma has fallen very ill. Your father has been running the panchayat for the last week.’
‘Did he send you to get me?’
‘No. I came because I heard him tell Chinnamma that you need not to be informed about your Paati’s condition because it would only cause you worry, and I know how fond you are of her. I knew you would want to see her before …’
Rama had been looking across the street but at these words, his eyes swung around to meet Mohan’s anxious ones.
‘Is it that bad, Mohan?’
‘I’m afraid so, Rama. I’m sorry, but the village is saying she won’t last the weekend.’
Rama felt his legs go weak when he heard this. He sat on one of the benches outside the pathashala; Mohan continued standing. ‘Have you seen her since she fell ill?’
‘I tried once, Rama, but your father would not let me enter.’
‘Give me some time, Mohan. I will have to take permission. Can you wait?’
‘Yes, I’ll wait right here.’
Rama marched back to the headmaster’s room. The man looked up and asked, ‘Is everything all right, Rama? Why do you look so worried?’
‘I’m sorry sir, I just received word that my grandmother is very seriously ill. May I return to the village for a few days?’
‘I hope it’s nothing too serious, Rama,’ the headmaster replied. ‘Of course, you may go.’
‘I’ll return as soon as I can, sir. Thank you,’ Rama bowed. He returned to his cupboard and took out his books, wrapped them in his blanket, threw a cloth over his shoulders and walked back outside.
The boys started off at once. It was not a long journey, and they knew that once they got out of the town they would find a bullock cart heading towards Vellore which would give them a ride into Damar.
Once they cadged a lift in a cart laden with bananas, Mohan dozed off while Rama sat quietly, worrying. His grandmother had never been ill, and Mohan had said the chances of her surviving the weekend were slim. The cart reached Damar a few hours later and, after agreeing to meet Mohan that evening, Rama hurried into the house.
His father was at the temple, and was expected home only around eight in the evening. His mother, Rangamma, was in the kitchen, and it was to her that Rama went first. She was sitting in front of the stove, blowing into the fire with a little blowpipe when he walked in.
‘Why, Rama, what are you doing here?’ she exclaimed in surprise.
‘I heard Paati was ill, Amma, so I came to see how she was.’
‘Who told you?’ his mother asked. ‘Your father was determined not to tell you anything.’
‘Mohan came to the pathashala and informed me. What’s wrong with Paati? Is she going to be all right?’
His mother didn’t know how to respond and looked away, ‘I don’t know. It’s consumption. The doctor has been coming in three times a day to give her some medicine, but she doesn’t seem to be getting any stronger. When she sleeps, she is constantly coughing, and wakes up every morning coughing blood.’
‘May I go in and see her now?’
‘She is sleeping. Why don’t you go and see your father? Paati should wake up in the evening.’
As Rama walked to the temple, Mohan’s words came back to him. Was his father ill-treating Mohan? He heard his father chanting shlokas when he entered. He went into the inner sanctum and saw his father’s sitting with his back to the gallery. Rama closed his eyes and prayed that Shiva would help his grandmother get better. When he opened his eyes, his father was looking at him with a puzzled expression on his face.
They walked around to the side of the temple, and his father turned around and asked him, ‘So why did you come back so soon? I hope you’re not in some sort of trouble!’
‘No, Appa, I heard about Paati’s condition, so I took permission and came back to see her.’
‘Who told you that Paati was ill?’
‘Mohan.’
His father looked annoyed by this information. Frowning, he paced about for a few moments. ‘Rama, you must stop this tomfoolery. You’re an adult now and you’re going to be the priest of the temple soon. Remember what you owe to your position. Mohan is not the right friend for you.’
Rama raised his eyebrows, surprised, ‘Why not, Appa? What’s wrong with Mohan?’
‘He is a Shudra.’
‘But, Appa, he’s my best friend.’
‘Enough! I’m your father and I’m telling you that you can’t spend so much time with Mohan anymore.’
‘I’m sorry, Appa, but I can and I will. Besides which, I don’t want to become a te
mple priest, but that has nothing to do with this.’
His father seethed, ‘What do you want to do? Make swords like your friend’s father?’
‘No, Appa, I was thinking of going to Madras and finding work there.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I don’t know yet. I just know I don’t want to be a priest.’
His father looked at him for a few moments. Then he turned and went back into the temple. ‘We will talk about this later. Go home now.’
Rama and his father exchanged very few words over the next few days. He spent his days sitting with his grandmother and trying to cheer her up, or, when she was asleep, sword-fighting with Mohan. Dikshitar made his disapproval patent but, on the whole, felt it would be wiser to not start a dispute that could affect his mother’s health.
Periamma’s health continued to fail. On the very first day of his return, she had slept through the whole day, and Rama had not seen her at all. She had awoken the next morning, and Rama had spent a few hours talking to her, telling her about his new term at the pathashala and the new things he had learnt. Rama would help her walk to the thinnai outside the house where she sat with him late into the afternoon, discussing philosophy, life and Rama’s future. Often she would fall silent after initiating a topic and just lean back against the wall and watch Rama with pride, while he talked animatedly.
Rama’s parents did not approve of Periamma leaving her room, but when they asked the village vaidyar, he said that it was important to keep her happy. Periamma herself would refuse to listen to Rama’s entreaties not to strain herself, stating categorically that she had no intention of allowing her grandson to sit in a sick room and catch any illness from her.
One morning, however, she was too ill to leave her room, and Rama disobeyed her by joining her there. Periamma had spent a bad night coughing up blood, and when the vaidyar had visited in the morning, he had predicted the end was near. When Rama had gone into her room, she was vomiting blood into the basin. He stood in the doorway waiting for her coughing fit to subside with an anxious look in his eyes. When she stopped coughing, Periamma looked up and, with a twinkle in her eyes, said to him, ‘Don’t look so scared, Rama. Old age, illness and death are as much a part of life as everything else—all unavoidable.’
The Onus of Karma Page 8
