A small
news item about a workshop arranged by the sanyasins of Sivagiri Gurukula
attracted my attention. They were commemorating the hundredth anniversary of a
major philosophical work, Aatmopadesa Sathakam written by Sree Narayana Guru in
1897. Everybody was invited. Essential
boarding and lodging of the participants were also taken care of. Money was not
demanded from anyone. One was welcome to contribute if one felt like. I liked
the idea and enlisted my name for the week-long event. Though I didn't want to
rub the organisers in the wrong way, it so happened that I landed up late by
almost a day. A young sanyasin named Mantrachaitanya interviewed me and was
convinced of my good intentions. I was allotted a room in the guesthouse with a
retired engineer. Originally I was to stay in a dormitory sharing the modest
facilities. The day started with homam for the well-being of the whole world
followed by paper presentations and discussions. The evenings were lively with
cultural programs staged in the open. Normally this sort of environment would
have pepped up my spirits but I was increasingly getting disillusioned.
Even
people who dwelled on Indian philosophy and various aspects of spirituality
were closed to others' viewpoint. Knowledge should make one strong and
accommodating, I felt. Instead they had become intolerant and vulnerable.
Humility was conspicuous by its absence. I decided to rebel against the
“know-all” types. Anybody who looked like a sanyasins with or without saffron
became my natural target. I refused to give their quota of adulation. What’s
more, I deliberately tried to be discourteous. As if this was not enough, I
entered into arguments with everyone.
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| justin ponmany |
Hours
before daybreak on the fourth day, I took bath and set out towards the Samadhi
of Sree Narayana Guru atop the Sivagiri Hills. I was barefooted. By a strange
coincidence, it was the day of demise of the Guru. The way was absolutely
deserted. The strong wind blowing across the pine trees made an eerie whistling
sound which unnerved me. Evil spirits were on the prowl, I was sure. The
setting was quite frightening. I also felt that the Guru was surrounded by
demonic forces that were trying to choke him up. Walking ahead in heavy steps,
I reached the Samadhi after a seemingly endless trail. I suddenly felt
comfortable and secured.
A handful of people were meditating on the marble
floor of the circular building. I joined them. I didn't know whether I prayed
or meditated. Everything was for the benefit of the great soul which I thought
was in danger. Resting my back on the pillar, I closed my eyes. Slowly I
plunged into a deep slumber. Broad daylight woke me up much later. I rushed to
my room and packed my bags.
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| justin ponmani |
I wouldn't spend my time with the occultists any more. I
would bid goodbye to Mantrachaithanya and buzz off at the earliest. Swamy
himself must be a practitioner of occult, there was a wild glee in his eyes.
Otherwise he must be dabbling in tantra.
After half an hour, I found myself in the express bus to my
hometown. My doubts persisted even after I reached home. I still couldn't sleep
at night. Evil spirits were having a reign outside. Stepping outside the house
would be a terrible risk. The act could cost my life. Home would be a safe
place as it had the guard of my late parents. I came out of bed and switched on
the tape-recorder.
I was listening to a
Carnatic recital at the unearthly hour of two-o’ clock in the night. My brother
sensed trouble.
“Go back to your room, Anna”, he said. And I obeyed.
I haven’t visited Sivagiri thereafter. The place was going away
from me. A month back on my birthday, during the early
morning walk I suddenly decided to go to Sivagiri. The three day long annual
pilgrimage started on Monday coinciding with my birthday. A couple of hours
later I found myself climbing up the Sivagiri Hills in a not-so-modest dress with sports shoes on. Several pilgrim groups were proceeding towards the Samadhi ,
mostly women draped in simple, yellow cotton sarees and chanting Om Namo
Narayanaya. They were all bare-footed, weather-beaten working women with no
placards or slogans to declare. I walked
parallel to them for a few minutes and joined the line. Neither the women nor
their male supervisors raised any objection. Getting accepted is a great feeling.
The long and winding road ended at the Samadhi. Halfway through at downhill, politicians and other such avaricious people were making hungry speeches in a grand five-tier pandal. The
listeners consisted of die-hard loyalists for whom the rhetoric didn't matter.
The benign chanting of the mantra got submerged in the din.
Finally we reached at the Samadhi. I looked out for the
small, hand-written billboards, each displaying a gem from the Guru. There were
none. Instead, digital printed banners were hung from the railings, partially
blocking the view. Needless to say, the banners also contained quotes from the
Guru, mostly advices for a good living. They were not the stuff for contemplation.
Of Course, it made a ‘feel-good’ effect. Nothing beyond! In contrast, a gem was enough for a
life-time.
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| justin ponmani - last straw - mixed media on paper |
Where have they gone? No idea! Luckily I could recollect the
sayings written by an unsophisticated hand in ink over hardboard.
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