28.01.2005
PREFACE:
What is Sree Vaishnavism?
I tell you, it’s a convenient thing first. It’s convenient for the man who wants a convenient life. Don’t we all? And, the convenient man wants a convenient religion.
He definitely does not want a religion in which fire and brimstone is spewed down on him from a pulpit by a bible thumping maniac who condemns him to the eternal fire of Satan’s Hell and assures him that that is definitely going to be his fate in the afterlife, unless…. Unless he sends $250 to a certain US TV Evangelist.
In the 12th.Century, believe you me; they were supposed to be even more confused than we are now. And yet, we humans of all creeds choose to follow religions that are hundreds, thousands and even tens of thousand years old.
Sri Ramanujacharya, the founder of Vaishnava movement did not preach about a vengeful God demanding sacrifice, rituals, taboos, morals and codes but he preached of a most benevolent supreme being who generally left you alone to run your life as you saw fit. Of course you would be still subject to all the aphorisms – “as you sow shall you reap etc. etc.”
The Vedanta philosophy of Adi Shankara had already refuted the concept of Satan and Evil per se. There was no set of absolute commandments to follow that had been carved on a couple of stone tablets on Mount Sinai.
Also, there is no “heaven” or “hell.” The Hell is down here itself, to be reborn in this world again and suffer the bitter fruits of a previous life. Heaven is when you become a part of the Divine and are released from the cycle of re-birth. Adi Shankara said too, that the Divine was already and always within you. All you had to d was look for it in the “maya” or illusion of this present life.
But, the REAL WORLD is just that. It’s Real!! So, along came the Philosophy of Vishista Advaita or Qualified Monism. The Vishishta Advaitists or Vaishnavists said, “ Yes, all is Maya. But where we are, it’s pretty real to us. Why are we here? It’s a cycle of re-birth. This is the Samskara – rather than “hell” the word means “duty”.
Ramanujam and several other thinkers who came before and after him preached a concept of Bhakti – which could mean, “blind devotion”. The way to Godhead is not necessarily a long and winding road. It requires instead, the easiest of efforts. And these efforts can be in any desired direction. It could be through prayer, song, thought, deed, creative output, and one’s own work…
Truly it is said, “Work is worship.”
The Bhagwat Geeta has defined that everyone has to do his duty on earth. But he had to do it with total detachment. There is no cause or effect. There is neither Crime nor Punishment. There is neither loss nor gain.
Now, all this, you tell me, is high philosophy about a life and a supposed afterlife. And what has all this got to do with the “price of fish”? No. Not fish. Kathrikaai (Eggplant) and Vendekaai (Ladies Fingers) more likely.
Also what has all this to do with wearing a sacred thread? Or a V or U naamaa (Caste mark worn on the forehead)? Or even a smear of holy ash. And being totally vegetarian. No, no Vengaayam (Onion) or Poondu (Garlic) please! And what has this to do with Amavasyaas (new moon) and Tarpanams (prayers for the ancestors) and Sandhyavandhanam (daily ritual ablutions). What has this to do, indeed, with the way Iyer (Shaivitte Tamil Brahmin) and Iyengar (Vaishnavite Tamil Brahmin) maamis (aunties) wear their madishaars (extra long 9 yard saree as worn by some Tamil communities)?
Talking about Madishaars, as a Professor of Fashion, let me tell you I’ve seen some really pretty maamis in Madishaars. The difference between the Iyers and Iyengars is how they tuck in the long folds between their legs. It’s a beautiful costume – especially in a rich jari bordered Kanchipuram Silk saree. Does wonders for the figure. Sadly as a Professor of Fashion again, I lament that we are seeing the demise of this wondrous dress, which, with some minimal traditional jeweler accessorized can make a young lady look like Queen!
Again, the answers lay in base philosophy. The followers of Ramanujam split into two schisms – the Thengalais or Southern Branch and the Vadagalais the Northern Branch. Of these, the former went totally beserk. They veered to an extremely benevolent Divine. His granting of Moksha or release from the cycle of re-birth was not only arbitrary but most munificent was he in doling out nirvana, which let me tell you, is certainly less than the $250 the US TV Evangelist wants!
The Vadagalaais or Northern Branch were slightly more circumspect. They said “That’s all very well but you’ve got to aspire for moksha. At least a little. At least a teeny-weeny bit.”
The two philosophies could, of course, exist together. The Vadagalaais and Thengalais proclaim their respective philosophies by singing hymns in Sanskrit and Classical Tamil in front and behind the “Utsavar” as the Lord Parthasarthy is carried round the temple in Triplicane, Chennai.
All Iyengars, Iyers, Madhavas, Smarthas and several thousand such denominations that constitute up to 4 % of the country’s population are Brahmins.
Romilla Thapar, the eminent historian, describes that for over 2500 ears Brahmins have been telling the rest of society that their caste by birth is a rebirth from their past life and their caste is determined by the kind of life they led. They called this Karma. Having quite brainwashed, literally, the whole Hindu community with this, the Brahmins naturally had to define their own role. If their high caste was a result of failing to attain moksha in all their previous lives, then it was to be their last. Many other castes believe that being born a Brahmin was the curse of wicked past lives.
It was the duty of the brahmacharya to be initiated at an early age and enter into a long grueling study period in a strictly vegetarian household. He would perfect slokas, astrology, science, mathematics, logic, politics, stagecraft and statecraft and then set out into the outer world to find his fortune. On his way to fortune, with literally nothing to start off with, he was to live the life of a mendicant. He could beg food from only three sumangalis each day and eat just once.
Primarily he was to become a repository of knowledge. My friend Dilip Bhandarkar, a Goud Saraswat from Gokarna says “ Brahmins should not have three impossible illusions – that of success in Business, acquisition of huge material wealth or achieving sexual conquest.”
Naturally, in positions of power, many Brahmins became Kings themselves too. But many, many went hungry too. Well, not fully, they could always go and eat at a funeral feast if there was one going. Other casts considered this a demeaning task and looked down on them for this.
But, Vaishnavism is not about establishing the exclusivity of Brahmins. In fact, it was the very intention of Ramanujam to break the hold of Brahminism in South Indian society in the 12th. Century.
For a start, he wrote the “secret” Gayatri mantra in several languages all over the Srirangam and other Temple walls. He proclaimed that all those who could read the words were henceforth proclaimed Brahmins of the Sree Vaishnava creed. He wrote with the chalk stick that now draws the naama. Later, probably in an effort to accelerate conversion, he just sprinkled holy water over the mob and proclaimed the whole multitude as “twice-born”. When he got banished to Mysore, he continued his proselytizing in the best evangelical traditions. Among Ramanujam’s later followers, Chaitanya in the 15th.century and Srila Prabhupada in the 20th. Continued the tradition, preaching that moksha could be attained by just singing a simple rhyme of the Lord’s name with gayness, abandon and true fervor. Yes, and even taking the name of the lord in vain was not against any commandment.
Which is why the white Anglo-Saxon in Orange dhotis, sporting a tuft, a naama and merrily and un-tunefully hollering:
“Harry Rammer, Harry Kitchner, Rammer, Rammer, Harry, Harry…”
is as good a Sree Vaishnava as you, probably nearer to his God by the very act of his singing.
Ramanujam and several of his disciples established numerous mutts or hostels at all the Vishnu Temples in South India. There are several mutts in Kanchi, Prayaag, Tirupathi and several other places too.
Thankfully, for Vaishnavism, these mutts are rather numerous – from Parakala Mutt to Ahobillam Mutt. Ahobillam is the place where Vishnu as Narasimha emerged from the doorpost to slay the wicked Asura. Many of these places are in Andhra. If you go to any of these mutts, you may just, with luck, catch a glimpse of a truly lovely maami in a madishaar.
Unlike the Mutts of Adi Shankara, very few Vaishnava mutts are involved in any large-scale charity, education, social work or such prime scams. But they all perform one function – performing the funeral rituals for the families of deceased persons.
As is the custom of most Hindus, it falls to the eldest son to perform the rituals for his departed parents. The ceremonies go on for thirteen days. At the end of it all, the priest of the mutt who performs the rituals tells a small tale to the “karta” to illustrate Vedantic philosophy of life and death.
Presented here is a collection of such tales as well as others I have added, choded, embellished, copied, plagiarized, lifted, adapted, edited and tried to put together to explain the metaphysical meaning of vedantic philosophy.
Tale:1:
So What Did the BAD Samaritan Do?
By CHOD
The Holy Bible says:
The GOOD Samaritan came across this guy on the road, all beat up by robbers and seriously wounded. He picked up the guy, put him on his own horse and took him to the nearest inn. Here he not only got the poor guy’s wounds looked after but put him in a comfortable room bearing all expenses at his own cost and even leaving an advance with the inn-keeper sufficient to let the poor guy recuperate long enough till he was well enough to go. The Holy Bible says.
So, what did the “BAD” Samaritan do?
Nothing different. He did exactly what the “GOOD” Samaritan did. So the fortunate guy got better and told the whole countryside the story and it was repeated till even the Lord Jesus told it to the congregation from the Mount. The guy prospered and grew rich. Rich, where he could have well been dead on a certain road if it wasn’t for a certain Samaritan. He became first an Evangelist, then a Radio Evangelist and finally a TV Evangelist with international network broadcasting. Of course the guy was ever thankful of how much his huge palaces, Learjet, Rolls Royce and Tahitian Pleasure Island was owed to the Samaritan.
So what did the BAD Samaritan do?
He sent the Guy a BILL:
Item 1: Towards my air ticket cancelled for you: Chennai-Delhi (Economy).
Item 2: Ambulance Charges including STD Calls (Bills attached)
Item 3: One week at Appolo Hospital (Bill attached)
Item 4: To stay at 5* Hotel for one week (Bill attached)
Item 5: My own food (at roadside eateries) (Less than Rs.100/-)
Plus: He added Compound Interest @ 6% per year from the principal date in 4 B.C. to 2004 A.D. (for over 2000 years!).
All Samaritans were after all, Jews.
04.08.2004:
Tale:2.
How much good to enter heaven.
Traditional Funerary (Devashom) tale:
A man died after an eventful life full of all the wickedness, cruelty and injustice to himself, other people and the rest of the world around him.
“He never did an ounce of good in his life,” muttered the people after his funeral. “Not a single ounce of good. He’ll never find salvation in the after life” they said.
“What’s his account like?” God asked St. Peter at the pearly gates of Heaven.
“Never did any good in his life,” replied St. Peter. “Not even an ounce of it in this life”.
“Well,” said God, “We’ll have to give him a chance. Check his previous birth to this one, St. Peter.”
St. Peter pulled out the old registers and located the man’s previous birth history. He studied it for long but was disappointed.
“Nothing, my Lord God,” St. Peter informed God. “If at all that life was even worse. Not even a gram of any good was done by him.”
“Well keep trying,” said the Almighty Father. “Look at his life two rebirths before and see how he lived.”
But after locating and reading the man’s life story in the previous rebirth too, St. Peter got only disappointing results. “No, my Heavenly Father,” said St. Peter wearily, “Didn’t do any good then too. Not even a kind thought through all these years. No, father, not even a microgram of good.”
“This will never do, St. Peter,” said God, “keep looking back at his earlier lives – all his rebirths up to seven incarnations back.
St. Peter searched the books for a long time. At last he came up to God and informed Him: “Nothing much, my creator. But we may have something in his life seven rebirths ago. Apparently, he mentioned your Holy Name once.”
“Oh, is it?,” said God eagerly, “Tell me about it, St. Peter.”
“Well, it’s recorded here that seven lifetimes ago at a young age he stubbed his toe on a stone and with the sharp pain he exclaimed “Oh Jesus (Or Lord, Krishna, Muruga, Shiva, Ambika, Ganesha, Allah, Bhagwan, Kaduvalle etc. it does not matter which)”.
“That should do, St. Peter. That’s good enough for Me” said God, quite relieved. “He qualifies. Admit him.”
So the man’s soul went to Heaven.
04.08.2004:
Tale:3.
Traditional Funerary (Devashom) tale:
A doubtful case
The rains had failed. There was a severe famine in the region and many villagers were destitute. When the rains did come, a farmer had no money to invest in Ploughing, Seeds, Planting and Fertilizer. A passer by who heard of the farmer’s plight while passing through the village, advised him:
“Go to Chain Raj Jain, the moneylender in such-and-such village. He is a very kind man and is known for helping farmers who are in trouble. It is only a few hours distance away. So go and present your case to him and he is sure to help you.”
The farmer took the passerby’s advise and proceeded to the such-and-such village. As he neared it he found that the fields and gardens owned by the farmers of such-and-such village presented a picture quite different from the rest of the drought and famine devastated countryside. They were a beehive of activity with farmers plowing with well -fed oxen, de-weeding and preparing the garden beds, planting seeds and spreading fertilizer. It was getting near the mealtime and many were breaking off from work to sit down in the shade of trees and eat.
The farmer also sat under a tree to take a little rest. Close by, a young farmer was also sitting down to eat the food his young wife had prepared at home and brought to the fields for him. She seemed to be a bit depressed and sad.
“It’s over,” said the young woman to her husband. “Our son is dead. The fever took him away. The end came an hour after you left for the fields today morning.”
“Well, it was inevitable, I suppose, wife,” said the husband. “It is all God’s will. What He gives He also takes back when He needs it. What are the arrangements?”
“We’ll have the funeral in the evening after you come back from work,” she replied.
“Have you told father?” he asked. “Not yet,” said the wife. “I was going to go to his shop and tell him after I gave you your lunch.”
“Good,” said the husband, “It gives me enough time. I’ll finish trans-planting these saplings and come home to help you do the funeral arrangements,” said the husband and got up to wash his hands. The wife packed up his lunch box and got up to go too.
On his way to such-and-such village, the farmer was most intrigued by the young couple’s behavior. They were taking their own personal tragedy in a cool and calm manner without any emotional outbursts. In his village, reflected the farmer, such an incident would have put the whole community into turmoil. There would be much weeping, crying, hysterics, renting of clothes, tearing of hair by both the women and the men folk weather they were related to the deceased or not. Thinking deeply about this he found his way to Chain Raj Jain’s money lending shop in such-and-such village. There he saw the young wife he had seen earlier. She was talking to the moneylender and the farmer now realized that the young husband was the moneylender’s son and the young woman his daughter-in-law who was conveying the sad news of the demise of his grandson.
The moneylender’s reaction too seemed calm and cool and without undue emotion.
“Well, it was inevitable, I suppose, daughter-in-law,” said the moneylender. “It is all God’s will. What He gives He also takes back when He needs it.”
The farmer met the moneylender and told him of his own plight. The moneylender listened sympathetically to the farmer and only asked a verbal assurance for repayment of the loan whenever the farmer came up on better days.
“Take this Gentleman’s name into our registers” he told his Cashier munim. “Give him whatever amount of money he needs.”
“There is one thing that puzzled me about your village,” said the farmer to the moneylender. He then told him of the conversation he overheard between the moneylender’s son and daughter-in-law. “What surprised me is that you have all taken the news of this tragedy in such a cool and calm manner.”
“Well, what way should we have reacted?” asked the moneylender. “After all, it is Karma. It is all God’s will. What He gives He also takes back when He needs it.”
“Well, in our village it would be very different, Sir,” said the farmer, “such an incident would have put the whole community into turmoil. There would be much weeping, crying, hysterics, renting of clothes, tearing of hair by both the women and the men folk weather they were related to the deceased or not.”
The moneylender did not respond to the farmer immediately. But he turned to his Cashier and told him.
“Cancel this man’s account immediately. You are not to lend him any money. Not a brass farthing. Do you understand?”
The farmer was flabbergasted. He could not figure out why the moneylender had suddenly backed out and was refusing him the loan. He asked the moneylender why.
“You get so emotionally affected when someone dies by much weeping, crying, hysterics, renting of clothes, tearing of hair by both the women and the men folk weather they were related to the deceased or not. If you cannot return to GOD a life that He lent to you in the first place, I dread to think what you would do to return this ordinary money loaned by an ordinary mortal like me to you. You would try your best to not return the money when the time was up. I consider your case a bad loan and refuse to risk my money for you.”
02.11.2004
Tale:4
The Shirt Story
A Marketing Tale:
It was the season for striped shirts- blue pinstriped shirts and Madura Coats (India) had placed large orders from their numerous suppliers in Chennai, Bangalore and other garment centers for tens of thousands of them. They were to be sold under their “Peter England” Brand and were priced 499 Rupees Indian Currency (Maximum Retail Price or MRP) to be supplied to the Indian Market mainly, but a large quantity of these were also being exported to Canada to be sold through the Marks & Spencers outlets at Canadian $ 39.95 in Vancouver – mainly to Indian NRIs settled there. This part of Canada as well as the pacific coast of the USA has a large expatriate population of Indians especially Sardarjis.
Mr. Banta Singh, cab driver in Vancouver, was going to go to his hometown in Bhatinda, Punjab, India. As was his usual custom every alternate year that he traveled to India, he planned to take presents for his many relatives in the old country. He was particularly interested in taking a suitable present for his nephew Mr. Banda Singh of Bhatinda. He wanted to choose something that was popular locally and could be suitably identified as “phoren” (sic-foreign). A humble cab driver, the blue pinstriped shirts he saw displayed in the M & S show window attracted his attention. He noted that the style was quite popular – many of his executive officer type taxi passengers- especially stock and investment brokers seemed to be preferring this style this year. The brand name too “ Peter England” impressed him a lot and he was sure that his nephew would really appreciate this “imported” product if he gave it to him as a present.
“It must be made in England,” he told another Sardar acquaintance, “otherwise why would it be called ‘Peter England’?”
“Before you shell out forty dollars, I think you should have a look into the J C Penny discount store down the road. You may find the same thing at a discounted price” advised his friend. Banta Singh did so, and to his delight he was able to buy a blue pinstriped Peter England shirt from the discount store for only Canadian $ 19.95. Feeling thoroughly pleased with himself, he packed it into his travel case along with the other presents.
In the two years that he had last seen his favorite Canadian Uncle, Mr. Banda Singh of Bhatinda, Punjab, India had, in fact got along quite well in life. Finishing his BE in Electronics and Computers, he had joined an IT company which paid so well that he was abandoning plans to migrate to Canada. Banda Singh felt it was only right this time that he too have a suitable gift ready to give his uncle to take back to Canada.
“What is really good from India?” he asked his old Madarasi classmate Shivaram.
“Garments,” said Shivaram promptly, “Do you know that Apparel and Textile exports are the largest commodity exported from India and accounts for over a third of our Export earnings. The whole Western World has been taken up with Indian made apparel – our 100% pure cotton shirts are supposed to be the rage this season”.
“Lets go down to the bazaar and see what we can find, “ said Banda Singh. But at the Market he saw a bewildering range of Brand names and sought Shivaram’s help.
“Arrow?” said Shivaram, “avoid it’s a local Brand- made by Arvind Mills. So too Raymond’s Park Avenue. Henry Hill? A duplicate trying to sound foreign, but it is also a local brand. How about this – Louis Phillipe?”
“Sounds French. I want something which sounds American or at least British – Hey! See this it says “Peter England”. Sounds just right.”
“Quite a mediocre brand, really,” said Shivaram, “ now being sold all over small country towns from Hassan to Hathras as well as all metros and large cities. Costs just under 500 rupees. Tell you what, lets go to the Madura Coats Showroom you may get it at a discount or factory rate at least.”
But on the way to the company Showroom, where the shirt was being sold for 300 rupees, they also came past a whole row of street hawkers selling various surplus products at very low prices. And, they could bargain with the hawker too.
Finally, Banda Singh bought a Blue Pin-striped Peter England shirt for just 100 rupees!
When his uncle came to India they both brought out their presents for each other. Surprise, surprise… both had exactly the same shirt for each other.
“No, it can’t be the same” insisted Banta Singh of Vancouver, “I bought it for Dollars – Twenty Dollars. I even saved some money by going to J C Penny and not the M & S store.”
“Well, I’m sure it is the same thing. They both look alike. And I paid only a hundred Indian rupees for it and got it off the footpath. That’s just a little over Two Dollars in your money!”
“They’re both made in India, Chachaji,” said Shivaram, “ Perhaps you didn’t know that all Peter England Shirts are now made in India under License from Coats Vyella U.K who are the brand owners. Look I can see the printing press’ mark. It’s the same on both boxes. It says, “Box made by ITI Tin Industries, Bangalore. Both shirts are probably from the same Factory, perhaps even made on the same day!”
NOTE: I’ve included this tale that is a case study from my Fashion Technology course as an illustration. Vedantic Hindu Vaishnavism unlike other religious dogmas does believe that there are cheaper ways and shortcuts to salvation. Everything is possible – a shortcut to nirvana or even salvation through a lottery!
Tale:5
No Worries?
A Mullah Nasruddin Hodja Tale
One day, Hodja was sitting with another old Mullah who was telling him that he had absolutely no worries in this world.
“I have finished all my responsibilities in life. My children are all settled and happy. I spend my days now in contentment, do namaz five times a day as ordained by the Holy Quran.”
“How do you know that you have absolutely no worries?” asked Hodja.
“Well, if you have worries, you will not get sleep easily at night”, said the old Mullah. “But I fall asleep the minute my head touches the pillow, don’t you think this is a sure sign of no worry?”
“You seem to be quite proud of this” said Hodja.
“Yes, I am proud. I am proud too of this venerable beard I have grown. See it is quite white and long and is the envy of many mullahs. Some say it is as long and venerable as the Prophets’ – Peace Be on Him”. said the old Mullah caressing his beard.
“Well, my experience,” said Hodja, “is that even if you don’t have any, worry is such a thing that can manifest itself without any rhyme or reason.”
They both argued this proposition long and inconclusively. It was getting quite dark by the time the old Mullah took leave and went home. After dinner before retiring to his bed the old Mullah would spend a little time playing with his small grandson. The boy sat on his lap and played with his grand father’s long beard. Suddenly, a thought struck the young child.
“Grandfather,” asked the boy, “when you sleep, do you keep your beard above the blanket or under it?”
“I… Oh…. I don’t know child,” said the old Mullah. “I’m fast asleep so how’ll I know if my beard is above the blanket or below it?” But when he went to his bed to lie down, the question still persisted in his mind. As he lay down and pulled up his blanket, he first pulled it up to his chin with the beard under the blanket. But he could not sleep as he kept wondering if this was really the way he slept. Then he moved his beard over the blanket pulling the blanket up to his neck.
But this too did not seem right. He pushed the beard back under the blanket, but his mind was too occupied by the problem and he did not fall asleep immediately. As the night wore on, he worried more and more and kept changing his beard – now over the blanket, now under it. There seemed to be no solution, the point asked by the small child created such a worry in his mind that he spent most of the night sleepless and gripped by a problem he couldn’t solve.
Tale:6
A Jataka Tale:
Once upon a time a Centipede had been suffering from chronic pain in his legs. He went to his preceptor, the Barn Owl and asked him:
“Oh wise elder,” he said to the Barn Owl, “I suffer from leg pain. It keeps going on and on and I feel it will stay with me all my life. Show me a that way I can obtain relief?”
“Well,” said the Barn Owl wisely, “I don’t know how to remove your pain in this life, but there’s a way your leg pain can be reduced substantially in the next life”.
“How’s that?” asked the Centipede?
“You’ve got to be re-born as a mouse with just couple of pairs of legs and not tens of them. Then your leg pain will at least be reduced to a fraction of what it is now.”
So, the Centipede went and killed himself and was reborn as a Mouse. He certainly had very little leg pain now and that too, not often.
But, one fine summer’s day, the Barn Owl pounced down on the Mouse as he trudged across the field. It was one of “those days” you see, when his leg pain was really acting up.
The Barn Owl had the Mouse (that is, the re-born Centipede) for lunch.
Tale:7
A Geological Tale:
By CHOD.
My great- grandfather, Professor Sampath Iyengar was a renowned geologist. He is credited with having discovered the Kudhremukh Iron Ore deposits in Karnataka State.
His work covered several very interesting places of the old kingdom of Mysore. His research was through the most incredible outdoor fieldwork in the remotest Jungles and mountain ranges of the Deccan. That all this was done, in 1907, without Land rovers or Jeeps, Electricity or Electric Torches, Mobile phones, GPS receivers, Laptop Computers, GIS Software, night vision glasses, mosquito repellants and all the wonders of later 20th.century technologies makes it even more fascinating.
It was all done on horseback using 19th. Century instruments, methods and scientific ideas. And yet, some of the work of Professor Sampath Iyengar and several others of the Mysore Geological department was embroiled in the bitterest of controversies.
It was a purely academic question among these eminent scientists but led to lively debates, jealous professionalism and severe groupism. Historical records of these stormy days are meticulously preserved in the records of the state Mining and Geology departments. It is a story of personality conflicts, white officer of the Raj versus native subordinate, petty jalousies and envies in which even family members got involved and a lot of racy gossip. One of the “sahibs” was believed to be “queer”!
This is however not the place to tell you that story. It has already been written about much though could probably do with yet another complete volume.
The problem, academically the “Charnokite problem” was whether a certain set of hill ranges in South India originally were formed as “igneous” or from Fire rocks or were “sedimentary” in nature having created by forces of water. The academic problem persisted for over 60 years from the time the name “Charnokite” was first given by a British Geologist in 1900. Incidentally, the name is derived from the Tombstones of Job Charnok’s grave in Kolkotta. Job Charnok was the founder of the great city of Kolkotta or Calcutta as it was then known and his grave stones were erected in 1695 from rocks quarried far away. They were identified to come from the Pallavaram quarry in Chennai (formerly Madras) that is bang opposite the International Terminal of the Chennai Airport.
Two groups of geologists emerged as supporters of the two conflicting theories. My great grandfather was on the side of the “fire men” and he ventured all his numerous research papers on the firm belief in the igneous origin of the Charnokites. Never fully resolved even to this day, the problem was compounded by the complex nature of Peninsular India that is reckoned as the oldest rocks on the surface of the earth. Field results, chemical analysis and concepts keep deceiving the best researchers, theorists, academicians and businessmen too.
Yes, geology is about business and money. In South India, the Charnokite Problem is about Gold. And Steel. And also ruby, garnet, emeralds and such precious stones. Besides several important minerals like Copper, Manganese, Magnesium, Aluminum, Radium, Thorium and Uranium too. Uranium, which is used to make atom bombs and power nuclear reactors.
One of the most important research done by Professor Sampath Iyengar was on the Baba Budangiri Hill range in Chickmagalur District some time in 1913.
Rising majestically over 6000 feet over the peneplain of Mysore, the Bababudangiri hills are the most, if not one of the most, beautiful places in South India. Ooty and Kodiakanal at around 7000 feet in Tamilnadu state next door are bigger and higher, but this is the highest spot in Karnataka state.
At the top of this huge horse shaped mountain is the dargah or shrine of the Sufi Saint Baba Budan after whom this place is named. The shrine is a short walk from the Attiguddi hamlet that in 1986 had just one tea shop.
The walk is really beautiful. Exotic birds call you with the most melodious song, the bracing mountain air revives you and the greenery stretching away for miles all around relaxes your eyes. You get to see the lush alpine vegetation of this altitude with rolling meadows on the tops and shoals or mini forests in the hollows and valleys. At the peak is a waterfall that is fed by streams and springs deep inside the shoal. The ice-cold water comes out filtered through exotic plants and herbs and is credited with magical healing powers that it may well have. A freezing bath in the water fall allows you entry into the hallowed dargah of the Muslim Saint who brought the first coffee seeds from Arabia to India in the 15th.century.
As the bus from Chikmagalur rises up the road to meet the massif, you are amazed by the structure looming up from the plains. You pass several coffee plantations all directly descended from the seeds brought originally by Baba Budan. TH road reaches the escarpment and the coffee plantations thin out and the crags, cliffs, waterfalls and road cuttings expose the underlying rock of the mountain.
The extremely violent creation of this mountain is apparent to even the least interested observer. The rock itself is vastly different from what you’ve probably seen all the way from Bangalore. It has a different color. It has, in fact, several different colors. A rainbow of different colored rocks seem to be jostling with each other for place. It has layers, but they seem to have been jumbled, crushed, bent, broken and fallen over in several places.
The dargah itself is a tiny cave into which one has to crouch low to enter. The cave is formed by a huge half-mile wide slab of very thick rock, which appears to have broken off from the summit, and hangs precariously at a drunken angle. The finest of clays is found inside the cave. It is said that the Baba would magically make bread from this clay to feed his hungry devotees. The rest of the hill is rich in flora and fauna. The central bowl of the horseshoe is a thick evergreen rain forest. At one end of the crest is the lovely Khemmangudi botanical park.
Minerals abound – illemenite, pyrite, chalcopyrite, arsenopyrite, uraninite, zircon, tourmaline, rutile, edipote, chromite, felspar… the list keeps growing with newer discoveries. The hill also contains some of the richest iron ores too. You will find, f you are lucky and have Baba’s blessings, small crystals of “iron stone”. Perfectly rectangular with cubic edges and streaked with minute traces of gold, these natural gems are composed of 98% iron. Mounted on settings these make attractive finger rings and other jewelry.
From the top the view is indeed majestic. The land falls away in precipitous cliffs to the almost flat granite plateau of Mysore and Hassan districts. Some miles away, to the northwest a series of granite hillocks rise up but none as high as the main massif. Geologists call these the “Tarikere Series”. Remains of ancient Gold mines are found here.
The sheer abundance of minerals in this mountain does rather lend support t the “sedimentary” or water origin of this rock. As the “sedimentologists” grew stronger in support, my great-grandfather said about Baba Budan Giri: “ The only way I can accept this theory is the story of Hanuman and the Sanjeevini Mountain”.
Now, if you have not read your Ramayana, here’s the relevant bit from the great epic.
The Lord Vishnu as King Rama fought a protracted war and invasion of the King of Lanka Raavanaa. In this battle, at one stage, Rama’s brother, Lakshmana lay mortally wounded. Hanuman, the monkey God was assigned to bring back the magical Sanjeevini herb from the Himalayas over 2000 miles to the north of Ceylon.
Hanuman did reach the Himalayas, but he could not identify the specific herb on the mountain. So, he picked up the whole mountain and sped through the stratosphere carrying the mountain in the one hand.
During his supersonic flight about 30,000 feet up in the sky, Hanuman had to contend with the Sun God. Now the Sun God was somehow not on Rama’s side in this war so he tried to deter the flying Hanuman.
However, by Shri Rama’s grace, Hanuman did get around the Sun, but in the process apiece broke off from the huge Himalayan Mountain and fell to the ground. From the height of the Delhi-Trivandrum Airbus flight, the mountain piece hit the ground with the most colossal thud. The big splat distorted the mountain itself beyond recognition and the shock wave threw up the surrounding granite into the Tarikere hillocks. The herbs and sholas and meadows remained on the top growing over the years into a unique medicinal garden.
What happened to the Sanjeevini Mountain? Shri Hanuman dutifully took it back to the Himalayas by “Airmail” and replaced it. But Karnataka was left with a “small piece” in the Baba Budan Giri Hill.
Tale:8
The Thengalai Concept:
When “his holiness” the Jagadguru was sent up finally, St Peter informed the Holy Father that the man had the Mark of Vishnu. His shoulder tips has been scorched with a branding iron with he symbols of Chanq and Chakra.
“Well,” said the Holy Father, “I suppose we’ll just have to let him in here. It’s his passport to heaven – there that Mark of Vishnu. Make a nice place for him here, St. Peter.”
“But, Oh Holy Father, “ asked St. Peter, “don’t you want to have a look at his record books? Don’t you want to know if he did any ‘BAD’ in his life down there on Earth?”
The Holy Father drew himself up and assumed the Vishwaroopa form as Maha Vishnu, the Protector. He pulled up to his huge glorious form that he had revealed to Arjuna the Pandava down on Earth while telling him the Bhagwat Geeta. He was Maha Vishnu the Protector incorporating the whole pantheon of Gods ever created and even those yet to be created. From Baal to Bhoditsava, from Mohammed to Maitreyi, Jehova to Jesus, Balaji to Venketachallapathy, Jagganath to Jambukesharavara, Krishna to Kalki, Partharthasarthy to Parasurama, Vaikunta Vasa to Venugopala, Matsya to Ranganatha too.
He was Maha Vishnu Perumal!
“No,” said Perumal to St. Peter, “It wont be necessary at all. The man has the Mark of Vishnu. That’s quite enough for me. He goes to Heaven and gets Full moksha in spite of anything else. Or anything of his record in life down there.”
“Don’t you want t know if he committed any crimes? Broke Laws? Committed harm to other men?” asked St. Peter again.
“Oh, Laws and Crimes, that too in the world of men, St. Peter, “ Perumal explained, “that’s all being looked after rather quite well down there, you know. If man does harm or commits crimes on other men and breaks the laws of men, then men will decide his fate quite well themselves. They’ve got a good thing going there. A full system. From Judges to Generals to Warlords and Presidents, Lawyers and Cops and every profession to deal with that sort of thing.”
“Man, you know” continued Perumal, “ is well equipped to look after man. And woman too, coming to think of it. Ever since I created her.” He chuckled.
“Don’t you want to know he came up?” asked St. Peter.
“Well,” said Perumal, “he could have been murdered legally or otherwise, robbed, killed, judged guilty, hung, pardoned, acquitted, committed suicide, hung and condemned by the media too. You know, they’ve a pretty nasty media down there, but that’s all man’s judgment.”
Continued Perumal, “ you see they are over 5 billion souls strong down there now, and there’s a general balance of things. The 5 billion will become 50 billion one day and they’ll really have to move to the “suburbs”. Mars, Moon, Saturn and Jupiter’s moons, Adromeda…. Who knows? And yet thousands, tens of thousands die almost instantaneously. Tsunamis, Earthquakes, Disease, AIDS….. In just a hundred years there have been about three and a half world wars. And you know that a hundred years of man’s time is just a nanosecond part of Brahma’s time.”
Note 100 years = 0. yuga = 0.0 kalpa.
“And,” continued Perumal, “ they blame all these things called “natural disasters” like tsunamis on ME!!! It’s their Earth; I gave it away to them long ago. But still they go around solemnly becoming more religious in the bargain, get down on their knees, fold their hands and say “IT’S GOD’S WILL!!” Wars, at least, they blame on themselves most of the time and study it deeply. It’s called HISTORY. But still many think I’m responsible for these too.”
“But, Lord,” persisted St. Peter, “ Don’t you want to know why he came up?”
“It doesn’t matter now, St. Peter,” said Perumal, “you see people who have been tried and executed by courts of justice often become saints and heroes often within a hundred years. They put up statues to them, name roads, cities, buildings and even babies after them. Such people too, who, when they were sent up had, in fact, been condemned as guilty by other learned men. It happens all the time, St. Peter, I could name you dozens.”
“But Holy father,” insisted St. Peter, “how does this man qualify?”
“He has the Mark of Vishnu on his shoulders. He is a Sree Vaishnava. He qualifies. You see, St. Peter,” explained Perumal,” even if he has been tried by the highest courts in the land for me, all I need is his mark. Perhaps it was for the better he came up. Its better that a dangerous psychopath, for example, should be eliminated from earth before he does more damage.”
St. Peter thought deeply about this for some time. Then he got up and shuffled to his book shelf (Reference Section) and brought down an armful of thick books, Papyrus Scrolls, Parchment Scrolls, Sumerian Clay Tablets and a massive Asokan Edict.
“Lord and Holy Father,” asked St. Peter, “Can I not show you how this man has disobeyed all the laws. All those laws from those of Manu and Moses, Hamurabi, the Wheel of Dharma, The Shariat and the Hadith, the Seven deadly sins and the Ten Commandments. He even disobeyed the latest Eleventh Commandment which was propounded only in the twentieth century.”
“No, St. Peter, all those Laws do not matter. He has the Mark . It negates all such Laws and rules, which were made up by man in any case. But tell me St. Peter,” asked the Lord with some curiosity. “What is this Eleventh Commandment?”
“Oh that, my Lord was proposed by Lord Jeffery Archer. The law says simply “Thou shall not get caught”. Mr. Archer himself slipped with this law got caught and landed in Jail.”
“The Lord was amused. “How apt, St. Peter. I think in today’s world it is the most important law. The only one, in any case, which really matters. Well if this holy man did get caught, he must have disobeyed that law and quite deserved it.”
“Haa” said St. Peter with a little triumph, “ Now I can at least show you his record.”
But Perumal, the Lord Maha Vishnu in all his glorious Vishwaroopa was firm.
“Not at all, St. Peter,” decided Perumal, “This man goes to Heave. He wears the Mark of Vishnu. He is Sree Vaishnava. This single fact negates everything else. Please see St. Peter, admit him and give him the best room with a view.”
And this tale, my dear Cauvery, is of course, about their H’nesses the Ss of K. It is to explain the Thengalai Philosophy preached by Ramanuja in the 12th. Century. You see, it’s not about wearing U or V naamaas or reciting slokas in Tamil or Sanskrit at the Utsavs. The Thengalai tradition believed in a most benevolent God who gave out Moksha freely and arbitrarily. The Vadagalai Tradition expected the man to at least aspire for Moksha even to the slightest extent.
I suppose I’ll have to write the Vadagalai version of this tale. But for that, we’ll have to wait the final outcome of this ongoing drama of their H’nesses the Ss of K.
Tale 9:
Whose Fate?
From A.K.Ramanujam
In one of his many lives on earth, the Bodhitsava was born and became the disciple of a very well known and learned guru who lived in the forest with his wife.
The wife had become pregnant and the Guru planned to go on a pilgrimage at the same time. So he left his pregnant wife in the care of his young disciple and proceeded on his yatra. In due course, the time for delivery came and the Bodhitsava summoned the midwife to come and assist in the childbirth. The ascetic guru’s small hut was cleared of all the men folk. Just a little while before he delivery a swarthy man with a dog (I think the dog’s name was Pluto) came rushing up to the hut and tried to barge his way in. The Bodhitsava who was on guard outside the door stopped him from going in.
“Who are you, you cannot go in there. A woman is in the process of delivering a child. Have you no sense? Have you no manners? Who are you?” asked the Bodhitsava angrily.
“My Lord,” said the swarthy man falling at the Bodhitsava’s feet. “I am Brahma. I know who you are and who you will be reborn as. O Embody of Enlightenment, none around can see me, but your pure soul does recognize one not of this world. I am indeed Brahma.”
“I don’t care who you are,” said the young Bodhitsava, “but I still can’t let you in.”
“But, O Shower of the Path,” pleaded the swarthy man, “It is my burden duty. I have to go in now and write the child’s fate on its forehead the moment it is born. Please let me do my duty. It will not be good for the new child’s life if I do not write its fate. And don’t worry; no one else can see me. Not the midwife or other women or the mother.”
“Perhaps, I may let you in”, said the young Bodhitsava, “but only on one condition. You must tell me what fate you are going to write on the baby’s forehead.”
“O Conqueror of Desires, your fate I know. You have recognized me, Brahma. You will be re-born as the Buddha and found a great religion. But, this baby, it’s just another statistic. It’s fate will be quite arbitrary. Even I don’t know what fate I’m going to write. It sort of comes impromptu – on the spot, if you know what I mean.
“But,” he brightened, “ I can tell you what I’ve written on my way out. I can tell you then, O Knower of the Unknown.”
The swarthy man, who was Brahma, went into the hut and soon there was the unmistakable howl of a newborn baby lustily announcing its arrival to the forest and its birds, bees, bears, berries and Bodhitsava. A little later, the swarthy man, who was Brahma, came out. He seemed a little sad and disappointed.
“A boy, O Deliverer of the Undelivered,” he said wiping the sweat off his brow, “and quite a disappointing life. He is condemned to the life of a coolie. His whole life will revolve around a single sack of rice and a single buffalo. He will never have more money or comforts than that single sack of rice and that one buffalo.”
After some time the guru returned from his yatra and in a couple of years, the guru’s wife was pregnant again. The Bodhitsava, who knew that Brahma would have to make a second trip to the ascetic’s forest hut, stationed himself at a spot where he knew Brahma would come and tie up his dog while he went in to Write Fate. (I think the dog’s name was Pluto!) Once again the Bodhitsava badgered Brahma and extracted a promise to be told the newborn baby’s fate after the delivery. But this time Brahma came out looking even sadder and worried. He shook his head sadly,
“It’s not my fault, O Righter of Wrongs. I don’t mean to give anyone unhappiness in life. But it’s my duty to dispense Fate. This time it is a girl child. Her life is indeed pitiable. She is condemned to becoming a prostitute. Her only source of income will be her body. O Reliever of the Unrelieved, she is condemned to sleep with whichever man offers her price every night.”
Years passed. The young Bodhitsava completed his education under the senior guru and set out into the world to travel far and do good deeds. At one time his wanderings brought him back to the place where he had had his education under the old guru. But in the forest he found the hut had disappeared under the bushes and there was no sign of the old guru or his wife or their two children. From the locals, he came to know that the guru and his wife had died in the forest and the children, destitute, had gone to the town to eke out whatever livelihood they could. The elder child, the son had grown up but unlike his illustrious and learned father had come to almost nothing in life. He was presently living in a hovel in the poorest part of the town. The Bodhitsava found out his address and went to see him.
He found the ascetic’s son and introduced himself to him. Out of politeness, the son invited the Bodhitsava to spend the night in his humble hut but added,
“O holy one and disciple of my father, you are welcome to stay with us till you should proceed. But I must tell you in advance. I have had a very miserable life so far. I never seem to be able to save any money or improve my lifestyle. Whatever I do, however hard I work, all my life has given is just a sack of rice and this one buffalo. But if you are not too finicky, which I know that you being an acsetic are, you are welcome to share with this poor and humble family.”
“If you want to change your life, will you do what I ask you?” asked the Bodhitsava.
“If it is within my means, I definately shall,” said the old guru’s son. “But my own means is as I told you very limited.”
“Tommorow,” said the Bodhitsava, “you must take that sack of the rice to the market place. You must take your buffalo too. There in the market, you must sell them both for the best price you can get tomorrow. With the money you get for the sack of rice and the buffalo, you must arrange a feast for the Brahmans in town. Don’t retain any of the money, but spend it all on feeding the Brahmins”
The son was quite reluctant to follow the Bodhitsava’s advise. “But, O learned one, what will I do for food the next day. At least with the rice my family can eat and the buffalo too gives us a little milk and nourishment. What would I do when they are both gone?”
“Don’t worry about the next day,” said the Bodhitsava. “Trust me. You will not starve if you follow my advise.”
Reluctantly, and only because the Bodhitsava was his father’s favorite disciple, did the son go to the market and carry out the Bodhitsava’s orders. But when he returned, he was much afraid and unsure of the future. He told the Bodhitsava so.
“Don’t worry, have faith in me and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you have to do the same thing and feed the town Brahmins once again.”
“What, without a sack of rice or a buffalo to sell, how can I even get money to feed myself or my family, let alone a whole crowd of Brahmins.”
But the Bodhitsava assured him and told him to sleep well. But the moment he awoke in the morning all his worries returned. He ran to the cowshed where his old buffalo used to be tethered expecting to see an empty shed. But lo and behold, there tied to the stake was a brand new healthy buffalo ready to be milked! And leaning on the wall in the shed was a brand new full bag of rice!!
When he went to the Bodhitsava and told him his amazing discovery, the Bodhitsava told him to calm down and instructed him to go once again to the market, sell the sack of rice and the buffalo and feed the Brahmins in town. The son did so the second day too. And, on the third day morning, once again there was a brand new buffalo in the shed and a full sack of rice.
The Bodhitsava told the son : “ Keep doing this every day. You will not have to do any more coolie work. But never keep back any of the money you get from the sacks of rice and buffalo. Always use it all up in charity and feed the Brahmins. You shall never want in life now.”
Then he went on to ask the old guru’s son “ You had a little sister, she was born two years after you. What happened to her ? Where is she? I would like to meet her too.”
“O Holy Student of my Father,” lamented the son, “Don’t ask about her. She is now the town whore. Circumstances forced her to become a prostitute. She lives in the Harlot’s colony and it is not a nice place for you to go.”
“I am an ascetic” replied the Bodhitsava, “I do no get polluted by the material world. But you are both like family to me. It is my duty to go and see her and help her in her difficult life.”
He then went to the other side of the town where the temple dancers, prostitutes and women of the night lived. Having introduced himself, the girl told him her sad plight and wondered if there was any way out for her.
“How much do these men who visit you pay you, child?” asked the Bodhitsava.
“This is not a rich town, O holy man,” replied the girl. “It is quite a small town really. At best they would give me a hundred rupees. Sometimes if they are happy, they may give a little more as a tip. But sometimes I only get a customer who gives only fifty rupees. If they offer less than fifty rupees I have o refuse them and turn them away. It is my minimum “rate”. But I have never got more than two hundred rupees in a single night from a single customer.”
“Well, tonight, my child,” advised the Bodhitsava, “I want you to raise your price. Tonight you must close your door and tell every customer that your price has gone up. Your price tonight is not one or two hundred rupees but a full sack of pearls worth at least ten thousand rupees.”
“I’ll do it, holy one. But only for you. And you will see that I will get no customer and in fact all my regular clients may give up on me. Perhaps, like this I may get to spend a night alone.”
“Let me assure you,” said the Bodhitsava, “that is quite unlikely to happen. Just try it and see.”
That night, as the business hour approached, the girl started turning down her clients one by one. “Well,” she told them, “Tonight’s price is different. If you cant give me a sackfull of pearls you cannot have my favours tonight.”
This sent several customers away fuming. “Who does she think she is? Till last night she was reasonable and competitive with the other harlots. Now, I suppose she thinks she has suddenly grown a pair of horns (Kombu molachirukku). When it was getting really late and all the customers had been turned away, the girl was just about to retire, after a very long time alone to bed, that a fresh knock came on the door.”
A swarthy man stood at her door. “I hope it is not too late tonight, my lovely houri,” said the swarthy man, “I have your price for tonight. Here take this sackfull of pearls and come and sleep with me. I’m paying your price, so let’s go to bed and be done with it.”
In the morning, when the Bodhitsava came to see her she told him about this swarthy man who had come at the last minute and paid her what she had been asking – a sack full of pearls.
“Do the same thing tonight,” advised the Bodhitsava, “and the next night too. And keep doing it again and again every night. The same swarthy man will come every night and give you a sack full of pearls. In a few weeks, he would have become your permanent and only lover and as good a husband that you can find”. The girls promised to follow his advise.
The Bodhitsava spent a few more days checking on the welfare of the two children of his late guru. The son now had a comfortable life. He did not work. Everyday there was a new sack of rice and a buffalo that he would immediately sell, but which would be replaced the next day. The girl’s life too was getting better. She earned a sack full of pearls every night and besides her amorous business was now confined to that one swarthy man.
The Bodhitsava took leave of the two children of his former guru and proceeded from the town on his continuing wanderings. As he left the town and the road was about to enter the forest, he came upon a man hurrying to reach the town before sunset. He was a swarthy man and he was sweating profusely. On his head he carried a full 50-kilo sack of rice. Slung on his shoulder was slung a sack full of pearls. With his other hand he lead a new fat buffalo. (He also had a dog whose name, I think was Pluto)
“Hold on my man,” said the Bodhitsava. “You are very tired I can see. Take a little rest. The town is not far away.”
The swarthy man looked up to see who spoke to him. He recognized the Bodhitsava immediately. Throwing down the sack he fell abjectly at the Bodhitsava’s feet and with tears of sorrow said, “Oh it is you O Embody of Enlightenment. You are the cause of all my hardship now, O Iconoclast of Icons. I wrote the fate of that boy and girl several years ago and then I made the mistake of telling you. O Dispeller of Delusions, look what fate has now done to me? Every day I have to give the old guru’s son a full sack of rice and a buffalo, which the boy will promptly sell and squander the money on feeding Brahmins. And this is because of your advice O Debunker of Myths. And worse still I have to pay the girl a sack full of pearls every night too. And worse still too, I have to sleep with her. O Tastemaker of the Tasteless, whose fate did I write on the babies foreheads? Theirs or mine?!!”
Tale:10
Holy Fire Precious Water.
From A.K.Ramanujam
Long, long ago, in the earliest Vedic days, certain Rig Vedic and Sama Vedic Priests used to keep a constantly burning fire in their houses. It was an ever-present reminder of the fire God Agni and the fire pit was, in any case a useful sort of thing. You could warm yourself in the cold winter of Aryavarta.
(Romilla Thappar would probably date this to the first millennium B.C. and the region covered the Indus, Saraswathi, the five rivers of Punjab as well as the Ganges and Yamuna plain. This was called Aryavarta. In other words, it could get as cold as it does in winter right across from Peshawar, Lahore, Delhi, Lucknow, Kasi, Prayag and Patna.)
The God Agni, in the presence of the holy fire pit, took part in and was the central place in most of the household activities. It provided fire for the women of the kitchen, the lamps in the evening and “light” for the men’s chillums. (Clay pipes in which “pot” is smoked).
In a certain province of Aryavarta was a small village of Somaiyaji priests (Who specialize in Soma sacrifices). As was their custom, each household centered around an ever burning fire in a holy fire pit.
In a certain house in this village lived a respected and reputed Somaiyaji with his sons, daughters, daughter-in-laws and grandchildren. One cold, dark winter night, the younger daughter-in-law felt an urgent need to answer the “call of nature”. But when she got out of her bed and the warmth of her woolen blanket, she found she couldn’t take the chill. Outside the house, the cold was even worse and sent her scampering back indoor, shivering.
The pressure in her bowels to piss had increased and in desperation she looked around to check that everyone was sleeping. Silently she squatted in front of the fire pit and in the soothing glow of warmth, proceeded to pass a “copious amount of water”. She then crept back to her bed and went to sleep.
In the morning the Somaiyaji got up and went to the fire pit to start his daily routine of ablutions and rituals. But to his chagrin, he found that the fire had gone out and the firewood was all wetted. But the fire pit, which would normally have a large quantity of ashes, was filled with a heap of gold coins. Checking one of the “wet” gold coins, the Somaiyaji realized that someone had pissed on the holy fire in the night.
He summoned all the members of his household and scolded and threatened and even thrashed some of them till the younger daughter-in-law tearfully came out with the truth. But when he thought about it, he knew he could not really impose any punishment on her, besides it had been a really cold night.
But Gods are Gods and Gold is Gold, and in fact, as a result of her apparent sacrilege, the ashes had turned into a sack full of gold coins. The Somaiyaji wanted that this incident be kept a secret and commanded all the family to keep the secret safe within their four walls. But, women are women and as you all know, the least safe place for secret is with a woman.
The younger daughter-in-law told her elder sister who lived a few houses apart, admonishing her in turn to keep the affair secret. But this lady, in her curiosity about this strange phenomenon, decided to try for herself. She crept up to the holy fire pit in her own house in the middle of the night and squatted and piddled over it.
Sure enough, when her husband, another Somaiyaji woke up in the morning, he too found that the fire has been put out, but the ashes had turned into a heap of gold coins. His wife explained how this had happened and also told him that it could happen again in any other of the Somaiyajis houses if the women piddled into the holy fire pit.
The Somaiyaji, excited with this information went and informed all the other Somaiyajis in the village. As a single body they all rose and rushed to their wives and instructed their ladies to piddle on the holy fire in the middle of night and be rewarded with a sack of gold coins in the morning.
Now, at the very end of the village, a little apart from the other houses, lived a young Somaiyaji with his wife.
“Husband”, said the wife to the young Somaiyaji, “ will you not permit me to piss on the holy fire like all the other women have done? We too shall get a sack of gold coins and we can live the rest of our lives comfortably.”
“No, wife,” replied the young Somaiyaji. “ If every body jumps into a well, should we also do the same? This is not a good place. We shall move to a far away province and live among better people.”
So, the young couple moved away and settled in another province at the other end of Aryavarta. A few months later, the young Somaiyaji heard some news about their old village and told his wife: “Do you know what happened to that old village? After getting gold the people became really corrupt and immoral. This wealth only led to bitter fighting among the various households and in a gory orgy of murder, mayhem and arson, the whole village burnt down. It is now deserted and a ruin.”
“Husband,” wondered the wife, “ we too could have met the same fate. As you said, if every body jumps into a well, it does not mean we should do so too.”
| Sree Vaishnava Tales -Part II Tales From Nepal |
