COGNITIVE ANECDOTES: Culture

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The Ailing Mendicant

It was a heavenly morning in my village; Pulappatta. As I brushed my teeth, I saw the sun rays scatter, hitting the methodically arranged rubber trees; perfectly demonstrating the Tyndall effect. I always feel myself more content in my village; free from the irritatingly boisterous city life and of course, the hectic studies. I crossed into oblivion as I mused in the nature around me. Soon, I saw grandfather gathering flowers for the morning rituals. By the time he finished plucking them, I had managed to finish bathing in the pond. Days without my mom, dad and sis have always been monotonous but nevertheless being alone with grandparents always helped me to reflect upon myself.

As I sat occupied with thoughts in the verandah, my eyes set at the gate, I saw a conspicuous red figure emerging through the lush green surroundings. I wondered if it was an oracle, but there was no jingling of bells. As the figure approached our house, his looks made me realize it was a mendicant. He didn’t seem to take notice of me as he ignored our front door and walked towards our accessory door. I moved hastily towards the mendicant, he looked straight into my eyes and exclaimed “Ah, you must be Vaisakh, son of Sasi!” I was shocked; I asked in disbelief “How do you know me?” He didn’t reply, but continued staring at me in amazement and finally offered a wide grin. He quietly settled himself in the door step. I could see him reciting holy verses under his breath. Owing to his untidy beard and mustache, the contours of his face was extremely tough to make out. I tried to recollect this person, but in vain. Finally he asked me to fetch grandfather. I ran to the pooja room, grandfather had not finished praying.

“Some beggar is at our doors, he called out my name!” I said frantically

“It must be Appu” Grandfather replied.

Even though I’m seeing him for the first time, I had heard about Appu, the mendicant. He had been associated with our family for generations but it has been years since he had last visited us, probably the reason why I don’t recall him. I remembered granny saying that this mendicant was particularly fond of my dad. But I still couldn’t fathom how he recognized me, ‘may be because I resembled my father in looks’ I reflected. We soon approached the mendicant; with much effort, he stood up as a token of respect and greeted my grandfather. It’s now that I realized he was terribly old.

“I’m not the same any more, I just turned 80!”

The mendicant spoke with a slight humor, embarrassed with his paroxysmal efforts to rise up. I felt sorry for him. He pulled me closer, made me sit beside him and asked me when we returned from Varanasi and as I expected, enquired about the well being of my dad. Like a baby, I replied politely to his questions. His body had a mystic odor. Though he looked as if he hadn’t bathed for months, his body smelled fresh herbs, a smell so captivating that no other deodorant could match. I enjoyed his company. As we talked; he explained to me how much he longed to go on a pilgrimage to the holy city of Varanasi, which is considered to be the final destination of most yogis and mendicants. I wondered how blessed I was to spend 3 years at this city.

My grandmother soon came with a banana leaf and started serving the specially made items for the mendicant. As he ate, he shared a lot of experiences, from the various temples he had been lucky enough to visit to his own family matters. The innocence with which he spoke, the compassion and benevolence in his eyes made me wonder how men like him with divine virtues could thrive in this devilish world.

The mendicants are devotees of Lord Subramanian. On the 1^st Monday of a new Malayalam month, they beg, moving from house to house collecting food grains, money and even clothes. Families having a good liaison with the mendicants, like ours would offer free meals to him. A custom known as “aandi-oottu” involves presenting the mendicants of this clan with food and valuables, prior to their pilgrimage.

“I had wished to come to Varanasi when your family was there, now since you have come back, my chances of making it is very feeble” he said, I could feel a regret in his tone, which made my heart weep. Again, wrestling with his own body, he got up, placed his hand on my head and blessed me. Then he gave a handful of the holy “bhasma” to each of us and finally completed the thankful gesture by blowing the white magnificent conch.

I desperately wanted to spend more time talking to this genuine and lovable old man. But then, it was a long walk back for him and I didn’t expect him to have the luxury of being driven in a vehicle. He wished me good luck and again pressed me to convey his regards to my dad, I promised him I would and sincerely wished in my mind he would make it to Varanasi. The ailing mendicant now walked back to the lush green from where he emerged, dragging him along the way.

Today, the mendicant is just a memory, his dream of making it to the holy city, unfulfilled …

The Oracles Of Pulappatta

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It’s the festive season in my village; the temple is all set for welcoming the oracle. Dressed in bright red and holding the holy sword, the oracle starts his day with energy and vigour, likely to get more intense as the day progresses. Few local villagers accompany the oracle to collect rice grains and money from the houses that lie in the vicinity of the temple. It is intended to benefit the temple workers and the poor.

The festival means a lot to the villagers. It is meant to bring prosperity and good luck to the village and so, the oracle is considered to be a person through which the mighty goddess conveys her blessings to the people [Oracles are usually associated with temples that worship goddesses].

Anxious people await the oracle to arrive in their houses and bless them. Tension is always in the air when the oracle arrives at the house. He runs around the house maneuvering him through the narrow corridors throwing rice grains. This ritual is believed to purify every corner of the house. Children hide desperately, too afraid of the oracles enthusiasm with the sword in his hand. The long hair, dark skin and bright red clothing with an enterprising sword in his hand make a fearful prospect for the kids. The blessing ceremony is traditionally done by placing the blunt end of the sword on the devotees head, often turns out to be a nightmare for the younger members of the family. This marks the end of the oracles duties, now the family head shows his gratitude by offering the oracle rice grains and money. The oracle is now all set to move on to next house and repeat the rituals.

The oracle finishes blessing the houses by dusk and starts his venture towards the temple along with the local villagers who accompanied him to the houses.

The jingle of bells as he walks on vigorously cuts through the tranquility prevailing in the village. His energy levels now begin to increase in an exponential fashion as he approaches the temple. It reaches its maximum on arrival at the temple. The people greet him with prayers. The deafening sound of instruments and the mystic smell of holy smoke create an atmosphere that sets fire to the dynamite waiting to explode in the oracle and he bursts into dancing and jumping vigorously. A strange energy runs through his blood, he cuts his head time and again and blood pours out like lava overflowing from a volcano. The temple now would have definitely evoked a sense of chaos in a young individual. The oracle continues to dance in the bedlam. Villagers pray with desperation and after several minutes of self-mutilation, the oracle calms down. The people cover his wounds with turmeric powder to check the overwhelming bleeding. The oracle sits exhausted.

The villagers believe God himself incarnated into the oracles body as for he knew no pain when he cut through his head. The oracle was in another world for several minutes, where he had no family, no belongings, no emotions, not even a body of his own. The power of faith in the goddess, the rigid feeling that the goddess will bless the village through him made his soul imbibe an energy that is alien to the world of science.
It has been a long day for the oracle, his deeds done, mission accomplished. Now he walks back carrying his humble share of rice grains and money through the murky night to his home, where his family awaits for his selfless soul.