V.
P. Gangadharan
He
never bothered to turn back and catch a glimpse of his dauntless journey nor
did attempt to reprieve the exquisitely ornate, delusive world of his past. He
lived for the moment, perceivably conquering everyone and winning everything
through his academic genius and an uncanny ability to adeptly amass fortune.
The fortune was but rapidly vanishing through his finger tips, clinging on to
the lengthy digits that he wrote loosely on cheque leaves in the course of his
luridly perverted indulgence - not once did he question the absurdity of his
material extravagance! Bragging with the insolent tone of his voice he ripped
into tatters the cloaks of moral compliance and benevolence to be bestowed into
the hungry hands of mankind. Enthralled in the glowing fire of excitement, he
plunged into a fascinating existentialism. Immersed engrossingly into its
alluring warmth, beneath the snowy-white froth, outer layers of his physical
body were wilting away while the inner vanity melted like wax. With all the
actions filled with filthy secrets he could only become infamous as an
insidious scourge in his frenetic quest for an undeserved fame.
Climactically,
he had to pull himself out of all baleful addictions although part of him
yearned for a final drag before it’s all over. Amid the stinking breath and
pitted skin, however, there remained many awful memories that would instantly
turn to be monstrous. A small minded person with full of ego, fear, anger and
mistrust would thus appear to be the reminder of a ruptured fairy tale.
Eventually,
stooped with the burden of sins he acutely felt his mundane existence suddenly
becoming utterly distressful. Under the clutches of unresolved guilt and with a
looming uncertainty of his eroding physical frame, he
started peering apprehensively into the emptiness of his own mind, for fear of
something ghastly lying in wait somewhere round the corner.
All
of a sudden he had now come to grips with the reality and felt as though he
wanted to be enlightened of the perennial happiness that he was void of. The
quest for spiritual happiness had thus emerged.
Attending
regular lectures on Vedas conducted
by a religious sect had essentially become part of his daily routine, which
indeed had paved the way into an insightful journey solo through the rhetoric
of karma and dharma ideals.
And
he began a frantic effort compulsively for restitution by seeking extensive
pilgrimage. Garbed in saffron, he had an irrepressible desire to start and
continue a journey by foot from one temple to another...
Enticed
with a sense of devotional fervour he filed past many a soliciting image that
spelt physical afflictions and poverty. In his zest to reach the altar to get
to the deity he impulsively ignored their desperate calls for a few coins...
Outside
the front entrance to the temple a leper lay, prostrated flat on his pallid face,
eroded arms being outstretched towards the devotees passing-by. The dark torso,
naked, and drenched in perspiration was glistening under the scorching sun. Not
a word came out of the corrugated lips though the slit between them widened
under the strain of hunger.
A
tear drop that appeared in the tip of the eye of a diseased beggar didn’t mean
anything to this sagacious pilgrim even though it may verily be a woeful
reminiscence of human misery.
‘One
cannot escape the eternal cycle of suffering if destined in the course of
rebirth. The current plight is determined apropos of the deeds in one’s
previous life...’
Unmoved,
while on this unfinished pilgrimage he was trying to find his reason for the
wretched plight and the gruelling physical condition of that leper.
Notwithstanding,
he longed for catching the eye of the skilfully sculptured statuettes of Gods
as he passed along the walkway to the shrine much to the belief that it would
heal the self-inflicted scars of transgression in his heart.
The
inner compound of the temple was much smaller than he expected. In the centre
was a dark shrine where all the pilgrims and devotees were waiting in a long queue
impatiently in front of the closed door that was to be opened soon.
Being
the contributor of a handsome amount for the upkeep of the temple, he could
manage to queue-jump and be positioned right in front, just an arm’s length afar
of the closed door of the shrine. Having a penchant for a devotional touch to
the deity with his finger tips he fervidly leaned forward to catch an
unobstructed view of the Almighty.
The
priest came rushing as he was behind the scheduled time to appear, and the
closed door was hastily opened for the eagerly waiting devotees.
Suddenly
the bubbles of silence burst.
Brass
cymbals were clashed.
Conch
shells were blown, louder and louder...
The
Brahmin priest chanted Sanskrit invocations which one could hardly decipher...
Even
as the oil lamps were all lit, strangely, the darkness engulfed him…
Pitch
dark!
What’s
happening?
Where’s
his God?
Had
the God disappeared from this holy shrine?
Was
he becoming blind?
Had
he once again lost all his senses?
Adding
to the mystery, he was drawn tempestuously out of the crowd and was pulled
across by an invisible power straight out, to the front-gate of the temple!
Lo!
The poor leper was still there, crawling forward with a wallet in his lofted
stumpy arm. In disbelief he searched for his wallet and found it missing!
In
a flash the handicapped, shapeless leper, being transfigured into Narasimha, rose from the ground and in a
gigantic leap lunged towards him with a thunderous roar, vigorously hurling the
wallet in the air! The wads of currency notes flew in the hot air like burst
cotton wool...
Burning
in the glowing hell-fire and damnation, with a fractured will, his head bowed.
And
he shuddered in the thunderous, rumbling roar: “Go to hell…hell…hell…!”
Drawing
from the last leftovers of dried emotions in his mind, he pleaded loudly in
response with a yelp: “Oh no...!”
When
he woke up, in front of him there stood his wife, his life’s anchor, with a cup
of bed coffee.
Wondering
she said: “Don’t say no, this will make your day…”
