A Mad Trip Into The Mad World of my Mad Family - Part IV

Lost in my world, I hardly took in the flurry of activity around me as the preparations for the evening puja were done. The past has an interesting way of sucking you into it. And the more you resist, the more difficult it is to not think about it. Suddenly, an elderly looking brahmin came to my father and without saying anything prostrated before him. The rest of us looked at the scene agog, while dad kept sitting back complacently, saying, "the moon's rising behind me. He's praying to chandra." We still didn't know what to make out of it. And then the brahmin got up, and bowed low doing a namaskar clearly to my father this time, who choked on the tea he was drinking. And before dad could regain his composure enough to ask what this was all about, the brahmin had walked away. All of us except dad burst out in perplexed laughter, not knowing what just transpired. 

Later, we were called to watch as a trio of singers took charge of entertaining us with retelling certain excerpts from the Ramayana. It was a group of husband, wife and daughter, who were so good at what they were doing. It was quite like the jatra form of storytelling, with the harmonium and the dhol as accompaniments to the lady's sing-song manner of narration of how Shabari offered berries to her dear lord Rama. They were like rock stars, handling the microphone with elan, engaging the audience and having them participate by clapping ans swaying to the beat. We, sitting right at the back, were enraptured in the magic the trio wove with their act. I call them The Bard Trio.

And then came the time for the havan. There were two kunds made. Uncle and aunty sat around one; mom, dad and me around the other, and guruji sat in the middle, reciting the mantras into the microphone for the entire gathering to hear. I did not understand why the whole village was present there if the puja was to quieten my mercurial temper. And then it struck me. Free dinner after the havan... the prasad. Well, some may have been there to genuinely be a part of the puja, but free food never hurt anyone. More so, guruji is a very respected man there, so all were around as a mark of respect.

There was Geeta paath between the mantras and as we poured ghee keep the fire blazing, guruj explained to us parts of the Bhagvad Geeta. It was quite interesting because I like dabbling into spheres of spirituality every now and then (religion is not as appealing). Now was good because of the mood set by the bard, her husband and her daughter.

After the havan was done, the five of us - the main participants - of the puja were asked to walk the parikrama (the boundary) of the temple with small cane-woven baskets full of batasha (coin sized sugar tablets offered to Gods during aarti or puja), while the kirtan singers began their melodious chants of Hare Rama Hare Krishna again. And then we had to throw handfuls of batasha at the two hundred odd people watching the puja. What happened next startled me, for these same people, standing with their palms joined and eyes closed in search for oneness with their Almighty, suddenly scampered and scrambled about on the floor, trying to pick up as many batasha as possible. They called out to us, asking us to throw more batasha in their direction. The chaos was funny. It was a ritual I had never even heard of. I have to ask about its significance the next time I meet guruji.

Dinner was served to the people as they assembled in the courtyard, seated in serpentine lines with the banana leaves spread out n front of them. Aunty, mom and I helped serve the food. After that was done, I was waiting outside the bathroom. It had been long since I had had the opportunity to err... em... okay... take a leak. (have absolutely no subtler way to put it).  Just then the daughter of The Bard Trio came up to me, all flustered and shy and struck up a conversation with me.

In between losing my turn to go to the loo, swaying madly from side to side to try and forget about my bursting bladder and trying to turn my cringes into a warm smile, I managed to talk to the girl - Sonali - for about 5 minutes. And when I could no longer wait, and the bathroom was finally vacant,  I excused myself as politely as I could and sprinted the distance to the loo, just 5 feet away. Sonali was a nice and warm girl. She thought I was still in high school / college (I think I liked her more because she said that). When I told her I am 28, she was shocked and exclaimed, "That's how old my mother is! You definitely don't look your age." I was predictably shocked too. I looked younger than my age! Yaay! To be 28, and have a daughter who's 14 and would appear for her madhyamik (Class X) exams later that year meant her mother was married when she was less than 13. Wow! These things about rural India are known to all of us. But they hit you harder when you  meet someone who has been through it.What is worse is, they have accepted it as a way of life and still go about performing these 'traditions" nonchalantly. I wonder if guruji has expressed a stand against it.

Some pleasant "chit-chat with the villagers" later, people started coming in to pay their respects to guruji and take his leave. I noticed that while everyone respects guruji, it is not just blind faith. They love him because he has been a helpful soul and a philantropist despite his modest means; helping the village folk in whatsoever ways possible. And guruji treats them all like children, sometimes scolding them, sometimes their friend and sometimes just cracking a joke and chuckling enjoyably. Something about him makes me like him despite the fact that I am not much of a religious person myself.

After everyone left, guruji's family and we had dinner too, again amidst lots of laughter and jokes. By the time we went to bed, it was well past 2 am. We were to leave for Bhubaneswar the next morning. I said my "thank you" to the force up there for helping me through the day without making it look like a hassle. I switched on the playlist in my phone and fell asleep to the tune of Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd.