Corn, Purple-saree & Cloud Nine

CORN, PURPLE-SAREE & CLOUD NINE ​

I am Kamalabahi.
I wish to tell you a real incident.
I have a new purple-saree..

Today to Krïsnā temple, I would wear this NEW saree to proclaim to devotees there that I too can drape with elan an expensive saree, though my husband is tad moron, child-like & unemployed; and we are indigents .

This saree is delicate and said to be an expensive one. I must wash the saree before visiting the temple at dusk. I shall be meticulous in washing it, though it is not soiled yet.. yet I would gently hand-wash it in water.
While I was washing it, I had a queer thought.

Would my washing hurt the saree? I was softly striking it with a piece of wooden log over a flat-stone. I couldn’t arrest my laugh. It was about my ridiculous contemplation that saree might get hurt or injured while washing it on flat-stone. I felt that my palms knew how delicate the brand new saree is: it looks as though my palms developed an affection to it and so I softly squeezed it.

A stranger - a devotee - a fan of my darling husband for his powerful melodies singing ever praising Bhagwan Krïsnā handed this saree as a gift to him. Otherwise with our hand to mouth existence, how come my poor husband can afford to buy such a costly saree.

When I think of words “Income” & “Earnings”! OMG! It produces wry smile on my face that reflects my bitterness in mind. It is said to get & remain employed is ‘grammar of manliness’. My husband has never been in employment nor ever earned a paisa.

If throughout his wakeful hours, he keeps himself busy singing devotional songs and remain in stupor, would that fetch us food ever? You know food not get cooked automatically without burning hearth? Without fuel? Without rice or grains? After all one has a stomach always in chronic hunger. Few weeks before, I spoke to a friend and got my husband a watchman post in a corn-field. But my lazy husband could not protect his job nor the corns nor the mannequin nor he could act like a scarecrow.

All that he could do was to hop on to a make-shift tent. His act of climbing over pergolas in corn fields and singing at top of his lungs could not dissuade the birds from eating away the corns nor they seem to dance to his rhythms. The field turned soon devoid of corns. So he was fired from the job.

Bhajans - krïsnā bhajans. All the time singing! I too am a devotee of Krïsnā. Yet not like him- a fanatic. I don’t know when God Krïsnā would open His eyes wide to bless us eliminating poverty.

Another issue with my husband is that he never cares to maintain dignity of his belonging to a higher caste; he equates himself with lower caste people & the untouchables. He would keep them enthralled with his singing bhajans. You know none of our higher caste devotees of Krïsnā would tolerate and so they all today turned his arch enemies.

With these thoughts uppermost at the back of my mind, I wrung the rinsed “new saree” and spread it over a dry-line. The day being windy, this saree would get dried up in no-time.

I ambled toward the foyer looking for my husband. I saw him squatting over the thinnai ( திண்ணை). As usual he was in different world with his eyes shut, singing a new divine-song for Krïsnā. A group of villagers stood-still enjoying his singing. His melodious voice and depth of bhakthi-devotion melted my heart. Ok let him not earn or make money. But should he not atleast maintain dignity for sake of his higher caste and follow the orthodox conventions & rituals.

When I broach him about majority of this large gathering of men & women before him belong to lower caste & untouchables, he would laugh & brush it aside stating that all belong only to one religion called “human”.

From earshot, a young voluptuous but raggedly dressed lass was drawn into his melodious voice was listening in rapt attention to his rendering a bhajan.

I looked at her saree torn in many places was hardly covering her honour. . My husband looking at her addressed softly, “oh my dear sister! Come and sit at close proximity”. I got enraged; It was exasperating that he was so kind - accosting a low-caste untouchable lady dressed in torn shabby saree to come close to him and sit. He may even offer her a crown if he has one.

I just felt I had no role to play here.

Jerking my neck & in a huff - I left the scene in trot into my home.

Thinnai-concert was still going on. The gathering was in a trance; getting enthralled. It seemed the young lady in tattered saree too sat mesmerised. Eventually my husband concluded his concert for the day and advised the gathering, “Bhagwan Krïsnā has no bias toward any an or woman of any religion or caste or creed. Just continue to sing bhajan and worship Him that would pave way for you to reach heaven”

One by one from the gathering dispersed. The young lady was still sitting aplomb.
“ Are you not going home?” Queried her - my husband.
“Let everyone move out. They are all high caste people. If I go before them, they would be commenting from behind about my saree in tatters” responded the poor lady. .
“You don’t have another saree - my dear?”
“Once upon a time, I had numerous. But few years ago, when a woman - to protect her honour - beseeched my philanthropist husband to donate a saree, my husband gave away all my sarees to her. I am left with a saree that I was wearing then. When he was a tad mischievous child - used to rob & hide clothes of ladies from the spots where they were taking bath in a pond under shade of a tree and would return only when they beg Him to return.
Since he harassed ladies in this manner, it looks his spouse was destined to have a single saree that is torn in many places”.

After listening to her many more anecdotes, my husband told her to wait for a while and sauntered toward the backyard. I went behind him to watch what he was upto. No sooner he reached the backyard, he pulled out the new saree from dry-line that I washed a while ago.

With rolled up saree on hand, he came to the foyer back. He handed the saree to the waiting lady and said,
“Oh my God’s child, here is a saree that is new without holes. Wear this right now. Ladies should never wear torn sarees”.

With new saree in her hand, the lady looked at him quizzically enquired, “Guruji. Will your wife be not angry with you for donating her saree to me?”.

“Of course! She will! But for how long? She has another saree that is not in tatters. For you this saree is a necessity”.

After listening to my husband’s this response, she smiled a bit and left with the my new saree.
He was not aware that I had watched all this scenario from a hiding at a distance.

Dusk has set in. I was preparing to go with him to Krïsnā temple. I pretended to go to backyard to get the saree that I washed and put it on dry-line. I returned to him red in my face.
“Where is the new saree?” I shouted at him.

“A lady came morning to listen to my bhajan. It was pathetic that she was wearing a saree that was torn in many places and so it hardly covered her honour. So l gave her that new saree. In any case, you have another saree that has no tear.

After his child-like utterance, I could not decide whether to cry or laugh. He doesn’t even realise the level of our penury and hardly there is any food or food-grains at home. But he is always generous minded. He was not even able to manage a simple job of protecting the corn-field. My eyes get welled up. Wiping the tears, I locked the door & was following his foot-steps toward temple.
Seeing me shedding tears, he said, “Kamala - no need to cry. Our needs will always be taken care of by Krïsnā “.

With a heavy sigh of relief, in reticence
I just walked behind him sauntering toward the temple.
He & I, had approached together at sanctum.
When my eyes shut, tear jerked and I was standing before the deity asking Him - “Krïsnā - why have You created my husband like a moron-child?”

I opened softly lazily my eyes a few moments later.

At the sanctum, Panduranga aka Krïsnā holding His hands on either side of His waist; & His Consort Rukmani - both were casting an enigmatic smile. I rubbed my eyes and wide open. Incredible. The idol of Rukmani seen clad in my My New Saree. The same purple saree that I washed carefully in the morning and put it on dry-line at my backyard. I rubbed my eyes hard and seen it was no different. It is same my new purple saree.

Oh my god. That lady appeared at thinnai-home listening to my husband’s bhajan! She came like a tribal-woman. The untouchable! Oh my!

It was none other than my Mother Rukmani. Oh my mother. Pardon me. I apologise. I never understood greatness of my husband. I spoke very low of him. Only our penury impelled me to talk ill of him. My impression of him was all wrong.
I now understand the core-truth behind in my husband’s statement. All women - all untouchable - ladies - irrespective of their caste are all your avatar. Your reflection.

I bowed and prostrated before deities Krïsnā & Rukmani. My eyes tear-gathering. With enormous kindness, I held my hand tight with his - fingers entwined - rubbing shoulders, we ambled toward our hovel.

It was a twilight around. A fresh looking well decorated - fully loaded bullock-cart was halting before our home. An old stocky-turbaned-man alighted from the cart - seen us and approached us with his palms glued in front.

Addressing me, He told, “Kamala bai- don’t you remember me? you know that just before harvest, I employed your husband as a watch-man for my corn-field. I dismissed him because he was not doing the assigned job.
But I am surprised today that my corn-estate had now yielded ten times over normal. Your husband is not an ordinary man. He is God-sent. As a token of my gratitude to him, I have brought for him several bags of grains including rice and few gold coins”.

I stood non plussed. My husband
- Saint Thukkaram & I were ecstatic.

My husband coyly said, “Kamla! Rukmani wore the saree which we handed her. Her Husband paid the price for saree in the form of our annual requirement of varieties of grain and gold coins”.

I leaned my head over his chest and
both of us were in soft smile on cloud-9.

​

 

@maalti @joylokhi @jayasala42 @Rihana
@Viswamitra @umaakumar
Similar threads used to take-off well with your first feed back. Hence this tagging.
Regards.

 

It appears stalwarts and veterans don’t drop into fiction forum .

But number of views is considerable and hope one day i may get folks read this post and give their FB. However i wish to tag bhaktha siromanis @Jaysree @EnlightenedSoul @jyothishri and other pals @messedup @aarthi28 @svpriya @swarnamary @iyerviji @mbharani @gamma50g @vidhyalakshmid @anika987 @maalti @MalStrom @Mistt @Lalithambigai @HariLakhera @satchitananda

 

Thank you. A significant beginning of like & FB for this story. I cherish the very lines what you seemed to have cherished.
God Bless.

 

Thank you. I am glad of your comments and now you know one more additional story from spiritual side. God Continue to Bless all your family members & You.
Regards.

 

Thanks for the comments. Feel overwhelmed.

Indeed. Few decades ago, sincere devotees were handful and in many shrines including Pandrapur one could d easily reach the sanctum and spend time infront of deity without any undue pressure.
In 1987-88, I drove ex Bombay Now Mumbai with family and my in-laws to Shirdi. Though it was a Thursday in summer, the place was all open and shrine of Saibaba Was small without any ostentation . A short queue of around fifty devotees moving slowly and steadily and each one could touch the feet of Sai and in prayers for few moments with no one chasing the devotee at sanctum.

The status is reversed in few decades with area taken over by commercial interest.

 

@vidukarth your comments for my anecdote
A Date With Ekadasi Vradham(fast)
are still green in my memory and i continue to cherish.
I wish you read the story in this thread here and love to have your valuable comments.
Regards.
God Bless