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Oh My God! Episode 7

Discussion in 'Saturdays with Varalotti' started by varalotti, May 8, 2009.

  1. varalotti

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    OH MY GOD!
    A Series By Varalotti Rengasamy

    Episode 7

    Yamini and Arvind had been working together for the past three hours. Yamini’s proposal for a new book depicting the complex mother-daughter relationship had been enthusiastically accepted by her publisher. For the first time in her writing career her sign-up advance crossed the six digit mark.

    Arvind had read her ten page synopsis of the five hundred and odd page novel. He had also been thinking about the subject for the last three days. He had prepared detailed notes on the various subtle aspects the book should cover.

    Yamini was simply amazed at the depth of his understanding of the human relationships. Arvind’s mother had died early. Arvind was a lone child. He had not moved much with women. He was the least qualified to talk about the much complicated mother-daughter relationship. Yet he was giving many valuable pointers to her.


    During the last three hours Yamini had filled up some 50 pages of her yellow legal pad with the points given by Arvind.


    “Yamini, this is going to be your master piece. I won’t be surprised even if this book is nominated for a Man Booker. The mother-daughter relationship in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> is much richer and far more complex than that in the Western countries. You take care of all these aspects and you have a sure winner.”


    “I will take in all your suggestions, Arvind, on one condition. I would name you as my co-author. “


    “Oh,dear, dear… thanks for the love. But don’t ever do that.”


    “But you have provided me the very core of the book.”


    “No darling. To weave a story around this core is a difficult job. It may take weeks, months, why even years. And don’t ever mention my name. The problem is my popularity. I don’t want it to drown yours.”


    “But how can I acknowledge this precious help, Arvind?”


    “Simple. Hug your dear husband and kiss him. What more does he want?”


    Yamini complied.


    “Arvind, it’s almost midnight. I want to call it a day. I don’t think I can sleep in this state of mind. I would love to hear a typical KG’s story to calm my nerves, if that’s okay with you.”

    “Come dear, let’s go to our room.”


    “The girls are sleeping there. We might wake them up. We’ll go to the terrace.”


     
    Last edited: May 8, 2009
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  2. varalotti

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    Part 2

    Arvind sat on the newly erected swing in the terrace. Yamini was lying on this lap. Arvind pushed the swing softly. The gentle swinging movement had a soothing effect on Yamini’s nerves. Arvind started the narration.

    ‘My father avoided going out of station for office work because there was nobody to take care of me. When I was in Ninth Class he was forced to go to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Madurai</st1:place></st1:city> for a week-long inspection. I was dropped at my uncle’s place.

    KG has written a detailed journal of what happened in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Madurai</st1:place></st1:city> during that week.


    KG never stayed in a hotel. He always cooked his food. The Income Tax Department had arranged a furnished house for him close to the temple. He used to work from 7 in the morning till 2 in the afternoon. Then he would work from 5 to 8 in the evening.


     
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    Part 3

    Everyday around three he would go to the Central Market very close to the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Meenakshi</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Amman</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Temple</st1:placetype></st1:place> to buy vegetables.

    It was there he met Saravanan. Like Loganathan this character is also quite interesting and memorable.


    Saravanan was a young man in his late twenties managing the vegetable shop owned by his family in the Central Market. He had finished his Masters in English Literature but loved to sit in the shop rather than go for a clerical job.


    My father used to visit Saravanan’s shop first for he always had the best of vegetables. He never let his customers haggle the price. But his prices were quite reasonable.


    It was a Friday. KG was a little late to the market on that day. It was almost four when KG reached Saravanan’s shop. KG had bought his usual quota.


    Saravanan made an offer which was quite uncharacteristic of him.


    “Sir, you have bought half a kg of brinjal and another half a Kg of tomatoes. If you just pay for another half Kg of these items each I will give you whatever is there with me.”


    KG estimated the available quantity.He would get almost three Kgs of brinjal and tomatoes each for the price of half a KG. It was a difficult-to-refuse offer. KG thought that he could share the bounty with his next door neighbour.


    KG’s curiousity bordered on suspicion. Normally Saravanan would not reduce his price even by fifty paise.


    ‘Why should he give this much free just like that? Does he know that I work for the Tax Department and does he want to please me?’


    KG questioned Saravanan’s motives.


    “Nothing sir. It’s already late today. I have to go for temple service. Every day I give away whatever I have to the last customer for a pittance. For I don’t want to miss my chance of serving the temple. Serving the Queen of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Madurai</st1:place></st1:city>. The One and Only Meenakshi.”

    KG was surprised. What was he talking about?


    “People serve the Queen of Madurai, our Meenakshi Amman, in many ways. Rich people adorn her with jewels. What can a vegetable vendor like me do? So every day around four I report to the Superintendent at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Temple</st1:city></st1:place>.


    “He assigns some sweeping or cleaning job to me. I do it for two hours. Whatever I have in life I owe it to her. She is our Queen. Should I not do this for Her?”


    KG was moved.


    “God bless you, my boy. God bless you. Can you please do me a favour?”


    “Tell me, Sir.”


    “The place I stay is on the way to the temple. I don’t think I can lift these vegetables all by myself. I need your help. Once we keep the vegetables at my place I will come with you to the temple and be there with you while you do your service. I want to hear about the temple.”


    “Sure, sir.”


    Saravanan delivered the vegetables. He tallied the cash, locked up the cash box and closed down the shop. He did not let KG carry the bags. He carried all of them himself.


     
    Last edited: May 8, 2009
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    Part 4

    In another fifteen minutes Saravanan and KG were standing at the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">Temple</st1:placetype> <st1:placename w:st="on">Superintendent</st1:placename></st1:place>’s Office. Saravanan was assigned the task of cleaning a part of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">North Adi Street</st1:address></st1:street>. Now that is called a street only by convention. It’s the outer most praakaram of the temple. Saravanan was given two extra-long brooms, a plastic tray and a bucket for the work.

    The doors of the temple had just been opened for the evening. That part of <st1:street w:st="on"><st1:address w:st="on">North Adi Street</st1:address></st1:street> was practically deserted but for two or three persons lazing under a tree shade.

    Saravanan started to work. KG admired the way he handled the brooms. The person holding a Masters in Literature, a rich vegetabe vendor was sweeping the temple as if sweeping were his main occupation. Saravanan brought love and dedication to his work.


    KG offered to help. But Saravanan would hear nothing of it. KG was asking Saravanan several things about the temple. Saravanan’s family had been living in the town for five generations. He seemed to know everything about the temple.


    “Saravanan, I have a habit of collecting touching stories about God, about temples and devotees. If you have anything about Goddess Meenakshi I would love to hear that.”


    Saravanan was thinking for a while. His hands were busy sweeping. He held a broom in each of his hands and was sweeping the rough granite floor with deft strokes. He was skilfully gathering the dust in the plastic tray and once it got filled up, he transferred it to the bucket without spilling over.


    “I remember a very touching story of devotion told by my grand father. He should have heard it from his grand father. It’s a long story, Sir. Do you have the time?”


    “I have all the time in the world, Saravanan. Please go ahead. I am all ears.”


     
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    Part 5

    The year was 1812. <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> was under the British Rule. The top administrative jobs were held only by Englishmen.

    An Englishman by name Rose Peter had just taken over as the Collector of Madurai. A collector in those days was virtually a king of his District. He had enormous powers and was considered as the sole representative of the British Crown in his District.

    The automobile had not yet been invented. Horses and carriages were the only modes of transport.


    It was a breezy autumn evening. The Collector was going around the streets of <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Madurai</st1:place></st1:city>. People stopped on their tracks to pay respects to him. He was riding on an Arabian Horse, a privilege attached to his stately office.


    Rose Peter came near the temple. He was riding near the place where we now have a park. He was close to Amman Sannidhi. He was admiring the high, well-sculpted temple towers.


    His mind was suddenly filled up with indescribable peace. He stopped in that place.


    He was about a hundred feet away from the Amman Sannidhi entrance. People were walking in and out of the temple.


    One person saw the Collector and came running to him. He was a fifty-year old Brahman who was a clerk in the Collector’s Office. He had finished his schooling. But in those days with that education one could speak flawless English.


    “Good Evening, Your excellency.”


    The clerk saluted the Administrator.


    “Oh Good Evening, Mr Iyer. How do you do?”


    “Fine, Your Excellency.”


    “How come you are here?”


    “I come here twice in a day. In the morning and in the evening. ”


    “Who is inside this magnificent temple?”


    The Collector knew. Even before his ship sailed from the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> shores he had studied all about the calm South Indian town then called Madura and the wonderful Meenakshi Amman temple in it. He just wanted to tease his subordinate.


    “Goddess Meenakshi, Your Excellency.”


    “Oh..”


    “She is so loving, so kind and so affectionate. She’s our Holy Mother, Your Excellency.”


    “Really…”


    “Not only that. She is also our Queen, Your Excellency. She rules this small town with a loving heart and an iron hand. In the past when some demons attacked this town she singlehandedly vanquished them all, Your Excellency.


    “She’s our Queen. The Queen of Beauty. The Queen of Love. She rules over the city. She resides in our hearts.”


    That stuck a chord somewhere in the Englishman’s heart. He jumped down from the horse. He started walking towards the main entrance of the temple. Iyer was maintaining a respectable distance and walking behind him.


    Now Rose Peter was standing right opposite to the main Amman Sannidhi. Involuntarily he took off his hat.


    His mind was filled with a sense of awe. He really felt that he was standing before the Queen.


    ‘Good Evening, Your Majesty.’ He could not help whispering to himself.


    “Mr.Iyer, I would like to have a look at the Queen. Can I go in now?”


    “I am afraid you can’t, Your Excellency. Only those who profess the religion of Hinduism are allowed to enter the temple.”


    “Oh…”


    The Englishman now addressed the queen. But kept the voice so low that Iyer could not hear the words.


    ‘Your Majesty, I am here to rule this District as your representative. Please be with me and guide me.’


    “Ok Mr.Iyer. So long.”


    “So long, Your Excellency.”


    Rose Peter walked by the side of his horse for another hundred steps. Then he mounted and sped away from the place.
     
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    Part 6

    From then on it became a daily routine for the English Administrator. Every evening after completing his work at the office Rose Peter would mount on his horse and reach the temple in a fast gallop.

    When he was a hundred feet away from the main entrance of the temple he would get down from the horse, take off his hat and would start walking. When he was right before the entrance, he would stop.

    “Good Evening, Your Majesty. How are you doing, Your Majesty? You know, Your Majesty, today I resolved the border dispute in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placetype w:st="on">village</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename w:st="on">Usilampatti</st1:placename></st1:place>.


    He would go on narrating what happened in his office on that day. All in a whisper. Then he would walk a hundred feet down, mount on his horse and go home.


    As days passed Rose Peter developed a longing to see the Queen. And he started voicing his request to Her.


    After talking about the happenings in his office he would say, “I have a desire, Your Majesty. To see you. Just once. I know I can’t enter the temple. I don’t want to violate that rule. But do something, Your Majesty. I want to have a glimpse of your beautiful form before I am transferred from this place.”


    It so happened that once Iyer heard about the Collector’s secret desire. One evening as the Collector was standing before the temple entrance, Iyer approached him and spoke in a conspiratioanal whisper.


    “Your Excellency, if you so wish, I can talk to the Chief Priest and arrange to have a dharshan. We can have it done secretly. Nobody need to know it. Can I go ahead with the arrangements, Your Excellency?”


    “No,Mr.Iyer. Don’t do that. You see even in my own country I can’t see my King or the Queen unless I am a baron or a noble or have special privileges. Why should I have that privilege here and that too in a clandestine fashion? No, Mr.Iyer. I don’t want it that way.”


    Iyer went away. Rose Peter’s heart was in a state of turmoil now. He spoke to the Queen of Madurai.


    “I don’t know, Your Majesty, whether I will be able to see you before I leave this town. But I don’t want to break the law for that. Have mercy on me, Your Majesty.”


    For the first time the Englishman known to be a tough administrator shed tears.


    Tears that were more than enough to move the beautiful lady dressed in bright green saree and holding a parrot of the same colour in Her hand. She decided that the time had come.

     
    Last edited: May 8, 2009
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    Part 7

    It was a rainy night. The Collector was sleeping alone in his palatial bungalow which was just a few streets away from the temple. His family was in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">England</st1:place></st1:country-region>.

    Strong gales had put off all the oil lamps in the building. Electric power was unknown at that time. The Collector was sleeping peacefully when he heard his name being spoken by a girl.

    ‘Rose Peter.. Rose Peter… Rose Peter..’


    The Collector woke up with a start. Only his mother would call him in that fashion. The voice was that of a twelve year old girl. But the love and affection in the voice reminded him of his deceased mother.


    There were no lights. The Collector put on his robes and came out of the room.


    ‘Come, Rose Peter. Let’s go.’


    There was a flash of lightning and the Collector could see the person standing before him. It was a twelve year old girl dressed in bright green skirt and blouse. She had a lot of jewels on her. Her diamond nose-ring appeared to be brighter than the lightning itself.

    Her eyes were so beautiful and so full of love that the Englishman could not take his eyes off them. All happened literally in a flash. But Rose Peter would never forget the scene for the rest of his life.


    ‘Come let’s go.’


    The girl urged again. She started walking downstairs. Rose Peter did not have the mind to question her. He simply wanted to obey that sweetest of the voices he had ever heard. He followed her.


    When she started to step out of the house the Collector spoke to her.


    “Oh Lady, can you please give me a few minutes? It’s raining hard. Let me have my boots on.”


    “Ok. But make it fast. We don’t have much time.”


    Rose Peter found out his boots and put them on. Then he started following the girl. The girl took him outside the house.


    ‘Where are you taking me, young Lady?’


    ‘To safety.’


    Rose Peter could now see the glow in her face. This time when the lightning flashed Rose Peter had no doubts about the identity of his guide.


    He froze in his place. Never in his life had he been in such a state of awe. He was shivering but not in fear. His eyes were involuntarily shedding tears. For a while time came to a stand still for him.

     
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    Part 8

    ‘Her Majesty has come all the way for me! I am really blessed.’

    Then the Collector’s rational mind took over. But how could She speak such a good English? He mused. Poor fellow. He did not know that all the languages spoken by all the people in the world were born out of the sound of her laughter and the sound made by her anklets when she gracefully moves around.

    Tamil or English, Sanskrit or Swahili, all the languages are her creations and eternally lie at her feet waiting for her command.


    After a while the Collector observed the girl’s little feet. She did not have anything on them. He was shocked. He spoke to her in a choked, trembling voice.


    “Your Majesty, you are not wearing your shoes. Can I run back to my house and get something for you to wear?”


    “No need, Rose Peter.”


    “Please take my boots, Your Majesty. I can manage without them. Your feet will hurt.”


    Poor fellow, again. How could he ever know that the entire known Universe is a mere dust particle in the nail of Her foot’s little toe.


    “No need, Rose Peter.”


    As they were walking Rose Peter heard a huge crashing sound. He could not believe what he saw in the lightning flash. His bungalow had been hit by a lightning and had crumbled to the ground.


    Oh My God! What would have happened if I had been trapped inside? He tried to look at the figure walking in front of him. Added to the all-enveloping darkness his vision was now clouded by tears. Tears of inexpressible love and overwhelming gratitude.


    The girl was now running and Rose Peter ran behind her calling her, ‘Your Majesty.. Your Majesty.. you saved my life, Your Majesty.’


    The girl ran towards the temple and before Rose Peter could reach her she disappeared into the temple never to be seen again.


    It took a few minutes for the Englishman to understand what happened. Not only the Queen had revealed her beautiful form to him but had also protected him from a great danger. But for Her intervention the Collector would have been crushed to death by the falling building.


    “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” Rose Peter was crying like a mad man.

     
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    Part 9

    When Iyer came to the temple around six in the morning he was surprised to see the District Collector dressed in his night robes wearing a pair of boots standing before the entrance of Amman Sannadhi fully drenched repeating the words, ‘Your Majesty’ amidst sobs.

    “Good Morning, Your Excellency. What happened?”

    The Collector’s response was quite feeble.


    “Good Morning, Mr.Iyer.”


    Then he recounted the happenings of the night.


    “Oh My God! She came herself to save you! You are really blessed, Your Excellency.”

    Iyer who had just taken a bath and was wearing the sacred religious symbols all over his body fell at the feet of the Collector.

    “Come on Mr.Iyer. What’s this? You are much older to me. Why should you fall at my feet?”


    “I have been coming to this temple for the past forty years. You have not even gone inside the temple once. Yet she chose to reveal her divine form to you and not to me. That only shows the true love residing in your heart, Your Excellency. True love, wherever it is, is to be worshipped.”


    Iyer took the Collector to a nearby house and made him sit there. He organised fresh clothes for the Englishman and also got him some refreshments.


    He then ran into the temple in search of the Chief Priest. At that time the temple was under the control of the Priests.
     
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    Part 10

    Iyer told about the experiences of the Collector to the Chief Priest. He also added that the Englishman was fiercely honest in his life and was not known to have uttered any lies in the past.

    Iyer, the Chief Priest and a few other priests came running to see the Collector. The Priests did not know English and Iyer served as a translator.

    “Your Excellency, the Chief Priest here tells me that you are a blessed man. And that they are now prepared to waive all the restrictions and welcome you into the sanctum sanctorum of the temple. They are even prepared to accord you the reception that is normally given to a Hindu Saint of repute. You can visit the temple anytime, Your Excellency.”


    There was a kind of divine fulfilment in the Collector’s face.


    “No, Mr.Iyer. I don’t want it. Thank them for the gesture. She’s the Queen and I am just one of her subjects. And as the Collector I am charged with the holy responsibility of safeguarding her divine law that non-Hindus should not enter the temple. I would be the last person in the world to break Her Majesty’s law.”


    When Iyer translated the Collector’s words to the Chief Priest he did not speak. Instead he folded his hands in the direction of the Englishman.


    The Collector understood.


    “Mr.Iyer I owe my life to Her Majesty. But for Her I would have been dead by now. I want to show my gratitude, my love and my respect to Her Majesty. I want to do something for her. I want to gift something for Her Majesty. Ask them what can I do for Her.”


    Iyer and the Priests discussed for a while.


    “Your Excellency, they say you can gift Her some jewels.”


    Rose Peter closed his eyes and thought about the beautiful form he had seen a few hours earlier.


    “Mr.Iyer, I don’t think she needs any more jewellery. She already has a lot. I now remember her walking barefoot for my sake. Oh My God! What a love! She hurt her feet to save me. Why should She do that, Mr.Iyer? Why should She? Even if I had died in the building crash, what difference it would have made to this world?


    “Yet She chose to come, to show herself to me and save me from disaster. What a love! Oh My God! Even if I place the whole world at Her little feet it wont be equal to a millionth of her love. But unfortunately I don’t own the world.


    “And in future if she wants to save anybody she should not hurt her feet. The least I can do for that is to give her a pair of shoes. Made in solid gold. Can you please arrange for that, Mr.Iyer?”


    Iyer folded his hands towards the Collector. There were tears in his eyes.

    When he translated the Collectors words all the Priests assembled there folded their hands in the direction of the Collector.

     
    Last edited: May 8, 2009
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