Reverend Somayaji - Part1 Sitting on the second step of the wooden staircase which u -turned to reach the hall upstairs, I was staring at the door opening to the main street of our village. It was long past sunset, sparrows flying in the frontyard had disappeared, few flocks of birds up in the dusk were busy returning, two crows on the ridge seemed to do the same; but for these twitter and chirps, the whole village seemed silent , calm , and was slowly drowning into the darkness. Here and there, in the distant far, echoed a faint bleating of a calf, possibly waiting to be fed, as her mother finished milking. All of a sudden, from little far, through the door that lead to the main street of the village, I saw a Brahmin climbing the stairs and walking towards our main door. He was coming towards me, had his head shaved which was cast down, with his back bent a little was holding a small orange cotton bag , wore a thin white shawl instead of a shirt, and wore a traditional orange dhoti and, I heard him constantly chanting something sacred, while he strode along the path which opened on to the porch in which I was sitting . He seemed, coming from at least, five hundred years ago. This unusual, rather divine sight , in that tender twilight, roused in me a strange curiosity as he ascended next set of steps, as he walked across the porch, and entered the main door of my house. I quickly , ran behind him and entered the hall no sooner than he did, and stood at a distance where I could see the Brahmin clearly. My father, who was sitting in there, alone, leaning on his cushion; one of many along the wall, legs outstretched and in deep contemplation, quickly got up, stood for a while, and prostrated before him, as a mark of greatest respect. He looked at me to do the same; I fell at his feet too, my mother appeared and touched his feet, so did my granny,sister, brother, and all present there while the Brahmin chanted blessings out of Vedic texts. As soon as chanting got over, my father, with his hands still folded respectfully, addressed him in an unusually respectful way with staid, profound, expression on his face, which kind of suited the epoch the Brahmin seemed to belong. “Sir Somayaaji, you appeared here like God himself. I am very grateful to you for remembering me this way “. To this, the brahmin responded respectfully, briefly, and in more refined formal way than my father did and seemed hesitant to ask for a small favor which was the cause of his hurry. Just then my father enquired if the Brahmin wanted to offer his evening sacred rituals before he did anything at all. Very pleased by my fathers thoughtful gesture, without wasting even a second Somayaaji, took his white shawl off, hung it on the wall, hung his small bag to the same hook, removed few things tucked inside, around his waist and thrust them inside the bag, and hurriedly made towards the main door as my father guided the way. By how he conducted himself few steps inside the main door, he seemed to be aware of the house though not accurately so. He was in a great hurry by now, my father who should have been in front was left behind, who tried to get ahead to show Brahmin the way, could not do so as he was obstructed by Somayaaji and constrained by the space. After crossing two more halls, a kitchen, and an open passage we came near the backyard when Somayaji suggested he wished taking a brief bath and this was arranged by one of the followers, running to fetch a copper mug, one to get a towel, one to get powder of some herbs for Somayaaji did not incline to touch anything that did not belong to 100 years old, at the least. But for few minutes of general talking, which he did when he answered my fathers questions, all along, even when he took bath, Somayaji continued murmuring the sacred texts, which was very soothing, though faintly audible and inspired a vague fear of unknown sacred. I was now waiting for Somayaji in the hall which had small temple for our daily Vedic rituals. Most of the houses in my village had such rooms. Since I was standing right in the middle, which caused inconvenience for movement of people, which was necessary for arranging things for Somayaaji,and also as it was not quite decent to stand there and stare at such a holy person as if he was of some strange thing - I and other kids who had gathered there, were asked to move away from his sight, with a promise that we would get any sweets that would be offered consequent to Somayaajis offering to God. Though unwilling, we went out , but soon, I found a way to witness Somayaaji and his chanting by hiding behind the door that opened to this hall. From this hiding, one could see Somayaaji and the temple. By this time Somayaaji was chanting little louder, with a different rhythm. He was sitting on a mat made of deer skin; few small carved, made up of ancient wood, cylindrical containers, were placed along an arc around him. Some celestial stones, few small silver and bronze lamps, a cane bouquet of flowers, few other colorful but faded strings, made the second layer of arc. A delicate fragrance filled the hall. I felt, as though, each breathe of air carried ever deepening touch of soothing perfume of flowers of heaven. Could it be the result of power of his chants? My grandpa had told few stories where, in the ancient times, when our rishis chanted, such supernatural things actually happened purely out of power of chanting? Or it just is out of ashes he sprinkled over the water, or may be from those ancient containers, whatever it is, it was beyond any physical things, his presence , I thought, seemed to be inspiring such godliness around. Somayaaji, with pinch of ash placed on his one palm, covering it with other , placing it on his right leg went into a deep meditation. His eyes were closed, head and back were erect, face had a glint of deep silence of an unseen world. He was very still for some time. He had stopped chanting. As ritual required it, and when he slightly swayed his head, I saw a pair of huge , golden ring on his ears. It reminded one of the earrings of Karna of Mahabharata, most generous of men on earth , was blessed with. Did these rings have those life saving powers, like that of Karna? why not? Those rings looked so solid, were so heavy, glazed so resplendent, and they pulled the ears rather violently , ears looked abnormally thrust downwards with visibly large holes . I later learned that these gold rings, inherited from generations, were given to his forefathers by a well known southern king, in whose court his ancestors conducted scriptural fires,as chief priests. Sheer size ,shine and the swing, lend these rings such a touch of mystical powers, one was enchanted to experience the grandeur of ritual he was involved in. those swings of the golden rings, sometimes very gentle and so slight, moved slightly later or slightly earlier than his face moved, made it seem alive, made them appear as if two celestial birds who meticulously followed his ritualistic gestures. Somayaaji, opened and close his eyes. He touched the earth and touched the sky, sprinkled water about him, touched certain select herbal leaves in certain order, chanted louder at times, applied paste of sandalwood on select flowers in an order as he uttered few Sanskrit syllables, stood up, sat down, looked up and prayed silently and touched the ear rings as if to swing them gently, touched fingers with thumb of the same hand , gulped few drops of water from his right palm, one by one, deeply breathed in and breathed out in many different ways, and amidst series of such things, in between, he went into deep meditation. Each of his rituals and chanting stirred something deep within me. While it was all very calm, soothing, it also provoked a faint yet deep dread, a familiar unknown fright, as the one felt sitting alone by the stormy sea shore, over dark night when one perceives monstrous waves rising gradually speed towards, as if to drag one into the depth of the ocean and thereby merge ones very existence into that of the ocean, dissolve it into the vast eternity. When Somayaaji chanted some rare Vedic scriptures, in rarer rhythm which I had never ever heard, it stirred in me, very deep fear like the ocean inspired. the gap I was looking through was very narrow, still, did he see me when he opened his eyes and looked straight into the space? Can his sounds provoke the guts of ocean, rise eternity? After a long ordeal, Somayaaji finished his ritual and ate something which he himself prepared in a wood fire, wrapped himself in a thin white shawl, and appeared at the door of the main hall , while a woman waited his arrival, with a horoscope in her hand and a question in her mind... to be finished
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 06:49:08 +0000
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