Crossroads of Time

Telugu: Vakati Panduranga Rao

[Change is a continuum. Change of values and morals is a common and perpetual complaint of the older generation. The fact of the matter is, as trade, travel, communications, and interactions between peoples increase, there is an ineluctable exchange and admixture of cultural practices. While youth readily embraces any change, the old are grudgingly reluctant and resistant to it, extolling the tradition, forgetting that tradition is never static but only dynamic.  But people who pass through the moment of change wonder if the change were for the good. As Lord Tennyson has said, always ‘old order changes yielding place to new lest a good custom should corrupt the world.’

Vakati Panduranga Rao beautifully captures the changing cultural perceptions of the youth, from the west and the east, acknowledging and appropriating others’ culture to be better than their own.]

*

I am Jagannadham.

Maybe for that very reason, I had been dreaming of making a visit to Puri since coming of age. But the desire was fulfilled only after I turned forty-two.

My grandfather’s name was also Jagannadham. They say, I was named after him. But then, what was the name of his grandfather? Was it Jagannadham again?

Just as Tirupathi is associated with the presiding deity Venkanna, Simhadri with Appanna, and Bhadradri with Ramayya, Puri is associated with lord Jagannath.

Perhaps that ​was how I associated my name with Puri.

*

One of my maternal aunts on her way back from a long pilgrimage to Varanasi, Gaya, and Puri, brought home a photo of lord Jagannath. I saw it for the first time. I noticed that he neither had any flowing arms nor lotus-petal-like eyes, as many other male deities were often depicted or acclaimed of. I asked many people for the reason, but nobody gave me a satisfying answer.

Perhaps that ‘mystery’ was lying dormant in some corner of my mind.

By the time I came out of college, my parents hurried for their heavenly abode. And one of my friends Lakshmi, who seemed the meaning and purpose of my future and whom I expected to be companion for life, suddenly deserted me, and settled in US. The last thing I heard about her was that she had two kids and her American husband was having a thriving business there.

Two decades passed in loneliness. As an Ad company executive, I never had to worry about the comforts of life. There was no dearth of luxuries like— sumptuous parties, travel by flights, star-hotel stays, intimacies of a few hours— and various degrees of other friendships. Life went by ‘being in’ in everything but ‘without’ any indulgence or belonging to any relationship. Elders insist on marriage, perhaps for that reason.

Attending a conference in Calcutta, I was returning by Coromandel Express that day. The train was suddenly terminated at Khurda Road citing Vamshadhara River was in spate, and part of the rail track was washed away. My program to Madras (now Chennai) was thus aborted. There was no immediate flight to Hyderabad, either. I was thus stranded on the platform.

As I was lost in thoughts about my next move, a train stopped on the adjacent platform. When I enquired, my neighbor said it was a Puri-bound Passenger.

That’s it!

Immediately I purchased a ticket to Puri and got into it.

It was a Puri Passenger. And I was a passenger to Puri. In a way, both of us are synonymous. After all, so long as one travels by that train, the train and the passenger are one and the same. His speed is the same as that of the train; and his direction is also the direction of the train.

I came to know of a third connotation of the word ‘passenger’ when I last stayed in a hotel at Vijayawada.

In that sense, I was a ‘passenger’ at the Grand Hotel two days ago.

But… But… that journey…

Was it a journey at all? A wheeling around the same place without any displacement … like a broken tide that never regains its height … a vortex of overwhelming emotions twining and untwining mortal frames … with a semblance of body, spirit, and the spirits.

*

The train was yet to start. I saw through the window a boyish beggar scouring a heap of debris to find something to eat.

“Couldn’t that have been me?”

For a moment, it looked like I was the speeding train, I was the beggar, and I was also the dog fighting for the leftovers.

*

Passengers were slowly trickling into the compartment one by one. They appeared coarse for appearance but were innocent. My unfamiliarity with their language could also be another reason for my supposing that way.

I bought a Kheera (Cucumis Sativus) for twenty-five paise. The vendor nicely sliced it into round pieces and served, garnishing them with gentle spray of salt. They were pleasant to munch, and I was enjoying them, reclining gracefully on my berth. I was taken aback by a pleasant voice which pleaded in flawless English, “Can I sit here?”

That was an old man was looking very fair and healthy. Behind those black-rimmed spectacles, his eyes radiated scholarship and humility. I sat up immediately to make room for him.

Occupying the seat, he immediately lost himself reading some book. The title was only partially visible, and I struggled hard to make it out. It was “The Romeo Error: A Matter of Life and Death” by Lyall Watson. The title surprised me no little.

Ultimately, the train had started with a jerk. I soon entered into conversation with him. He was a businessman in Cuttack and visiting his daughter living in a village close to Puri.

I told him about my journey. He felt so happy and remarked with a soft smile, “That way, the lord Jagannath has beckoned you to him!” I nodded my head in assent.

Lord Jagannath was an integral part of their lives!

He casually remarked, “Many people visit Puri. Have a darshan of the Lord. Perform Pujas. Take his Prasadam. Buy his photos, paintings, and models. But it rarely strikes to any of them, why the Lord’s image is so different from the other deities.”

A mixed feeling of excitement and fear swelled up in me as I heard him say that.

“How come he knew the very question that has been burning in my mind for years? Should I call this initiation to a question, that has haunted me since childhood, an accidental coincidence or divine grace? Is there anything like divine grace at all? And if it were there, I didn’t see a single merit in me that qualifies to receive it?!”

I was befuddled.

He went on.

“Bible says that God has created man to his likeness. It is a moot point. But the fact of the matter is, that man has created God as his replica. That is why, when man is terribly afraid, his God looks frightening; and when man is craving for love, his God looks serene and tranquil. Since man has only two hands, he conferred eight hands to his God making him more powerful than him. But, when it came to depicting an image of supreme power that was invisible, incomprehensible, undefinable, and unimaginable, man was besieged with challenge to overcome the familiar attributes and motifs. So, he created an icon, a symbol that helped his mind transcend from ‘Form’ to ‘Formlessness’ and from the ‘Attributes’ to the ‘Attribute-lessness.’ Normally, one needs an image to focus one’s mind. But when one wants to transcend the mind, he needs a symbol and Lord Puri Jagannath serves one such symbol…”

It seemed that I understood him, but I understood him a little; there was a lot left to comprehend. But, as he regaled in explaining his point, supporting his arguments quoting slokas extempore from the Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, and the Purusha Suktam, and how the ideas were embedded in the idol of Lord Jagannath, I was really overwhelmed. I was even more surprised how something so incomprehensible could still be interesting. Is there no primacy to ‘understanding’ which we so often emphasize in learning?

One station before Puri he got off. He conversed as if we had known each other for years. And as abruptly as he had entered the compartment, he disappeared with his bag. How foolish of me! I should have asked for his name.

The train reached Puri. The station was so unfamiliar. Fortunately, the rickshaw puller was a Telugu. I asked him to take me to “Pantha Nivas” maintained by the government. I could get accommodation there.

A la carte meal! And sufficient rest.

When it was getting five in the evening, I walked out onto the beach — spreading wide across in front of the hotel. The bluish sea was now aglow under the golden wash of the setting sun. I was walking over the sands wetted by the receding tides.

My mind was full of thoughts that were not amenable to reason.

Suddenly, I heard a burst of laughter before me. Two couples, walking in a single rank, passed by me resting hands on each other’s shoulder and laughing and shouting wildly together in inexplicable pleasure. They must be in their late twenties. The lady, looking a shade dark, wore jeans; next to her was a man in printed Lungi and curly hair. He closely resembled the person we often see in ads. To his left was a lady wearing a saree and her earrings were as big as bangles. And to her left was a very tall guy in pant and sports banian.

I passed by those so called ‘Mod’ looking couples… Mod by their mood if not by their age. They must be progeny of some stinking rich families from Bhubaneswar. They might be here on a picnic. They were enjoying a holiday!

I took a turn to the left and walked on to the road. I saw a beautiful Bungalow. Some ‘Naidu’ was barely visible on the name plate at the gate. Next to it I saw a billboard indicating it was an Inn. I was happy to note that our people were also going out to far off places to run a lodging house. Some foreign ladies occupied the cane chairs lying scattered on the lawn. They were donning very bright-coloured apparel.

I walked ahead.

I took a rickshaw to the Jagannath Temple. The rickshaw puller was again a Telugu person.

I got down at one end of the street.

The street was very wide, flanked by old buildings and shops stretching onto the street. It was filled with the hustle and bustle of rushing crowds, shouts of vendors, and bargaining by pilgrims while some branded cows moved freely pushing through the crowds and haphazardly parked vehicles. Overhearing somebody, I turned my looks in the direction of Maharajah of Puri’s palace. There was Govardhan Math established by Sri Adi Sankara, the pioneer of Advaita Philosophy. Bammera Potana’s poem from Shrimad Bhagavatam describing the ephemeral nature of material riches came to my mind: Kingdoms flourish and disappear leaving their vestiges and their hierarchies behind. The ‘Monasteries (seats of power and learning)’ were shaken to their roots, but strangely, the ‘Monastic Heads’ remained.

No matter how many times I repeated that I had no need for him, the guide did not listen and was after me. Despite my reluctance to pay any attention to whatever he had uttered, few words still trickled into my ears:

“There you look! High over the trees, with singular architectural elegance, a tapering array of circular stone discs one over the other culminating at the ‘Gopuram (pyramidal tower)’ of the temple, rising far away from the crowd and reaching out to the heavens.”

A few centuries before, it must have just been an idol sculpted by a human hand lying under a temporary habitat. Man called him God and started worshipping strongly believing that He was his father, his mother, his friend, and teacher. On the strength of his belief, he propelled himself to jet out into the skies. And with the loss of faith, man had plummeted down. The idol had been watching his progress and fall and continued to smile with the same indifference. But that idol provides livelihood for thousands of people. Surely, there are some welcome fallouts from God’s benevolence.

I laughed at my own train of thoughts.

Avoiding Pandas, guides, and vendors, I started climbing up the temple steps. I reached the main pavilion, passed the ‘Garuda Pillar,’ and entered the sanctum sanctorum.

I was reminded of Annamayya Sankirtan: “Lo! Behold! There it is! The abode of Lord Vishnu!”

And over the tonsured tops of a swelling tide of pilgrims I could see the idol of Lord Jagannath… short, ebonite, unique and peculiar looking, flanked by Rukmini and Balabhadra.

Every word uttered by my co-passenger about Lord Jagannath in the train came to my mind. What was his name? Unfortunately, I never asked him. Forget about it. When his words were echoing in my mind, how does his name matter to me now? Okay. Just to pacify the fastidious inquisitive mind, won’t it be enough to call him ‘the commentator’?

“Hare Krishna!”

The odd pronunciation of the words instantly made me turn my head towards the person. He put on a Saffron Dhoti and Kurta. He left a tuft of hair on the back of his head with a knot. On his forehead there was a long sectarian mark of sandal. He was a foreigner looking at the idol of Lord Jagannath with blissful oblivion to his surrounds.

When his eyes finally turned towards me, I greeted with “Hello!”

“Hare Krishna!” he reciprocated with a smile that had a touch of moonshine.

Together we visited and looked at a host of small miscellaneous temples, sculptures and the museum of paintings depicting the life of Lord Krishna in the pavilion. I witnessed a strange ecstatic feeling in him at every mention of Krishna’s name. Every time I saw it, I was pricked by a mixed feeling of jealousy and sympathy. Jealousy for his ecstasy in ‘appropriating something we abandoned as worthless,’ and pity for his foolish infatuation and loss of wisdom. Knocking at the doors of civilization on the strength of modern education, we have long thrown into the dustbin as utterly useless … what he has been appropriating.

Nandigram. Yes, that was his present name. Berry Drawman by birth and a computer scientist from Detroit, he transformed completely after his meeting with Prabhu Pada Swamy. His name, his costume, his language, and his religion, had all undergone total transformation.

“Krishna is truly Lord Jagannath, the lord of the world. There is nothing holier than reciting ‘Hare Krishna.’ Reading Bhagavatam confers peace and tranquility to the mind. ‘PurushatvEca mAM Dhiiraa, sAMkhya Yoga Visaaradaa.’” As he started quoting Slokas extempore from the Bhagavatam with a touch of English accent, I felt ashamed. I was really surprised and unable to comprehend what adorable thing these Americans and Germans see in the language that we had long dubbed and condemned as ‘Dead Language’?

Meanwhile, a group of six foreign ladies passing by greeted us with an enthusiastic “Hare Krishna!”  Nandigram introduced a hefty-looking lady, the leader of that team, as ‘Devaki.’ There was a ten-year-old girl with her. Her name was Santi. In a mirror-worked petticoat and jacket, and two flowing gold-color tresses, she was looking cute. She was Devaki’s Daughter. When she asked for curd, her mother took her to a shop nearby.

They were all members of the Hare Krishna cult. All the ladies were staying in separate rooms at the Inn. Two more male members of the group other than Nandigram were residing in the Pantha Nivas.

Santi came to Nandigram with a capering gait and said, “Dad! Just taste this. It’s so yummy!”

Caressing her head affectionately, he said, “Why won’t it be yummy? This is the land of Krishna that loves milk and curd.” And he went on to add:

“Krishnaa praaNah, mama praaNah, Krishnaa jiivah, mama jiivah

vAjmanah SrOtra jihvaaghrANai, ucchAsvaroopENa bahirAgatya!

Is it the height of their stupidity or genuine ecstasy! While all and sundry, from the Venkiah​’​s to Subbamma’s of this country crave for the Green Card on one side, these Americans, abandon the opportunities and the wealth of comforts of that land and run to this slum in search of Krishna and his sour curd in earthen pots! And strangely, they even delight and get ecstatic about this land as the birthplace of Krishna!!!

“What is the spirit and essence of life that we missed in the name of living?

Where is the wisdom and intellect, we forsook collecting information?

Where is the knowledge, we lost in our endeavor to gather facts?”

Did Eliot mean exactly the same when he wrote those lines?

Nandigram was speaking animatedly about their program. “We get up as usual at four in the morning and take a dip in the sea. After meditation, prayer and reading Bhagavatam, we go to the Inn by six. There the women folk shall join us. All of us go together to Bhubaneshwar first and from there to Mayapuri. We spend the entire day taking part in festivities like singing, dancing, and praying, celebrating the birthday of Sri Chaitanya Maha Prabhu. We eagerly wait for this day the whole year…”

There was uninhibited enthusiasm evident in his words. Who am I to dub him foolish? When he could appropriate such wholesome bliss, what should he care about what I think of him?

We parted ways saying, “Hare Krishna!” instead of goodbye.

Somebody at the dinner table held out his hand introducing himself as Madhusudan. He then called out a dark-colored lady and introduced her as ‘Kuntal.’  Leaning over him, Kuntal stretched out her hand towards me greeting, “Hai!”

I recognized that it was one of the two pairs I saw on the beach that evening. I enquired about the other couple. “You mean Mala and Manoj? They will be here any moment. Why don’t you join us for a grub?” Madhusudan extended an invitation.

‘Grub’ literally means the thick-bodied, sluggish larva of several insects, but here he only meant dinner.

I said okay. One must speak the jargon of his ilk.

The second couple, Manoj and Mala soon arrived. Kuntal was Madhusudan’s girlfriend. They were very jovial and could not help falling over one another on some pretext or the other.

Meantime, the bearer brought glasses, wine, and ice bucket. They briefed me about themselves. They were from Delhi.

As I narrated my travel experiences and jokes, they thoroughly enjoyed them.

While food was being served, I started telling them another joke:

“In US, a girl went to a doctor as she was not feeling well.

“After examining the girl, the doctor, in a bid to convey the good news, has said enthusiastically:

“`Lady! Here is good news for your husband.’

“The girl replied, ‘I am not married.’

“Then the doctor said, ‘Then, there is good news for your boyfriend.’

“The girl replied, ‘I don’t have a boyfriend either.’

“Then the doctor had said with all humility, ‘Then baby, be prepared for the second coming of Christ!’”

The moment I finished the joke they laughed, splitting their sides. As everybody was watching, Kuntal got up suddenly, turned my face towards her and planted a deep kiss on my cheeks hailing ‘great!’

I was dumbfounded. Felt even embarrassed. But the other three took it in their stride as if it were a routine matter. I was afraid that somebody else in the dining hall was watching us.

We got up after dinner.

“Would you like to follow us for a stroll on the beach?” Manoj extended invitation.

“I am so sorry. I have another engagement,” I excused myself. I went out to buy some cigarettes. I heard a rickshaw bell ring, and before I could even step aside from the middle of the road it passed almost brushing me.

“Jag…nath!” I heard somebody calling my name.

I looked up. It was Nandigram! He got down the rickshaw.

“We will be leaving early morning, you know. I am not sure when I will be back here again. So, I thought of having another darshan of lord before leaving this place. Would you like to accompany me?” he asked.

I got into the rickshaw. It was nearing ten.

We got down at the temple.

We went in. The inner sanctorum was very peaceful. There were just three or four of us pilgrims and a few priests. That’s all.

I stood in front of the statue of lord Jagannath.

“As Arjuna has said, ‘He has no beginning, no present and no end.’ That is why the top of his head, and the foot are so flat. “natatra suuryObhAti natatra candra tArakam” says SwetasvatarOpanishad. His is the primal epochal volition even before the Sun or the Moon had existed or were aglow. That is why He glows in ebonite black. “SiddhaM sAkshitvaM Anya PurushAya” says Saankhya Kaarika of Kapila. Those eyes without eyelids stand witness to the happenings. If there were eyelids, they would wink even for a fraction of a second. And if He winks, it would be a breach of his duty to stand witness. For the very reason, as Saint Tyagaraja had acclaimed, he had Sun and Moon for his eyes. In Shrimad Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna addresses Lord Krishna as ‘Maha Baahu’ (Strong armed). Hands indicate something to be done ‘manually.’ So, He has only Arms without hands. Similarly, feet stand for displacement, moving from one place to another. And so, He has only legs without feet. This is a true representation of the Upanishadic statement “Apaani paadau” (sans hands and feet). This way, the idol of Lord Jagannath is a metaphorical depiction of amalgam of ideas, and upholds the meaning of “sarvendriya gunaabhaasam, sarvendriya vivarjitam, sarvasya Prabhu meesaanam, sarvasya…” … that is, lording over the creation without having the manifest features of any sensory organs yet possessing the perceptions they present. He is endowed with the bare minimum features; and anything less would render him incognizable, and anything more would make him unsurmountable for us. That is the secret behind the image of Lord Jagannath.”

What ‘the commentator’ had said in his resounding voice in the morning I was able to see in the image in front of me in the sanctum sanctorum. As the same expression seemed to be coming out from the idol, the place and time had just seemed taken a swap. And when the two images merged and a hazy image of an old gray-haired person appeared before my eyes, I could not make out whether he was the Einstein or the Kapila!

“…I came to this country for that reason. The way you explained the symbolism of this image, I am thrilled to no little extent. Thank you. Hare Krishna! Hare Krishna!”

I was stunned to hear what Nandigram was saying addressing me as the tears swelled in his eyes started streaming down.

What!!!

While I was imagining my commentator was talking to me, Nandigram was telling me that I was explaining to him the symbolism of the image?

Where is the confusion? Was it a myth?

Somebody coolly announced… “Sir! It is time to move.”

We moved out. Bade goodbye to each other.

I walked up to my lodging.

*

It was close to midnight. I went into my room. I pulled out my diary. But somehow, I could not make up my mind what to write.

It was so overwhelming and confusing. I closed it.

I walked out onto the verandah. The light was glowing faintly. And about a hundred yards from me in front, the sea was roaring like an anonymous warrior in the darkness.

Suddenly, there was some noise to my right. Some people were coming up the stairs. They looked like a couple. Entwined in each other’s arms, they were dragging their feet balancing each other. The man was holding the woman and setting right the curls on her forehead with his tongue. They were on a different cloud altogether.

I made way. They passed me by without noticing me.

Oh! Wasn’t she Mala? But the tall guy was not Manoj! It was Madhusudan!

I put out the light on the verandah.

I climbed down and walked onto the beach passing the green carpet of grass onto the chilly sand.

I walked and walked till I got tired; I made a sand dune and sat over it.

The waves were making a lot of meaningless noise. Longing to reach out to something lofty, they rise time and again, fail, and fall down breaking into a fine spray over the beach before receding silently.

I reclined on the sand bed. I collected some sand into a pillow and put my handkerchief over that to rest my head.

I watched the moonless sky. It was full of stars.

*

“Chikuram bahulam, viralam bhramaram,

Mrudalam vacanam, vipulam nayanam”

A faint song was filtering into my ears.

Oh! I must have slept watching the sky.

“adharam madhram vadanam lalitam

Capalam caritam cakadaanubhave”

 No mistake! It was the voice of Nandigram! It was his pronunciation. He must be taking a bath at the sea. He was singing blissfully at the height of his voice.

I looked into my watch. It was 4.10. am

It was still dark…

But,

Over the distant orient horizon, where the sea merges with the sky, a faint st​​reak of dawn was trying to break the day!

*