Mathura Visit- 3/2/2015
Untimely rains in India have always played havoc with
people’s life especially a farmer’s life. In the midst of sprawling malls and
supermarkets, the core of rural India has not yet undergone much change. Still,
the life, love and leisure of a farmer are quite similar to what Prem Chand
said almost a century ago in Godaan. I am travelling to Mathura on a typical
March day when winters and summers are making love to each other and for the last
few days it has been raining cats and dogs. During my journey, I see vast wheat
fields with crops destroyed by untimely rains. There are farmers with sullen
faces and sheer hopelessness. One of my co-passenger, Vishwanath Singh is a
young boy who is travelling to Mumbai to get his driver’s permit renewed. He
says that he hails from Ayodhya district of Uttar Pradesh, where his Thakur
family owns 80 to 90 bighas of land. There is no dearth of water and natural
resources but due to government apathy, primitive methods and lack of
technological innovations agriculture in his region has become a most
unattractive profession. He comes from a family of landlords whose finances
ruined because of decline in agriculture, and as result he started driving a
rickshaw in Mumbai at the age 16. He complains about the menace of untimely
rains and the doom which this is going to bring for farmers. For him, the only
pleasure now lies in occasional walks on Juhu chaupati(sea beach) but he still
misses his life spent on the banks of Saryu river watching Ramleelas (dramatic
narration of Ramayana) and spending lazy afternoons in the green fields of
sugarcane. But he knows that he can never go back to his village and life has
taken an irreversible march towards a restless urbanization.
Finally, I have reached and in the entire journey the ticket
checker did not ask me for the ticket which is not just surprising but quite
delightful if you are living on a low budget in city like Delhi. It’s unusual
for the weather to stay cold at this time of the year otherwise it generally
becomes quite difficult to travel in a general compartment in Indian trains at
this time of the year.
I am greeted with a melee of pilgrims from Gujarat. They are
mostly dressed up in very colourful attires and the males are generally quite
effete with distinct patterns of holy sandalwood smear marks on their forehead.
A mark on a Hindu’s forehead (Tilak) is said to keep one’s mind calm, cool and
composed as the people who regularly meditate are said to have their
aagyachakra (pineal gland) very warm and, in a hyper-energetic state. The
families are here to visit Lord Krishna as their, most important religious
ritual.
I am taken by an old ramshackle rickshaw to the square
outside the main temple. I have decided to take a short walk in the main bazaar
and as I walk on the rain-soaked dirty roads with my half drenched clothes I
feel some kind of time travel which could have easily gone unnoticed. But, it’s
like gradual passage into the subtle silence of past and the innermost recesses
of one’s inner core where even the atheist of the highest order would feel the
most natural instinct of connecting with the cosmos. And, I am feeling those
little and sublime breaths just like a small ant crawling on your skin, marking
a smooth and deeply aware beginning of a soothing spiritual journey.
I don’t know why I am not getting frustrated with the dirt,
congestion on the road, traffic, small peddlers ready to pound on you and
squeeze all your money, at the earliest chance they would get. I feel I am just
harmonizing with the cool mystic breeze around smelling of sandal. In this effortless
journey of harmonization, I am having a refreshing cup of ginger tea, with a
setting sun right in front of me as if playing the mystic flute of Krishna.
I am now in the Aarti chanting of Lord Krishna, where hordes
of people are swarming the place to get one glimpse of Krishna’s statue, which
I must say evokes very powerful emotions and kind of sends you into a soothing
meditative trance. Now, I am walking
again on the wet and dirty pavements to reach the birth place of Krishna. On my
way, I meet an old saint who seems to be a Krishna devotee as he putting a characteristic
sandalwood paste on his forehead and wearing a light coloured saffron
robe. He looks very divine in his silvery-white
beard, fine white and clear complexion and mystic sparkle in his eyes. Along with him, his sweet daughter with
yellow complexion and saffron robe normally worn by Krishna devotees, was
smiling with the most pious and pristine smile as if divinity descended in
those two eyes.
Initially, I thought of them as rag tag beggars but one
glance into those eyes assured me of a soothing presence. Something strange
happened and I found myself drawn into the spell of a soothing trance. Radha
was singing a melodious devotional song “Mhari Preet Nibhajo” with her ‘tuntuna’
which to me appeared like a medieval prototype of Guitar. The voice had so much
dedication, an unfathomable spirit of surrender with essence of love which
transcended human consciousness and I found myself drowning in a bottomless pit
of faith, love and timelessness. It seemed that my fast-paced world of hurry,
mobility, turbulence, desire for power, money and prestige had come to a sudden
standstill as if there is no destination to reach, no destiny to chase you, a
deep thought less sleep and I found myself losing the sense of being into those
mystic twinkling eyes and the tear-laden mesmerizing voice.
What is happening to me? I fell like a freely floating in
the domain of effortlessness. I vaguely remember that something strangely left
my body and just flew like a bird with the mesmerizing voice into those
twinkling eyes and I saw old man emitting a radiant smile of some kind of
enlightenment through his silvery white beard, in those dark, rain-soaked
alleys of Mathura. The world inside the eyes of Radha was a journey into the
world of consciousness or rather ‘Bhav’ as some yogis put it. It felt as if she
was my true timeless companion who had come to remind me of my true call under
some divine orders. I was just mumbling
Radha------radha ---radha and my head
was spinning as if someone had given me an opium shot, and I heard, babuji, oo
radharani ke mandir jaoge ka (Sir, will
you got to Radha rani’s temple). I looked around a found a thick dark-skinned
pan-chewing Rishshaw puller and I asked where is Radha and the Baba. He replied,”Mathura
me to bahutai baba ghoomte rahe sahib and Radha rani ke mandar chalo to hum le
chale abhi”.
I did not understand what had happened but certainly craved
for meeting her once again. I saw my watch which showed 8:15. I rushed towards
the station in a hurry to catch the train. I slept with the thoughts and remembrances
of the same voice and eyes .
“Mhari preet nibhajo”…………..mhari preet nibahjo………mhari preet
nibahjo………….radha… you are here. I was so passionately looking for you. Where
had you gone? Take me with you. Babuji, I am always within you………….your
secret…hidden, romantic, mystic,
spiritual and the finest, the most
subtle one. Close your eyes and look into your forehead, I shall see you there every
day. I am you, since the beginning and into the eternity. We have been in
romance for countless years and. Go and see your Baa, sometimes I sing for her.
