Garuda, Sheshnaga and Kalla Ji

My curiosity for Kalla Rathore had arisen on previous day, during our visit to Neelapani when Mahendra sa had mentioned that his ishta dev (chief deity) was Kalla Rathore and he had acquired all his siddhis i.e. powers from him. He also told me that he was in a continuous communion with him. Before that, I had never heard the deity’s name as it is not as popular as the main gods and goddesses of Hinduism like Shiva, Rama, Krishna and Amba. However, after a spine chilling adventure at Neela pani, I had almost forgotten about my question.

Next day, I was invited for lunch at Mahendra sa’s haweli where I had a sumptuous meal of an inch and half thick corn chapattis dripping with ghee and, urad dal heavy with spices and cilantro, which was followed by a huge tumbler of buttermilk (chach). This kind of meal is very popular in this area and it can easily send you into a slumber of two to three hours. But when one comes out of it, he/she feels a state of bliss, perfect tranquility and heavenly tipsiness. It was 4 o’clock when we got up. Although it was 4 o’clock but the day was still scorching hot marked by eerie silence, and loo winds.  We were waiting for our four o’clock tea. When British left India they took all the punctuality with them barring our tea timings. We are all very particular about our four o’clock tea. But for some reason tea had not yet arrived. Suddenly, my eyes fell upon a picture in which a person had a human face and a body of a Sheshnag (mythical snake of Lord Vishnu which has 1000 mouths and on which Vishnu rests). When I asked Mahendra sa, he smiled with a pious feeling of devotion and said, “Hukum , he is Kalla Rathore, my lord. Oh yes, I remember, you had asked yesterday also about him. Khamma hukum (apologies), I almost forgot”. And, then he started narrating the story of Kalla Rathore.

“Nauroz invitations were being sent to the princely states all over India. The Rajputs of Rajasthan had almost surrendered their suzerainty to the mighty lordship of Jalauddin Muhammad Akbar. Powerful kings of Rajasthan like Kachchavas of Amer, Rathores of Jodhpur were all sending their royal ladies to participate in the Nauroz festivities in Agra. The newly-wed queens and princesses were all dressed up in the best of their attires, diamonds and gold were getting into the dolas(medieval carriages placed on human shoulders, used to carry royal ladies) which were leaving for the Mughal court in Agra. After his marriage with Harkha bai, daughter of Bharmal Kachchava of Amer, a new era of Mughal-Rajput bonhomie had begun and Akbar was absolutely smitten with the Rajput beauty and their sensuality. Having gone crazy for Rajput females, he had devised strange customs which crossed the boundaries of decency and morality. It was rumored that when Rajput girls used to watch Naoroz, Akbar would himself dress-up like a woman, and wander freely in the area reserved for Rajput royal ladies. He would see them, play with them and then would invite a select few to sleep with him, which was considered a mark of respect, honor and deep humiliation by Rajput states”, said Mahendra sa with those remorseful eyes which were still wishing to go back in the history and undo the sins of his Rajput ancestors.

While I was listening to the story, my attention was distracted by two beautiful eyes who offered tea in a voice which was melodious, devotional and sensual at once, “Hukum , arogo sa”. Those almond shaped eyes and aquiline nose reminded me of Hellenistic princesses who used to frequent India in Mauryan times. Priyeshwari Singh Sisodia, who looked a character coming straight out of the ‘Bani-Thani’ paintings of Kishangarh, was the daughter of Mahendra sa. I said thanks to her keeping in mind my limitations as in the traditional Rajput families of Rajasthan, girls rarely speak to males from outside their household. But, Priyeshwari did not look or sound very traditional. When I asked her about her ambitions, she told that she wanted to do masters in physics and become a lecturer. Soon, she left us with our tea and the rest of the story of Kalla Ji.

“When Kalla Rathore, as a young Rajput lad and an heir to Rawal Achal Singh of Mertiya Thikana  in Marwar, saw this, he was quite disturbed. Upon asking his mother, when he was told the purpose of sending royal ladies to Mughal court, he was red with rage. Highly infuriated, he vowed with water in his hand that from that moment onwards he will not live even for a second in the state which has lost its self-respect and is selling its daughters to Mughal king to avoid the fire of Mughal cannons. The young Rajput wanted to go kill himself for this shame which Rajput kings of Marwar had brought to his community, but then he got to know that Mewar was the state which was still fighting its battle for survival against the mighty Mughal king. Kalla Rathore migrated to Mewar state where his brother-in-law Jaimal had already taken refuge. Upon his recommendation, the rana of Mewar sent Kallaji to suppress the rebellion of a bhil sardar Pemla Gameti (bandit or a local chieftain whose territory was being preyed upon by Ranaji just like his was being preyed upon by Akbar). Bhil Sardar Pemla was a notorious fighter who was feared for his cruelty, courage and guerilla tactics. He lived in the Bhoraigarh region near Salumbar principality of Mewar state. He had already butchered 35 qiledars (fort commanders) who had been sent earlier to imprison him. Kallaji with a band of just 200 rajput soldiers pounced upon him in narrow ghati (valley) and butchered his bhil army into pieces. He brought the butchered head of Pemla to the rana of Mewar as a mark of his victory. Rana ji was so impressed with his valor that he awarded him the jagir of Ranela near Bhoraigarh”, told Mahendra sa with a sense of pride and valor which could be seen in his eyes which displayed a spark which comes when a Rajput warrior is either about to go for a war or when a poem is narrated in Dimgal by a charan poet reminding him of his supreme valor.

Mahendra sa continued further in a tone of a devotee with staunch faith in his lord, “Hukum, Kalla Rathore was not an ordinary human being. He was divine. He was an incarnation of Lord Sheshnaga, just like Lakshman (brother of lord Rama) and Balram(brother of lord Krishna). Once, there was a fight between garuda (vehicle of lord Vishnu) and Sheshnaga (seat of lord Vishnu) over their respective importance to lord Visnhu. Garuda, in a fit of rage left Vishnu lok i.e. Ksheer Sagar (mythical sea where lord Vishnu resides) and went to Amarkot (a Rajput principality in medieval India and now in Pakistan) and told his King that the one born in your palace will be the ruler of the world and he will destroy the ‘dharma’ or the order of righteousness. When Sheshnaga came to know about this, he told lord Vishnu that the mighty lord would have to permit him to go to earth for short period and foil the task of the king who would be born in Amarkot and ruin dharma. Hukum, as you know the mighty king Akbar, who ruled India, was born at Amarkot when his walid (father) was running away to Iran, after the usurpation of his throne by the Pathan Sher Shah Suri. Akbar had come to destroy dharma, violate the purity of Hindu traditions and Hindu ladies”.

 I was just wondering that either Akbar was not as great as he is made out to be or Kalla Rathore was not as divine as he is made out to be. But then, my heart turned to mythology and concluded that both were as mythological as garuda and sheshnaga and as real as a Mughal king and a local chieftain. Choice of a historian will certainly be different from that of a writer but for this post my heart goes out for the choice of a writer who is little partial towards a mythological hero who is out to save the order of righteousness!!!!!

“Then there was a war, Banna. The mighty fort of Chittor was surrounded by Mughal armies on all the sides. Rana Uday Singh had left for Udaipur, leaving his trusted Sardars (commanders) behind in the Chittor fort, who were being led by Jaimal and Fatta. Jaimal sent a message to Kalla Rathore to join him in the battle. Kalla Ji who was getting married to princess Krishna Kumari Ji of Shivgarh(in the present Dungarpur district), received the message in the middle of the wedding rituals(when he was at the toran gate). He immediately left and while leaving when he saw tears in the eyes of the young bride Krishna Kumari, he promised her that even if he died in the battle, he would come back to see her.

Inside the fort, there were 30,000 civilians who included farmers from the nearby areas and 2000 Mewari Rajput soldiers. Mughals had cut-off the water and food supplies to the fort. They were left with two options: either die of hunger and thirst in the fort or fight the Mughals and die in the battle field. The brave Rajputs decided to go with the second option. They took the blessings of the Goddess Kali and Bhawani (goddesses of death) and decided to open the front gates of the durg (fort). Before that, all the Rajput females jumped into the well of fire and committed Jauhar to save their dignity.  1500 females became Sati in the fires of sacrifice, valor and purity. Even, to this date one can see the stones darkened with raging fires and cries of those pious females in Chittor fort. When Jaimal ordered to open the gates, he found a monstrous army of 1 lakh and 76 thousand Moghals outside the fort, ready to pounce upon the Rajput warriors. Jaimal commanded his troops to plunge headlong and not return alive. When he was butchering the Moghals, a cannon ball went past his thigh and severely injured him rendering his leg totally dysfunctional. He fell on the ground. Kalla Ji, seeing his commander falling on the ground swiftly turned to the spot where Jaimal was lying injured on the ground. He lifted Jaimal and placed him on his shoulders. Now two of them were fighting in this position i.e. jaimal was sitting on Kalla Ji’s shoulders with his two swords and fighting and Kalla ji continued severing the heads of Moghals soldiers with this two swords.

When the Mughal commanders, including Akbar saw four swords fighting simultaneously, they first thought of it as some divine force unleashing death on Mughal forces. The rage of four swords was like a death personified and Mughal soldiers were falling on the ground like vegetables being chopped. However, Jaimal received one another blow on his shoulder and collapsed. Now Kallaji was the only one fighting. Rajputs soldiers were shrinking in numbers and there were a very few left to fight with KallaJi. When Kallaji was trying to separate the dead body of Jaimal from his shoulders , a big blow of sword came straight on Kalla Rathore’s neck and his head was on the ground. By then almost all the Rajput soldiers had died. Moghal Sardars were jubilant with the victory, but then they saw Kalla Ji’s body killing Moghal soldiers. It was a body without a head. No one could stop it. It seemed the Bhawani herself had come to the battle ground and Shiva was unleashing his forces of ultimate destruction. The dance of death could not be stopped. When Akbar’s finest generals failed to stop Kalla ji’s dhad (body) , then he asked Bharmal (king of Amer) to advise him. Bharmal told him, “ hukum, he is a Rajput and Rajputs are hungry of respect so please surrender your weapons in front of him and he will stop”. Akbar followed his advice and surrendered his arms. Kalla Ji stopped fighting after eight hours and accepted Akbar’s offer of respect to his valor. 

Kalla Rathore then immediately remembered his promise and went to Ranela to meet his wife. Finally, he was buried near Ranela and his wife Krishna Kumari committed sati with him”, finished Mahendra sa. “But, how could that happen?, how can a body fight for eight hours and then go back to its home?”, asked I, like the blind Dhritrashtra who was pestering Sanjay even after the death of Duryodhan. But Mahendra sa was lost into the realm of his own thoughts which were oscillating between the worlds of history, mythology, fairy-tales, lies, caste arrogance, vendetta and devotion. He was quiet as if he was Sanjay and had lost his supernatural ability to see the war that happened almost five hundred years back.

The weather outside had become pleasant and we decided to have some more tea. But, I was still not willing to come out of the battle field where Kalla Ji was slaying Moghal soldiers for eight hours after his head was cut. Historical records do not mention much about Kalla Ji’s valor, but in that war Moghal armies murdered 30,000 civilians and this remains the biggest blot on Akbar’s character. After the war, Akbar was so impressed with the chivalry of Jaimal and Fatta that he got their statues erected outside the fort of Agra. It was a great sign of respect shown to Rajput bravery. It also showed his ability to go beyond the injunctions of Islam which forbids human statues. But still, I was not sure of the story. Akbar, who was the only secular Muslim king and had brought religious harmony between Hindus and Muslims, was regarded as the destroyer of Dharma by Garuda. And, Sheshnaga i.e. Kalla Ji though fought with divine valor, even brought Akbar to his knees (as told by Mahendra sa in his story) but still he could not defeat him. Akbar ruled for 30 years after that war and went on to become one of the greatest kings in the history of India. But, nevertheless, the heinous act of killing 30,000 civilians can never be condoned and whenever Akbar will be remembered, some thoughts will always go to the innocent souls of the civilian farmers.

But, after the war Kallaji became a prominent local deity and it is said that he visits people in their bodies. His several temples can still be seen in Mewar. I was about to leave. I said goodbye to Mahendra sa. He said good bye too. But When I was crossing the gates, he shouted, “wait, wait, wait; I have to tell you something”. Banna, if you ever spot an orange colored snake in the region, it is Kalla Ji. He is a Jagrit dev (God who is still alive and comes to help its devotees at the earliest intimation)”.

 I smiled and said good bye. While going back I was thinking of finding an orange colored snake or Kalla Ji who fought for eight hours without head!!!!!!!!!!

Gopal and his Dancing Fingers

Getting a hair-cut at an old-styled barber shop in a lazy afternoon is one of those pleasures which India promises and delivers most efficiently unlike its promises in more serious domains of economics and politics. But sometimes I feel that the best way to relax is to venture beyond politics and economics, for which these days one has to run away to a place where you have no access to 24-hour news channels and their mules in the form of Ravish Kumar Rajdeep Sardesia, Barkha dutt etc. So today I decided to have a long session of hair-cutting at Gopal's shop.

Gopal owns a barber shop in Udaipur. Basically, he is from my village in Dungarpur district and his family has been in this profession for generations. His father Shankar Lal lived in village Baldiya (a kilometer away from village) and used to visit our house to give  hair-cut to my grand father. In those days, the professional castes like barbers, washermen musicians worked under the jajmani system i.e. they did not charge any money for their services. In return, they used get food grains and other essential items like ghee, spices, pots etc.

Shankar lal used to visit our house frequently for some birth ceremony or some death rituals or my grandfather's hair cut. He would often tell the stories of entire village to my grandfather. I used to sit sometimes with both of them. Now I only have vague memories of what they used to discuss but, Shankar Lal, in his own way was a master story-teller and an extremely wise man who had an astute understanding of social relations, politics and religious systems prevailing in the society.

He really got along well with my grandfather. He would always come and endlessly complain about Pandit Ramnarayan Shukkal. Shukkal Ji was a notorious pandit in the village. He used to consume at least 20 laddus (sweet balls of wheat flour) and 10 batis in nyats (community feats on the occasions of marriages, deaths and births). After his meals he would consume copious amounts of opium and lie in pond in a half-sleepy state for hours, with his favourite buffalo viz. Ramkudi. Shakar lal was annoyed with him because whenever he would give a hair-cut to Shukkal ji, he used to release stinkiest of the farts which wreaked havoc on the olfactory pleasures of Shankar lal, which originated from the smell of malpuas cooked in pure ghee by shuklain(shukkal ji's wife), while he was doing his job. Whenever he raised a voice of protest, Shukkal would roar in his mighty voice,"so what, you fool, you should consider yourself luck that you are getting a chance to smell a pious brahmin's fart. Its a rare chance to earn punya(merit) and if you let it seep into your nostrils with a feeling of devotion, you will definitely get an entry to heaven". Shankar Lal would confirm it with my grandfather that whether smelling a brahmin's fart guarantees you a place in heaven or not. My grandfather with a sarcastic grin which unmistakably reflected the immense amount of pleasure which he was getting, confirmed the opinion of Shukkal ji as it was his duty to keep the varnshrama dharma in place, which could not ensured without an absolute faith in the piousness of brahmins.In this way Shankar Lal was a quintessential part of the village society. My grandfather and Shankar Lal were almost of the same age and in the last years of my grandfather's life he had only few companions which included Amritlal vaniya (merchant) and Shankar lal Nau (barber).

After my grandfather's death in 1990s Shankar lal became a recluse. He looked sad and now he rarely visited our house. In 1990s, India witnessed great changes after the liberalization of the economy. The utopian life of the idyllic village setting was coming to an end. Now only money mattered. The stories of ghosts, witches, miraculous babas, kings, queens and their illicit affairs did not interest anyone. Jajmani was coming to an end and people were migrating from the village in the search of better opportunities. The village youth, who spent their evenings playing kabbadi, swimming in the river, listening to the elder's stories of ghosts were now going to far-off places like Jalgao, Bangalore, Pune to do their MBAs and get better jobs.Gopal, Shankar Lal's son left his home and set-up a shop in Udaipur. His brother Magan Lal migrated to Kuwait and never returned back. Some years back, it was reported that he was murdered there. The migrations of two sons shattered Shanakar Lal emotionally and he died in 2004.

But, Gopal still retains those feudal ties and manners. He treats my father and me with the same respect with which his father treated my grandfather. He still does not charge money from us as a mark of respect. "Hukum, times may change but ultimately the blood, the customs, traditions and our faith commands us and we just can't move away from our roots. I fought with my father to run away from the village but now I  feel that it was so futile. Although I made money but I brought tears and sorrow to the old man in his last days. What is the use of such money, which comes at the cost of tears in your own father's eyes? I want to go back, sahib and I want my children to bury me in my village. I have had enough of roaming around. Now I want to go back", said gopal, remorsefully.


Gopal informed me that very soon the old styled barber shops will be replaced by big saloons where one has to pay astronomical prices for a simple haircut. It has already happened in big cities like Delhi, but in Udaipur, it has begun recently. In those big branded saloons, one gets to sit in AC but one never gets entertained with the gossip and boiling ginger tea.

In the end he was rubbing my scalp with fragrant hair-oil and a very old Hindi song, "Jiya bekarar hai" was being telecasted on the radio. I was in absolute trance with my eyes drooping and sleep slithering into my eyes just like a slippery serpent slithers into a horny women's blouse.
Gopal's son has been selected into premier engineering institute of India and this brings an end to his family's association with the profession of a barber. it also brings an end to a tradition, tradition of gossips, storytelling and laid back afternoon hair cuts. I suppose that his son will migrate to an even bigger city and will never return. But Gopal, does not complain. he just wants to go back and spend the rest of his life in that empty village where his father Shankar Lal talked for hours on end with my grandfather over endless cups of tea and sugarcane juice. I am happy for him, but I will miss his dancing fingers on my scalp, which is no less than a quick session of hypnosis.

I also wish that I could also return to my village like him.....................................................probably someday I might and I certainly will..........................with all the stories of the far-off countries, beautiful women,  strange people, big cities and the loss of my innocence.

Bhairav, Kali and Neelapani

June 13^th, 2014, 7:30 PM, NYC – “Hey Sherrin, Let’s check out something in Queens, They have nice Chinese restaurants”, said I to my dear friend and Han princess Sherry. She wanted me to have hot pot today, but my friend Raza, was a bit skeptical about hot-pot. Although Pakistan has had very warm historical ties with China but unfortunately this has not led Pakistanis to adopt Chinese hot-pot. They still go with their arch-rivals i.e. Indians when it comes to food and, biryani and Chicken Karhai brings them together at least in the gastronomically challenging situations.

Kali

“Abhi, I can't have those half-living crabs and pork ribs getting fried in the soup. It reminds me of the Koranic descriptions of hell, where all the kafirs and rebels like I are fried in the huge jars of boiling oil. I won’t have that stupid Pork. Having drunk like fish, this is the only Islamic thing which I still practice (practice of not eating Pork). This might save me”, said Raza with his philosophical grin. Finally we had some Chinese, some biryani and we ended up in Hard Rock café, where umpteen numbers of tumblers of beer were finished by an Islamic scholar from Pakistan and a confused philosopher from India. Chinese princess was composed, quiet and calm, and looked prettier as the intoxicated night with its lights, life, drugs, passion and music descended on New York City.

It was a beautiful night with amazing people, people of 21^st century, post-modern, rational, progressive, ambitious and free-spirited. I felt as if I was approaching towards my passion of working as a diplomat, where I would get to travel across the globe, see different cultures, meet different people, kiss the prettiest ladies and weave the most unheard of stories. I was drunk, romantic, poetic and happy. Sherrin was sitting beside me with her pretty eyes and Lake Hudson was right in front of me. I thought this would go on forever or when I would get up, I will be somewhere in Paris with Laure………………………………………….However, when I got up………………………………………………………

June 13^th, 2015, 7:30 PM, Neelapani Shiva Temple, Rajasthan- “Banna, we should have come earlier. This place is picturesque and has very mystic and charming natural scenery. At night, this place gets a little scary and dangerous. Did you just see that frightening light? Common, see, those stones are rolling down, towards us. I have always felt that this mountain is not just a mountain; it is a demon or jinn with an evil soul. I can hear the sound of heavy panting. Oh my God, where is this hyena laughing? These hungry spirits and ghosts will not spare us. We have brought whisky. I guess we should have brought a goat too and offered to these hungry, devilish and wild spirits. I suggest, we should move quickly”, said Thakur Mahendra Singh Ji.

I could see the light, the stones rolling like an army of panthers and I could also hear the hyena laughing but could never locate it in spite of my numerous efforts. When Mahendra Sa had told me in the evening that the place is scary, I thought it was just another superstition which has become a belief in the absence of education. I never expected the place to come up with such unusual, scary and strange phenomena. I was thinking of it as another adventure tour. The place was 20 kms far from the district headquarter of Dungarpur, a remote and backward tribal district in southern Rajasthan. The journey to this place on an old shaky bike through a dense and dark jungle was no less a challenge.

 I felt as if I was in mid-19^th century when India was a hot bed of mystical practices, strange and dangerous cults like Thugi which offered humans to Goddess Kali. My love for history had always generated multiple personalities in me. This time, when Mahendra Sa with his rustic and feudal grin was narrating stories of his deity and supernatural experiences, I was feeling as if I was an old caravan merchant who was being lured by a roaming Thug and soon I would be taken to some isolated place, robbed of my diamond bracelets, rings and muhars and, I would be strangled with the notorious coin and handkerchief. But, luckily in this birth I don't have diamond and Thugs never resurfaced, at least officially, after their suppression by Colonel Sleeman in 1835.

“These mountains are very peculiar, banna”, quipped Mahendra Sa. The mountains, three in number faced each other and looked rather strange, restless and revengeful as if three evil brothers with thick eyebrows, heavy mustaches and intense hatred for each other were about to pierce each other with a blood soaked dagger, over an old family feud and, right at that moment were cursed to turn into stones by a hermit. They looked as if the those three brothers were still standing there, with their blood soaked daggers and hatred mortified over the years, ready to pounce upon each other at the very first moment they become alive.

 The land enclosed by those three black, old mountains was a ti-raha (spot where three different routes meet) and it was flanked by two rivulets, Sarpini and Panchdevli which were famous for their venomous cobras. It was 8:15 in the evening and the darkness had enveloped the place as if death was to make a severe blow in the next moment, rendering the place frightening enough to make it most unsuitable for anything living and happy.“Bapu, this tiraha is very important in all tantric sadhna rituals (ancient mystic practices to acquire supernatural powers). I will tell you more about what happens at this place after 10 in the night, but, first let’s get out of here or else we are not getting back home, safe and alive”, uttered Mahendra Sa with little scare and fatigue in his eyes and voice, as if someone was draining him off his life-force. 

The moment we started the motor-cycle, I saw a huge python, appearing out of nowhere, right in front of our motor-cycle. The mountain pythons in the vagad region of Rajasthan are extremely dangerous creatures. They are said to have swallowed many bhil tribal girls. Somehow we passed that monster, and suddenly I saw stones rolling towards us on both sides of the road. Very next moment, I heard the hyena laughter increasing in pitch to the extent that it seemed the scariest ill-omen was happening, forecasting a dead end to human civilization. I had barely made my peace with that disturbing hyena laugh, and we were both invaded by a group of blood-sucking bats from the eternal skies.

“Quick, Mahendra sa, drive faster and get the hell out of here”, said I with fear and sinking senses. Finally, we were out of the 1 km periphery of Neelapani Mahadeo temple. Mahendra Sa immediately opened the whisky bottle and asked me to offer the whisky to the hungry souls in the vicinity, by pouring it on the ground. While I was doing that, he was chanting, “Om bhairvaay namah”(mantra to please Bhairav, form of shiva and lord of the ghosts and evil forces), kali(goddess kali represents aggressive and violent force of women power to kill demons and evil souls)  ---dushta dalan(killer of evil forces), chinnamasta(beaheader of heads). He then offered beer to me and he gulped the remaining whisky.

I was wondering in which domain of time and space, I was travelling. More than wonder, it created uneasiness, fear and a grip of something irresistible. Mahendra sa informed that he did his penances there and acquired his abilities to predict future, ward off jinns and control them. Just a  day before he had organized a Traatak puja( an esoteric worship form consisting of violent rituals to help humans to come out of their worldly problems, ward off spirits and mitigate the evil effects of planets sitting millions of light years away from us).

“Traatak is a very dangerous form of worship. If it goes wrong, banna, even the main priest can die. The place where you are standing is full of spirits as there happens to be a cremation ground nearby. The master lords of spirits Bhairav and Goddess Kali have also been invoked here several times. Last night, I sent three old priests from the Bhil tribe to perform this puja. We have to send bhils only”, uttered Mahendra sa. He said that normally Brahmins being the upper caste do not participate in this puja as it involves dirty rituals and it’s very dangerous. The Bhil priests readily agree as they are in poor economic conditions and their life style which involves consumption of alcohol and animal sacrifices is congenial to this form of puja. Because of economic needs they are willing to put their lives in danger.

 I have often been told that in feudal Rajasthan it has been the tradition to sacrifice people from lower castes and tribes first to protect the upper caste hindus. In medieval times when Muslim invaders demanded people for forcible conversion to Islam, the village Thakur would offer the Meghwals (lower caste people who make leather products). Whenever any ritual needed human sacrifice, the lower caste people were first to be offered.

“In this puja, three bhil priests led by kaigalaal  Damor started the puja at 12 in the noon. They were chanting mantras which are in distorted vagdi. These mantras have no written record. They have been passed over through generations through verbal tradition. These guys invoked all the spirits and sent them to distant locations to help a person whose house was occupied by a Jinn for last 100 years. The jinn was a very tough and strong spirit. Over the years it has become immensely powerful, cruel and angry and it was killing the first sons of that family. For privacy reasons, I cannot give you the names of that family. In these pujas the intensely powerful and forceful radiations travel towards the destination.”, quipped Mahendra sa with a sarcastic grin on his face as if he was explaining something of the most eternal and mysterious wisdom to a person who feels vain-glorious in his own modern world concepts of rationality and rejection and all that emanates from belief.

But, with the seepage of beer inside my mind, body and soul in that terrible heat, I was finding it much easier to comprehend and believe what he was saying. Meanwhile I heard the sounds of tin sheds falling on the ground in a nearby old, deserted house. I was quite surprised to see tin sheds falling and beating against the walls with such force and that too in the absence of any wind. When I asked Mahendra sa, he smiled and said that sometimes people get big degrees but fall short of petty wisdom. He said that this spirit wants us to leave soon as we have offered the alcohol and now they need a goat which we don’t have so let’s move.

Shiva Temple

While going back he continued his narration of the puja happenings which had occurred a day before. “The puja continued till 2:30 in the night. By then the spirits had become extremely hungry. They were about to sacrifice a goat and offer wine, but while slashing a goat, the dagger fell on the feet of the Kaigalaal by mistake and blood droplets came out. The very next moment, kaigalaal felt a big jerk on his neck, he puked and died on the spot”, told Mahendra sa. I was shocked and scared to the extent of my spines freezing. Before I could even speak a word, he told that these spirits wait for the first drop of blood in that state of intense hunger and if by mistake the human blood comes out or any other lapse happens in the puja, the chief priest of the puja will have to sacrifice his life.

“Kaiga Lal lost his life because of the minor negligence and his karmas in previous life. In fact it was not even an unholy death. It was a sacrifice to goddess Kali. Life is at the door-step of death every moment. Nothing is permanent except death which is discreetly approaching you each and every moment, from the day you are born, just like a man-eating adhvera (panther) chases you in dark wilderness with its nails ready to pierce your heart at the very first sight of yours, when you are on a spree to hunt him down. Those who are born will have to die”, thundered Mahendra Sa. A chill ran through my spine.

 I could feel a mosaic or finest blend with the most intricate texture of the 5000 years of India’s religious and philosophical development. Mahendra sa’s views compressed the journey of our civilization from vedic religion, buddha’s temporariness to the most violent rituals of the heterodox sects like shaktas and kapaliks. The acceptance of Kaigalal’s death as a sacrifice to Kali was not very different from the motivations of thugs who sacrificed innocent humans to Kali with a conviction and belief as firm as the rock of Gibraltor.

When I enquired about his master, he told me that there is a tradition of learning such mytic practices in the region. His master was Bholanath Ji who was an aughad (aughads stay nude and practice rituals in graveyards after midnight) saint. He said that Bholanath ji was a unique man and he was feared for his strange ways and miraculous powers. Once when he was getting shaved, police entered the house of the barber Jetha ram. He was so furious with the disturbance that he slapped the police officer and cursed the whole village that lightening will strike the village, killing at least a dozen people. Then he went to the nearby Shiva temple, took off his clothes and started wrestling with the Shiva lingam. The village elders got worried with his curse. They all went to him and begged him to take his curse back. He roared that the words can never be taken back, but if you insist, then I will do something. He ordered the village panchayat to organize a satsang(devotional songs for shiva) for a night and in return he would bring the lightening in the night. Following his orders, the satsang was organized. The night afterwards brought a devastating thunderstorm and lightening in which five trees were uprooted but not a single human life was lost.

Selfie with Thakur Saheb

While going back I saw a lone man and a woman going towards dangerous Neelapan. It was quite disturbing to me. I was about to ask Mahendra sa when he ordered me to stay quiet and not to look at that man and woman. After a while, he said “those two were the people who learn witch craft in Neela pani. They meet their masters on certain days and practice very weird and dirty rituals. Females who learn such knowledge are called ‘dayens’ in rural areas. In their training, they have to have tantric sex with their masters and partners who are different from their husbands. They even have to eat human excreta. They get their master’s approval only if they eat(kill) their son or husband with black magic. Then, they become addicted”.  After this, I did not have any question or any argument but only a strange fear of living with something unknown.

 We reached his house at 11 in the night, where after a refreshing beer; mutton freshly cooked in ethnic spices was waiting for me. Its aroma travelled into my nostrils just like beauty of a courtesan seeps through its erotic and sensual curves, into the heart of debauched king. Anyways, I was enjoying the sumptuous meal with the utmost satisfaction, feeling each and every bit of the taste as if in a fully aware meditative trance. And, Mahendra sa was sitting beside me, smiling through his mystic and assuring eyes, ready to narrate another story of being and non-being, humans, spirits and Kali.

21^st century India seems to have maintained a vibrant continuity with what it was 5000 years ago and this continuity is so deep, fine and intense that it runs through the fabric of our civilization just like an eternal soul. It seems that over the last 5000 years India has merely changed its body just like a man changes his clothes, as told by Krishna in Gita. The soul of India, unseen and divinely elusive has remained eternal and intact. This makes it so difficult to capture the idea of India which remains so abstract, metaphysical, and spiritual and like an unknowable darkness inside a closed door of an old fortress. The modern notions of nationalism, democracy, human rights, development, economic growth, social media and rationality are found to be utterly misleading, helpless and shallow when one tries to capture this country. This country is surviving with its myriad centuries, faiths and cultures existing simultaneously in a harmony which is mystic in its essence, workable for rotting and decadent social system and responsible for the miseries of nation wanting to make its mark in this post-modern world.

The sky-scrappers of Google, Microsoft and the big malls and supermarkets of Delhi and Mumbai are just the superficial layers. The candle-light marches for gay rights and live-in relationships are just like momentary ripples which can barely be felt without media. If these uppermost layers of the onion are peeled off, one finds real India in the beliefs and esoteric wisdom of Mahendra sa, in the sarcastic and mocking grin of Mahendra sa, in the irrationality of rationality, in absurdity of logic, in the wilderness of Neelapani and shrieking laughter of Neela pani hyenas.

Tales of Silver Horse, Ancient Snake and Singing Colonel

When I returned to India last year, after a gap of three years I found myself in a country which I hardly knew. I felt as if I was in a strange land where morals had degraded, politics has stooped to its lowest levels and intellectuals had displayed worst form of dishonesty in inciting caste and religion based hatred by questioning the very essence of Hindu philosophy and culture in the name of protecting secularism. I met India where social media and larger incomes had released pent-up sexual frustration which could be seen in the form of illicit relations and the videos like ‘My choice’ and national enthusiasm for such non-sense, kids had lost their innocence and energy in the murky world of online porn, video games and gadgets. My experience in Delhi was the worst one. One could hardly find a place for an innocent and healthy soul in that city not just because of worsening pollution indicators but because of the degrading morals, and a general upsurge of dishonesty and brutal race for self-advancement at the cost of human values.

However, India has always been a mystery and it has always existed in layers. When I came back to my home town, I felt that still there are some points where I can reconnect and it is worth doing that. But, when I say that I reconnect, that is purely in a poetic, spiritual and philosophical domain and it is not even remotely associated with even the remnants of nationalism which I have left far behind. In this journey of reconnection, I met a few people who belonged to the India I knew. In this post I will write about them.

The most important and the eternal worry of the mothers and housewives in India is their domestic help or house maid who is addressed as ‘Bai’ in the common parlance. My mother is no exception to this phenomenon. Being a witness to one of her regular arguments with our housemaid Suraj made me engage into a light conversation with her. She is young, dark and a beautiful girl who has a spark on her face which reflects firm conviction and desire to enjoy the pleasures of the worldly life for which the more appropriate term would be “Grihastha” or “Sansaarik” life. She has 3 children who are all suffering from malnourishment. She earns $81.96 in a month and her husband earns $147.54 in a month. They send their children to school now and want their son to study well.

“But, bhaiya, daughters have to learn house work and get married one day. I will stop sending my daughter to school after class 8^th ”, quipped Suraj at my rather strange questions. She comes from a caste of ironsmiths who are called ‘lohaars’ in India and she has a strong faith in her caste rituals and religious duties. In spite of the extremely poor conditions in which she is living, she recently organized a religious ceremony on which she and her husband spent $983.60. I asked her the rationale behind it. “Baawsi (a spirit/God) will punish my family and disaster will come to our village. She is saving money now to donate a silver horse at the temple of Baba Ramdev(local deity in Rajasthan who performed many miracles) where she plans to go on foot, for which she will have to walk about 500 miles. I feel that it’s not just the humans and the capitalism which is responsible for making people poor but also the element of the divine, the abstract and the misguided faith.

Mr. Vyas, popularly known as “Pandit Ji’ , at a first sight would remind you of the native Karkuns and Peshkars (Clerks) who served under British colonial military officers in 1850s. Pandit Ji spent his life serving as an accountant in Mewar Bhil Corps (MBC). MBC was created by British rulers in 1838 in the remote tribal region of Kherwara in Rajasthan, and it is still considered the oldest police force of India. It looks more like heritage palace or an exhibition of vintage cars but it is still in use, as a force to maintain law and order. Pandit ji had served under my father when he was the Kommandent of MBC. Since both of them hail from a Brahmin caste and both have a great desire to enjoy culinary pleasures, strong bonhomie developed between them. Now both of them are retired. When a bureaucrat in India retires life becomes quite difficult for him because he spends 30 to 35 years of his life in a status-quoist system where time and space cease to exist. In their domain only b’crats or babus exist. Even the elements of nature can’t overrule their authority. They become used to paraphernalia which includes guards, orderlies and a permanent bunch of three to four yes-men. After retirement, this paraphernalia disappears like an illusion and they tend to lose interest in life. They realize the meaning of “Virakti” (detachment) and temporary nature of the world. It happens so quickly that one gets reminded of Sage Ashtavakra who said few words to the king Janak and he transcended this narrow world of desires and greed. Old Kommandent is going through this phase of his life. However, when even the faint remnants of the old paraphernalia resurface then one can witness real bliss and the revival of the old autocratic manners in his persona. Pandit ji visits him quite often and on such occasions he feels that he is the Kommandent again. But, the reasons for pandit ji to visit him are totally different. On one such occasion, pandit ji was invited for a Shraddha feast (a vedic practice in which feast is given to pay tributes to dead ancestors). I saw him leaping upon the food like a crouching tiger and he ate 20 pooris, 3 bowls of kheer (sweet pudding), 2 bowls of dal (lentil soup), 3 bowls of halwa, 2 bowls of vegetable and 4 bowls of gulabjamun (sweet balls). When the Kommandent raised the issue of political violence, he pleaded ignorance and expressed his desire to fully concentrate of food in a very subtle way. “If the soul of the Brahmin remains unsatisfied, the grihpati i.e. householder will be burnt in the raging fires of Hindu hell for thousands of years, and, truly speaking Brahmin soul is very simple as it just needs another bowl of Kheer”, said Mr. Vyas. I never expected such a terrific performance from a lean and lanky fellow who looked like a bag of bones and weighed not more than 50kgs. After that performance he was awarded the title of “Bhootnath” (Lord of the ghosts) by my father. Pandit Ji is a master of strategic thinking. I often see him arriving at 11:15 in the morning when he generally joins my father in his late breakfast. He makes a move at 1 pm when my mother requests him to have lunch and after a little persuasion he readily agrees.

Ghee Chand Jain owns a petty general store opposite to my house. Ever since we moved into this house, I have seen him sitting in that shop from 8 in the morning to 11 in the night. He is petite man with dark complexion. He seems to be shrinking more and more over the years and his complexion is getting darker with every passing day. Whenever I see him, he reminds me of a local belief which I have been hearing since my childhood and took it quite seriously for a very long time. In rural areas of Mewar, it’s believed that baniyas (merchant and business caste) become coal-black snakes after death, and since in human form they have extreme greed for gold, after death also in the snake form they protect hidden treasures of gold. His demeanor, body language and endless desire for gold and wealth make him look like the mythological cobra who sits on the jars of gold. He wears a dirty and torn vest with sleeves which by the end of the day gets soaked in dirt, flour and, smells of ghee. When I visit his shop sometimes in the noon, he burps right in your face after his heavy lunch and it smells of garlic and pickles. I have often seen him secretly collecting used plastic bags on the road in front of his shop and giving stuff to customers in those used plastic bags (rather nasty way to save money). But in spite of his typical life style and miser nature he is the part and parcel of the people’s life. He supplies everything which includes the material for birth, marriage and cremation. He knows the woes and sorrows of every household in the locality. Few days back I got to know that he was robbed of 50 lakhs by a tantric (people who practice mystic rituals) who promised him that he would bring a shower of gold and money in his personal room in the midnight if he slept alone and in return Ghee Chand would have to give 50 lakhs to him. Ghee Chand got so blind with his desire that he could not see the fraud and lost all that money. What surprised me was the fact that he had so much money. With his life-style and thrifty nature I always assumed that he was living in penury. I never saw him going out for any party, movie or any other source of recreation. I never saw him wearing anything other than that dirty vest and torn trousers. However, now I feel that this man comes straight from mythological stories where people were presented in black and white. But, I still wonder!!! Should I call him a saint of wealth as in his obsession for money he has never felt anything else in life or a man steeped in worldly desires? The simple and austere lifestyle which he follows is not even practiced by ascetics yet the desire which he has for bhog or wealth, reflects a men neck-deep in the muck of desires, sorrows and happiness.

Gulab bagh is officially a zoo in Udaipur where one can find poorly kept deers, an emaciated tiger and few disgruntled beers sweating like hell, who are on the verge of revolution against the corrupt forest bureaucracy for stealing the coolers which were originally brought for them. My father goes to Gulab Bagh every evening for his customary walk. He meets a bunch of veteran joggers every evening. Mr. Marmatta is one of them He served as a telephone engineer in a government owned company but his interests were always in the spiritual domain. Over the years he became an ardent follower of Arya Samaj movement (Hindu reformist movement of early 20^th century which spoke against idol worship, polytheism, rituals etc. and urged the Hindus to go back to vedic practices). Dayanand Saraswati, founder of Arya Samaj laid heavy emphasis on logic and refuted all the other religions by engaging their scholars in “shastrartha” or intellectual debate.)

Mr. Marmatta has mastered and literally learned all the doctrines and texts of Arya Samaj. The moment you meet him, he is ready to invade your cognitive faculties with his discourse. Therefore, sometimes we are advised to carry an aspirin with us in case if his logic and religious fervour becomes a threat to one’s biological immunity. A few days back I had a chance to meet Mr. Marmatta. I found him a very interesting character that is ruthless with his intellectual dictatorship. “Atman or soul is different from god or brahman. That Shankara was wrong in his vedantic philosophy. That Shankar was not even a true Hindu. He was a pseudo-Buddhist. “, roared Mr. Marmatta. I suddently felt as I am transported to India of Sunga era when Brahmins and Buddhists violently clashed with each other. 

“But, Mr Marmatt, in deep states of meditation the great seers have experienced Atman as one with Brahman or God.”, said I . “Oh shut up you foreign returned ignorant young man. All these seers are fake and false. Nothing happens in meditation. There is no super-sensory experience. One can experience God only through Yajnas or vedic sacrifices.” fired Mr. Marmatta. Meanwhile a petty mongrel came towards us by mistake. Mr. Marmaata, who was barely 40 kgs kicked the mongrel with his entire life force and the poor fellow flew into the air before crashing on the ground. “Such a disturbance, these stray dogs are in our discourses where we are defining the religion, duty of a man, humanity and the future path of righteousness, mercifulness and honesty on which a human should tread.”, said Mr. Marmatta, pensively. In a while three other members of the group joined in. Kalakand bhai Mehta was an old wealthy Jain merchant. He was a very intimate and old friend of Mr. Marmatta. Kalakand Bhai had great faith in the teachings of Mahaveera i.e. abstinence, aparigraha (non-accumulation of wealth), non-stealing etc., though he had been caught thrice by the police for black marketeering and having links with gold smugglers of Marwar. However, he had donated a lot of money to Jaina monks and was a man revered for both his wealth and religious temperament. When he heard Mr. Marmatta calling all the seers as fake, he asked, “Do you hold the same opinion for Mahaveera (Jaina saint) also ?” Mr. Marmaata said, “ Yes, of course. That nude and shameless man was a fraud.” Next moment, Kalakand Bhai was furious with rage.  “ You , bloody donkey’s arse, how dare you say such a rubbish against my God”,  fired Kalakand Bhai. Mr. Marmatta shot back, “It’s not just your god, I say the same thing for all the prophets, be they of Islam, Hinduism or Christianity”.  The very next moment three veterans i.e. Kalakand Bhai, Pandit Narmada Shankar Ji and Wali Noor Saheb were punching Mr. Marmatta, calling him dirty names and asking others to join to beat that heretic, for calling their prophets as tricksters. It was quite a sight, in fact a very rare one. I had seen Hindus and Muslims fighting against each other but never a Hindu and Muslim joining forces against a religious reformer or intellectual autocrat. Last time, this kind of union had taken place in the year 1857 against the East India Company. It seems that India has not come very far from 1857.

Colonel Shiv Shankar Bhatt had become a regular visitor to our house last year. He would always come, impeccably dressed up in his blazer, cravat and a beret cap. My father entertained him for three reasons- firstly, he was a disciplined old style army officer i.e. someone from his era, secondly, he followed a very strict protocol and gave due respect to the former Kommandent, with his salutes, and lastly, he was a Brahmin reaching such a high post. Colonel Saheb would often come and initially used to have umpteen number of tea with my dad. Gradually, he came closer and accompanied my father in his parties with high-official circle, field club sports of tennis and golf. He would share a drink or two and then sing old Hindi songs. Though his voice was almost like a roar of a Patton tank, but he thought that he was the only legitimate heir to Mukesh (Famous Bollywood singer of 1950s, 60s and 70s).

One day, Kommandent had gone for a wedding at the house of Brigadier Rathore, where all the veterans had come with their tales of chivalry and a variety of mustaches. During a conversation, with Brigadier Rathore, the Brigadier ordered his attendant- Shiva, please get me glass of wine. Next moment, what my father saw was shock of his life. Colonel Shivashankar appeared with a glass of wine. My dad asked Brigadier Rathore, “ Who is he?” He is lance Nayak Shiva. Then some other officials and field club visitors also joined and were terribly shocked to see the singing Colonel, serving wine.

Next day, around 12 pm, doorbell was rung and Col. Shiva Shankar appeared again in his cravat and beret. I went inside and told my father that Colonel Sahab had come. He asked me to bring him to his room. I ushered him in, where my father waiting with his police cane, without a second, gave him  few lashes. “You bloody cheat, ranga Siyaar ( a jackal from Panchtantra stories who pretended to be a divine figure and  was caught later), Natwarwal (famous conman of India who cheated on the president), you thug. Today I will teach you, what it means to be a Colonel”, shouted my father. Col. Shiva said, "sir please don’t beat me. I want to sing a song. I did all that drama because you always listened to my song patiently. You are a great audience. I have prepared a very nice song today. Please, let me sing".

With Love, In Mathura

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.

What a PM can learn from a true Statesman?

                                                

When the news reached that the government is awarding Bharat Ratna to Atal Bihari Vajpayee, one of the most towering figure of Indian politics, it became a matter of personal jubilation for me. In 2001, on one colorful evening of the chilling Delhi winters, I was visiting a prominent Muslim cabinet minister who was a part of a coalition government headed by Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee of BJP. There were some prominent people sitting in the dining hall like, an influential Christian rights leader, who was a staunch opponent of BJP and a human rights activist, who was also a bitter critique of BJP. After some niceties of wine and cheese, I saw the minister asking his close aide to carry some nicely cooked chicken curry to Prime Minister’s house. For a moment, I was amused by the childish demeanor of the minister and his innocent enthusiasm to send the chicken curry which he had himself prepared.  In the dinner that followed, the motley garb of secular, liberal and western-educated socialites who would not spare a single occasion to lampoon the saffron ideology and its torch-bearers, was praising Atal Bihari Vajpayee in Unison. I could see that Vajpayee ji was equally popular among his friends and foes as a man who enjoyed life, loved people and nurtured a poetic, romantic and innocent heart.

Atal Bihari Vajpayee is a legendry character in the history of India. He as a human being is liked alike by his friends and foes. Often, compared with Nehru, he was once mentioned as a right man in the wrong party by Congress leaders. Vajpayee ji, in his characteristic humorous style, once declared that he is a bachelor but not a Brahmachari. For any Indian politician, such a statement would be considered very bold and, on top of it, if it comes from a person who is born and brought up in strict Hindu nationalist ideology of Sangh and Jan Sangh , it feels like a cool breeze making one feels that his leader is a man with heart and humor. Even when I talk to my friends from Pakistan, they often express their genuine love and praise for Atal Ji. A few days back when he was awarded the Bharat Ratna, it became a matter of pride for everyone. Even a person like Mamta Banarjee who is famous for her acerbic tongue said that Atal ji is beyond politics and we all respect him.

While writing this article, I feel driven by two instincts. The first one, closer to my heart takes me to my schools days when I used to read Nehru’s autobiography and felt myself a part of world history. Atal ji has always given us a glimpse of Nehru in him, with his vices, poetry and vision. But, nevertheless, a politician must be the one who can connect with the hearts of people and if that takes some vices also, I feel that there is no harm in them. My second instinct compels me to venture beyond the aforementioned personality traits of Atal Ji and explore his leadership style. Someone who has held a soft corner for BJP and who is a keen student of Indian politics must feel the urge to see Modi vis-à-vis Atal Ji. I feel this urge because Modi ji has shown us a whole new dreamland of promises and his vision for India. He has also conveyed a genuine desire to execute his plan but having seen him work for last six months one can easily feel that there is something wrong; if not in the intensions of the man then most certainly in the way he practices his dreams. Atal Ji was never as vocal as Mr. Modi is about his vision for India but today when one looks back, one can easily see that he could achieve almost a revolution of sorts with his easy-going and humorous style.

For Vajpayee Ji, one expression, not very often used for politicians, can be used in order to give a best description of his leadership style and that is, ‘smooth player’. Yes, Vajpayee jee was a ‘smooth player’. He could steer India in the direction of rapid economic growth with a coalition that was marked by innumerable frictions ranging from ideologies to vested political interests. India made huge strides in the field of telecom revolution, liberalization, defense, diplomacy and infrastructure under Vajpayee ji’s leadership. He emerged as a strong leader in creating a brilliant nation-building team that comprised people like Adwani, Pramod Mahajan, Arun Shaurie, Suresh Prabhu and Jaswant Singh. The whole new chapter of Indian diplomacy with US was authored in Atal ji’s reign. One could feel the individual presence, personality and freedom of every minister under the towering personality of Atal ji.  Additionally, to a large extent he was able to keep Hindutva extremists at bay and did not hesitate in reprimanding Modi jee to follow the ‘Rajdharma’. With such an exemplary performance in governance, he was least expected to lose the elections. But he lost. I guess, Indian voters were not yet ready for such a big leap, but nevertheless, he definitely gave an impression of an institution-builder in his short reign.

In the present dispensation, any lay observer will feel that the Modi ji must take a cue from Atal ji. He is certainly becoming famous as someone who is giving sleepless nights to the ministers through his highly regimented schedule, spy-machinery and domineering style of administration. One feels that there is only one real ministry i.e. PMO and the rest are all honorary positions. One hardly feels any other presence than that of Mr. Modi, except a few people like Jaitly and Parikkar and, even they are known account of their previous credentials not because of their actions in the existing portfolios.

The government seems to be high on words and announcements but low on the follow-up.  Abbreviations, slogans, photo-ops, catchwords and loud declarations are abound but concrete actions plans are not yet visible for schemes like swachcha bharat, major reforms in civil services, infrastructure etc.

The essential difference between the two lies in the fact that Modi jee is at his best a crusader, and Atal ji,a philosopher, a zen monk who looks like a politician or Zorba the Buddha who happens to be a politician. Narendra bhai as a crusade has single-handedly fought against a nation-wide ostracization campaign led by media, intellectuals and politicians for almost a decade, for still-debatable, uncomfortable and hard-to-gloss-over reasons. But finally he rose like a phoenix, riding on the wave of development/Hindutva and made his way to seven race course. But, the problem is that he is still in the ‘crusader-mode’. He is still fighting and having witnessed his enthusiasm for elections, it seems that he still wants to go back in time and fight elections. His past still haunts his sub-consciousness. The personality conditioned by the circumstances of battle has its own complexities marked by fear, inability to trust, dictatorial attitude and little-bit of ruthlessness. But these complexities can never make a successful administrator. The times of elections are gone and now there is not even an opposition. Hence the obsession with elections and electoral victories must be left behind.  After all, someone had to win the elections after the vacuum that emanated from Congress’ incompetence and, this time it was BJP under Narendra Bhai. However, that is not all. If he needs to make a real difference then he has to rise above the narrow confines of ideology and show his mettle as a true statesman and administrator, like Atal jee.

It is high time that Modi ji took a lesson from the Bhishma of BJP i.e. Atal ji, become a bit more democratic, soft , trusting and liberal in leadership and, work on a long-term vision based on a wise statecraft and a sound understanding of the nation’s needs. If nothing else, then at least one of the most essential and a much-needed aspect of Vajpayee Jee’s model must be adopted with immediate effect, and i.e. non-polarizing approach and image. His public image still remains that of a polarizing leader who finds it immensely difficult to come out of the unrealistic and self-imposed confines of RSS background (rather than Hindutva ideology) and, is on the verge of failure to control the Hindutva extremists. Narendra Bhai needs to snip the wings of extremists with immediate effect, if he genuinely wants to have “Sabka Sath” and see “Sabka Vikaas”.

The crusader must seek blessings and wisdom from the ailing and dying, Zorba, the Buddha’.

महामीठो रस प्रेम को

चारो तरफ पसरा सन्नाटा ,
तुम जाने कहा खो गयी, यकीन नहीं आता
कोई डोर छूटी, तो कोई बुलबुला फूटा
अचानक कुछ अजीब-सा यहाँ घटा,
भीतर कुछ टूट-सा गया
की जैसे अचानक से बिन चाहे पिस्तौल से गोली चल जाये,
और, बगल में तुम्हे सहलाते खड़ी हो कोई कमसिन प्रेयसि,
की एकदम खून का फव्वारा फुट पड़े
कुछ देर तो सिर्फ लाल रंग लहू का नज़र आये,
न देखने की हिम्मत , की लहू किसका है
और न जानने की कोई अभिलाषा, की
मौन कौन हुआ है,
जैसे की कोई अनचाही समाधी बेवक़्त ही लग गयी हो
अनायास ही कोई घटना घट गयी हो
कोई तो अवश्य जागा  है,
जब ही तो तुम्हारी गोद में कोई खामोश लेटा है ,
लहू से सने तुम्हारे हाथ है,
लाल उंगलिया अवश्य ही केशो को सहला रही होंगी,
कोई प्यारा सा इंसान, जो तुम्हे बहुत करता था प्यार ,
 आँखे बंद किये, ठंडे शरीर में
निस्तेज सोया है, की जैसे कोई चिरनिद्रा में जाता हो।

तुम भी तो चुपचाप बैठे हो, ठिठक कर, एकदम मौन
की जैसे इन्द्रियों की शवयात्रा हो, और कोई योगी विजय मुद्रा में,
शिवालीन होकर एक दम तारो ताजा खड़ा है।  
अवश्य ही देवता फूल बरसा रहे होंगे,
बुद्ध को जब ज्ञान मिला था, तब भी गुलाब के फूलो की वर्षा हुई थी,
ये कैसा अनुभव है, कैसा विचित्र दृश्य है,
एक क्षण तो कोई ध्यानस्थ योगी नजर आता है,
और ठीक दुसरे ही क्षण तुम्हारी प्रेयसि का शव नज़र आता है ,
खून अभी तक बह रहा है, अब कुछ-कुछ ठंडा पड़ने लगा है ,
वह जो कुछ देर पहले सजती थी, इठलाति थी , तुम्हारे केशो को सहलाती थी
और न जाने कैसे भिन्न-भिन्न मुद्राओ में मुस्कुराती थी,
की बस अब कोई कामना ही नहीं, किसी सुख की
साक्षात काम का चरम सुख, तुम्हारी आत्मा को सुशोभित करता था
और तुम्हारी प्रेयसि के वक्षस्थल में ब्रह्मांडा शायद सुप्त अवस्था में,
अपने तमाम सुखो के साथ रहता था,
उसकी नाभि से सदा सोमरस की धारा निकलती थी,
और, तुम खूब करते थे उसका रसपान; कामानन्द में करते थे अंतर्स्नान।
अपनी प्रेयसि के अधोवस्त्रों में साक्षात करते थे शिव का दर्शन ,
की जैसे जीवन के महाध्यान का कामुक प्रयोग हो,
की ये क्या,
एक क्षण में सब  कल्पना मात्र  रह गया,
रह गया, किसी कवि का निर्मम ह्रदय और हो गयी प्रकट फिर से, एक फूहड़ कविता,
जिसमे वही शब्द, वही जड़ विचार, कोई नूतन नहीं
और वही शब्दों का मयाजा।

कुछ तो कहना होगा अंत में,
लेकिन ऐसा है की, हर बात का अंत नहीं होता ,
मेरा और तुम्हारा मिलन मात्र एक जनम मे नहीं होता,
कुछ तो है, जो है कालातीत,
परन्तु,
मुझे अपनी प्रेयसि से अलग होने का बड़ा दुख है,
ऐसे ही कुछ निर्बल क्षणों में,
वेदना के अंतहीन, बियाबान जंगलो में,
मैंने अक्सर परमात्मा को पुकारा है,
और, बुद्ध हो जाने का संकल्प अनेको बार दोहराया है।
किन्तु हर बार, तुम आई हो रूपा,
मुझे खीच लाने, की चलो संसार में सुख बहुत है शेष,
काम अभी करने है बहुत,
जीवन के संघर्ष, चोर, लुटेरे और राजनेता तुम्हे फिर से बुलाते है,
समाधी की चिंता छोड़, चलो मेरे साथ।
मैं ही कुण्डलिनी हूँ, सदा से तुम्हारे भीतर हूँ ,
इन काले जंगलो में तुम्हारा नहीं कोई काम,
मेरे सुन्दर नेत्रों और कामुक आलिंगन में ही, है तुम्हारा निर्वाण,
आओ मुझसे प्रेम करो, प्रेम ही ब्रह्म है, प्रेम ही परमात्मा है,
कोई और नहीं, मैं ही हिमालयपुत्री पारवती हूँ,
और तुम ही मेरे शिव हो,

कुछ और नहीं कहना मुझे ,
की बस, बात यही है की,
भीतर ही है समाधान,
चिरस्थायी वेदो का महाज्ञान।

चलो, शीग्र ही पकड़ो मेरा हाथ,
चूम लो मेरे नेत्र,
और करो,
महाप्रेम में अंतर्स्नान,
महाप्रेम में अंतर्स्नान
महाप्रेम में अंतरस्नान