A True Story

MYSTERIOUS

 

A modified version of this true story appeared in "Muse India" issue of July-Aug.2008 as a short story contributed by me. Here is the true story. The last paragraph had been added after we visited the friends in 2010. Till now I am unable to solve the mystery.

 

He was crying. It was almost midnight and the sound pierced through my eardrums. I was rudely awakened from sleep. My wife also awoke at the same time and was trying to find the reason for his crying. For a child of two and a half years, who had just started saying a few small words, there is no way he could explain the reason for his agony.

This was not the first time. The child had woken up many times during deep sleep with this type of crying. We have never been able to find out why. My wife started her usual treatment – just out of faith. She went to the Pooja Room and returned with some sacred ash and applied on his forehead. It would work sometimes, but not always. This time he stopped after a few more minutes of crying and went back to sleep as if nothing happened.

We were living in a suburb of Coimbatore in a rented house off the highway to Palani. My office was a few kilometers away. Further down the road was a temple of Vinayaga at Eechanari Village, a small but famous one visited frequently by many. Raju was a supervisor in my office and he would be visiting the temple every Sunday religiously. He would cycle his way to the temple – a distance of about 8 kilometres and on his return, stop by at our house to hand over the sacred ash. He had taken upon himself this “duty” and performed it with the sincerity known only to his generation. Even after his retirement, he continued this routine and I could expect him at around 10 am every Sunday barring any unavoidable reason.

I was not a regular temple visitor in the real sense. I would make occasional visits with my wife as she was a firm believer and would collect all prasadams in a container.

Her uncle – Mr. Manickam, a second cousin of her father, who lived not far away, used to visit us once in a while. He was in a small Government job and was spending his spare time in social service activities. He was running a small Homeopathic clinic and would prescribe and distribute medicines to poor people freely. On one of his visits, I mentioned about the night time cries of my son, but he could not think of any reason.

Manickam was a firm believer in religion and followed the teachings of a certain “Sai Baba”. He was attracted not only by the spiritual powers of Sathya Sai Baba but by the service to the society rendered by him as well.

Sai Baba sometimes toured parts of the country and devotees would throng to have his darshan wherever he went. Manickam was insistent that we should have his darshan any time he came somewhere near Coimbatore. I was neutral to the idea and was not paying much attention to this suggestion.

One day Manickam came to us with the news that the Sai Baba was visiting Ooty and we should go and have his darshan. My wife was receptive to the idea and I yielded after much persuasion. I had a notion that she wanted to visit her sister’s son who was studying in Ooty and this was her real motive in suggesting that we have Sai Baba’s darshan.

We took a very early morning bus from Coimbatore to Ooty along with Manickam and reached Ooty sufficiently early for the morning session of bhajan at the place Sai Baba was staying. People were sitting in rows in the lawn of the bungalow in a highly disciplined manner awaiting Sai Baba’s arrival. The sound of rhythmic singing of bhajan was filling the air and it was soothing the mind.

Sai Baba arrived after a few minutes. He walked slowly and gracefully along the rows of the disciples and many of them could touch his feet. I was also in one of the rows and my son, being a small child, was running around making noises. I was a bit chill as it was a hill station and he seemed to be enjoying the weather which was in contrast with what we had in Coimbatore. Sai Baba was walking along the row in which I was seated. When he came near me, he suddenly walked fast and skipping me, allowed the man next to me touch his feet.

I would not say I was disappointed, as I was neutral. I took it as matter of fact and did not want to brood over it. But Manickam was of a different mould. He was sorry about my inability to pay homage to Sai Baba. By the time, Sai Baba had completed his rounds and had got into the car of a disciple to visit some place.

Manickam did not want to leave the matter there. In a corner of the lawn, someone was selling photographs of Sai Baba and Manickam suggested that I should buy one. When Sai Baba returns, I should try to get his autograph on that and use that occasion to touch his feet.

Again, I was neutral and even a bit reluctant. However, I finally yielded to his pressure and bought a photograph. However, when Sai Baba returned, he went straightaway into the house and the photo remained rolled up in my hands.

We decided to visit my nephew in the school and moved out. Manickam was insistent that we should return for the evening bhajan at about 4 pm.

When we returned, clouds had gathered and a good shower appeared imminent. The sky was very dark and the downpour was likely to start any time.

The organizers of the bhajan took a decision to shift it to the main hall in the bungalow. With a substantial crowd, it was a little cramped in the hall, but the organizers managed to arrange the devotees in rows allowing for space for Sai Baba to walk around.

The bhajan started on time and Sai Baba came out neatly dressed in his saffron robe and mingled with devotees. He stopped in front of some of them and was speaking to a few. I sat with the photograph rolled up on my side. Suddenly I found him standing in front of me as if demanding that I do the namaskar. I bent down and touched his feet as if by reflex and forgot all about getting his autograph.

I felt I was actually touching some lotus petals when my hand came into contact with his feet. A few seconds passed and he graciously moved out.

We returned to Coimbatore in the night and I placed the photograph into some available space in the cupboard. I almost forgot about it thereafter.

The house in which we lived was at the end of the street and a doctor lived opposite to us. He was working in a Government Hospital and never had any private practice. He had two sons, both of school going age. They all remained aloof and would rarely mix with neighbours. My wife, being of a very amiable nature, managed to become friendly with the doctor’s wife and would sometimes take the child to play with the boys. But the boys would never venture out of their house except for their needs. The lady would generally lock up the front gate at about 7 pm and none would come out after that.

I had to take up residence in the Railway Quarters in 1976 and we had to move. Since my job involved frequent transfers, we were always ready to move. We had made a number of wooden boxes in which we would pack our belongings whenever we had to move. Our servant was given the responsibility to do some packing work and he had packed most of the belongings.

Eechanari temple down the road was being renovated in a grand scale and the consecration function was to take place on the day before we moved. My office friends wanted to attend the function, being on a holiday and asked if we would join. I was forced to decline as my son was down with a fever. Raju, the retired supervisor who was a regular visitor to the temple also could not attend as he was indisposed with high blood pressure.

We had planned to move the next morning as early as possible. We finished our dinner and put the boy to sleep. We wanted to complete some more packing and started working on the remaining items. It was after 10 pm.

The boy woke up and started crying; the usual night time crying for which we could never find the reason. My wife took him in her arms and started consoling him. At the same moment, I was just taking out the photograph of Sai Baba and putting it into a box. For a moment I thought of getting the sacred ash container to apply on the child’s forehead. Then I remembered that it had already been packed by the servant and I did not know in which box it was placed. I was wondering what we could do. I felt helpless. The photograph was still in my hands.

There was a knock on the door. I was wondering who was the visitor at this time of the night and went to open the front door. It was the doctor’s son- the boy who lived opposite; one who would never come out after 7 pm. He had a small packet in his hand and said that someone wanted him to hand over the sacred ash packet to me. He gave me the packet and ran away.

At the exact moment, the crying from the bedroom stopped. Anyway, I handed over the packet to my wife, who applied the sacred ash on our son’s forehead.

We moved out the next morning and could never meet the doctor’s family for a long time. The child never cried in the nights afterwards.

In 2010, we had made a visit to Palani from Chennai and decided to call on the old friends near the private house were we had stayed. We knocked at the door of the doctor’s house. The doctor’s son, who had grown up opened the door. The doctor had died in the meantime. His wife and one son only were staying there. They could recognize us immediately. After initial exchange of pleasantries, the subject came to the matter of sacred ash. They were totally unaware of the episode. The matter remains a mystery till date.