The Other Son Of Ganges – Part 2
Matangi Mawley
“Let me go, Mother…”
He somehow knew after this incident that, whatever position he might be in, she would be with him. Help him. Love him, unconditionally. His mother… Ganga…
His father got him enrolled in the school. He liked going to the school. He liked having kids of his own age around him and talking to them. Not to mention that he was gifted. He could remember anything on just hearing it once. But somehow, he could not always concentrate. He could not help it. But whenever he looked outside the window, he was lost in thoughts. Sometimes he was so lost that-
“Shravan.. SHRAVAN..!”
“Ouch!”
It hurt that day. That tiny piece of chalk thrown at him with such anger, it hurt.
“Where is all your attention? Do you think this is a joke? The whole of Kashi’s kids sitting here and listening to me and my OWN son- let alone listening, doesn’t even care looking at me as I speak…”
His father was indeed very upset that day. He would not talk to his son, that entire day. And if Shravan would try talking to him, he would go away from that place. Shravan felt that he was a lone human in the entire world. There was no one else with whom he could talk to. And he had nowhere to go. He rushed out of the house and ran as fast as he could. He ran to his mother. Ganga would always be there. Flowing with such force- such raw energy! Watching her hurry towards the sea- it could make one forget all the negativities in them. Shravan sat himself on his mother’s lap, both his feet touching her surface. He wept. It was a sad day for him. The Ganges, patted him. She consoled him…
That day, his mother helped him realize something. Shravan was more like his mother. He found her in him, her free spirit. Shravan saw the Ghats around. Then he felt his mother’s soft touch upon his feet. He felt her say- “Do you think I flow within these man-made boundaries? These stones, these bricks? Do you think they hold me back? No. I am all around. Look around, son. Look beyond the stones. See those sinners washing their sins? They think all their sins turn into puffs of smoke when they wash themselves in me. Fools. I flow on them, over them. But I never am inside them. These walls, the Ghats- they are physical. Ganga flows into lives, into minds. That is my strength, strength that these mortals can never bear in them, a strength known only to a few. I can only be trapped in minds. Like I am bound in you, by your love…”
Every day, Shravan would spend all his time thinking about what lay bethe other son of ganges matangi mawley yond his world? Sometimes, he would watch the television at his neighbor’s place. All those strange places and strange people would capture his imagination. They were so different from his world here. He wanted to go away. See those people. Meet them.
One day, he told his father about his desire. His father listened to him, patiently. He then said, “Shravan, you belong here, in Kashi. Those strange places are not for us. Those places would never like people like us, visiting them. Those places would never be good to us. Your life is here, son. Kashi knows you. The soil knows your scent. The air around has seen you grow up. The walls around have seen you lose your first teeth. Your mother, Ganga, flows here. Not anywhere, but here. I am here… You understand”?
He understood. He understood that his mother was in him. Ganga’s spirit in him, urged him to know himself. Identify his soul with hers. He understood that, he needed to leave…
And he left. He remembered the night he left, very well. His father was asleep. He had managed to tie up some of his things in a bundle. He touched his father’s feet while he was asleep. He left the house and went to bid farewell to his mother. He took her in his hands and placed her on his forehead. Somewhere inside his head, he had a feeling that this had happened before, this initiation. He was just about to leave- when his mother took his bundle from him. He tried to take it from her. But she would not give it back. It was as though she was pleading him not to go. Perhaps there was something out there that would harm him. It was as though she held him by hand and did not allow him to leave.
He made her understand that he was ready for it. He was ready to see the world beyond here. He was like her, he made her understand. Just like her, Ganga. He convinced her to let him go. He also promised her, that he would come back to her one day,Some day. He felt her hand pat his feet, gently. His mother let him go…
(..To be continued. Part 3: “In a new world…”)
The Other Son of Ganges – A series
1. Ganga, The Mother
—Matangi Mawley
It all began with water. Even back then, it had begun with water. No, he did not remember it. But he had heard them say so. It all began, with water…
He was wet. But so was the dog. But the difference was this. The dog had soon found a shelter in a broken piece of wooden box. But he was still out there. Beneath nothing. He was wet. He was sad- a castaway. A man, whose life ceased to exist for him to live, still, he was wet.
It all began with water…
His life started at an end. People who were witnesses, told him about it- later. On the banks of the Ganges, he lay on his father’s lap. Through the tiny bronze nozzle, the clear water from the Ganges, poured herself down on his forehead. He did not remember it. But he might have sensed it then, that a bond of a lifetime was being formed there, with that water-the Ganges. His father laid him on the stone grounds of the Ghat. Scattered petals from flowers, the bits of black sesame, here and there, stuck themselves on his tiny body. Soon, he would be washed. Washed with the water from Ganges. Wash him of the sins from his previous birth, which had taken the life of his mother.
His father went ahead, towards the Ganges, to bid farewell to his wife’s soul. He did not remember his father taking the water from the Ganges on his hands, and offering prayers to the forefathers. The smell of burning flesh from the Harishchandra Ghat, remained fresh in his memory, as he had felt it, back then. People told him, all about it, later. Ganges was, now- his mother.
He grew up there, where people only came when their journey through life was about to end- Kashi. The streets of Kashi, was his world. The only world that he knew about. Ghats, water, prayers, fire and pyre. This was all he had seen. People of Kashi, he had later thought, knew more about death, than about life. The dusty streets full of Rudraksh and idols of Gods and Goddesses. Flower garlands. For the living, dead and also for those whose existence was not proved, yet. The sweet vendors. The kadaai outside their stalls where the yellow milk, seasoned with saffron and malaai and almonds, boiled forever. The begging Sadhus whose blessings were for sale!
He’d see people, sometimes, all white in colour, taking photographs of the Ganges. Why were they so excited about the river? He would wonder! Had they never seen so much water before? There was once a white man, who took a picture of him too, standing beside his mother. That was the only picture he had, of him with his mother.
His father was a teacher. He taught the kids at the local school. Every child of his locality learnt their first word from his father. But for a long time, he was never able to say his first word! His father tried and tried. Every doctor and Vaid of Kashi was consulted. But his first word never came out for a long time. May be he was thinking what that word should be. He just couldn’t start his life by saying any words, could he? His first word should be special. May be…
It all began with water…
It happened one day, when he saw his neighbour’s son, pampered by his mother. He did not remember what he saw, but at that moment, he felt that he should be with his mother. He too, wanted a mother to love him, to pamper and spoil him! That was the moment he decided his first word too. People witnesses to this had told him, later. He jumped into the Ganges, shouting “MAA…” at the top of his voice! He just needed to be with his mother…
People kept coming home for the next few days after that incident. He remembered this. They called it some ‘miracle’ and that he had ‘divine’ gifts! His photograph was published in the local paper. He still had the paper- preserved! His father was not happy about it. He was of course happy about the first word- but not the divine part of it.
He somehow knew after this incident that, whatever position he might be in, she would be with him. Help him. Love him, unconditionally. His mother… Ganga…
(..To be continued., Part 2: “Let me go, Mother…”)
Picture Credit:http://www.flickr.com/photos/vathsav/4212675120/sizes/m/
